Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe: Regions in Clio's Looking Glass 9782503590714, 2503590713

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Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe

EARLY EUROPEAN RESEARCH Volume 16 Series founded by Andrew Lynch and Claire McIlroy with the Australian Research Council Network for Early European Research, and now directed by The University of Western Australia Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies. General Editors Susan Broomhall, University of Western Australia Kirk Essary, University of Western Australia Editorial Board Tracy Adams, University of Auckland Emilia Jamroziak, University of Leeds Matthias Meyer, Universität Wien Fabrizio Ricciardelli, Kent State University Florence Center Juanita Feros Ruys, University of Sydney Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Universitetet i Oslo Nicholas Terpstra, University of Toronto Previously published volumes in this series are listed at the back of the book.

Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe Regions in Clio’s Looking Glass

Edited by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca

F

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Cover image: After the Map of Pomerania, Livonia and Oswiecim by Abraham Ortelius (1574), [private collection], and after The Moneylender and his Wife by Quinten Metsys, [Louvre, Paris, 1514].

© 2020, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2020/0095/311 ISBN 978-2-503-59071-4 E-ISBN 978-2-503-59073-8 DOI 10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.120933 ISSN 2295-9254 E-ISSN 2295-9262 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

Table of Contents

List of Illustrations

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Acknowledgements

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Introduction: Regions in Clio’s Looking Glass Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca15 Regions and Historiography: Reflections on the Ways in which Different Types of Historiography Shaped and Changed Regional Identity Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca33 Part I Regional Identity in Medieval and Early Modern Historiography Boemi and the Others: Shaping the Regional Identity of Medieval Bohemia between the Twelfth and the Fourteenth Centuries Jana Fantysová-Matějková69 From the Duchy of Few to the Homeland of Many: Regional Identity in Silesian Medieval and Early Modern Historiography Przemysław Wiszewski91 Chronicles of the Towns of Upper Lusatia: Reflecting the Political and Cultural Identity of the Region? Lenka Bobková, Petr Hrachovec, and Jan Zdichynec117 From Principality into Province: The Historiography of the GueldersLower Rhine Region from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Centuries Job Weststrate145 Transylvania in the Historical Writing of Nicolaus Olahus, Georg Reicherstoffer, and Antonius Verancsics Cornelia Popa-Gorjanu165

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Part II The Creation of Regional Identity in Nineteenth-Century Historiography Post-Medieval Appropriation of Regional Sainthood in Scandinavia: St Knud Lavard and St Olav Nils Holger Petersen189 Conceptions of History and Imagined Regions in the Baltic Provinces in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries Linda Kaljundi and Aivar Põldvee209 National Regionalisms before Political Ideologies: SchleswigHolstein in 1848 Michael Bregnsbo237 Constructing and Deconstructing the Medieval Origin of Catalonia Flocel Sabaté257 Inventing Limburg (the Netherlands): Territory, History, and Identity Ad Knotter283 Index of Keywords

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List of Illustrations

Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca: Introduction Figure 0.1. Cover of the brochure by Heineken, showing the map of his regional Eurotopia. Image supplied by D. E. H. de Boer.

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Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca: Regions and Historiography Figure 1.1. Leaf showing the start of book XV in the 1447 manuscript of the French translation of De Proprietatibus Rerum by Jean Corbechon. As the text does, the image focuses on nature, the man-made environment, and the means of life. Amiens, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS 399, fol. 166r. Reproduced with permission. 36 Figure 1.2. The offering of his Chronicle of Hainaut to Duke Philip the Good of Burgundy, by the author Jean Wauquelin, as depicted in the dedication miniature by Rogier van der Weyden of the showpiece manuscript made in 1447, embodies the politicizing process connecting regional identities and histories to dynastically ruled territories. Brussels, Royal Library of Belgium, MS 9242, fol. 11r. Reproduced with permission. 55 Jana Fantysová–Matějková Figure 2.1. Mythological figures of Czech and Lech. Frontispiece miniature from the end of the fourteenth century in the Bautzen manuscript of Cosmas’ Chronica Boemorum (first half of the 13th century). Prague, National Museum Library, ms. VIII F 69 fol. 1r. Reproduced with permission.71 Figure 2.2. Bretislaus I of Bohemia kidnaps his future wife Judith ( Jitka) of Schweinfurt from a monastery. Illumination in a Latin translation of the Chronicle of Dalimil made in Northern Italy, 1331–1335. Prague, National Library of the Czech Republic, MS XII E 17, fol. 3r. Reproduced with permission. 75 Przemysław Wiszewski Figure 3.1. In the battle between the Mongols and an army led by Polish knights at Legnica (Liegnitz) in 1241, as depicted in an illumination by the anonymous artist of the Vita Beatae Hedwigis (1353) we see the beheading of Duke Henry II and his soul being carried by Angels to Heaven. Ms Ludwig XI 7 (83.MN.126), fol. 11v, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

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Figure 3.2. The Vita Beatae Hedwigis opens with a treatise on the genealogy of her family. The manuscript’s first miniature shows her lineage in two images. The one at the lower half of the leaf shows Hedwig’s marriage, at the age of twelve, to Duke Henry of Silesia. Ms Ludwig XI 7 (83.MN.126), lower part of fol. 10v, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.105 Figure 3.3. In the nineteenth century a series of ‘Fürstenbilder’ depicted the tombs of the dukes of Silesia. In vivid colours the mostly vanished medieval polychrome was evoked. Here we see the picture of the tomb of Henry IV the Righteous (Probus), duke of Wrocław Probus, of which the original now is in the National Museum. After Theodor Blatterbauer, Schlesische Fürstenbilder des Mittelalters. 107 Figure 3.4. One of the oldest maps of Silesia, once its shape and identity were established, is the one drawn by the Silesian cartographer Martin Helwig in 1561, which was used by Orthelius in his Theatrum Orbis Terrarum Abrahami Ortelii Antverp. Geographi Regii. This copy comes from the edition by Plantin, Antwerp 1601. Private collection.110 Lenka Bobková, Petr Hrachovec, and Jan Zdichynec Figure 4.1. Map of Upper Lusatia as part of the Bohemian Crown Lands in 1462, by Dick E. H. de Boer, based on the map by Eva Chodějovská. Figure 4.2. Map of Upper Lausitz, as published by the brothers Willem Janszoon (1571–1638) and Joan Blaeu (1596–1673) in their Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, sive Atlas Novus in quo Tabulæ et Descriptiones Omnium Regionum (Amsterdam 1644), based on the map by the astronomer and cartographer Bartholomäus Scultetus (Barthel Schulze 1540–1614) who served as mayor of his native town Görlitz. When colouring the map, an error was made in the coat of arms, which should have a gold wall and a blue field. Private Collection. Figure 4.3. Prospect of the town of Zittau, engraving by Johann Georg Mentzel (1677–1743) in Grosser, Lausitzische Merckwuerdigkeiten (1714). Figure 4.4. Portrait of Duke Sobieslaus I († 1140), in the German manuscript translation of Manlius’s Commentaries. He is presented as king of Bohemia, which he had never been, and as founder of the town of Görlitz, upon which he is looking down. It is one of the rare examples of a high-quality illumination in this handwritten historiographical text. The manuscript is preserved now in the BUWr., under the mark Mil. II/173, Commentariorum rerum Lusaticarum libri VI quibus accessit septimus de Lusatijs literarum armorumve gloria claris collectore Christophoro Manlio. Scripsit Christianus Schaefferus (1708).

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Figure 4.5. The coats of arms of the royal towns of Upper Lusatia in the work of Johann Benedict Carpzov (1675–1739), Neueroeffneter Ehren-Tempel, often using the lion of the Kingdom of Bohemia as a heraldic figure. Figure 4.6. Christian Schaeffer (1666–1747): The title page of the illustrated Görlitz chronicle with the lion, the symbol of the Kingdom of Bohemia, and the Austrian Eagle. Ratsarchiv Görlitz, without Inv.nr. (Vol. 5 of the Annals).

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Job Weststrate Figure 5.1. Map showing the principalities of Guelders, Cleves, and Jülich in the wider Lower Rhine region. Image by D. E. H. de Boer, after a map by André Stufkens and Jacobus Trijsburg, Nijmegen. 146 Figure 5.2. A miniature in the Middle-Netherlandish translation of the Chronicles of Froissart which shows Duke William of GueldersJülich, recognizable by the medlar flowers on his coat, bowing to the French king Charles VI near Erkelenz in 1388. Royal Library of the Netherlands, The Hague, Ms 130B21, fol. 359r. Reproduced with permission.149 Figure 5.3. In the seventeenth century displaying Guelders identity through a series of paintings was quite popular. The mythical past, and especially the story of the brothers Wichard and Lupold slaying the dragon, remained very popular. This painting by an anonymous artist around 1680, possibly painted at the occasion of the imagined 8th centennial of the event, shows the dramatic killing. The castle of Guelders, the medlar-tree, and the flowers on the shield refer to the symbolic identity, whereas in the last fiery breath, one can read three times ‘Gelre’. A large inserted text explains all to the reader. Digital image: Limburgs Museum, courtesy of the Townhall of Geldern.153 Figure 5.4. The frontispiece of the 1653 edition of Pontanus’ History of Guelders, translated and extended by Van Slichtenhorst brings together regional and national identities. To both sides of the text: (left) Gaius Julius Civilis, the leader of the inhabitants of the Batavian region (part of Guelders) against the Romans in ad 69 , and (right) William of Orange who led the rebellion against Habsburg Spain. Below the text the funeral monument of Charles I of Egmond, duke of Guelders and count of Zutphen, who had a principal role in the Frisian peasant rebellion and the Guelders Wars against Habsburg is depicted. The coats of arms refer to the dynastic and urban identities of Guelders. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1992–202. Reproduced with permission. 158

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Cornelia Popa-Gorjanu Figure 6.1. Portrait of Nicolaus Olahus, at the age of sixty-seven, showing him as archbishop of Esztergom and scholar. Woodcut by Donat Hübschmann in 1560. From a 1740 edition. Figure 6.2. Chorographia Transylvaniae, map of Transylvania, printed in 1532 in Basel by Johannes Honterus (1498–1549), who one year later started his own printing press in Brașov (Kronstadt). This map was published in at least 125 editions and influenced until the eighteenth century the design of maps of the region. After Johannes Honterus’ Chorographia Transylvaniae (Wien: Graesser, 1898). Figure 6.3. Portrait of Anton Verancsics at the age of sixty-nine, as author and archbishop of Esztergom, where he was the successor of Olahus. This engraving was made in 1571 by the Dalmatian artist and printer Martin Rota. Nils Holger Petersen Figure 7.1. Knud Lavard enthroned (detail from the central vault of St Bendt’s Church, Ringsted, Denmark). Fresco from c. 1300. Photo: Robert Fortuna, 2015, National Museum of Denmark. Figure 7.2. The façade of the Knud Guildhall, as drawn by Georg Friedrich Geist in the first half of the nineteenth century (before the reconstruction of the building in the 1860s). See Mänd, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation’, Figure 6.12 (p. 125). Some have argued that if the guild was founded in the first half of thirteenth century, it would most likely have had Knud Lavard as its patron saint. However, Mänd considers it more likely that it was founded in the late thirteenth century and with King Knud ‘the Holy’ as patron saint, see Mänd, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation’, pp. 119–27, esp. 120–21. Figure 7.3. The Olav statue, decorated with a garland, in the west front of Nidaros Cathedral, Trondheim. Photo: Eiler Munksgaard. Linda Kaljundi and Aivar Põldvee Figure 8.1. Laps on skis. From Olaus Magnus, Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus (Rome, 1555). Woodcut. Reproduction from Olaus Magnus, Die Wunder des Nordens (Frankfurt am Main: Eichborn, 2006). Figure 8.2. Conrad Westermayr, ‘Waina-Möinen – the Finnish Orpheus’ (Waina-Möinen – Orpheus der Finnen). From Garlieb Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands. Ein Denkmahl des Pfaffen- und Rittergeistes, vol. 1 (Berlin: Voss, 1798). Copperplate engraving. Figure 8.3. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘The First Landing of the Bremen Merchants on the Daugava. 1156’ (Erste Landung der Bremer Kaufleute in der Düna. 1156). From Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands, vol. 1 (Dorpat: C. A. Kluge, 1839). Copperplate engraving.

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Figure 8.4. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘The Song of Vanemuine’ (Wannemunne’s Sang). From Verhandlungen der gelehrten Estnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat, vol. 1, part 1 (Dorpat: Severin, 1840). Lithograph.227 Figure 8.5. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘Theodoric in Danger of Becoming Sacrificed to Gods in 1192’ (Der Mönch Theodorich in Gefahr den Goetzen geopfert zu werden. A° 1192). From Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands, vol. 1 (Dorpat: C. A. Kluge, 1839). Copperplate engraving. 228 Michael Bregnsbo Figure 9.1. Map showing the complex composition of Schleswig-Holstein until 1863/1864. Schleswig was a duchy that used to be part of the kingdom of Denmark and the Danish king was still the duke here. It was also constitutionally closely associated with Holstein that was another duchy under the king of Denmark but also a member of the German Federation. The little duchy of Lauenburg was more or less an appendix to Holstein. The question of succession to these duchies was largely unclear. Moreover, Schleswig was ethnically and linguistically mixed between Danish and German. The northern part was mainly Danish-minded, the southern part predominantly German-minded whereas the middle part was mixed. (Image supplied by D. E. H. de Boer, after NordNordWest).238 Figure 9.2. The Danish ‘March Ministry’ 1848. This government was appointed immediately after the fall of the Danish absolutist regime in March 1848. It was a broadly based coalition composed of conservative aristocrats who had been serving the old regime, of the leaders of the liberal opposition and even of representatives of the more left-leaning opposition. Its main purpose was to prevent Schleswig from being separated from Denmark. In Schleswig-Holstein a similar, equally broadly-based coalition government was formed almost at the same time: its aim was to establish a Schleswig-Holsteinian state that should be integrated in the unified Germany that seemed to be on the drawing board. Composition of pictures by unknown photographer. Courtesy Arkivet ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig. 244 Figure 9.3. Gathering of the first single German parliament in the Paulskirche in Frankfurt am Main, 1848. This parliament was paying great attention to the ongoing conflict over Schleswig which it considered a German war of liberation from Denmark and thus a rallying point for an otherwise deeply politically divided German public. This parliament was dissolved by military power in 1849. When Germany was finally unified in 1871 it was on a conservative, authoritarian basis. Historisches Museum, Frankfurt am Main. Coloured drawing by Ludwig von Elliott, 1848. 246

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Flocel Sabaté Figure 10.1. Posthumous portrait of Pròsper de Bofarull (1777–1839), chief of the Royal Archives of Barcelona and historian, by Claudi Lorenzale. Picture: Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó. 261 Figure 10.2. Wilfred the Hairy, who was seen by nineteenth-century historians as the founder of the independent dynasty of counts of Barcelona, establishing the coat of arms of the county according to a legend from the sixteenth century. Painting (1843–1844), by Claudi Lorenzale. Picture: Reial Academia Catalana de Belles Arts de Sant Jordi, inv. No. 277. 266 Figure 10.3. Beginning of the legal code Usatges de Barcelona in a copy of 1334–1341. The miniature above the historiated initial depicts the counts of Barcelona approving the legal text in the eleventh century. Arxiu Municipal de Lleida, Manuscrit 1375, fol. 1r.271 Ad Knotter Figure 11.1. The tiny duchy of Limburg in 1543, with the town of Limbourg as its centre, situated to the south of the patchwork of principalities that later on would be joined together to form the nineteenth-century Belgium province of Limburg and the similarly named modern duchy, and Dutch province. Source: Venner, Canon van Limburg.286 Figure 11.2. Map showing the creation of Belgian and Dutch Limburg in the nineteenth century. The two medieval principalities which served as points of reference are outlined in bold. After Leersen, ‘Een beetje buitenland’. 288

Acknowledgements

The present volume has its origins in the European Science Foundation programme EuroCORECODE — an acronym standing for European Comparisons in Regional Cohesion, Dynamics and Expressions — in which three major collaborative research projects between 2010 and 2013 explored the functional dynamics of different aspects of regional development and its modern perspectives. During these years each project organized series of workshops which presented work in progress, and several collaborate workshops were also held. At the end of the programme a joint conference ‘Changing Borders, Regions and Identities’ was organized in Arnhem (Netherlands), 28–31 August 2013. At the same time as this conference, in which the three research projects came together, funding was granted to produce two collaborative volumes dealing with major themes covered by the three projects. This volume is one of these two volumes. Though several contributions have been revised over the following years, they are the harvest of research done until 2013, and they reflect the status questionis at the end of the project. For this volume Prof. em. Dick E. H. de Boer (University of Groningen, Netherlands), who designed the EuroCORECODE-programme and was coordinator of the collaborative project Cuius Regio, and Prof. em. Luís Adão da Fonseca, who was the leader of the Portuguese branch of Cuius Regio, accepted the responsibility of becoming the editors. Very sadly, in December 2016 Prof. Fonseca suffered a cerebral haemorrhage, which made it impossible for him to continue his scholarly work. This is a severe blow for him and his family, and a serious loss to medieval studies in Portugal and to the continuation of the new approach to regional history that was made possible through his role as one of the coordinators in the Cuius Regio project. Sadly too, for this reason the intended contribution to this volume by him and J. A. de Sottomayor-Pizarro had to be withdrawn. We owe Prof. Fonseca our gratitude for his loyal and inspiring support and scholarly leadership. Also we like to acknowledge with gratitude the support given during the programme and its aftermath by the staff of the European Science Foundation, especially by Eva Hoogland, Barry Dixon, Sarah Moore, Anne Guehl, and Claire Rustat, even when fundamental changes were made to the way in which supra-national research was funded, turning the ESF from a primarily funding organization into a services-based organization. This support made the work of the programme leaders much easier. The cover image of this volume (designed by David Ellis) is constructed and adapted from details of two images: a map by Abraham Ortelius, not only showing regions (in their formalized form) of provinces, but also mentioning the word regio; and a painting by Quinten Metsys featuring a mirror (looking glass) reflecting medieval society, and consequently the stakeholders of regions, and a book of prayers,

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showing Maria, and connects to the role of devotion and the veneration of saints as a marker of identity. Last but not least I express my thanks to Heather Naylor-Plummer (Sheffield, Great Britain) and Dane Munro (Zebbug, Malta) for — as native speakers and trained historians — having fashioned the sometimes robust ‘regional’ versions of their mother tongue. Dick E. H. de Boer

Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca

Introduction Regions in Clio’s Looking Glass

The use of metaphors and comparison, when describing the nature of history is widespread. History is described as: looking backward while thinking forward, as offering perspective through retrospection, being the fifth dimension of human existence, holding a mirror, as a theatrum histioriae humanae, a chain of events either constantly, or never repeating itself, and so on. History is simultaneously the fact and the narrative. The earliest application of the Greek word ἵστωρ (histoor) is by Homer, when he describes Achilles’ shield. In his narrative a dispute is included, in which the histoor is the one who makes an inquiry and has to pass judgement between two litigants: serving both as witness, inquirer, and arbitrator.1 The ‘ἱστορία’ (historia) is the account of the inquiry. No wonder that one of the daughters of Zeus and the Titaness Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, all being muses, is Clio, the muse of history. Without memory, there is no history, yet it is only valid when recorded, interpreted, and recounted.2 Hence the subtitle chosen for this volume. The authors of this volume look at individual European regions from different points of view, using historiography as a lens. That is, they analyse the ways in which history as a construct has played a role in establishing a regional identity. In other

1 Nagy, Pindar’s Homer, pp. 250, 259, more recent again Langerwerf, ‘“Many are the wonders in Greece”’, p. 319. 2 The etymological basis of the name Clio being the Greek verb κλέω/κλείω, meaning “I make or become famous”. Dick E. H. de Boer  •  is professor emeritus of Medieval History at the University of Groningen (Netherlands). He was director of the Netherlands Research School for Medieval Studies, and co-founder and the first academic director of CARMEN (Cooperative for the Advancement of Research through a Medieval European Network). He was the initiator and the main researcher responsible for the development of the EUROCORECODE-programme. Luís Adão da Fonseca  •  is professor emeritus of Medieval History at the University of Porto (Portugal). He was president of the scientific council of the Centro de Estudos da População, Economia e Sociedade, and has served as a visiting professor in the universities of Navarra, São Paulo, Johns Hopkins (Baltimore), and EHSS (Paris). Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 15–31 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121485

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words, they give examples of the ways in which recording, interpreting, and recounting the past of regions through the ages has been instrumental in shaping these regions. Their goal is not to present short histories of regions at different moments in the past, but rather to give examples of how the interaction between the fate and destiny of regions and the ways in which these regions were experienced by their inhabitants, were described and influenced by their historiographers (both from within and from without). In short: how in the looking glass of the muse of history the region was shaped, mirrored, and reflected, not — of course — as in a crystal ball, with the claim or ambition to predict the future, but to enhance a better understanding of the past of regions. A better understanding that ultimately might serve their future. Of course, the broad thematic of the role of historiography through the ages requires an elaborate analysis of many regions of different character, at various moments, resulting in a comparison in space and time. This volume, therefore, can only offer a first exploration of that thematic. The introductory chapter gives some reflections on the notion of region and on the ways in which various types of historiography can be related to shaping and expressing regional identity. It is followed by ten chapters which describe individual cases; these discuss examples of historiography and their connection to specific regions. These contributions have been divided in two thematic sections, with different perspectives in time. In the first section the focal point is regional identity in medieval and early modern historiography. Here we find examples of the first phases of historical reflection on a region’s past. In the second section the contributions show how, in the age of the invention and triumph of the European nation state — the long nineteenth century — historiography of a new kind was used for the deliberate creation of regional identity, or at least reflected the need for the historical confirmation of identities. In the following pages we give a brief introduction to the background of this volume; both the discourse on regions and the research projects from which these contributions stem. Finally we introduce the reader to the contributions.

Regions as the Past and Future of Europe The characteristics of regions, and the way they change over time, has received new importance and attention during the last few decades. The number of publications has almost become innumerable and regions are looked at through the eyes of politicians, anthropologists, social geographers, modernists, archaeologists, historians, etc. in many different ways, from various perspectives and with diverse goals. Although in Europe national prerogatives and peculiarities are still cherished and even reinforced in many ways, this continent seems to be gradually leaving its nation state-phase behind, and growing towards a new political and economic system in which regions play a decisive role. In the early 1990s, the fiercely pro-European Dutch beer-magnate A. H. (Freddy) Heineken (1923–2002) considered a Europe composed of new regions, in which their historical predecessors easily could be recognized, to be the best solution for Europe’s future. He discussed his ideas with the Leiden professor of Modern History, and specialist of French History, H. L. (Henk) Wesseling and his then young

i nt ro d u ct i o n

assistant H. W. (Wim) van den Doel, who later would be Wesseling’s successor. This led to the publication of a booklet in 1992, in which Heineken presented a visionary image of a new Europe. He coined it Eurotopia, in which the nation states were replaced by some seventy-five smaller entities.3 Such a conglomerate would prevent Europe from making the tragic, violent errors of the recent past. These ideas were — of course — not new. Before the Second World War, the Swiss cultural-theorist Denis de Rougemont had already become one of the non-conformist proponents of a Europe in which the national state would be less important. From the 1950s onwards, as director and founding father of the Centre Européen de la Culture, he expressed these thoughts even more strongly.4 De Rougemont was joined by scholars of all kinds, one of the first being the Austrian political philosopher, economist, and lawyer Leopold Kohr.5 To Kohr, who was one of the main inspirers of Heineken, the nation state as a concept had failed, because of its ambitions and its scale. In the field of economics Kohr was a proponent of the downsizing of institutions, and of regional autonomy. The step towards a reappraisal of the region as a dynamic organic structure however was not taken by him. The risk of nation and region becoming polarized or polarizing entities seems to have played a role at this point. Yet, important progress was made towards a ‘Europe of the regions’ especially since the Treaty of Maastricht, signed in February 1992.6 On the one hand, since the 1970s the creation of trans-border ‘Euroregions’ by the Council of Europe tried to mould new connections, sometimes by using old ones, and on the other hand in 1994 the European Committee of the Regions was created within the framework of the European Union to give existing local and regional interests a voice. At the same time, however, the nation state proves to have problems with accepting an in-between-position in which it has to cede and delegate power and authority to a higher level, and whilst also allowing regions their own domains of identity, interest, autonomy, or independence. That these same regions were and are the building blocks of the nation state, that some of them developed into nation states themselves, whereas others were incorporated in or divided by nation states, and consequently experience interdependence in different ways, becomes only clearer when looking at the historic tendencies of cohesion and disruption Regions indeed may be considered to have been the building blocks of territorial states, but at the same time they are in a sense contradictory to these states, since they mainly represent the less formalized spatial entities that, even when split up by the borders that were created over the last two centuries, may deny and defy these borders and continue to exist in a trans-border form. It is telling that the region is not a clear legal category. International law only manages to define people living in



3 Heineken, The United States of Europe (a Eurotopia?). 4 On his role see Saint-Ouen, Denis de Rougement et l’Europe des Régions. 5 Kohr, The Breakdown of Nations, p. 59. 6 For an early evaluation of this new course see Borrás-Alomar and others, ‘Towards a “Europe of the Regions”?’.

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Figure 0.1. Cover of the brochure by Heineken, showing the map of his regional Eurotopia. Image supplied by D. E. H. de Boer.

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regions as minorities. Yet, concurrently regional heritage has developed into being a distinct category in heritage policy with a manifest economic value, and is recognized as a factor in shaping regional identity.7 Consequently old regions receive new meaning through the recent awareness of the value of heritage, in some cases regional tradition is even (re)invented, and new regions are deliberately created, like the so-called Euroregions that enhance transnational cooperation and exchange. Sometimes such a region harks back to and draws on a historical predecessor. Examples of this include several regions of Eastern Europe and the Balkans (like Transylvania), the Eems-Dollard-region, that contains parts of North-west Germany and the North-eastern Netherlands that once belonged to larger Frisia — Frisia Magna —, the Euroregion Silesia, that evokes the historical Silesia, or the Euregione Tirolo-Alto Adige-Trentino, that that refers to its joined past from the high Middle Ages until the First World War. Most of the recent Euroregions, however, are newly created cross-border regions. Creating these regions has proven to be a difficult process, especially when the modern borders and the states that, during the last two centuries, developed on both sides of these borders have emphasized the separation and thus institutionalized and ideologized the differences and consequently have prevented or forbidden expressions of shared identity and cohesion. This most certainly has proven to be an obstacle to the development of cross-border regional alliances in Europe, especially if and when (supposed) ethnic aspects were involved. A better knowledge of the historical development of regions therefore seems to be an essential precondition for the development of a new regional policy. Too often the awareness of the origins of modern phenomena does not go back further than one or two generations, the Second World War, or ‘la Grande Guerre’, meaning one century at best. Major errors were made by the political decision-makers in the early 1990s when former Yugoslavia disintegrated. The political memory did not go further back than the Balkan Wars of the early twentieth century; meaning that the complex ethnic and religious past, which was firmly embedded in the collective memory of the component parts of the dissolving Balkan, was ignored. In particular, the virulent Serbian nostalgia for its (imagined) medieval roots was hardly understood. This led to a dramatic misjudgement of the dangers of regional tensions elevated to the level of national(ist) controversies. In spite of this need for a better understanding, the region as a historical phenomenon still lacks a clear conceptual framework. Not so much at the level of what in the German language so adequately is coined ‘geschichtliche Landeskunde’, that is principally the study of the history of institutionalized geographic spaces like the Federal States, as part of the German Federal Republic, or formal parts of these states, but at the level of the more fluid landscapes that could be, or could develop



7 Blank and Weijmer, ‘The Spatial Scales of Cultural Heritage’. Egberts, Chosen Legacies. Keating, The New Regionalism.

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into, territorial ‘look-alikes’ of their politicized or formalized counterparts, or could remain natural spaces, experienced through their cohesive potential. Regions in history could develop into stately entities, they could be devoured by them, or split up between them, but they could also deny or defy them. Regions are at the same time something and nothing, they can be small and large, ancient, recent, and even created. As a consequence of this, the notion ‘historical region’ is subject to a wide range of interpretations and approaches.8 An accepted definition of region in the field of historical geography is very open. It states that ‘historical regions …are geographic areas which at some point in time had a cultural, ethnic, linguistic, or political basis, regardless of present-day borders’.9 By including a political (or better institutional) raison d’être of the region, countries fit implicitly in with this definition. Yet, describing historical regions in this way detaches the region from the modern nation state and includes any historical (or even prehistorical) period in the concept. The diversity of approaches on the one hand stems from the different notions of region, and on the other from the obvious trend to monopolize the above-mentioned ‘point in time’ for the contemporary period. Size seems to be an important element of distinction, related to the functioning of a region as an area to which people can feel attached. Theoretically size should not be determining factor, as long as the cultural, ethnic, linguistic cohesion, and involvement are strong enough, but actually both physical and mental horizons play an important role. Regions thus can vary from micro-regional landscapes, via ‘meso-regions’ (often seen as larger than single state, like the ‘North Sea region’) to macro-regions (which are the much larger groupings of territories like Southeast Asia). For a long time, in historical research, at the point where ‘Landesgeschichte’ and regional history converge, ‘historical regions’ were equated with the ‘micro-regions’, that mainly got their shape during the medieval and early modern period. However — at least in Europe — in recent years the notion ‘historical region’ seems to become monopolized by contemporary historians describing the changes in territorial clustering at the level of meso-regions roughly since the First World War. In his introduction to the special issue on ‘Geschichtsregionen’ (historical regions) of the European Review of History, Stefan Troebst made interesting methodological remarks in this context. Yet, that issue confined itself to Central Europe. Most relevant in relation to the awareness of the historical dynamics of regions is his reference to the German historian of geography Hans-Dietrich Schulz and his opinion that ‘spaces do not simply exist, spaces are produced’.10 This statement comes very close to the wording of the eminent Finnish social geographer Anssi

8 See also the introduction in Ellis and Michailidis, Regional and Transnational History in Europe, pp. 1–10. 9 Kotlyakov and Komarova, Elsevier’s Dictionary of Geography, p. 332, entry 2781. 10 Troebst, ‘What’s in a Historical Region’, pp. 186–187, referring to the title of one of Schultz’ publications: ‘Räume sind nicht, Räume warden gemacht’.

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Paasi, who in 2009 summarized his ideas on regions as: ‘regions are institutional structures and processes that are perpetually “becoming” instead of just “being”’.11 Interesting as these concepts are, they require a fundamental analysis of regions as predecessors of, and alternatives to nations, or as their successors, or as the nations ‘new style’. We are in need of a better understanding of the awareness of regions, and the attachment to regions of what we tend to call the ‘stakeholders’ of regions, and of the dynamics that kept regions together, made them fall apart or had them devoured by or split up between nations over time.12

New Historical Approaches to Regions For this reason in 2008 a proposal for a programme analysing the historical development of regions was submitted within the then existing EUROCORESscheme of the European Science Foundation to enhance, from a historical basis, a multidisciplinary comparative analysis of regions. EUROCORES was an acronym for EUROpean COllaborative RESearch. The EUROCORES-scheme aimed at opening new horizons in science, and at enhancing synergy at a pan-European level by providing a framework to bring together national research funding organizations and supporting interdisciplinary research in non-traditional areas. The proposal was positively received and consequently granted as the programme EUROCORECODE (European Comparisons in Regional Cohesion, Dynamics and Expressions), the main purpose of which was to create a better understanding of the ways in which regional cohesion developed within a changing European context. The time frame would be the long period, starting roughly in the twelfth century, when sources of different kinds become increasingly available, up to modern times. The object of research therefore was historical regions, and the keyword in understanding their development and character was ‘cohesion’, instead of the, at the time, dominant ‘identity’. Identity, identity-markers, and identity-carriers were considered to be essential elements of the dynamics and expressions of regions, next to other constituent elements of regional cohesion, such as dialect and language, religion, historical geography, ethnogenesis, invented tradition, material culture, economy, political institutions, dynastic (dis)continuity. Consequently the call for project-proposals within the programme — issued in 2009 — allowed a wide range of disciplinary and methodological approaches. The main ‘disadvantage’ of the ESF-construction was that formal participation to the programme was restricted to researchers from countries whose funding agencies had committed to support the programme. This excluded, among others, research institutes and individual researchers from Spain, Great Britain, Germany, France

11 For a more detailed discussion of the different approaches to regions, see the first chapter of this volume. 12 For a nice example of the application of the notion of stakeholders in a historical context see: Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles’.

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and Italy, and consequently complicated the inclusion of regions that completely or partially are situated in these countries: such as the Savoy-Piemonte, the Trentino, Catalunia, and the Welsh or Scottish Marches. In a few cases a solution was found by including an ‘associated partner’, through separate funding. As a result of the call, three Collaborative Research Projects (CRPs) were granted, with the short names CURE (the acronym for CUius REgio. An analysis of the cohesive and disruptive forces destining the attachment of groups of persons to and the cohesion within regions as a historical phenomenon), CULTSYMBOLS (for Symbols that Bind and Break Communities: Saints’ Cults as Stimuli and Expressions of Local, Regional, National and Universalist Identities) and UNFAMILIARITY (for Unfamiliarity as signs of European times: scrutinising historical representations of otherness and contemporary daily practices in border regions). In these three CRPs EuroCORECODE eighteen research projects from thirteen different countries across Europe were brought together. Shortly before the submission of the ESF-programme — and without mutual knowledge — another initiative in the field of the history of regions had been taken by a consortium, united within the EU-sponsored 6th Framework Network of Excellence CLIOHRES that started its work in June 2005, especially in the Thematic Work Group ‘Frontiers and Identities’. CLIOHRES was dedicated — according to its mission statement — to exploring how better knowledge and more widespread understanding of the history of Europe can contribute to building European citizenship. This led to the publication, in 2009, of the volume Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe. In their introduction to that volume Steven Ellis and Raingard Esser use a concept that comes close to ours, yet is less influenced by social geography: ‘region … is a geographical term, normally denoting a medium-size area, smaller than the whole. Politically, regions may constitute a unit of government, but their relationship with the centre is critical and frequently changes over time. And historically, regions may include erstwhile independent entities — kingdoms, duchies, or city republics — which have been absorbed into centralizing states, but are liable to change their allegiance if central authority weakens’.13 The first chapter in that volume by Miroslav Hroch is devoted to the way in which history played a role in (re)constructing regional memory.14 This approach comes close to the backbone of the present volume. He, however, focusses on the evident truth that a study of the processes of regionalization requires an awareness of the historical dimension of regionality. Hroch makes valuable observations on the differences and similarities between national and regional history, the existence of different types and sizes of regions, and the transformation of regional identity (c.q. history) to national identity. Yet the overall emphasis, both in his contribution and in the CLIOHRES-volume, seems to lie in the way in which the changes during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries affected regions and regional historiography. Hence the main differences with this volume are visible. Firstly, there is the temporal

13 Ellis and Esser, ‘Introduction’. 14 Hroch, ‘Regional Memory’.

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difference that this volume is concerned with aspects of historiography from the twelfth through the nineteenth centuries. Secondly, the present volume tries more explicitly to follow the way in which historiographers of different regions during different periods created their own history. As well as a difference in approach, a difference in the geographical setting can be seen. In that sense the present volume may be considered even complementary to the CLIOHRES-volume, as a result of the selection of projects and partners in the EUROCORECODE-programme.

Regional Dynamics in EUROCORECODE The three collaborative research projects, granted within EUROCORECODE, contributions from which are included in this volume, all approached aspects of the diachronic dynamics of regions in their own way. The Cuius Regio project studied eight regions of different sizes, locations and compositions all over Europe, in order to analyse the forces that positively or negatively influenced the cohesion of these regions over time, with special attention for the ways in which (groups of) persons experienced, expressed, and changed their relations with the region. This approach allowed for many different aspects to be included as test-criteria for cohesion (varying from geography to religion, language to elites, etc.). The selected regions were: 1. The Guelders-Lower Rhine region, 2. Portugal as an ‘Iberian’ region, 3. The former ‘Livonia’ (German: ‘Livland’), now part of Estonia and Latvia, 4. Transylvania as the only Balkan-region included in the project, with the largest linguistic, religious, and political variety of the project, 5. Silesia and Upper Lusatia as a combined region at a point where three modern states share borders, 6. The Bohemian-Luxemburg crown lands as a ‘virtual region’ composed of different, even partially scattered, territories, 7. The Danish-German border-marshes, 8. Catalonia as a second ‘Iberian’ region, but with a Southern-French connection, and a fate completely different from Portugal. For the analysis of these regions a general questionnaire was developed to enhance the comparative approach to regional history, structured according to five thematic groups: a. Environment, nature & landscape; b: Institutions, administrations & actors; c: Social & economic structures and relations; d: Ethnicity & languages, and e: Self-identification and expression.15 A second methodological element was the selection of a range of benchmark moments (B) and formative periods (F). The benchmark moments were short periods (c. fifty years), chosen from general European history, and offering a common background, and representing a general dynamic that influenced (not necessarily in the same way) all or at least a majority of the regions of Cuius Regio. The formative periods could be chosen before, between, and after the benchmark moments, to reflect moments or periods of special interest for the (dis) integration of the individual regions. These benchmark moments were: 1. 1325–1375,

15 The full questionnaire is published as an appendix to Boer and others, eds, The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities.

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2. 1525–1575, 3. 1775–1825, (4. 1900–1950); the fourth of which was meant as a point of reference. The Cultsymbols project described its object of research as symbols that bind and break communities. These saints’ cults were the stimuli and expressions of local, regional, national, and universalist identities. In this project, questions concerning regional identity and cohesion were looked at through the prism of the veneration of saints, as one of the major socio-cultural phenomena that all over Europe permeated society, and affected all aspects of medieval and early modern life. On the one hand, saint cults were universal within the Christian world, and they represent as such trans- or supra-regional identities. On the other hand, local and regional cults and venerations could be important carriers of regional identity. This collaborative project was innovative in investigating the significance of saints in the interactive context of regional and trans-regional identities. It consisted of five self-contained, interrelated subprojects focusing on different European regions or spheres, and overlapping but different periods, altogether spanning the Middle Ages, the early modern, and modern periods. The first subproject studied the visual representation of saints from the twelfth until the sixteenth centuries, especially in Central Europe. Central themes included closeness, distance, identification, and identity. In other words, how saints (re)presented model lifestyles, and how they helped people identify with various types of community. The second subproject concentrated on medieval and early modern Livonia (c. 1200–c. 1700), and examined how the venerations that came with the conquest by the Teutonic Order (Virgin Mary) and the commercial domination of the Hanseatic League (esp. St Nicholas) prevented the emerging of local saints. In the third subproject identity-related aspects of saints’ offices (historiae) from the ninth century until the Reformation (and beyond) were explored. A comparison of the different ‘political’ meanings given to various cults/offices in history was used to trace (expressions of) local identities. Musicological analysis was an important tool to uncover indications of political meanings in melodies. The fourth subproject focused on interactions between centre and periphery, between the medieval Latin culture and regional interests, political and cultural agendas, with an emphasis on East Central Europe. Next to hagiography, miracle narratives (esp. healing), sermons, visual representations, and public ceremonies were included in the analysis, resulting in a systematic overview of the contribution of saints’ cults to the constitution of local, regional, and national identities. The Unfamiliarity project covered the last two centuries of European development, focusing on the deconstruction of borders and on cross-border unfamiliarity in the European Union. Through an analysis of historical representations of otherness and contemporary daily practices in border regions the project aimed to find out what cross-border unfamiliarity means, how its experience changed during the course of time, how this experience still influences contemporary cross-border behaviour and why — uncovering historical explanations — experiences have changed and behaviour is influenced. The project focused on an analysis of practices in the daily life of inhabitants in different ‘old’ and ‘new’ inner, as well as ‘new’ outer, cross-border regions across the EU. The region and regional cohesion consequently were studied here in a specific way, in which the daily life of the inhabitants of the region is considered to express representations of cross-border unfamiliarity and (re)producing mental borders — generating either international mobility or

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immobility. All individual subprojects had a distinct comparative element. The first project analysed feelings of unfamiliarity along the Dutch-German, German-Polish and Polish-Ukrainian borders in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries through a study of cross-border shopping practices and historical representations of the counterpart on the other side of the border. The second focused on labour mobility across changing borders. Again stretching through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries it studied the influence of phenomena of familiarity and unfamiliarity on patterns of labour mobility across the Danish-German, Slovenian-Italian, and Slovenian-Croatian borders. The third project had ‘media-scapes’ and relative (un) familiarity in the Finnish-Russian and the Finnish-Estonian contexts as its subject, to gain a better understanding of Cross-border Cooperation Practices. Finally the fourth project, titled Scars of History?, studied the cultural construction of Dutch and Belgian Limburg as a cross-border-region in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In all three collaborative projects, however differing in approach, method and period, history, and historiography were a common denominator. It seemed therefore proper to devote a volume to different ways in which regions were looked upon by historians in the past, and how historiography contributed to creating regional identity. Instead of writing the history of regions, this volume is about the history of regional historiography as instrumental in moulding the region.

Regions and Historical Reflection Regions, like so many other aspects of human society and civilisation, are at least in part the products of historical reflection, and at the same time they create historical reflection themselves. The awareness of living as a distinct (not necessarily united) population, or conglomerate of groups, as the sum of multiple networks, in a distinct (not necessarily stable) area, the character of which is recognized both by those living in that area, and those outside that area, has become a creative force in itself, when expressed in historiographic writing. As part of the regional identity, the existence of a collective past, be it as an invented tradition, or as a carefully kept registration of events, played an essential role. Historiography, as a means to confirm or create collective memory, could contribute to creating or destroying, making or breaking communities. If this is already a truism for nations and their identities, as imagined communities, since the epoch-making work of Benedict Anderson,16 this is even more so for regions and regional identities. Over the centuries, historiography in many different forms became an important vehicle to create, articulate, and express the existence, awareness, and characteristics of Europe’s regions. Be it the histories of noble families that were important stakeholders in a region, be it urban histories describing the developing urban networks through which regions could function, be it dynastic histories emphasizing the relation between ruler and region, or hagiographies describing holy men and women, and venerations of saints as focal 16 Anderson, Imagined Communities.

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points within regions, all of them represented and reflected identities within a well understood spatial and/or mental sphere. Analysing the historiographic tradition therefore can help us to understand the way in which regions were seen from within and from without, and to understand the patterns and dynamics of regional cohesion. Moreover it sheds light on the dialectic of nation and the region and the relation between the regional spheres and the wider (inter)national sphere. Therefore, if we want to understand the nature and dynamics of regions, we have to look at the way in which they are represented in the mirror of historiography, in Clio’s looking glass, and to wonder how the role of historiography in relation to the regions changed over time, and differed according to the historiographic genre. This is the aim of this volume. This book therefore opens with a chapter by the editors, in which they — departing from the idea of regions as time-space-constructions — use the treatment of regions and provinces by the thirteenth-century author Bartholomeus Anglicus as an exemplary introduction to the debate on regions, and the way in which the discourse of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries is in debt to social and historical geographers. After a further elaboration on regional consciousness and regions as construct, this introductory chapter emphasizes that historiography as a condensation of collective memory can be used as a valid touchstone to gauge the region, in spite of the fact that historians in the past seldom described the region as we understand it. To trace regions in Clio’s looking glass, it is necessary to investigate different types of historiography and their application in different periods to acquire a better understanding of how they define and reflect the development of regions. This is what the ten contributions in the two sections of this volume aim to do. The two sections seemingly only reflect a chronological subdivision, yet also represent a clear shift of interest and of approach. In the first section the authors deal with the expressions of regional identity in medieval and early modern historiographical sources, whereas the second section presents examples of the creation of regional identity in nineteenth-century historiography. Jana Fantysová-Matějková describes in her chapter the way in which a Bohemian identity was expressed in medieval historiographic narrative, starting with the Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, which was the chronicle of Bohemia, written between 1119 and 1125 by Kosmas, dean of the Saint Vitus chapter in Prague. Following Kosmas’ work, its later versions and its influence, Dr Fantysová-Matějková unravels the medieval discourse on the origin and nature of Bohemia and its inhabitants. She shows how, finally, language became a key element in defining the Bohemian identity, and thus effectuating the regional or even national cohesion. In his contribution on the regional identity of Silesia, Przemysław Wiszewski sketches the development of the territorial entity that we learned to identify as Silesia, also from the twelfth century onward, showing that the roots for such a notion reach back at least to the ninth century. In the development of Silesia as a historical notion, remarkably enough not only did historiography play a constituent role, but also the negative effects of a lack — or at least gap — in the contemporary historiography of the high Middle Ages can be observed in the case of the bishopric of Wrocław. This, in fact, underlines the importance of collective memory as a creative force. Professor Wiszewski presents a wide range of historiographic narratives stemming

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from different layers, segments and ‘sub-regions’ of the society of south-west Poland during the Middle Ages and the early modern period. He clearly shows how different ‘stakeholders’, especially of institutional and dynastic nature, created their own versions of the region. This resulted in a lack of any notion of a ‘real’ Silesian region inhabited by a Silesian community. That concept would later on be constructed under Habsburg rule. In their chapter Lenka Bobková, Petr Hrachovec and Jan Zdichynec exclusively look at the urban historiography when analysing the development of regional identity and cohesion in Upper Lusatia, the region in between the two described in the previous chapters. Their survey of the historiographic tradition of three important towns takes us mainly into early modern times, between sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, and shows how regional awareness of urban elites was shaped and mirrored in connection to the major events, with special importance of the origins and foundations of the towns, and the relations with different rulers. This served mainly to formulate the urban identity within a clear geographic context. The chapter written by Job Weststrate deals with the dynamics of the present Dutch-German border region, once composed of several principalities of different sizes, which is considered to be one larger historical Kulturraum, a geographical area that shared relatively homogeneous cultural traits, in this case especially language and literature. Within this Rhine-Meuse area the author traces the development of regional awareness as expressed in the historiography of the duchies of Guelders and to a lesser extent Cleves, from the mid-fifteenth century to the second half of the seventeenth century. Around 1650, there were major political transformations, as the result of the Eighty Years’ War or Dutch Revolt and the Thirty Years’ War, which had a severe impact on the once so manifest unity of the region. Weststrate shows — mainly concentrating on the richer source material of Guelders — how in the historiography of Guelders the notion of the people of Guelders as the bearers of a territorial consciousness gradually gained weight, especially during the sixteenth century. This was clearly the result of the influence of humanist writers, who became detached from the dominant dynastic twist of histories. In doing so these writers laid emphasis on the land, its inhabitants, and the nature of both, thus creating an image of a region with its specific identity. A region, however, that was turning into a province of the newly founded Republic of the Netherlands. A political reality that could not be denied. The humanist intellectual climate of the Netherlands in the early sixteenth century offered the context in which the Romanian scholar and diplomat Nicolaus Olahus (1490–1568) was active as secretary to the widowed queen Mary of Hungary. During the dramatic 1530s, when Hungary itself was under threat of the Ottomans, Olahus wrote his Hungaria et Athila. Cornelia Popa-Gorjanu analyses the image given by Olahus of Transylvania as a region, and compares it with the work of two other contemporary scholars, Georg Reicherstorffer and Antonius Verancsics. Here again we find an emphasis on the land, the natural conditions, and the inhabitants of the region, with a keen eye for the different origins of distinct groups within the population. All three authors presented an image of Transylvania as part of a larger description of Hungary and its components. These images attest to the identity of

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the region, yet — inevitably as in most other cases — are embedded in and part of a historiography that gave the region its place within the larger political framework. After these five chapters that share a clear image of the way in which regions as dynamic, less formal units derive their historical descriptions from wider, mainly political discourse, the five chapters of the second part of this book are devoted to a completely different phase in regional historiography: the creation of an image of the region and its identity during the rapid upsurge of the nation state of the nineteenth century. Nils Holger Petersen opens this section with an unconventional approach of the image and functioning of a region by looking at the veneration of saints. His starting point is the evidence that saints were, for different reasons, often evidently connected to the collective, cultural memory of a place and/or of a region. This means that they became identified with that place and the place was identified with them. Petersen analyses the way in which memory was created and used, on the basis of an example of the twelfth-century Danish saint Knut Lavard and his role and image in the nineteenth century, when the veneration in its medieval form had long ceased. Knut Lavard’s role as a Danish ‘icon’ thanks to his role as a ‘regional saint’ came to be served as a ‘coat hook’ (our words, not Petersen’s) for Danish identity. A comparison with the Norse saint Olav shows interesting differences. Whereas literary imagination, especially in the form of the tragedy Knud Lavard published by Balthasar Bang in 1807, and his use of historiography, was an important source for the analysis by Petersen; Linda Kaljundi and Aivar Põldvee include nineteenth-century visual imagination in their treatment of the development of the regional discourse in the Baltic area of the modern Baltic states. In their case it all has to do with real images: the ones in the two volumes of an album of historical engravings by a Baltic German artist Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell (1795–1846). Von Maydell published his titled Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der Deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Rußlands (Fifty Pictures from the German Baltic Provinces of Russia) in 1839 and 1842. The way in which he told history through images with textual explanations gave it a dominant place in a discourse that was both influenced by conflicting historical identities (of the ‘colonial’ German part of the population and the innate FinnishEstonian part), and characterized by a tendency to intertwine these identities. This discourse was heavily marked by the work of the ‘Baltic enlightener’, Garlieb Helwig Merkel (1769–1850), and his two major historical publications Die Letten (1796) and Die Vorzeit Lieflands (1798). The careful nature of this discourse — which remains relevant in the present day — shows how the notion of a regio as reflected in its historiography may vary according to the ‘stakeholders’ that produce this historiography. In Michael Brengsbø’s contribution we are presented with a clear case study, focusing on the question why and how in the revolutionary year 1848, contrary to what one might expect, a common regional identity seemed to overshadow traditional ideological, political, and social antagonisms. After sketching the history of the region as a ‘long-term factor’, the author describes the events of the (temporary) fall of the Danish absolute monarchy in March 1848 and what followed as ‘short-term factors’. The discussion focused on the question of whether Schleswig should join the young

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German Federation. Here historiography and historical awareness of the cohesion of the region played a decisive role in preventing a division of Schleswig and preserving a deeply rooted feeling of togetherness. The awareness of the region in the case of Catalonia in recent years has found fierce expressions and opposition. Flocel Sabaté in his chapter describes how in the discourse of the nineteenth century the ideas of the medieval origins were subject to ideologically coloured presentations and interpretations of historical events dictated by the political preferences of that age. The nineteenth century ‘invented’ different medieval Catalonias and their origins. Depending on which interests were served, this led to partly complementary but also partly contradictory visions of the Catalan past. Anyway, during the last quarter of the nineteenth century the selective consultation and interpretation of the — nonetheless rich — archival documents created a historical narrative focusing on the cohesion of Catalonia from a very early moment in the ninth century. Renewed analysis however shows that this alleged cohesion only started in the twelfth century. In his detailed analysis of historiography, Sabaté shows that the images created in the nineteenth century have, until recently, had a very strong influence, but that in the last decades new progress has been made towards a re-evaluation of the medieval past of Catalonia. His call for a more accurate understanding of the past in itself is very convincing, and seems even more important in the turbulent political debate of today. Catalonia as an Iberian region within a larger national state, is comparable in a sense to Portugal as an Iberian region that itself became a nation state. In the last chapter Ad Knotter investigates what he calls the ‘invention of Limburg’. He means in this case the modern Dutch province of Limburg, which in fact, historically, is part of a much larger ‘Limburgish’ area, since 1839 split up by Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands. Departing from the assumption that it is difficult to imagine an argument that there is a special regional character, culture, or even ethnos of this smaller Limburg which has its origin in the past, he tries to explain how such regional awareness nevertheless developed. Knotter argues that it was precisely because the newly created province was progressively integrated into the Dutch nation state during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that such a development occurred. In doing so, he once again looks at the different notions of region that are the recurring theme in this volume, and looks at the way cohesion and identity were and are created. Therefore, he describes the historical events of what he calls a ‘geopolitical anomaly’ and emphasizes the role of the Catholic Church as the creator of regional unity. Apart from this an economically inspired militant regionalism also developed in the 1920s. From 1850 onward, writing the history of the created territory had already became part of the growing regional awareness, too often projecting characteristics, ascribed to the province, backwards in time. Yet, in the end, the construction of a regional identity in Limburg was mainly a case of negative integration: the identity and cohesion of the region took shape in opposition to ‘Holland’. Through the diversity of topics, periods, and areas involved, these contributions together embody an important, common aspect of the encompassing Eurocorecode-

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programme. They illustrate how both regions as a phenomenon, and historiography of regions are dynamic social concepts, in constant interaction with the institutionalized, politicized territorial concepts. Studying these concepts is an important means to understand these dynamics.

Works Cited Secondary Studies Anderson, Benedict, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 2006; first edition 1983) Bisaz, Corsin, The Concept of Group Rights in International Law: Groups as Contested RightHolders, Subjects and Legal Persons (Leiden: Brill, 2012) Blank, Ylva and Malin Weijmer, ‘The Spatial Scales of Cultural Heritage: National, European and Regional Heritage Policy’, Nordisk Kulturpolitisk Tidskrift, 12.2 (2009), 55–83 Boer, Dick E. H. de, Nils Holger Petersen, Bas Spierings, and Martin van der Velde, eds, The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe (Bern: Peter Lang, forthcoming) Borrás-Alomar, Susana, Thomas Christiansen, and Andrés Rodríguez-Pose, ‘Towards a “Europe of the Regions”? Visions and Reality from a Critical Perspective’, Regional Politics and Policy, 4.2 (1994), 1–27 Egberts, Linde, Chosen Legacies: Heritage in Regional Identity (London: Routledge, 2017) Ellis, Steven G., and Raingard Esser, ‘Introduction: Frontiers and Regions in Comparative Perspective’, in Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe, ed. by Steven G. Ellis and Raingard Esser (Pisa: Edizioni Plus, 2009), pp. xiii–xxii Ellis, Steven G., and Iakovos Michailidis, eds, Regional and Transnational History in Europe: A Cliohworld Reader (Pisa: Plus-Pisa University Press, 2011) Heineken, Alfred H., The United States of Europe (a Eurotopia?) (Amsterdam: De Amsterdamse Stichting voor de Historische Wetenschap, 1992) Hroch, Miroslav, ‘Regional Memory: Reflections on the Role of History in (re) constructing Regional Identity’, in Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe, ed. by Steven G. Ellis and Raingard Esser (Pisa: Edizioni Plus, 2009), pp. 1–14 Keating, Michael, The New Regionalism in Western Europe: Territorial Restructuring and Political Change (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 1998) Kohr, Leopold, The Breakdown of Nations (London: Routledge, 1957) with many reprints and editions in several languages Kotlyakov, Vladimir M., and Anna I. Komarova, Elsevier’s Dictionary of Geography: In English, Russian, French, Spanish, German (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006) Langerwerf, Lydia, ‘“Many are the wonders in Greece”: Pausanias the Wandering Philosopher’, in Recognizing Miracles in Antiquity and Beyond, ed. by Maria Gerolemou (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), pp. 305–27 Markusse, Jan, ‘Transborder Regional Alliances in Europe: Chances for Ethnic Euroregions?’, Geopolitics, 9 (2004), 649–73

i nt ro d u ct i o n

Nagy, Gregory, Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990) Pratt, Jeff, ‘Commentary: Economic Change, Ethnic Relations and the Disintegration of Yugoslavia’, Regional Studies, 34 (2000), 769–75 Saint-Ouen, François, Denis de Rougemont et l’Europe des Régions (Genève: Fondation Denis de Rougemont pour l’Europe, 1993) (numerous reprints) Schultz, Hans-Dietrich, ʻRäume sind nicht, Räume werden gemacht. Zur Genese ʻMitteleuropas’ in der deutschen Geographie’, Europa Regional, 5 (1997), 2–14 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), 24–35 Todorova, Maria, ‘Spacing Europe: What is a Historical Region?’, East Central Europe, 32 (2005), 59–78 Troebst, Stefan, ‘What’s in a Historical Region? A Teutonic Perspective’, European Review of History, 10 (2003), volume 2, special edition ‘Geschichtsregionen. Concept and Critique’, 173–88

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Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca

Regions and Historiography Reflections on the Ways in which Different Types of Historiography Shaped and Changed Regional Identity

As specified in the introduction, stemming from the programmatic context of the Eurocorecode-programme, the content of this book aims to reflect on the notion of a region from a historiographical point of view. The ways in which regions were and are presented in historiography through the ages, how they were experienced, expressed and in some cases obscured over time, are followed through a set of ten specific cases. The different analyses show how difficult and at the same time useful it is to apply a general notion of regions, departing from the same conceptual basis. They also demonstrate the necessity of a multi-facetted approach over time and space. Once studies like these have been made in sufficient numbers, only then the next step of comparing these developments can be made. For now, it is all about exploring the essential dynamics. In most of the case-studies presented in this volume, there is not one but several historiographical points of view under discussion. The first one looks at how authors expressed their awareness of the character and nature of regions and looked back on the origins of these, when facing a constant clustering, transformation, and/or repositioning of regions during the process of the territorialization of power, and gradual formalization of territories. This is, more or less, connected with a view from within, i.e. the writing of history by, on behalf of, or for the benefit of (groups of) inhabitants of regions, sharing regional identity. These can be seen as stakeholders, when using the notion developed in management theory, as applied by social and Dick E. H. de Boer  •  is professor emeritus of Medieval History at the University of Groningen (Netherlands). He was director of the Netherlands Research School for Medieval Studies, and co-founder and the first academic director of CARMEN (Cooperative for the Advancement of Research through a Medieval European Network). He was the initiator and the main researcher responsible for the development of the EUROCORECODE-programme. Luís Adão da Fonseca  •  is professor emeritus of Medieval History at the University of Porto (Portugal). He was president of the scientific council of the Centro de Estudos da População, Economia e Sociedade, and has served as a visiting professor in the universities of Navarra, São Paulo, Johns Hopkins (Baltimore), and EHSS (Paris). Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adão da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 33–66 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121486

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human geographers.1 Both these viewing-directions are connected with the search for identity. Another approach is how authors created histories of regions regarding dynasts who ruled the regional conglomerates that developed into larger power blocks, and finally, into nation states. They represent the need to legitimize the position of the region in, or the transformation into a formalized territory. In all senses, it is evident that historiography plays an essential role in the expression of identity/identities and in the (de)construction of regional cohesion. At the same time, it is clear that regional awareness cannot be separated from other identities (nation, state, frontier, otherness, and so on). Regional consciousness, awareness of ‘identitarian space’, is at all times shaped by a discourse which cannot fail to be historiographical. This is the most profound meaning of the discourse of this chapter, and of this volume as a whole: regions are ‘time-space-constructions’. Consequently, the cases presented in this volume represent various methodological and heuristic approaches, which, as a whole, aim at contributing to a better definition and understanding of the concept of region, seen through different historical lenses. This chapter offers a preliminary set of reflections about different types of historiography shaping and mirroring regional identities, and treats some basic notions of regions. It starts with the thirteenth-century author Bartholomeus Anglicus who in his work used — implicitly — a concept of region as a special phenomenon with the emphasis on social, economic, and cultural characteristics, together with geophysical and natural features. This is followed by a short survey of modern approaches, referring to notions expressed already in the introduction and in reaction to the dynastic and national paradigms that too often dominate this discourse. Consequently, we will be discussing some definitions of region, and to what degree other scholarly disciplines, especially social geography, have been piloting a deeper understanding of regions. Adding the historiographical dimension to their approaches may offer an improved comprehension of the nature of the modern region, whereas applying their approaches to historical research offers a better discernment of the historical region. In doing so, we are treating problems of size, ethnicity, and the shaping of territories, before turning to the different ‘looking glasses’ of the muse of history, Clio. These paragraphs also underpin the conceptualization for the ten contributions, to enable them to focus on the content, intentions, and effect of the different types of historiography. In the last paragraph before the conclusion, having established the region as a non-ethnie, we shall give a short survey of the types of historiographical texts that — especially in the medieval and early modern periods and consequently partly returning in several contributions — offer the building blocks for our understanding of regions as a historical and historiographical phenomenon.



1 See for instance Terlouw and Gorp, ‘Layering Spatial Identities’.

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De regionibus Before delving into the discourse on regions, we will look at the meaning and understanding of this notion in the high Middle Ages, by taking an example from a highly influential text. Several years before 1260 (probably between 1242 and 1247), the Franciscan friar Bartholomeus Anglicus († 1272) compiled his De Proprietatibus Rerum in Magdeburg where in 1231 he had become lecturer at the Franciscan studium.2 In this encyclopaedic work, he devoted book XV to De regionibus et provinciis; his survey including many regions of the ‘old’ world, from well-known regions like Aquitaine to the mythical Ethiopian region of Trog(l)odia, where the Troglodites lived on an island. Not only did the Latin text become a huge success, but translations into many languages appeared and later printed editions also contributed to the reception of the rich content of De Proprietatibus Rerum. Before 1309, an abridged Italian version had already been written by the Mantuan notary Vivaldo Belcalzer for his lord, the local capitaneo Guido dei Bonacolsi.3 In the 1370s, shortly after another, a French and an English version were produced by the Augustinian monk Jean Corbechon for the French king Charles V, and by the vicar of Berkeley, John Trevisa, for the duke of Berkeley respectively.4 Thanks to the wide manuscript proliferation in Latin and many vernacular languages, and later on the many printed versions, De Proprietatibus Rerum is considered to be by far the most influential of medieval encyclopaedias and consequently his concept of regions has had a long-lasting influence. In full accordance with medieval tradition, Bartholomeus not only used many older ‘authorities’, but he added also recent information and moulded most of his entries not as political or dynastic territorial entities, but as descriptions of landscape, environment, population, and habits. In short, he offered his readers indeed — as his headings (or those later attributed to his text) confirm — not realms but regions, some of his provinces equalling the subdivisions of the religious orders, called provincia or (with the Premonstratensians) circaria.5 In a Europe where the development towards the nation was still in its infancy, the nation state was still an unknown perspective. The capricious changes of dynastic fate could still rapidly make and break overlordships and the territories ruled by them; this obviously was the best way to present an overview of the human geography when avoiding politicized entities.

2 Keen, The Journey of a Book, p. 7. On Bartholomeus’ work also: Meyer, Die Enzyklopädie des Bartholomäus Anglicus. 3 Keen, The Journey of a Book, 88, unfortunately with the wrong date and spelling of Bonacolsi (who died in January 1309). Better information, however, was only available in Dutch and in relation to the first Dutch printed edition, given in Bogaart, Geleerde kennis in de volkstaal, pp. 41–44. 4 On Corbechon: Ribémont, ‘Jean Corbechon, un traducteur encyclopédiste’. On Trevisa and his translation: Lidaka, ‘John Trevisa and the English and Continental Traditions’. Sadly enough, a modern edition of the full Latin text is still lacking; recently, however, several editions of versions in the vernacular are published: e.g., John De Trevisa: On the Properties of Things (ed. Seymour), and Le Livre des propriétés des choses (ed. Ribémont). 5 Berg, ‘Ordensprovinz’; Schwaiger, Mönchtum, pp. 360–62, 370.

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Figure 1.1. Leaf showing the start of book XV in the 1447 manuscript of the French translation of De Proprietatibus Rerum by Jean Corbechon. As the text does, the image focuses on nature, the man-made environment, and the means of life. Amiens, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS 399, fol. 166r. Reproduced with permission.

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Written and oral tradition, transmitted knowledge, and personal observation came together in Bartholomeus’ work. Originally an Englishman, his studies brought him possibly to Oxford and certainly to Paris. His ecclesiastical career covered Saxony, Bohemia, Poland, and the Carpathians. Consequently knowing the old world through both texts and personal observation, and trusting his sources was the normal scholarly attitude. For the Iberian Peninsula, Bartholomeus relied fully on authors like Isidore of Seville, Pliny the Elder, and Orosius, and he presented Portugal — in line with Ptolemy’s division of that part of Europe — as a subdivision of the Iberian region of Lusitania (which he elsewhere equates with Portugal). Many of his descriptions are concise, the lemma Holland, however, is much more elaborate and reflects a closer familiarity. In eloquent prose, Bartholomeus gives a short description of landscape and population: Est Hollandia … quedam provincia modica, sita iuxta hostia Reni, ubi mare intrat, Brabancie contigua a meridie, vicina Frisie ab oriente, Occeano Brittanico coniuncta ab aquilone.6 Inferiori Gallie Belgice est propinqua, atque Flandrie ab occidente. Est autem terra palustris et aquosa fere ad modum insule, undique maris brachiis atque Reni fluminis circumfusa, habens lacus et stagna multa et pascua valde bona et ideo armatis, pecudibus et iumentis est referta. Eius gleba in locis pluribus est valde frugifera et in pluribus etiam nemorosa, multas et utiles habens venaciones, in plurimis etiam est bituminosa, ex qua formatur materia apta at ignium nutrimenta. Et est terra diviciis, que transeunt per mare et flumina, plurimum opulenta. Cuius civitas capitalis Traiectum Inferius nuncupatur in latino. Utrecht vero dicitur in ydiomate Germanico. Nam ad Germaniam pertinet quoad situm, quoad mores, quoad dominium et eciam quoad linguam. Cuius gens elegans est corpore, robusta viribus, audax animo, venusta facie, honesta moribus, devota Deo, fida hominibus et pacifica, minus predis intendens quam alie Germanie naciones. (Holland is a certain small province, situated near the mouths of the Rhine, where it enters the sea, stretching until Brabant in the south, neighbouring Frisia in the east, connected with the British Ocean in the north and near Flanders at the west side. It is a marshy and watery land, almost like an island, at all sides surrounded by arms of the sea and the river Rhine, and it has many lakes and ponds, and very good meadows, and consequently is well provided with draught-animals, cattle and pack-animals. Its soil is at most places very fertile and at many places wooded, having many useful types of game. At most places the soil contains inflammable material, out of which material is made to burn their hearths with.7 This land is very



6 The text is quoted from the version that around 1345 was included in the Chronographia by Johannis de Beke: J. de Beke, Chronographia, p. 9, which in itself demonstrates the early reception in the Low Countries. Around 1390, when a vernacular version of the Chronographia was made, consequently the first Middle Dutch version of this passage was produced, see: Boer, de, ‘Op weg naar volwassenheid’, esp. pp. 28–30. 7 This is a reference to peat-digging and – burning; ‘bituminosus’ cannot be read here as ‘containing asphalt’.

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opulent thanks to the rich merchandise that is transported by sea and river. Its capital city is called Traiectum Inferius in Latin, yet Utrecht in the German idiom, since it belongs to Germany as to situation, habits, dominion and even language. Its population has an elegant stature, robust powers, an audacious mind, a charming appearance, and honest manners, it is devout to God, faithful and peaceful to men, and is less inclined to robbery than other German nations.) Several aspects of Bartholomeus’ text deserve our attention. First of all, his description of the ‘province’ of Holland as such. The positioning vis-à-vis other regions has a geographical, instead of a political, meaning. Just like the ‘British Ocean’ — nowadays better known as the North Sea — Brabant, Flanders, and Frisia clearly are meant as geographical references, not as political entities. The fact that Holland is part of ‘Germany’ — not presented as the Holy Roman Empire — is only mentioned almost in passing and mainly as a geographical indication again. Only the use of the word dominium refers to Holland, indicating it was part of a power structure. The environmental characteristics, its natural resources, and the way they are exploited by the inhabitants are essential qualifications of the region. Finally, the description of the inhabitants of the region, using a telling choice of characteristics, relates to Holland’s social composition. Possibly the most interesting element is the positive comparison with ‘other German nations’ who in the eyes of this relative outsider (who, however, when moving from his country of origin — England — to Magdeburg, had become in a sense an insider) are more rapacious.8 Bartholomeus’ observation that the language of the region of Holland belonged to the Germanic language family is interesting, since precisely in the mid-thirteenth century Middle Dutch was rapidly developing from a variety of Middle Low German into a separate language.9 The most intriguing remark by Bartholomeus Anglicus, however, seems to be his statement that Utrecht was the capital city of Holland. This can be read either as a proof that he did not know what he was writing about, or that he was describing a greater Holland region, as understood by an outsider, instead of the county of Holland. This enforces the observation that he was indeed focusing on the landscape and its inhabitants, instead on the institutionalized political structure. He certainly did not and probably could not (depending on the moment of the conception of his text) include in his view of Holland the fact that on 3 October 1247 William II, count of Holland, was elected (anti-)king of the Holy Roman Empire, in opposition to the excommunicated Frederick II of Hohenstaufen.10 In the 1240s, the urban landscape of the region of Holland was emerging thanks to an active policy of its counts, who around 1200 had started to grant liberties.11 Dordrecht, at the time, was its main urban centre. Utrecht was the see of the bishop and the ‘capital’ of the



8 This fits well with the ethnic stereotypes, as they were established during that period, see: Weeda, Images of Ethnicity, esp. pp. 53–56 and 254. 9 Wal, van der, and Quak, ‘Old and Middle Continental West Germanic’, esp. p. 79. 10 Kaufhold, ʻDie Könige des Interregnum’. 11 Boer, de, ‘Op weg naar volwassenheid’; Boer, de, ‘The Creation and Failure of a Cohesion’.

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diocese of the same name, which included the county of Holland. Gradually region and county became synonymous, but Bartholomeus clearly chose to describe the former. The author thus was creating a ‘Holland-image’ in which geography, socio-cultural, and social-economic aspects were dominant and political structures and boundaries were hardly relevant. He therefore is presenting us with an interesting concept of region, in a text that can be considered to be historiographical in nature. Of course, since Pliny’s Naturalis Historia, the descriptions of nature and geography in an encyclopaedic setting are presenting the history of ‘creation’ in an Aristotelian way. Pliny’s writings heavily influenced the medieval concept of geography.12 Consequently, almost all medieval encyclopaedic treatises were a mixture of tradition, use of older authorities, and contemporary observations.13 In short, a region, in Bartholomeus’ presentation, is a territorial entity of undefined size, its character destined by its inhabitants, sharing their social composition, language, habits, and character, as well as their way of life and their particular exploitation of the natural resources. Moreover, any region derives its identity from its position vis-à-vis other regions. In other words, a region is a relational phenomenon, which is situated in a spatial context that in part can be known by what it is not, since its demarcations are offered by other regions. An interesting case of this relational dimension is the comparative case of Portugal and Catalonia in the Iberian world, described in a work edited by Luís Adão da Fonseca and Flocel Sabaté.14 The different contributions in that work consider the Iberian Peninsula on the periphery of which two regions of comparable size, Portugal and Catalonia, developed in two different ways. The former finally turning into a kingdom, later a nation state, the latter turning from region into principality, and from principality into province. The dynamics of the Catalan case, and the role played by historiography, are discussed further on in this volume by Sabaté. In Bartholomeus’ image formalized political and juridical demarcations and strict borders are of little or no importance. This comes close to the modern debate on regions, and the different ways regions are defined in the discourse of social geographers, anthropologists, political scientists and, last but not least, historians. Let us therefore turn to that discourse.

Debates on Regions The dynastic and the national paradigm are still predominant today how historians approach regions. When writing about regions — at least in the period often indicated as the Ancien Régime — historians are used to applying a territorial vocabulary, with an emphasis on the institutional and political shaping of the region through dynastic,

12 Dalché, ‘Principes et modes de la représentation de l’espace géographique’. 13 Franklin-Brown, Reading the World. 14 Sabaté and Fonseca, Catalonia and Portugal.

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monarchist, or in some cases republican forces and the integration of regions in nations and states. In an almost organic approach, regions represent the smaller ‘landscapes’ somewhere between town or village and the higher political levels. They may cluster into larger units, sometimes vanishing, or remaining ‘active’ as socio-cultural layers or sections within the larger entity.15 Regions are consequently an ‘in-between’ phenomenon, that hardly can be understood but through its politicized appearance, because of the simple fact that its appearance in the historical source material is mainly the result of the administration kept by its rulers. It is telling that in an otherwise excellent volume like Networks, Regions and Nations (2010) the concept of region is only very loosely used, and not problematized at all.16 In that volume, it seems to be mainly implicitly used as a synonym for one of the constituent parts (counties, duchies) of the Low Countries. The Network of Excellence CLIOHRES (‘Creating Links and Innovative Overviews for a New History Research Agenda for the Citizens of a Growing Europe’) within the ERC Sixth Framework Programme, executed by a group of forty-five universities, devoted a thematic workgroup to ‘Frontiers and identities’. Of the five volumes published by this workgroup, the fourth, Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe (2009), contains several very interesting contributions with reflections on the character and nature of regions, the role of history in (re)constructing regional identity, and perspectives of an agenda for a new regional history.17 In their preface to that volume, the two coordinators of the programme, Katherine Isaacs and Guᵭmundur Hálfdanarson rightly stated that the concepts of frontiers, borders, and identities are ‘complex, multi-layered and usually ambiguous’.18 They point to the fact that the word ‘region’, on the one hand, often indicates an imagined intermediate level between national governments and local communities. However, on the other hand, it may also refer to larger geographic areas, turning even Eurasia into a macro-region. Steven Ellis and Raingard Esser elaborate on this in their introductory chapter, giving a useful survey of the ways in which regions and regionality have become ‘hot’ at a European level. And they emphasize how academic research into regions has traditionally been strong for the medieval and early modern periods ‘when nation states were either absent or still in their political infancy’.19 Particularly with regard to the contemporary period, these authors emphasize some aspects that are worth mentioning here: 1. the importance of approaching the relationship between states and regions from a historical perspective and consequently applying the historical consciousness in the process of identity formation.

15 16 17 18 19

For an example, see: Boer, de, ‘The Creation and Failure of a Cohesion’. Stein and Pollmann, Networks, Regions and Nation. Ellis and Esser, eds, Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe. Ellis and Esser, eds, Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe, p. ix. Ellis and Esser, eds, Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe, p. xix.

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2. the fact that downgrading the (perceptions of) frontiers (in their social and cultural dimensions) calls in question traditional historiography, as linked to the nation state, and leads to a change in the social perception of alterity. 3. the awareness that — although ‘regions’ and ‘regionalism’ are increasingly present in the contemporary discourse — ‘the term itself still remains rather open-ended’. 4. the recognition that historians ‘have constructed regions as heuristic instruments to tackle specific research questions in search of facets of or counter-arguments against a national “master-narrative”’. 5. the conclusion that ‘the definition of a region not only differs in terms of the arena in which it is used, it also differs substantially in the understanding of historians, politicians, and the general public in the different countries of Europe (and outside Europe)’.20 A few years before the publication of the above-mentioned volume, Celia Applegate pointed at the hybrid character of the notion of ‘region’ when she wrote: For some, regions are ethnic and cultural units, for others, economic ones or geographical ones, and for yet others, they are simply political subdivisions of the nation-state.21 Isaacs and Hálfdanarson also stressed that regions are neither static nor clearly demarcated. In doing so, they implicitly emphasized the dynamic character of regions and the question of the cohesive forces at stake, which is the unifying theme in the Cuius Regio project,22 and has been borrowed from the discourse in the fields of social and human geography and anthropology. Let us therefore summarize some essential aspects of that discourse. In 1994, the German cultural anthropologists Beatrice Ploch and Heinz Schilling (the latter not to be confused with his historian namesake) strongly opted for the non-political essence of regions, when characterizing them as ‘landscapes of action, of meaning, and of experience’.23 The role of administrative, political boundaries in their view is of minor importance, and even the historical dynamics — although an undeniable factor in their example Hessen — was not considered to be a factor of continuous importance. Three years later, Hans-Dietrich Schultz, professor of historical geography of the Berlin Von Humboldt University, in an inspiring article, stressed the dynamic character of regions and of spaces as such, stating ‘Räume sind nicht, Räume werden gemacht’ (spaces are not, they are being made).24 He made his observation mainly in relation to the role of recent spatial entities in Central Europe, but it indeed has a general validity. In other words, spaces are constructed and deconstructed, and this applies especially to regions, understood as the spatial

20 21 22 23 24

Ellis and Esser, eds, Frontiers, Regions and Identities in Europe, pp. xiii–xxii. Applegate, ‘A Europe of Regions’, p. 1158. See also the introduction to the present volume. Ploch and Schilling, ʻRegion als Handlungslandschaft’. Schultz, ʻRäume sind nicht, Räume werden gemacht’.

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product of human networks. Most likely, this means that, nowadays, we cannot think about the historical region without taking into account the new perspectives opened by the ‘spatial turn’.25 Regions and their identity, the awareness of a region, and therefore its existence are created by their inhabitants through internal definition, and by outsiders through external definition. This approach, applied by historical geographers, social or human geographers, cultural geographers, anthropologists, etc., gradually is taking root in the minds of regional historians or historians of regions (which are not necessarily the same). Similarly, if we look at the size of the territorial entities studied, in the discourse on regions as a historical phenomenon, the emphasis for the larger part continues to be on what we — very subjectively — could identify as remaining between small and large. Below, we return to this aspect of regional research. In the functional sphere, the region seems to hover between the archaic predecessors of an organized society and the nation state. This is clearly the result of a manifest devaluation of regions and their past in the nineteenth century, when historiography glorified the nation state and created the need to depict the Middle Ages as dark and backward. Since then, the region has known periods of renewed appreciation and depreciation, depending of the shifts in political preferences in different countries and periods,26 until in the 1970s, regions and regionalism became important points on the European political agenda. Yet, in spite of all these changes, as a historical concept, the region is still stuck somewhere between ethnos and nation. We shall come back to that below as well. It is clear that some further exploration of the concept of region in other disciplines is necessary. The body of scholarly literature, especially in the field of social and human geography from which historians may usefully draw their interdisciplinary, methodological inspiration, is abundant, whereas at the same time the methodological advance in the historical field has been slow and meagre. When writing the history of regions, historians too often still seem to take the geographical framework for granted, without systematically asking themselves what made a spatial unit into a region, what distinguishes region A from region B, what kept regions together. In other words, what social and cultural processes shaped regions, and what changes took place over time? The development of regional identity is one of the factors at stake, but certainly not the only one. That is why in the Cuius Regio project ‘cohesion’ was used as the keyword to study regions, identity being one of the cohesive factors, next to — for instance — economic resources, geomorphology, internal or external political decision-making. We have tried connect to the debate, especially in the field of social or human geography, since that is where the discourse has been most

25 Kingston, ‘Mind Over Matter?’; Terian, ‘Constructing Transnational Identities’; Warf and Arias, eds, The Spatial Turn. 26 See the excellent survey in Applegate, ‘A Europe of Regions’, pp. 1160–64.

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productive over the last decades, and where the historical dimension of regions has been a point of discussion.27

Regions and Social Geography From the 1980s onward, social geographers have moved away from the deterministic search for ‘hard spatial laws’, and rediscovered the pluriformity and internal dynamics of the region.28 In 2003, the Finnish geographer Anssi Paasi, in a fundamental report, wrote that to his astonishment the concept of regional identity remained a ‘mushrooming but rarely analytically discussed category’, in spite of a renewed interest in regional identity in many disciplines (among which geography, cultural/economic history, literature, anthropology, political science, and sociology).29 Paasi has become one of the leading theoreticians in the field of social geography. In 1986, he published his first article with incitements for the development of a theoretical framework on regions and regional identity.30 Since then, he has developed a compelling view on regions and regionalism in many publications, strongly influenced by his understanding how the Finnish-Russian border regions developed.31 Although he concentrated in the above-mentioned report on processes of identification, the question what defines a region was raised by him too. An important problem he identified is that regional identity, when understood as identification, in many cases implies the assumption of homology between a portion of space, a group of people and a ‘culture’ (understood by him as the mental level of a society) to form a homogeneous community covering a particular bounded territory.32 This indeed is a problematic primordial approach that attributes ethnic qualities to regions, and disregards the functional role of diversity within regions. Paasi clearly prefers an approach in which the narratives (plural!) of identities are constructed as part of the ‘making of regions’, while he sees regions more as a discourse, as a historically contingent process, with a spatial expression or representation. In short, he sees regions as ‘time-space-constructions’.

27 See Freitag, ‘Landesgeschichte als Synthese’. 28 A concise summary of these changes is given in Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles for Local Interests’, pp. 25–27, and in the manual — so far only edited in Dutch — by a consortium of social geographers (among which Kees Terlouw) from the Universities of Amsterdam, Utrecht and Groningen: Pater and others, Denken over regio’s. 29 Paasi, ʻRegion and Place: Regional Identity in Question’, p. 475. 30 Paasi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions’. 31 Just to mention a few examples: Paasi, ‘Regional Planning and the Mobilization of “regional identity”’; Paasi, ‘The Resurgence of the “region” and “regional identity”’; Paasi and Zimmerbauer, ‘Theory and practice of the region’. And especially the trilogy Paasi, ‘Place and Region: Looking Through the Prism of Scale’; Paasi, ‘Region and Place: Regional Identity in Question’, and Paasi, ‘Place and Region: Regional Worlds and Words’. Paasi, ‘“Region” as a Social and Cultural Construct’. 32 Paasi, ʻRegion and Place: Regional Identity in Question’, p. 480. In Paasi’s concept the externalisation of that culture in tangible objects (including art, poetry, architecture, etc.) get little attention.

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In 2009, Paasi formulated this even more precisely: ‘Regions should be seen as complicated constellations of agency, social relations, and power. Regions are institutional structures and processes that are perpetually “becoming” instead of just “being”’. This is very much the same approach as the above-mentioned view of Hans-Dietrich Schultz: ‘Räume sind nicht, Räume werden gemacht’. Referring to an observation, made in a different context by Donaldson, Paasi added: ‘Regions are constructed and reconstructed in uneven ways that basically defy all assumptions of hierarchical scalar neatness and often reflect struggle around such themes as what are the identities and boundaries of these entities’.33 Gradually this approach over the last decades has been adopted by regional historians as well. For a historical approach and application, the question remains to be answered if and how the institutional shape of a region fits into the concept as a whole, and if and how size matters.

Size and Shape When talking about regions and regionalism, the latter term understood as an approach focusing on the interests of a particular region or group of regions, one should wonder if conceptually the size of a region is important. Should a comparative approach be the case, then only regions of the same size, or from the same size-category, ought to be compared. The methodology underlying the three projects that contributed to this volume is indeed a comparative one, since the European programme financing European Comparisons in Regional Cohesion, Dynamics and Expressions, explicitly called for the comparative approach. That in itself presupposes an interest in the relative size of the analysed areas. Stefan Berger, in a chapter on comparative history in his manual on the writing national history, when referring to the different types of comparisons that can be made, wrote: Comparisons often involve nation-states. The rise of professional history writing in the 19th century coincided with rise of the nation-state. Historians looking to legitimate their nation-state did so by comparing it — implicitly rather than explicitly — to other nation-states, identifying allegedly unique characteristics of their own that distinguished them from and made them superior to others. The legacy of transnational comparisons is so strong that we often forget that nations do not have to be our units of comparison. In fact, as economic historians particularly point out, regions might constitute better units of comparison. Since they are less heterogeneous than larger nations, regional comparisons are possibly less vulnerable to reductionism.34 At this point, there is an essential methodological aspect. It is the possibility that scale-variation, when analysing the concept of a region (even taking into account its ambiguity), constitutes a considerable advantage. Certainly, Jacques Revel

33 Paasi, ‘The Resurgence of the “region”’, p. 136. 34 Berger, Feldner and Passmore, Writing History, p. 188.

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whose interesting comment about the movie Blow-Up by Antonioni regarding the snapshots the protagonist casually made, with details that seemed to him at first glance incomprehensible, can be applied to regional problems: Intrigued, he enlarged his images (this is the meaning of the title of the film) until an invisible detail put him on the track of another reading of the whole. The variation of the scale allowed him to move from one story to another (and, why not in others).35 As we saw above, regions can vary as entities of any size (administrative or political divisions, parts of continents, groups of countries, or transfrontier clusters or subnational units). The preferred solution for making a comparative analysis of the phenomenon of regions in its widest variety is to apply a set of analytic parameters that disregard size. This is more or less the way in which the German historical geographer Hans Heinrich Blotevogel understands regions. When focusing on metropolitan regions, especially in the German Rhine-Ruhr area, he considered spatial entities above the local level and below the national to be regions. Yet, the conceptual subdivisions he made are applicable to regions of any size. Blotevogel made a distinction between ‘Realregionen’, ‘Tätigkeitsregionen’, and ‘Wahrnehmungs- oder Identitätsregionen’. In this concept, the category of ‘Realregionen’ represents the politically defined and the concrete geophysical spaces. The notion of ‘Tätigkeitsregionen’ represents spaces of action, areas sharing in economic, cultural, social human activities (including e.g. marriage patterns), etc. To the last category of ‘Wahrnehmungs- oder Identitätsregionen’ belong those spatial entities that can be observed when regions exist as a corporate identity, are experienced as an idea or even an ideology, or as the expression of a territorially linked tradition, manifesting itself in a public or scholarly discourse.36 Blotevogel’s three categories resemble in a sense the divisions presented by Paasi in his groundbreaking article of 1986, where he distinguished four ‘shapes’ or ‘aspects’ that regions can show during their process of institutionalization. First the territorial shape, which includes the creation of borders, as a historical process, and demarcations and patterns of land use. Second, the symbolic shape, where stereotypes, images, and identities find their place. Third, the institutional shape, which in Paasi’s presentation includes both the development and structures of administration, and the institutionalized aspects of developing a regional consciousness through education and the media. The fourth, and last, shape identified by Paasi was the functional shape, in which the effective functioning of a space, especially in an economic sense, brands it as a region.37 Although these conceptual categories are important tools for a better understanding of the building bricks and the layers out of which regions and regional identities are built, we have further modified the definition of a region in the Cuius

35 Revel, Jeux d’échelles, p. 36. 36 Blotevogel, ‘Auf dem Wege zu einer “Theorie der Regionalität”’, and by the same author, ‘Zur Konjunktur der Regionsdiskurse’; see also Schenk, ‘Historische Geographie als historische Regionalwissenschaft’, pp. 252–53. 37 Paasi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions’.

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Regio project, and at the same time chosen to concentrate even more on the human factor, to emphasize on the region as a product of human agency. This means that we have simplified the notion of region to ‘a dynamic social construct, with a spatial expression’ and we have chosen to pay special attention to the idea of ‘stakeholders’, which allows to give all social and political strata that are ‘involved’ in the regions, from dynast to merchant, from artisan to artist, their place in a functional analysis of the dynamics of regional cohesion and disruption. The stakeholders experience, create, adhere, express, deny and confirm, form and transform their region, as the common denominator of the many regionalities to which they belong.

Between Ethnos and Nation The Achilles-heel of ‘reducing’ the region to a social construct is the fact that the region risks being reduced and confined to a hardly discernible place, somewhere between ethnos and nation, different from, yet in a sense identical to both, thus gaining a status which resembles an ethnie. The British ethnographer Anthony Smith, as one of the most prolific authors in this field, coined the term ethnie as ‘a named unit of population with common ancestry myths and historical memories, elements of shared culture, some link with a historic territory and some measure of solidarity, at least among their elites’.38 The difference with a nation mainly being that the territorial or spatial demarcation, and the institutional and legal situation of a nation, is further developed. In Smith’s words, a nation is: ‘a named population sharing a historic territory, common myths, and historical memories, a mass public culture, a common economy, and common legal rights and duties for its members’. Later versions of his definition emphasised the legal aspect — which comes close to a predefinition of citizenship, more vaguely as ‘common laws and custom’. When seen as development phases of societies, the ethnie in Anthony Smith’s viewpoint is the pre-modern antecedent of the nation, as a type of community that precedes the more politicized societies. Not all ethnies developed into nations, but during the period of the Ancien Régime the development towards nations in many cases reflected the emancipation of what could be labelled self-conscious ethno-political communities.39 Critics of Smith’s compelling view of the nation have stated that one of the flaws in Smith’s approach is that he failed to establish a clear-cut distinction between the concepts of nation and state, when attributing some of the features of the state to the nation.40 For our case, this is less relevant than the fact that the ethno-symbolic approach developed by Smith leaves little space for the plural identities that characterized humankind especially in the medieval and early modern

38 Smith, Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era, p. 57. The same definition with slightly different wordings in many other publications. See also the survey in Hoppenbrouwers, ‘The Dynamics of National Identity in the Later Middle Ages’. 39 Scales and Zimmer, ‘Introduction’, p. 5. 40 Guibernau, ‘Anthony D. Smith on Nations and National Identity’, esp. pp. 129–31.

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period, their belonging to plural networks and the fact that the spatial expression of this was the region. Hoppenbrouwers argued rightly that ethnicity is as much a geographical as a social phenomenon,41 but this does not allow us to equate ethnos nor ethnie with region, although Smith himself came close to implying this, when writing about Catalonia: ‘The Catalans are undoubtedly a nation today, just as they were an ethnie in the pre-modern world. Not only do they inhabit their historic territory (more or less), they are now able to teach in their own language and fund a mass, public, standardized education system in Catalan and in Catalonia’.42 Admittedly, Catalonia, in advocating its identity, perfectly fits Smith’s concept of an ethnie, yet to understand its historical development it is a perfect example of a region as a dynamic construct.43 The last time Anthony Smith explicitly wrote about the relation between ethnie and region was in his early work, which was overshadowed by the national-identity-discourse. In 1981, he started a paragraph in The Ethnic Revival to ‘ethnie and regions’ with his working definition of the region as ‘a more-or-less-compact geographical area, possessing a distinctive economic and ecological profile, which marks it off from neighbouring areas’.44 This clarifies the absence of regions as a concept in his later work: Smith uses a concept of region that is the ‘old-fashioned’ geographical one, and completely disregards the debate on regions by social geographers we have sketched above. Although he added that ‘in some cases’ (sic) ‘these administrative and ecological zones will correspond to what may be termed “historic areas”, that is more-or-less-compact areas which at some earlier period of history enjoyed a separate and independent status, before being incorporated into the existing state’, and he even acknowledged that some areas had characteristics that he reserves for an ethnie, he found the ‘coincidence of a culturally distinctive group and a designate region … largely irrelevant’. Regions were divisions of the state. ‘Region’ in his words refers to a ‘category’ rather than a community, whereas with an ethnic group it was the other way around. This explains why regions became almost invisible in his later work: the region understood as a dynamic social construct coincides with his ethnie, and at the same time conflicts with it. In our opinion, equating the region with ethnos or ethnie would be a conceptual error. The fact that some regions may be traced back to ethnic attachments does not mean that regions as such have an ethnic origin. In fact, the question of whether a region has single or multiple identifiable ethnic traditions is, when developing a research strategy to study regional diversity, cohesion and dynamics, one of the elements that ought to be included in a standard questionnaire. That such a study can, at the same time, borrow a lot from the methodology of ethnogenesis is almost self-evident. If ethnogenesis is understood as the process through which a group of 41 Hoppenbrouwers, ’The Dynamics of National Identity in the Later Middle Ages’, p. 26. See also the excellent paragraphs on national and ethnic identity, and the development of medieval ethnic groups, in Weeda, Images of Ethnicity, pp. 16–21. 42 Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations, p. 166. 43 See also the contribution by Flocel Sabaté in this volume. 44 Smith, The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World, pp. 65–67.

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people develops an identity that identifies them, both through self-identification and though outside-identification as an ethnos, we may call the same process contributing to establish the identification of a spatial entity and the attachment of the inhabitants of that region to that space, regiogenesis. Sharing language and/or dialect, mythical or historical ancestry, collective memory, cultural heritage, rituals and symbolic systems such as religion, mythology and ritual, cuisine, dressing style, economic interests, nuptial networks, etc. contribute to constructing a region. We are facing a sheer insoluble problem of vocabulary,45 not much different to when we consider the word ‘nation’.46 In what sense can we talk about ‘national history’? To Eric Hobsbawm, ‘nation is an invented tradition’.47 But will the nation’s history be different from the story of what happens in the nation? They are easy questions to formulate, not very different from those asked, a few years ago, by Stefan Berger, Mark Donovan, and Kevin Passmore, when they inquired: ‘Where and when did the nation originate? What are its chief characteristics?’.48 But the possible answers, if we consider them carefully, are quite difficult to give.

Regional Consciousness Taken together, the concepts of nation and of region are reference frames. They are located within a social consciousness in which the weight of the affections is decisive. Therefore, it is very difficult to define its outlines, because they can never be bounded by the empirical characteristics assigned to them. Beginning as a question of life-experiences and ‘habitus’ (in the sense given by Pierre Bourdieu), it turns out to be a matter of representation, in this case with a lot of ambiguity. Indeed, directly related to the notion of ‘national’ versus ‘regional’, these reference frames consist of a whole set of ideas, feelings, and solidarities, giving them a significant identifying meaning.49 This is fundamental, because the national and regional dimensions are important aspects of collective identities that were already existing in previous times, and have gained strength in modernity. Assuredly, we can encounter (expressions of) such identities in the respective formation and representation processes in all historical periods.50 Indeed, it is not easy to define their scope, because they very often appear to be associated with and conditioned by other domains that influence them decisively. We are not facing fixed and permanent categories, but dealing with the result of a process

45 To cite just one example, we remember the comment of L. Stone stressing the differences between the ‘local history’ of English influence and the French ‘regional histoire’, quoted from Olábarri Gortázar, Las Vicisitudes de Clío, p. 235. 46 Wagstaff, Regionalism in the European Union. 47 Hobsbawm, ‘Nation as an Invented Tradition’. 48 Berger, Donovan and Passmore, eds, Writing National Histories, p. 301. 49 Baumbach, Regions of Culture – Regions of Identity; Storm, ‘Regionalism in History’. 50 Berger, The Search for Normality. Smith, National Identity; Smith, Myths and Memories of the Nation, Smith, The Nation in History.

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in which different factors are involved: memory, cultural and linguistic density links,51 social aspects as the role of elites,52 religion,53 the history that is recounted and written in every period and the social consciousness interconnects its members.54 Pierre Nora was very explicit on this when writing that ‘the nation is in itself a representation. Nor a scheme nor a policy, neither a doctrine nor a culture, but the framework of all these expressions’?55 The nation has already been qualified as a metaphor,56 which, in our view, complements the accurate expression used for this conceptual ambiguity: is this the ‘ambivalence of language itself in the construction of the Janus-faced discourse of the nation?’.57 If these words were written about nations, would they be very different from what one can write about regions? Ultimately, the nation can be looked at from many different points of view.58 And it is this range of possible viewpoints which explains the large semantic variation of many of the concepts of this type, as also occurs with the notion of ‘patria’.59 For this reason, the identification of the general population with political spaces, even if they are of medium size, came rather later than often supposed. In this sense, the comment of Godfried Croenen is interesting when, with regard to the Netherlands in the early modern period, he writes: For the people in the Low Countries, identification with their county or duchy was not self-evident and only one of the series of alternative focuses of self-identification. Only gradually did the principalities acquire the status of ‘patria’ for all their inhabitants. This evolution was even more problematic for the nobility, which throughout the medieval period maintained a high level of geographical mobility. As such, noblemen were often not confined in their interests and activities to one simple principality. Only under the Burgundian dukes would the situation change drastically. For the Burgundian dukes it became possible to control the nobility effectively without having to sacrifice its inter-regional character, which — to an extent — as a necessary and constituent part of the power of the nobility and of the noble way of life.60

51 Barbour and Carmichael, eds, Language and Nationalism in Europe. 52 Ford, Creating the Nation in Provincial France; Popa-Gorjanu, Transylvania in the Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries, pp. 11–25; Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles for Local Interests’. 53 Ford, Creating the Nation in Provincial France. 54 Hroch, ‘From National Movement to the Fully-Formed Nation’, p. 79. 55 Nora, Les Lieux de Mémoire, II (1), p. x. 56 Confino, The Nation As a Local Metaphor. Answers from current times in Eley and Suny, eds, Becoming National. 57 Bhabha, Nation and Narration, p. 3. 58 Beaune, Naissance de la nation France, p. 11. 59 Bouchard and Bogdan, ’From Barbarian Other to Chosen People’; Croenen, ‘Regions, Principalities and Regional Identity in the Low Countries’; Dupont-Ferrier, ‘Le sens des mots patria et patrie en France’; Ladero Quesada, ‘Patria, nación y Estado en la Edad Media’; Llobera, ‘State and Nation in Medieval France’. 60 Croenen, ‘Regions, Principalities and Regional identity in the Low Countries’, p. 153. There are many studies where in the same way specific regions or the region as a phenomenon are analysed, containing observations on the nature of regions. Just to give some examples: Feller, Les Abruzzes

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In addition, Tom Scott’s considerations in his studies on the regional dimension in the southern Upper Rhine in the early modern era and in the regions of Germany in the Reformation period are interesting as well: A region is not indeterminate: it is of a particular size, usually … of middle rank, pitched between locality and district on the one hand and country or state on the other. Internally, the region is relatively homogenous; externally it is marked off from neighbouring regions by visible differences. But there is another feature that distinguishes the region from the mere landscape. Regions may be defined by function as well as homogeneity, that is, they serve purposes imposed upon them by man — economic, strategic, and political — which cannot necessarily be inferred solely in terms of their natural endowment or historical evolution. In the end, therefore, all attempts to define what regions are have to concede that they are both ‘created’ and ‘given’. They exist both as reality and as idea, not only as fact but as fiction, shaped by human requirements and intrinsic potential as well as sustained by the accumulated weight of history and tradition.61 If we accept that, as it happens with the nation, also regions are continuously under ‘construction’,62 it remains difficult to explain what a region is. As it was previously underlined, the historiographical effort of the nineteenth century that primarily was guided by and towards the national reality, turned out to place the regional dimension in a secondary role. In an excellent text titled — in translation — The Influence of Space on History: The Case of the Region and of the Regional History, Ignacio Olabarri stated that:

médiévales; Gamberini and Lazzarini, The Italian Renaissance State; Goubert, Beauvais et Beauvaisis de 1600 à 1730; Vilar, La Catalogne dans l’Espagne Moderne. Presentations with great interest: Balzaretti, Dark Age Liguria; Berend, Urbanczyk, and Wiszewski, Central Europe in the High Middle Ages; Bisson, ‘La terre et les hommes: A Programme Fulfilled?’; Bisson, ‘The Rise of Catalonia’; Carreras Ares, ‘La regionalización de la historiografía’; Davies, ‘Nations and National Identities in the Medieval World’; Demotz, Les principautés dans l’Occident medieval; Denis, ‘L’Approche régionale’; Ellis and Michailidis, eds, Regional and Transnational History in Europe, esp. pp. 11–66; Green and Pollard, Regional Identities in North-East England; Hoppenbrouwers, ‘Such Stuff as Peoples are made on’; Jones, ‘Mon pais et me nation’; Korpiola, Regional Variations in Matrimonial Law and Custom; Liddy and Britnell, Regions and Regionalism in History; Noble, From Roman Provinces to Medieval Kingdoms; Olábarri Gortázar, Las Vicisitudes de Clío, pp. 230–34; Pohl and Reimitz, eds, Strategies of Distinction; Popa-Gorjanu, Transylvania in the Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries; Potts, Monastic Revival and Regional Identity; Rycraft, ‘The Court and the Regions in Later Medieval Catalonia’; Russell, Medieval Regions and their Cities; Stein and Pollmann, eds, Networks, Regions and Nations; Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles for Local Interests’; Wiszewski, The Long Formation of the Region Silesia (c. 1000–1526). 61 Scott, Town, Country and Regions in Reformation Germany, pp. 263–64. 62 On the relations between historiography and nationalism in the nineteenth century, see: Augusteijn and Storm, eds, Region and State in Nineteenth-Century Europe; Bell, The Cult of the Nation in France; Berger, Donovan and Passmore, Writing National Histories; Berger, ed., Writing National History; Berger, Eriksonas and Mycock, Narrating the Nation; Berger and Lorenz, Nationalizing the Past; Berger, ‘National Historians as Guardians of National Identity’.

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To understand the diversity of regional historiographical traditions in different countries or continents, we have no other choice but to tackle the substantive question: the diversity of the humanized natural spaces that, throughout history, were crystallized into regions, understood in very different ways in each country — another ambiguous word — and through the history of each country.63 With this in mind, we can see the close relationship between any living space (such as region) and historiography. And at the same time the volatility of this relationship is perceived. As this same author writes: All humanized space coming into existence, is developed and disappears or is transformed into another type of living space: what is now — for those who live and visit it — a region, in the past it could have been a nation or a kingdom, tomorrow a state or a district. And, in this change, in the perceptions of space, the presentation of the history of that space plays a major role. Without history there cannot be historiography, but historiography — the image of the past in a community, in all its forms — undoubtedly contributes to change history.64

Regions as Constructs65 Already the genesis of a region invites questions after its main characteristics. What turns a landscape or area into a region? Do outsiders and foreigners consider an area to be a region in the same way as the inhabitants, and — if not — what causes possible differences? What forms and types of regional identity exist? Have these identities grown, and have they been expressed ‘bottom-up’ in a society, or have they been constructed, invented, and ideologized ‘top-down’? Are there cases of appropriation and adoption of identity, in which foreign rulers borrow a (dominant) regional identity, with which they legitimize and strengthen their own position? And are there examples of situations in which the subjects of these princes, as inhabitants of a region, consciously or unconsciously accept, adopt, or internalize the identity of the dynasty, and by doing this actively or passively contribute to the fusing of their region with other regions, or its forging into a larger region, or even a nation state? These important questions can be — of course — connected with questions about the role of language, social networks, institutions (predominantly those related to administration and representation), geomorphology and spatial distances and logistics. Questions that in fact were already put more than seventy years ago by the Austrian medievalist Otto Brunner in his famous Land und Herrschaft, first

63 Olábarri Gortázar, Las Vicisitudes de Clío, p. 229. 64 Olábarri Gortázar, Las Vicisitudes de Clío , p. 230 65 This paragraph was earlier published in a slightly different way in Boer, de, ‘The Creation and Failure of a Cohesion’, pp. 34–36.

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published in 1939,66 but in his case mainly as part of an anti-legalistic approach of the phenomenon of the developing medieval territories and their identities. His observations at that moment were part of a discourse that was highly ‘coloured’ by the ideological approach of Nazism. In fact, Brunner had applied to be member of the Nazi Party one year before, after the Anschluss, and officially was accepted as a member in 1943.67 At the time of its appearance, Land und Herrschaft was welcomed in Nazi circles, since it laid less emphasis on feudal law as the main creative force of territories, but instead that the German ‘Länder’ — to be seen as distinct regions within the Holy Roman Empire — had developed more or less organically due to the positive interaction between a ruling dynasty (Hausherrschaft), a circle of trusted followers, and the inhabitants (Landesgemeinde, Volk) of a region, representing a clear social and cultural entity with its own qualities. This approach was in a sense a reaction against a teleological reasoning that looked upon the medieval territorial phase as a stage in the historical process towards the constitutional, nation state.68 Brunner has been very much criticized for his ‘courting’ of Nazi-ideology, but at the same time has been praised for his efforts to understand medieval structures from within. After the Second World War, he was at first released from his duties at the University of Vienna, because of his position in the Third Reich, but in 1954 he was reappointed as professor, this time in Hamburg. Land und Herrschaft was also rehabilitated, although the discussion was kept alive.69 In the German ‘Landesgeschichte’ since the 1970s, the interaction between the shaping of the territories and collective conscious and unconscious notions of identity (Landesbewußtsein) has become a major issue.70 In the German historical debate, thanks to the peculiar situation of the ‘Länder’ of which the modern Federal Republic is composed, the history of region and nation, and the development of the ideas of a territory-bound identity and the socio-cultural structures and personal networks that shape, experience, and express that identity are nicely interwoven. And it is in a sense a Brunnerian legacy that in the debate the development of such identities is mainly linked to the ruling dynasties and the social strata that as ‘Trägerschichten’ were associated with them. In this discursive approach, it seems as if the top-down creation of identity is emphasized more than the bottom-up version of it. Especially when ideologically oriented, dynasty-based historiography is involved, and the lineage of the princely

66 Brunner, Land und Herrschaft. 67 Klee, Personenlexikon zum Dritten Reich, p. 79. 68 For a survey of the development of the German ‘Landesgeschichte’ see esp. Werner, ‘Die deutsche Landesgeschichtsforschung im 20.Jahrhundert’, pp. 157–61, and on Brunner, pp. 170–72. 69 Algazi, ‘Otto Brunner – “Konkrete Ordnung” und Sprache der Zeit’; Oexle, ‘Sozialgeschichte – Begriffsgeschichte – Wissenschaftsgeschichte’; Melton, ‘From Folk History to Structural History’; Miller, ‘Nazis and Neo-Stoics’. 70 See the short survey in Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 28–32; Moeglin, ‘Land, Territorium und Dynastie als Bezugsrahmen regionalen Bewusstseins am Beispiel Flanderns’, p. 18.

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power becomes synonymous with the history of a territory,71 the regional identity, or ‘Regionalbewußtsein’ (to paraphrase the term ‘Landesbewußtsein’) seems to be a creation of the dynast and the political elites that supported him. Often, the question of how far such a creation of identity was effective, and what the paths, speed, and means were with which the shaping of an identity, this ‘identi-creation’, led to the acceptance and incorporation of the identity, in other words the identi-fication, remains unanswered (even un-put). If one accepts that a region is mainly a social construct, we can only understand the cohesion of a region, seen as the positive outcome of a process of identification, if we look at a wide range of identification tools, both bottom-up, and top-down. In every theory about ethnos, ethnie, and nation, the role of history as a creative force is accepted.

Clio’s Different Looking Glasses Now we have established the region as an ‘non-ethnie’ and a ‘non-nation’, without denying that some regions may have such an exclusive, and permanent potential that they almost equal ethnie or nation, it is clear that the role of history and collective memory is an valid touchstone to gauge the region. This is easier said than done, since a region is seldom neither the main instigator nor the main subject of historiography. Due to its nature, as a spatial entity which — at least in the case of our European regions — is larger than town, village or monastery on the one hand, and less formal, or formalized, than larger administrative, dynastic, or political structures like counties, duchies, nations, or states on the other hand, the history of regions, until the coming into existence of ‘regional history’ as a special branch of historical research hardly existed. History originally was either written as universal history, or written as the history of ethnic entities, like the Historia Langobardorum by Paul the Deacon around 790,72 or the collection of writings known as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle(s), stemming originally from the ninth century, or as the historical biography of rulers, like Einhard’s Vita Karoli Magni, the ‘Life of Charlemagne’, written somewhere between 817 and 830, with — of course — Suetonius’ lives of the Caesars as a model, and those of his contemporaries.73 Close to the last category came the lives of abbots and patriarchs, like the Vita sancti Popponis abbatis Stabulensis giving an account of the life, miracles and visions of the holy abbot of Stavelot, written around 1050 by Onulfus Altimontensis,74 and the work that strongly influenced it: the Vita s. Heriberti archiepiscopi Coloniensis (the life of the holy archbishop Heribert of Cologne (999–1021)), written shortly before 71 Moeglin, ‘Dynastisches Bewusstsein und Geschichtsschreibung’. For Holland, see Verbij-Schillings, Beeldvorming in Holland, pp. 11–13 and 105–09 on the fact that historiography of the county was in fact the historiography of the dynasty. For Brabant, Stein, Politiek en historiografie, and Tigelaar, Brabants historie ontvouwd sketch the same thematic. 72 Martínez Pizarro, ‘Ethnic and National History ca. 500–1000’. 73 Noble, Charlemagne and Louis the Pious. 74 See http://www.narrative-sources.be/naso_link_en.php?link=1100 (Date accessed: 10 April 2014).

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by Abbot Lambert of Deutz.75 Just like the vitae of most saints — certainly those from the eleventh century onwards — these ‘historical biographies’ had as their main purpose the support and justification of the canonization of the exemplary men and women.76 But describing their characters in their social ‘habitat’ and certainly for the older period often being the main source-type preserved, they can be important sources for the understanding of regional or territorial identities. This has been recently demonstrated in the case of Austrasia.77 Also the lives of exemplary devout men and women, like the so-called Schwesternbücher (Sisterbooks) within the Devotio Moderna, indirectly created a (self)image of the Dutch-German border region formed by the western parts of Westphalia and the Rhine-IJssel region where the Devotio Moderna was most successful.78 The descriptions of the lives of brethren and sisters of course have as a primary, moralistic-didactic goal to present role models by preserving the memory of idealized persons.79 Since their concentration in a specific region, and the provenance of most sisters and brethren form that same region, these historiographic texts implicitly create a layer of regional identity. Most territorial histories, however, are written as the histories of dominions, of dynastic power structures, either as separate territories or as a conglomerate. Often, we are talking then about (former) historical units with a certain form of autonomy, position of pre-, para-, or proto-nation, or geographic entities that served as administrative units in the past. In other words, regions that have been formalized or created during the course of the politicization of societies. This is the very reason that regional history is made subordinate to the history of the political units.80 Consequently, at least until the change of perspective and attitude in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, due to the state formation-process and the humanist historiographic traditions,81 historiographic texts, as primary sources, were mostly written as the history of the territory of a prince, and donated to or ordered by the prince. Sometimes, their production marked the acquisition of a territorial entity, through marriage or otherwise. In the fifteenth-century Low Countries and Northern France, the production of historiographic texts was closely related to the gradually acquisition of territories, and the claims to power, by the Burgundians.82 The commission of special ‘show-copies’ of 75 Coué, Hagiographie im Kontext. 76 From the abundant literature: Goodich, Lives and Miracles of the Saints, pp. 177–87, Kleinberg, ‘Proving Sanctity’, still valuable: Kemp, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church. 77 Stegeman, The Growth of an Austrasian Identity. 78 Bollmann, Frauenleben und Frauenliteratur. 79 Heene, ‘‘Ende sie worden zeer verwondert diet seghen’’, p. 5. 80 Compare the concise treatment of this phenomenon by Hroch, ‘Regional Memory’, pp. 4–7, although he does not treat the production of historiographic texts in the past. 81 Maas, The Lure of the Dark Ages. And still irreplaceable: Wilcox, The Development of Florentine Humanist Historiography in the Fifteenth Century. 82 See Guenée, ‘Histoire et chronique’; Vanderjagt, ‘Expropriating the Past’, and recently especially on Chatellain: Strøm-Olsen, ‘George Chastelain and the Language of Burgundian Historiography’.

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Figure 1.2. The offering of his Chronicle of Hainaut to Duke Philip the Good of Burgundy, by the author Jean Wauquelin, as depicted in the dedication miniature by Rogier van der Weyden of the showpiece manuscript made in 1447, embodies the politicizing process connecting regional identities and histories to dynastically ruled territories. Brussels, Royal Library of Belgium, MS 9242, fol. 11r. Reproduced with permission.

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the Chronicles of Hainaut by Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, is a telling example, to be matched by many others from all over Europe. The duke entrusted the Mons citizen Jean Wauquelin with the completion and French translation of the ‘Annales historiae principum Hannoniae’. These Annales were originally written by Jacques de Guyse before 1399 to serve the territorial aspirations of the counts of Holland and Hainaut from the House of Wittelsbach. After the death of the heiress, Jacqueline of Bavaria, countess of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland and dame of Friesland in 1433, these territories fell to Philip the Good. He used the same Chronicles to justify and confirm his claims.83 The dedication miniature, painted by none other than Rogier van der Weyden, symbolizes the handing over of power in the territory through the handing over of its past.84 Next to these historiographic texts, all kinds of Res gestae, historiae, or narrations described the events, characteristics, origins, etc. of people and their natural surroundings. Some of these narratives come close to the history of a region, like the Quedam narracio de Groninghe, de Thrente, de Covordia et de diversis aliis sub diversis episcopis Traiectensibus, describing the events in the north-eastern part of the diocese of Utrecht, where the bishops had to fight for the preservation of their authority in the years before 1232.85 Yet, the fact that most authors wrote within a specific ‘professional’ context (being an armarius in a monastery, a scribe at court, or a secretary of an town), or with a clear financial or social motive (either their works were commanded, or they hoped through presentation or dedication to earn or confirm a positional advantage) implicitly worked to the disadvantage of the visibility of the region, since they used either a smaller or a wider intellectual horizon. There where the horizon was continuously moving, in the descriptions of travels of any kind, regions and their inhabitants come to the fore. Itineraries of all kinds therefore can be important sources for our knowledge of regions. This makes, for instance, the Narratio de itinere navali peregrinorum Hierosolymam tendentium offer valuable information for our understanding of regions like Poitou or the Algarve.86 Equally, the songs by Oswald von Wolkenstein and the travelogue of Leo von Rožmitál during the fifteenth century offer details of a kind that can contribute to our knowledge about regions in the eyes of outsiders.87 As do the many pilgrim guides, although seldom about regions within Europe, and seldom in an original way, yet even their images of regions can be very informative, especially because they represent a condensed, standardized, almost ‘generally approved’ version.

83 Rigoulot, ‘Imaginary History and Burgundian State-Building’. 84 Watteeuw, ‘A Closer Look at Rogier van der Weyden’s Presentation Miniature’. 85 Edition of the Latin tekst, and translation (in Dutch): Rij, van, Een verhaal over Groningen, Drente, Coevorden. 86 Jeanne-Rose, ‘Une description peu connue du littoral poitevin à la fin du xiie siècle’ and Fraga da Silva and Fernandes, ‘Iberia and Algarve in the “narratio de itinere navali”’, to be consulted through: https:// www.academia.edu/1494286/Iberia_and_the_Algarve_in_the_Narratio_de_Itinere_Navali_a_ historical_geography_appraisal_with_a_philological_supplement (Date accessed: 1 November 2015). 87 Classen, ʻDie Spanienreflexionen des Oswald von Wolkenstein’; Paravicini, ‘Bericht und Dokument. Leo von Rožmitál unterwegs zu den Höfen Europas’.

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All these examples show and confirm that history is written as an expression of many identities, be it ethnos or nation, be it dynast or saint, and be it town or monastery. Histories present the narrative of developing and established identities over time. While regions themselves are relative fluid, frequently under construction and (re)definition, histories seldom have the region directly as their subject. They concentrate on formalized and personalized expressions and aspects of regions. We therefore have to be aware that region and regionality often have to be found through ‘reading between the lines’. This is exactly the challenge that is presented to modern historians: scrutinizing the texts of their predecessors and analysing in how far they wrote as ‘stakeholders’ of region or state, constructing and deconstructing images, idealizing in a Platonic way, or ideologizing to the level of serving political interests.

Conclusion Everything taken together, for the period covered by this volume, it means that when speaking about Clio’s looking glass, we must be aware that the history of regions has to be traced through the history of a town, positioning itself towards the non-urban surroundings, or through the history of a territory, or a territorial conglomerate, ‘consuming’ as a ‘voracious state’ the regions, quite often one region — due to dynastic preference, economic domination or simple hazard — dominating others, monopolizing dialect, culture, and tradition as justification, or through many other texts expressing regional awareness. Next to this, faith and devotion, that apart from circariae, dioceses, etc., do not know any boundaries, these managed to create their own expressions of what can be called a regional self. Regional practices in music and liturgy, regional attraction and the popularity of saints, sacred places and miracle-centres mobilized regional cohesion at a different level, and the textual and material witnesses of this are an equally valuable lens in the looking glass of history’s muse. To understand regions, we therefore have to look at them all. Next to the way in which primary sources, when written by contemporary writers as witnesses of their times and recent history, reflect the development of regional self-consciousness, cohesion, and identity, they too reflect the observed, invented, re- or deconstructed further past of these regions. The development of history as a genre, a craft, a profession has changed many aspects of the texts that were produced. The two main cataracts (we prefer that term over watersheds) were the development of humanist historiography and the development of history as a science within a national sphere from the nineteenth century onwards. Therefore, they deserve special attention in the contributions of this volume.

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Jones, Michael, ‘Mon pais et me Nation: Breton Identity in the Fourteenth Century’, in War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages, ed. by Christopher T. Allmand (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), pp. 144–68 Kaufhold, Martin, ʻDie Könige des Interregnum. Konrad IV., Heinrich Raspe, Wilhelm, Alfons, Richard (1245–1273)’, in Die deutschen Herrscher des Mittelalters, Historische Porträts von Heinrich I. bis Maximilian I., ed. by Bernd Schneidmüller and Stefan Weinfurter (München: Beck, 2003), pp. 315–39 Keen, Elizabeth, The Journey of a Book: Bartholomew the Englishman and the Properties of Things (Canberra: ANU Press, 2007) Kemp, Eric W., Canonization and Authority in the Western Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1948; also available in edition Westport: Hyperion, 1979) Kingston, Ralph, ‘Mind Over Matter? History and the Spatial Turn’, Cultural and Social History, 7 (2010), 111–21 Klee, Ernst, Personenlexikon zum Dritten Reich. Wer war was vor und nach 1945 (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer-Taschenbuch-Verlag, zweite aktualisierte Auflage, 2005) Kleinberg, Aviad M., ‘Proving Sanctity: Selection and Authentication of Saints in the Later Middle Ages’, Viator. Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 20 (1989), 183–205 Korpiola, Mia, ed., Regional Variations in Matrimonial Law and Custom in Europe, 1150–1600 (Leiden: Brill, 2011) Ladero Quesada, Miguel Angel, ‘Patria, nación y Estado en la Edad Media’, Revista de Historia Militar, 1 (2005), 33–58 Lidaka, Juris G., ‘John Trevisa and the English and Continental Traditions of De proprietatibus rerum’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 5 (1988), 71–92 Liddy, Christian D., and Richard H. Britnell, Regions and Regionalism in History: North-East England in the Later Middle Ages (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005) Llobera, Joseph R., ‘State and Nation in Medieval France’, Journal of Historical Sociology, 7 (1994), 343–62 Maas, Coen, ʻThe Lure of the Dark Ages: Writing the Middle Ages and Political Rhetoric in Humanist Historiography from the Low Countries’ (doctoral thesis, University of Leiden, 2012) Martínez Pizarro, Joaquín, ‘Ethnic and National History ca. 500–1000’, in Historiography in the Middle Ages, ed. by Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis (Leiden: Brill 2012), pp. 42–87 Melton, James Van Horn, ‘From Folk History to Structural History: Otto Brunner (1898–1982) and the Radical-Conservative Roots of German Social History’, in Paths of Continuity: Central European Historiography from the 1930s to the 1950s, ed. by Hartmut Lehmann and James Van Horn Melton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 263–92 Meyer, Heinz, Die Enzyklopädie des Bartholomäus Anglicus. Untersuchungen zur Überlieferungs- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von ‘De proprietatibus rerum’ (München: Fink, 2000) Miller, Peter N., ‘Nazis and Neo-Stoics: Otto Brunner and Gerhard Oestreich before and after the Second World War’, Past and Present, 176 (2002), 144–86 Moeglin, Jean-Marie, ‘Dynastisches Bewusstsein und Geschichtsschreibung. Zum Selbstverständnis der Wittelsbacher, Habsburger und Hohenzollern im Spätmittelalter’, Historische Zeitschrift, 256 (1993), 593–636

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———, ‘Land, Territorium und Dynastie als Bezugsrahmen regionalen Bewusstseins am Beispiel Flanderns’, in Spätmittelalterliches Landesbewusstsein in Deutschland, ed. by Matthias Werner (Ostfildern: Jan Thorbecke, 2005), pp. 17–52 Noble, Thomas F. X., From Roman Provinces to Medieval Kingdoms (New York: Routledge, 2006) Noordzij, Aart, Gelre. Dynastie, land en identiteit in de late middeleeuwen, Werken Gelre, 59 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2009) Nora, Pierre, ed., Les Lieux de Mémoire, T. II, La Nation, 1 (Paris: Gallimard, 1986) Oexle, Otto G., ‘Sozialgeschichte – Begriffsgeschichte – Wissenschaftsgeschichte. Anmerkungen zum Werk Otto Brunners’, Vierteljahresschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 71 (1983), 305–41 Olábarri Gortázar, Ignacio, Las Vicisitudes de Clío (siglos XVIII–XXI). Ensayos historiográficos (Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca, 2013) Paasi, Anssi, ‘The Institutionalization of Regions: A Theoretical Framework for Understanding the Emergence of Regions and the Constitution of Regional Identity’, Fennia, 164 (1986), 105–46 ———, ‘“Region” as a Social and Cultural Construct: Reflections on the History of the Category and its Time-Specific Meanings’ (in German), in Texte zur Theorie der Sozialgeographie 1, ed. by Benno Werlen and Roland Lippuner, Jenaer Geographische Manuskripte Band 23 ( Jena: Institut für Geographie, 2002), pp. 67–85 ———, ‘Place and Region: Regional Worlds and Words’, Progress in Human Geography, 26 (2002), 802–11 (also published in Michael Keating, ed., Regions and Regionalism in Europe, pp. 208–18) ———, ‘Region and Place: Regional Identity in Question’, Progress in Human Geography, 27 (2003), 475–85 ———, ‘Place and Region: Looking through the Prism of Scale’, Progress in Human Geography, 28 (2004), 536–46 ———, ‘The Resurgence of the “Region” and “Regional Identity”: Theoretical Perspectives and Empirical Observations on the Regional Dynamics in Europe’, Review of International Studies, 35 (2009), 121–46 (also published in Rick Fawn, eds, Globalising the Region, Regionalising the Global (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 121–46) ———, ‘Regional Planning and the Mobilization of “regional identity”: From Bounded Spaces to Relational Complexity’, Regional Studies, 47 (2013), 1206–19 Paasi, Anssi, and Kaj Zimmerbauer, ‘Theory and Practice of the Region: A Contextual Analysis of the Transformation of Finnish Regions’, Treballs de la Societat Catalana de Geografia, 71–72 (2011), 163–78 Paravicini, Werner, ‘Bericht und Dokument. Leo von Rožmitál unterwegs zu den Höfen Europas (1465–1466)’, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte, 92 (2010), 253–307 Pater, Ben de, and others, Denken over regio’s. Geografische perspectieven (Bussum: Coutinho, third revised edition 2011; first edition 2002) Pesic, Vesna, Serbian Nationalism and the Origins of the Yugoslav Crisis (Washington, DC: U. S. Institute of Peace, 1996) Ploch, Beatrice, and Heinz Schilling, ʻRegion als Handlungslandschaft. Überlokale Orientierung als Dispositiv und kulturelle Praxis-Hessen als Beispiel’, in Die Wiederkehr des Regionalen , ed. by Rolf Lindner (Frankfurt: Campus, 1994), pp. 122–57

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Pohl, Walter, and Helmut Reimitz, eds, Strategies of Distinction: The Construction of the Ethnic Communities, 300–800 (Leiden: Brill, 1998) Popa-Gorjanu, Cosmin, Transylvania in the Thirteenth to Sixteeenth Centuries: Aspects of the Formation and Consolidation of Regional Identity (Alba Iulia: Editura Mega, 2012) Potts, Cassandra, Monastic Revival and Regional Identity in Early Normandy (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1997) Revel, Jacques, Jeux d’échelles. La micro-analyse à l’expérience (Paris: Gallimard/Le Seuil, 1999) Ribémont, Bernard, ‘Jean Corbechon, un traducteur encyclopédiste au xive siècle’, Cahiers de recherches médiévales et humanistes, 6 (1999), 2–17 Rigoulot, Robert B., ‘Imaginary History and Burgundian State-Building: The Translation of the Annals of Hainault’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 9 (1992), 33–40 Rij, H. van, Een verhaal over Groningen, Drente, Coevorden en allerlei andere zaken onder verschillende Utrechtse bisschoppen/ Quedam narracio de Groninghe, de Thrente, de Covordia et de diversis aliis sub diversis episcopis Traiectensibus (Hilversum: Verloren, 1989) Russell, Josiah C., Medieval Regions and their Cities (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1972) Rycraft, Peter, ‘The Court and the Regions in Later Medieval Catalonia’, in Courts and Regions in Medieval Europe, ed. by Sarah Rees Jones, Richard Marks, and A. J. Minnis (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 2000), pp. 173–90 Sabaté, Flocel, and Luís Adão da Fonseca, eds, Catalonia and Portugal: The Iberian Peninsula from the periphery (Bern: Peter Lang, 2015) Scales, Len, and Oliver Zimmer, ‘Introduction’, in Power and the Nation in European History, ed. by Len Scales and Oliver Zimmer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 1–29 Schenk, Winfried, ‘Historische Geographie als historische Regionalwissenschaft. Zur “Produktion” von Regionen durch historisch-geographische Forschung’, in Rheinische Landesgeschichte an der Universität Bonn. Traditionen – Entwicklungen – Perspektiven, ed. by Manfred Groten and Andreas Rutz (Bonn: Bonn University Press, 2007), pp. 251–64 Schultz, Hans-Dietrich, ʻRäume sind nicht, Räume werden gemacht. Zur Genese ʻMitteleuropas’ in der deutschen Geographie’, Europa Regional, 5 (1997), 2–14 Schwaiger, Georg, ed., Mönchtum, Orden, Klöster. Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart. Ein Lexikon (München: Beck, 2003) Scott, Tom, Town, Country and Regions in Reformation Germany (Leiden: Brill, 2005) Smith, Anthony D., The Ethnic Revival in the modern World (Cambridge: Oxford University Press, 1981) ———, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986) ———, National Identity (London: Penguin, 1991) ———, Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era (Cambridge: Polity, 1995) ———, Myths and Memories of the Nation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) ———, The Nation in History: Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism. The Menahem Stern Jerusalem Lectures (Hanover: University Press of New England, 2000)

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Stegeman, Hans, ʻThe Growth of an Austrasian Identity: Processes of Identification and Legend Construction in the Northeast of the Regnum Francorum, 600–800’ (doctoral thesis, Groningen University, 2014) Stein, Robert, Politiek en historiografie. Het ontstaansmilieu van de Brabantse kronieken in de eerste helft van de vijftiende eeuw (Leuven: Peeters, 1994) Stein, Robert, and Judith Pollmann, eds, Networks, Regions and Nation: Shaping Identities in the Low Countries, 1300–1650 (Leiden: Brill, 2010) Storm, Eric, ‘Regionalism in History, 1890–1945: The Cultural Approach’, European History Quarterly, 33 (2003), 251–67 Strøm-Olsen, Rolf, ‘George Chastelain and the Language of Burgundian Historiography’, French Studies, 68 (2014), 1–17 Terian, Andrei, ‘Constructing Transnational Identities: The Spatial Turn in Contemporary Literary Historiography’, Primerjalna književnost, 36 (2013), 75–84 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), 24–35 Terlouw, Kees, and Bouke van Gorp, ‘Layering Spatial Identities: The Identity Discourses of New Regions’, Environment and Planning A: Economy and Space, 46 (2014), 852–66 Tigelaar, Jan, Brabants historie ontvouwd. Die alder excellentste cronyke van Brabant en het Brabantse geschiedbeeld anno 1500 (Hilversum: Verloren, 2006) Vanderjagt, Arjo, ‘Expropriating the Past: Tradition and Innovation in the Use of Texts in Fifteenth-Century Burgundy’, in Tradition and Innovation in an Era of Change/Tradition und Innovation im Übergang zur Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Rudolf Suntrup and Jan R. Veenstra (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2001), pp. 177–201 Verbij-Schillings, Jeanne M. C., Beeldvorming in Holland. Heraut Beyeren en de historiografie omstreeks 1400 (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 1995) Vilar, Pierre, La Catalogne dans l’Espagne Moderne, 3 vols (Paris: SEVPEN, 1962) Wagstaff, Peter, Regionalism in the European Union (Exeter: Intellect, 1999) Wal, Marijke J. van der, and Arend Quak, ‘Old and Middle Continental West Germanic’, in The Germanic Languages, ed. by Ekkehard Konig and Johan van der Auwera (London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 72–110 Warf, Barney, and Santa Arias, eds, The Spatial Turn: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2009) Watteeuw, Lieve, ‘A Closer Look at Rogier van der Weyden’s Presentation Miniature (1447–1448)’, in Rogier van der Weyden: 1400–1464. Master of Passions, ed. by Lorne Campbell and Jan Van der Stock (Leuven: Davidsfonds, 2009), pp. 180–84 Weeda, Claire V., ʻImages of Ethnicity in Later Medieval Europe’ (doctoral thesis, University of Amsterdam, 2012); in preparation for publication. Available at https:// dare.uva.nl/document/2/146108 (Date accessed 10 April 2014) Werner, Matthias, ‘Die deutsche Landesgeschichtsforschung im 20.Jahrhundert. Aufbrüche, Umbrüche, Perspektiven’, in Rheinische Landesgeschichte an der Universität Bonn. Traditionen, Entwicklungen, Perspektiven, ed. by Manfred Groten and Andreas Rutz (Göttingen: Bonn University Press, 2007), pp. 157–80

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Wilcox, Donald J., The Development of Florentine Humanist Historiography in the Fifteenth Century, Harvard Historical Studies 82 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969) Wiszewski, Przemyslaw, ed., The Long Formation of the Region Silesia (c. 1000–1526) (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo, 2013)

Part I

Regional Identity in Medieval and Early Modern Historiography

Jana Fantysová-Matějková

Boemi and the Others Shaping the Regional Identity of Medieval Bohemia between the Twelfth and the Fourteenth Centuries

The history of medieval Bohemia has been traditionally seen as the prehistory of the modern Czech nation state. From this perspective, which tends to project the modern nation back into the past, the nation of the Czechs defined primarily by the Czech language, can find its precursor already in the early Middle Ages. Apart from a tendency towards anachronistic interpretations, this approach also raises questions of congruency between the state and the nation and even leads to serious doubts about whether the nation-building process should be paralleled with the state-building one at all.1 For most of its history, a nation which resembled the modern Czech nation existed as an ethnic group within a multi-ethnic and composite state, which resulted in a divergence between the Czech national identity and the regional identity of the land of Bohemia, as well as a nearly omnipresent confusion between them. For this reason, we prefer to conceive of Bohemia as a region or land, and keep the distinction between what is ‘Bohemian’ (derived from the identity of the land shared by the Czech and German Bohemians) and what is ‘Czech’ (derived from the Czech language, which was not fully appropriated as a special identity until 1300 and which was shared also by the Czech-speaking Moravians). This is in spite of the obvious overlaps between both identities.2 The land of Bohemia developed into a core land of the medieval composite state; it was situated on the geographical and mental map of Christianity; it belonged to the Holy Roman

1 Graus, Nationenbildung der Westslawen, esp. p. 39. 2 The distinction between ‘Bohemian’ and ‘Czech’ does not exist in Czech, but is ordinarily used in German and sometimes reflected in French (Chaline, La Bataille de la Montagne Blanche, pp. 18–19) and English (Cornwall, The Devil’s Wall, pp. 14–20) texts, depending on the insight of individual scholars. The word Czech appeared in Western languages in the nineteenth century as a consequence of the modern Czech nationalism and its use for medieval reality should be subject to caution. Jana Fantysová-Matějková  •  is a Researcher at the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic – Masaryk Institute and the Archives of the CAS. She is specialized in the history of medieval Bohemia, the conglomerate state, the dynasty of Luxembourg, and narrative sources. She is the author of Wenceslas de Bohême, un prince au carrefour de l’Europe (2013). Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 69–89 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121487

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Empire. Its identity emerged as a result of the dialectic movement between these ‘objective’ conditions and the imagined community of the inhabitants, the Boemi, and it was changeable in time and depended on the social layer from which the bearers of that identity stemmed.3 The discourses of identity expressed and shaped by medieval historiography are often articulated in relation to others. Paul Ricoeur says that ‘most events to do with the founding of any community are acts and events of violence. So we could say that collective identity is rooted in founding events which are violent events. In a sense, collective memory is a kind of storage of such violent blows, wounds and scars’.4 These founding events also establish power relations. According to Michel Foucault, ‘the power relations, as they function in a society like ours, are essentially anchored in a certain relationship of force that was established in and through war at a given historical moment that can be historically specified’.5 The founding events which structure the identity, regional self-awareness, and imagery of Bohemia also form the principal lines, that can be followed throughout medieval historiography. These are: the Origo gentis and the foundation of the state; Christianisation; and the political dependence of Bohemia on the Roman Empire. The historiographic discourse of medieval Bohemia (up to 1540) was dominated by the Chronica Boemorum (1119–1125), written by Cosmas, dean of the Saint Vitus chapter in Prague.6 His decision to write the chronicle was probably strongly influenced by the political crisis of the first decade of the eleventh century, which shattered the stability of the Přemyslid state and gave occasion to the Polish and imperial military interventions.7 Different authors followed up with and further elaborated on Cosmas’ work and in the fourteenth century, his chronicle was reworked into a versified Czech chronicle by Dalimil (c. 1314) — the product of another political crisis — and enlarged into the narrative of the dynastic conglomerate of Bohemia by Přibík Pulkava of Radenín (1380s). The original chronicle as well as the reworked versions satisfied a specific political demand and served identity-shaping purposes. Even Peter of Zittau, who reported on the rule of the last Přemyslides and John of Luxembourg, was a careful reader of Cosmas. Medieval historiography reveals the regional identity of Boemi as a multi-layered discourse, which developed over time



3 For the model of medieval regional and national identities, see the works by Jean-Marie Moeglin, e.g. ‘Nation et nationalisme’. 4 Ricoeur, ‘Memory and Forgetting’, p. 8. 5 Foucault, ‘Society must be defended’, p. 15. 6 Palacký, Würdigung der älteren böhmischen Geschichtsschreiber, pp. xi–xiv; there are currently two monographs about the Cosmas’s chronicle — Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, and Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague — and a recent Ph.D. dissertation comprising the current bibliography Kopal, ‘Kosmas a jeho svět’ is being prepared for publication. There is a whole historiographic tradition debating Cosmas’s chronicle in terms of medieval patriotism, nationalism and the nation-building process (see Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, pp. 5–15; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, pp. 15–33; Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, pp. 107–40 and their bibliography), which is not adopted by Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, who rejects the concept of the nation as ill-defined (p. 216). Yet Cosmas’s Boemi were a medieval ‘natio’ (see e.g. Monnet, ‘Nation et nations au Moyen Age’) and deserve to be studied as such. 7 Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 30–32, 277; Kopal, ‘Kosmas a jeho svět’, p. 144.

B o e mi and t he Ot he rs

Figure 2.1. Mythological figures of Czech and Lech. Frontispiece miniature from the end of the fourteenth century in the Bautzen manuscript of Cosmas’ Chronica Boemorum (first half of the 13th century). Prague, National Museum Library, ms. VIII F 69 fol. 1r. Reproduced with permission.

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and which refers to different aspects of the socio-political reality. The oppositions are not always explicit; sometimes only ‘we’8 or ‘they’ are articulated, supposing an implicit difference.

Origo gentis: Founding the Opposition between Boemi and Foreigners Cosmas’s story on the origin of the people of Bohemia, its land, and state was forged on different sources: an oral tradition (senum fabulosa relatio); existing model stories from the classical literature; the Bible and its commentaries; contemporary legal documents and customs; and his own experience. Cosmas integrated the people of Bohemia into the history of the universe. Following the effusion of the Flood and the confusion borne of the evil-minded men who built the Tower of Babel, the human species, which numbered seventy(-two) men at that time, was divided into the same number of languages and spread around the world. After several generations, some of them came to the regions of Germania that were spread very wide, encircled everywhere by mountains, and situated on such heights such that no outside waters could flow into them. This naturally delimited geographical region was a deserted land, where no man had ever set foot before. It became populated by new people who arranged their first settlements there and named Boemia after their senior — Boemus.9 Cosmas calls their descendants Boemi for the first time in chapter 10 of Book I, in which he recounts the mythical battle of Tursko ‘inter Boemos et Luczanos’, a natio named after the region of Lúka.10 In a similar way, military opposition to the Poles, and to a lesser extent to the Germans, is constitutive of the Bohemian self-awareness.11 The first mythical pagan inhabitants lived in the golden age without private possessions. The desire for property led to its institution and to conflicts requiring judges. The last of these judges was Libuše, a female soothsayer. Following an incident in which a convicted man showed his discontent with a sentence of hers on the grounds that it was pronounced by a woman, the Bohemians ignored Libuše’s warning against ducal tyranny and decided to choose a prince. The first duke, Přemysl the Ploughman, was chosen by Libuše herself: she predicted that in Stadice, a man would plough with two parti-coloured oxen. When Bohemian messengers found Přemysl, they elected him dux with these words: ‘Everything ours and we ourselves are in your hands. We elect you duke, you judge, you ruler, you protector, you our only lord’.12 The land of Bohemia fell under the ownership of the duke, whose successors often 8 For ‘we’ see Graus, Nationenbildung der Westslawen, pp. 211–18. 9 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, Prefatio p. 3, I, 2, pp. 6–8; Cosmas of Prague, The Chronicle of the Czechs, trans. by Lisa Wolverton; Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, pp. 110–17; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 22. 10 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 10, pp. 22–24; Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 220–30, 242, 247–49. 11 Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, p. 197; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 24. 12 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 6, p. 16; Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 82–102.

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did not fail to behave according to Libuše’s predictions.13 This act of the foundation of the state was followed by the wedding of Libuše and Přemysl, and an institution of the new laws: ‘All the laws which this land possesses and by which it is ruled, he alone with only Libuše decreed’.14 From the tenth to the thirteenth centuries, the Bohemian state developed as one compact territory, without the feudal enclaves that prevailed in Western Europe.15 Since the state-founding election of the first prince, the history of the people has been partly absorbed by the history of the dukes of the Přemyslide dynasty.16 The strong identification of the Bohemians with the Přemyslide rulers was perceptible until the extinction of the dynasty in 1306.17 The dukes (and the emperors) were expected to respect their opinion. Their compliance with Bohemian opinion and with the laws of the land was the most important judgement criteria. In reality, these politically active Bohemians only included the wealthy elite, occasionally designated as ‘Boemie natu maiores’, ‘comites’, ‘primates’, or ‘proceres’ numbering some three or four thousand people in Cosmas’s time.18 These Bohemians were called the ‘shield of the land of Bohemia’ (scutum Bohemicae terrae) in the fictive speech of Duke Soběslav related by Cosmas’s first continuator, the anonymous Canon of Vyšehrad (1142).19 The dukes of Bohemia20 were fully engaged in the constitutive opposition between Boemi on the one hand and the outside peoples and inside foreigners on the other. Boleslav II (967/972–999) is commended by Cosmas for having extended the territory of the state, an act which spelled war for his neighbours, but also perceived as a sign of God’s grace: ‘The riches of the common folk are the praise and glory of a king; poverty brings harm not to the slave, but to his lord’.21 Boleslav is also praised for being ‘terrible to his enemies and mild to his own people’.22 Dukes were guardians of the territorial integrity; as soon as the Germans (quidam ex Teutonicis) built a castle within the borders of Bohemia, Duke Vladislav (1109–1117; 1120–1125) conquered it. He was ready to kill all of them, but released the captives at the intercession of Count Albrecht.23 The foreigners in Bohemia were not secure if not protected by the duke. ‘On the first day on which he was enthroned’, Duke Spytihněv (1055–1061) ‘did a great

This was emphasized by Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 102–15. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 8, p. 18. Fiala, ‘Počátky české účasti v kurfiřtském sboru’, p. 42. Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, p. 114; Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, p. 155. Fantysová-Matějková, ‘The Virtual Region’, p. 127. Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, pp. 117–18; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, pp. 21 and 25. Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, p. 109 points out that this is also where Cosmas’s hopes for a good rule rest: he wishes them to stand for equity and justice and to form a consensus of the political community. 19 ‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 209. 20 Plassmann, Origo gentis, pp. 329–38; on the nature of the ducal power, Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, pp. 166–83. 21 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 33–34, p. 60: ‘Divicie plebis sunt laus et Gloria regis / Nec sibi, sed domino gravis est, que servit egestas’. 22 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 32, p. 57. 23 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 48, p. 220. 13 14 15 16 17 18

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and marvellous thing, memorable for all the ages. As many as could be found of the German people, whether rich or poor or pilgrim, he ordered all of them banished at once from the land of Bohemia within three days. Not even his mother […] he allowed to remain’.24 Cosmas has no explanation for this deed, but his successive story on the expulsion of the abbess of Saint George monastery neighbouring Prague Castle hints at revenge. We can guess that the duke and his Boemi profited from the abandoned properties, where Germans were treated similarly to Jews. The legal argumentation went as follows: as these foreigners arrived in Bohemia without any possessions, they created their wealth from the resources of the land; therefore, they were not allowed to take it abroad; it belonged to the duke.25 The interest of banishing pilgrims who would leave anyway is unclear, though. Cosmas could clearly see that Spytihněv’s act had its fixed place in the memory of the Boemi. Kojata, one of the eminent Bohemians, argues against Duke Vratislav’s wish to elect his Saxon chaplain Lanzo as bishop of Prague: Even if your brother displeases you, why do you sully our clergy, not just a little but equally skilled in learning, with this German? Oh, if you had as many bishoprics as you could find chaplains born in this land (hac in terra progeniti) worthy of a bishopric! Do you think that a foreigner will love us more and desire better for this land than a native? Indeed human nature is such that anyone, wherever his land, not only loves his people more than a foreign people, but would even divert wandering rivers into his patria if he could. Therefore, we prefer that a dog’s tail or the dung of an ass be placed on the holy seat rather than Lanzo. Your brother Spytihněv of blessed memory, who expelled all the Germans from this land in one day, knew differently. Similarly to the expression of ‘Boemie natu maiores’, Kojata’s speech defines Bohemians as ‘hac in terra progeniti’, persons born in the land of Bohemia.26 In opposition to the natives, Lanzo is a foreigner (proselitus, advena and alienigena), who has come to this terra without trousers (sine femoralibus): the episcopal ring and staff should not be granted to ‘a hungry dog’.27 The home-based wealth and property is set in opposition to the poverty of the foreigners; miser alienigena is the expression used by the Canon of Vyšehrad (1142), when talking about Menhard, bishop of Prague (1122–1134).28 In the fourteenth century, the chronicler called Dalimil invites a fictional German to stay in his homeland, suspecting all the German incomers of dishonest intentions.29 In addition to the abbess’s story, Cosmas also provides a short commentary on the expulsion of the duke’s mother, Judith. The issue raises the pertinent question

24 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 14, pp. 103–04. 25 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 45, p. 152 and III, 5. 26 The unusual emphasis put on the land by Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 83, 218–22, is not unjustified. 27 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 23, p. 116. 28 Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 25; ‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 220. 29 Adde-Vomáčková, ‘Les Étrangers dans la Chronique de Dalimil’, pp. 22–23, 28; Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, II, 68, esp. pp. 5–8; 63, p. 134, esp. v. 13–22.

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Figure 2.2. Bretislaus I of Bohemia kidnaps his future wife Judith ( Jitka) of Schweinfurt from a monastery. Illumination in a Latin translation of the Chronicle of Dalimil made in Northern Italy, 1331–1335. Prague, National Library of the Czech Republic, MS XII E 17, fol. 3r. Reproduced with permission.

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of mixed marriages, which remains unanswered. Cosmas refers to the previous story of his chronicle, describing how Judith had been kidnapped by her future husband Břetislav from the monastery of Sweinbrod and assumes that she was wronged by the expulsion, which resulted in the shame of her son and all the Bohemians.30 Cosmas’s attitude seems to be too nuanced to prove ‘his aversion to the Germans’ or his xenophobia, which is a traditional conclusion of the nationalist approach in this matter.31 The assumption that Cosmas introduces different speakers in his chronicle to articulate his own opinion would make him equally suspect of Bohemophobia. He does not seem to approve the Spytihněv’s act, at least not its practical consequences. However, on the symbolic level, the Spytihněv’s act reintroduces the oneness of the land, the people, and the duke of Bohemia postulated by Cosmas in the origo gentis.32 It is not celebrated as an act of aversion and hatred of strangers, but as an affirmation of the identity of the land.

Christianisation as a Source of Inequality and Contempt for the Other The mythical princess Libuše predicted that in Prague, the capital, ‘two golden olive trees would grow up’. This metaphor refers to the most important patron saints — Saint Wenceslas, duke of Bohemia (922–935) and Saint Adalbert, second bishop of Prague (982–997). Cosmas translates their Slavic names, Václav and Vojtěch, as Maior Gloria (Greater Glory) and Exercitus Consolatio (Consolation of the Army).33 Wenceslas and Adalbert were above all patrons of the ruler, of the bishopric and peace-making protectors of the territory of the state. Christ and Saint Wenceslas helped the Bohemians to return Duke Oldřich from the emperor’s prison back to his patria and expelled the Poles from Prague: thanks to God and Saint Wenceslas, the ‘confused Poles’ took fear and fled ‘shamefully’: ‘Fugiunt, fugiunt Polonii confusi turpiter, irruite, irruite armati Boemii acriter!’34 Saint Wenceslas and Saint Adalbert also intervened in the conflict, ‘worse than civil war’, between Bohemia and Moravia — both lands being understood as one patria. They miraculously liberated the prisoners and arranged the peace.35 The connection between Saint Wenceslas and the people (suis)36 was further developed by the Canon of Vyšehrad, who regarded Boemi as the familia sancti Wenceslai.37

30 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 40, pp. 74–75; II, 17, p. 108. 31 Most recently Sobiesiak, ‘Czechs and Germans’, p. 325 and Kopal, ‘Kosmas a jeho svět’, p. 63. 32 Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 260–65 has a similar conclusion. 33 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 9, p. 19; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 23; Bláhová, ‘The Function of the Saints’. 34 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 36, p. 75; Aurast, ‘Wir und die Anderen’, p. 32. 35 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 47, p. 154. 36 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 36, p. 64; Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, pp. 196–97. 37 Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 24.

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In Cosmas’s chronicle, the Poles were the worst enemies of the Bohemians. Cosmas points out their barbarian warfare practices wiping out posterity: when Miaszko (in reality, Boleslav Chrobry) conquered Krakow, all the Bohemians in the town were exterminated by sword;38 the Polish invasion of the Bohemian territory was associated with the murder of infants and ‘wives carried off by pagans’.39 Poles are reported as deceitful persons (Miaszko/Boleslav Chrobry), less worthy warriors (minus digni) and treacherous enemies, always ready to ally themselves to the inner opposition of the Duke. Poland serves as refuge for political rivals and people in disgrace, fearing death or mutilation.40 D. Třeštík explains Cosmas’s strong anti-Polish tone as arising from their numerous encroachments into the matters of the Bohemian state.41 The Poles were in a subordinate relationship to the duke of Bohemia and had to pay a yearly tribute, which implies that there were not considered equal to Boemi.42 Yet the Latin cleric educated in Liege was a promoter of the prevailing Christian values and in this matter, all the peoples neighbouring the German world left a lot to be desired. Cosmas points at the incomplete Christianisation, insufficient religious practice and a deficiency of civilized values. To him, the Poles are ‘worthy like rags’, with ‘uncircumcised lips’ and the Hungarians (filii Pannonie) are designated as Cassandri, most likely meaning felons or murderers in allusion to Cassander of Macedonia.43 As Cosmas also criticized the violent and tyrannical behaviour of some of the dukes of Bohemia, it does not seem that Boemi do any better.44 As for the uncircumcised lips of the Poles (cf. Exodus 12. 30; Jeremiah 6. 10, Acts 7. 51), Cosmas did not think that there was a specific Bohemian language. The Bohemians speak the lingua Sclavonica,45 the same as their toughest enemies. Yet Slavonic is something Cosmas tries to distance himself from. As dean of the Canonry, he promoted Latin Christianity exclusively. In his chronicle, he inserts a fictional charter which records the foundation of the bishopric of Prague according to the Latin rite and ‘non secundum ritus aut sectam Bulgarie gentis vel Ruzie, aut Slavonice lingue’.46 Both the rites of the Eastern Slavs and the vernacular Slavonic liturgy were banished. Cosmas neither mentions the Sclavonicae litterae in relation to the baptism of the first historic Přemyslide Duke Bořivoj by Methodius in Great Moravia (by 883), nor the foundation of the Slavonic Sázava Monastery by Saint Procopius (by 1032). Cosmas lived through the expulsion of the Slavonic monks from the Sázava Monastery, who were replaced by the 38 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 34, p. 60. 39 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 36, p. 208. Cf. Aurast, ‘Wir und die Anderen’, pp. 31–32. 40 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 35, 36, esp. p. 208. 41 Třeštík, Kosmova kronika, p. 196; Vaníček, ‘Bohemi, infestissimi Polonorum inimici?’, pp. 31–62; Cosmas does not treat the northern Slavic people (Sorbia on the Elbe, i.e. Meißen) in a better way. Hrabová, ‘Na sever od Čech, na západ od Polska’, pp. 133–39. 42 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 1, pp. 13, 36. 43 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 36, p. 208; III, 20, p. 185: ‘filii Pannonie Cassandri laetantur’; ‘Polonie nequam trapi incircumcisis labiis gratulantur’. 44 Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 102–15. 45 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 2, p. 83; the Canon of Vyšehrad (‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 206) says ‘sclavonice’; see also Graus, Nationenbildung der Westslawen, p. 20. 46 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 22, p. 44.

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Benedictines in 1096. The anonymous Monk of Sázava wrote interpolations of the Cosmas Chronicle by the 1170s, which partly compensates for Cosmas’s silence.47 Cosmas also avoids the word Sclavi, if only to introduce the German viewpoint. In consequence, there is no name for the inhabitants of the state, constituted as a conglomerate of Bohemia and Moravia. Cosmas also never uses the term Moravian for the local population, although he associates Boemi with Bohemia only.48 The Canon of Vyšehrad seems to be less embarrassed by the Slavic identity, when he mentions that ‘tres tantum Sclavi perierunt’ in the Battle of Chlumec (1126), referring to three persons from Bohemia and Moravia.49 Cosmas is ashamed of the barbarian practices of the Bohemians, especially the selling of captives into slavery; when Moravia was conquered by Duke Oldřich (1031), the Poles were partly expelled from the castles, but hundreds of them were captured and sold in Hungary.50 He also records the presence of his consors in clero among the Polish captives, when discussing the military expedition to Gniezdno and the translation of Saint Adalbert’s relics in Prague (1039). He lets the Pope reproach the Bohemians on this: ‘It is a great sin to seize another’s goods, but a greater one not only to rob Christians but in fact to capture them and sell the captives like brute animals. What you perpetrated in Poland […], is altogether abhominabile’.51 Cosmas is not silent about the fact that Bohemians are treated by Germans with a contempt that resembles the way the Poles are treated by the Bohemians. The level of civilisation is linked to the Slavonic language and this ethnic difference is experienced by the Bohemians as a handicap. When Břetislav, ‘the most handsome youth, the bravest hero’, decides to marry Judith ‘with beauty that surpassed all the girls under the sun’, he weighs up the decision of whether he should try to seize her by force or negotiate a marriage in the normal way. He decides to act viriliter, rather than to ‘submit his neck with supplication’, because he takes into consideration the arrogance innate to Germans (innatam Teutonicis superbiam). ‘Puffed up with pride, they always regard the Slavs and their language as an object of contempt’.52 Interestingly, in spite of the superbia Teutonicorum,53 Cosmas never lets the patron saints intervene in wars against the Germans. On the contrary even, he reports Margrave Leopold’s speech to his Austrian warriors, which offers a negative view of the Bohemians in religious terms: ‘O Hell, how many victims we will give you today! Open your workshops to receive the souls of the Bohemians! For I know that to God and his saints they are

47 ‘Mnich sázavský’, pp. 240–46; Bláhová, ‘The Function of the Saints’, pp. 105–08. 48 Cf. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 40, p. 75: Břetislav took Judith to Moravia, to prevent the Germans to take revenge on Boemi. The Moravian patriotism, the traces of which are to be found in the annals of Hradiště–Opatovice remained undeveloped. Bláhová, ‘Národ’, pp. 25–26. 49 ‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 203. 50 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 40; see also II, 35, p. 132. Moravia became appanage within the system of agnatic seniority (1054), Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 15. 51 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 5, pp. 90 and 7, p. 92. 52 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 40, p. 73. 53 Superbia is manifested by a refusal to grant a request without any good reason, cf. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 35, p. 131.

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hateful, men without mercy, who entered this land in order to ravage not only our goods but our wives and their children — may God drive that far away’.54 Could the twelfth-century Bohemians have ignored the message about the importance of the love of God and the protection of the patron saints in their wars? When a new crisis of succession led the Saxon army of Lothar III of Supplinburg to Bohemia, Duke Soběslav, enthroned by the Bohemians, prepared his defence with the help of the patron saints (1126). The Canon of Vyšehrad narrates the Battle of Chlumec inter Saxones et Bohemos, and defines for the first time the Bohemians within the framework of Christian ideology. The battle is won thanks to God, who sends Saint Wenceslas to help the Bohemian army. During the clash, the chaplain carrying the lance of Saint Wenceslas, decorated by the banner of Saint Adalbert, sees Saint Wenceslas in battle.55 This scheme of the patron saint battle-helper — a specific appropriation of Saint Wenceslas by the warriors — appears in the chroniclers’ narrations until the fifteenth century.56 In the hagiographic tradition, Saint Wenceslas remains a peace-making duke, who gains sovereignty without shedding blood, bestowing the kiss of peace on his enemy. The relation of the same Battle of Chlumec by the Monk of Sázava (1170s) recounts the reverence of Soběslav for God, Saint Wenceslas and Saint Adalbert at the beginning of the conflict and the kiss of peace between the duke of Bohemia and Lothar III at the end.57 The Bohemians’ sense of belonging to the Latin Christianity was reasserted in a more elaborate way through opposition to the pagans in the thirteenth century. Presenting himself as a miles christianus, the king of Bohemia, Přemysl Otokar II, made his first crusade to Prussia with the participation of the chivalry of his Bohemian and Austrian lands in 1255. Five years later, he defeated the king of Hungary and his army at Kressenbrun, a multi-ethnic group he regarded as consisting of inhuman people, schismatics and heretics, ‘innumeram multitudinen inhumanorum hominum Comanorum et Ungarorum, et diversorum Sclavorum, Siculorum quoque et Valachorum […].’58 Even in the 1260s ‘divers Slavs’ were clearly opposed to the Christians. In this battle, the patron saints offered the Bohemians massive support. Not only Saint Wenceslas and Saint Adalbert but also Saint Prokop and the Five Martyred Brothers accompanied the exercitus christianus. It seems that the Slavonic founder of the Latinised monastery of Sázava and the six martyrs of Christianisation, stolen in Gniezdno, i.e. Saint Adalbert and his five followers martyred in 1003, served to clarify the delicate position of the Bohemians as distinct from the pagan Slavs. While singing the hymn by Saint Adalbert (canentes hymnum ad sanctum Adalbertum editum), they put their enemies to flight: the King of Hungary is described as a continuator of his ancestor’s misdeeds against Christ’s innocent flock; and his Cumans, ‘exercitum

54 55 56 57 58

Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 35, p. 132. ‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 203; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, pp. 24–25. Graus, ‘Der Heilige als Schlachtenhelfer’, pp. 341–45. ‘Mnich sázavský’, pp. 255–57. ‘Příběhy krále Přemysla Otakara’, p. 316.

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infidelium, inhumanorum scilicet hominum’ (an army of infidels, that is to say of inhumane people).59 The atrocious warfare of the ‘Hungarians, Bulgarians and pagans’, impaling infants’ heads on their lances and abducting women into slavery, was still reported in the fourteenth century. As these people fought for Albrecht of Habsburg, king of the Romans, these ravages (1304) were explicitly critiqued by Peter of Zittau, since they were totally opposed to chivalric war.60

The Equalizing Effect of the Holy Roman Empire and the Bohemian Resentment Towards the Germans The Germans and the Holy Roman Empire make a difference. The tribute paid by the Bohemians to the emperor, dating back to Carolingian times, reinforces the idea of the continuity of imperial power over different peoples and nations. The Bohemians — Sclavi61 — agree to pay the prearranged tribute, but refuse further requirements. They do not want to cede treasures seized in Poland to Henry III (1039–1056), although they have to settle the conflict with the emperor in the end. Duke Břetislav says: ‘The wars you make, Caesar, will have no triumphs. Our land is your treasury; we are yours and wish to be yours. He who rages against his own subjects is known to be more cruel than a cruel enemy […]’.62 As Bohemia is a part of the Empire, the emperors are mostly regarded in a neutral or positive way. If they accord with the land of Bohemia, their superiority over the duke can even be welcomed.63 As for the Germans, Cosmas prefers to favour a land-based identity: the ‘most excellent’ King Henry V (1106–1125) ‘led with him Bavarians, Swabians (Alemanni), eastern Franks and those from around the Rhine below Cologne up to the western boundaries of the Empire. Nor were the Saxons, harder than rocks, missing, with their long spears. After the Bohemians joined them, they entered Poland […].’64 The general term of Teutonicus was quite a new phenomenon, in the sense that it had never been used to include the Franks, Saxons, Bavarians and Swabians before the time of Henry IV (d. 1106). Teutonici were a people characterized by their language, although no common German language existed at that time: the Germans appropriated an Italian concept.65 Thus, Cosmas says that the Germans speak Teutonica lingua and live in Teutonicis partibus,66 but he uses this auxiliary word especially in the absence

59 ‘Příběhy krále Přemysla Otakara’, pp. 310–19; Bláhová, ‘Národ’, pp. 28–29; Bláhová, ‘The Function of the Saints’, pp. 108–09. 60 ‘Petra Žitavsého kronika zbraslavská’, I, 71, p. 88. 61 Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, pp. 116–17; Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 8, pp. 93 and 11, p. 97. 62 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 12, p. 99; Plassmann, Origo gentis, pp. 351–52. 63 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 23, p. 116. 64 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 27. 65 Thomas, ‘Sur l’histoire du mot “Deutsch”’, pp. 27–35. 66 Plassmann, Origo gentis, pp. 349–50.

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of a suitable geographical term.67 In Bohemia, the German-speaking people would have noticed, even in the fourteenth century, that the language differences between the Bavarians and the Saxons were considerable. Given the concept of Teutonicus, their mutual misunderstanding deserved an aphoristic comment by Othon of Thuringe.68 On the other hand, the Slavonic word for Germans (Němci) is derived from němý (mute), which brings them closer to the opposition between the native and the alien.69 Cosmas is aware that identities come from the origin of birth (natio) and from language (lingua). Both terms can give meaning to a group of people — a ‘nation’: Henri IV enters Rome with a vast multitude of different ‘nationum atque linguarum.’70 Cosmas’s chronicle starts with the Tower of Babel myth; it states that different people originate from different languages.71 Then Cosmas skips to the geographical description, without giving any account of the connection between the languages and the origin of the first Boemi, who are simply named after the land. This disjunction between language and land probably reflects the avoidance of the Slavic issue, going hand in hand with the identity-shaping purposes which Cosmas’s narrative serves. Within the Empire, mutually incomparable identities are brought together and developed, not only in their own way but in relation to the other. Thus, the Siege of Milan by Friedrich Barbarossa (1158) takes place ‘cum Boemis, Theutonicis, Lombardis et aliarum nationum plurimi militia’, and all these diverse concepts fall into the same category, under the term of natio.72 Latin concepts travelled across Europe, as well as the educated churchmen. Cosmas, who studied in Liege, was more familiar with an Empire composed of smaller territories; Vincencius (d. 1167), eyewitness of the Milan campaign, knew Italy very well; and Peter of Zittau (d. 1339), a Cistercian, uses two concepts of Germans: Theutonici — German-speaking people — and Alemani — people from Germany — Alemania. The average Bohemians lacked good Latin education and a wider view of the world. Thus, when the ambassadors of the archbishop of Cologne asked Přemysl Otakar II to stand for election to the title of king of the Romans (1271), the chamberlain Ondřej, who represented the Bohemians, recommended the king to refuse the candidature for two reasons: firstly, the kings of Bohemia were powerful enough to influence the king of the Romans; secondly, Přemysl was thought to be unfamiliar with the diverse nations, over which he was supposed to rule: ‘Incognitae enim tibi sunt,

67 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 8–11; II, 35, p. 132. 68 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 9, p. 16. 69 Adde-Vomáčková, ‘Les Étrangers dans la Chronique de Dalimil’, pp. 18, 27; Bartlett, The Making of Europe, pp. 201–02: in Wales, the Welsh word for ‘those, who do not speak Welsh’, could be equated with that for ‘aliens’. 70 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 38, p. 210. 71 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 1, p. 4: ‘quot capita virorum, tot in diversa linguarum genera dividentur’; cf. Isidor of Seville, Etymologiae: ‘ex linguis gentes, non ex gentibus linguae exortae sunt’. Lindsay, Isidori Hispalensis, IX,1,14. 72 Bláhová, ‘Národ’, p. 27; ‘Letopis Vincencia’, p. 452; Bláhová, ‘Dějepisectví’, pp. 119–20.

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ad quas invitaris, diversarum gentium nationes et rerum dubius eventus’. Peter of Zittau reports the same idea of ‘satisfaction’ with the throne of the forefathers in reference to Wenceslas II.73 Cosmas holds the excellent Germans (mostly bishops of Prague) in high esteem: the bishop Thegdag (998–1017) is ‘upright in his deeds and honourable in his mores, especially learned in the liberal arts, of Saxon stock and perfectly instructed in the Slavic language’; Mark, provost of the Prague Church (1068–1098) is wiser than anyone living in Bohemia in that period.74 The acceptance of German language and practice by the Bohemians took on a defensive character, similar to the memorable self-imposed baptism of the fourteen Bohemian dukes and their retinues in Regensburg in 845. Conrad (d. 1092) acquired his appanage in the part of Moravia situated closer to the Germans (versus Teutonicos), for he ‘sciebat Teutonicam linguam’ (was able to speak German); the young Oldřich is sent in his boyhood to the court of Emperor Henry II, where he studies their customs (morem) and astuteness (astuciam), as well as the German language.75 During the thirteenth century, this setting changed. The German chivalric culture blossomed at the Prague court; in the third quarter of the century, Přemysl Otakar II ruled over a conglomerate of the Bohemian and Austrian lands; and Bohemia and Moravia received German-speaking inhabitants in the newly founded towns and monasteries, as well as in the rural areas.76 At the beginning of the fourteenth century, the chronicler Dalimil was seriously concerned by the conservation of the traditional Bohemian customs, laws, language, and culture. He feared that the foreign education of the Bohemian princes would make them forget their mother tongue and that they would grow apart from the Bohemian nobility incarnating the land.77 Smaller in number, the Bohemians had always felt easily overwhelmed: Cosmas gives voice to Henry III’s words of encouragement to his army, regarding Germans as a people beyond number, similar to birds, who cannot be stopped at the Bohemian border by any barrier: ‘nihil valent contra Teutonicos obpugnacula Boemorum […]’.78 It is usual that warriors came for booty and so did the Germans,79 who are described as greedy people in a developed, metaphorical way. Emperors are corruptible and avaricious,80 which is the constant motive behind their military interventions in Bohemia until the fourteenth century. Peter of Zittau writes that King Albrecht of Habsburg attacks Wenceslas II because all the waters of the Danube and the Rhine do

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‘Příběhy krále Přemysla Otakara’, p. 327; Fiala, ‘Počátky české účasti v kurfiřtském sboru’, pp. 61–62. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, I, 31, p. 56 and II, 26, p. 119. Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 18, p. 110 and I, 34, p. 61. Bláhová, ‘Český národ ve staročeské kronice tak řečeného Dalimila’, pp. 643–46. Adde-Vomáčková, ‘Les Étrangers dans la Chronique de Dalimil’, p. 19; Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, II, 68, pp. 181–82. 78 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 9, p. 95. 79 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 15, p. 177: ‘qui pro sui stulticia estimabant in Boemia auri et argenti pondera fore in plateis sparsa’. 80 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, III, 20, p. 186, see also I, 35 and ‘Kanovník vyšehradský’, p. 203; see also Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, pp. 172–82.

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not suffice for him.81 In Kojata’s speech, rivers symbolize a source of wealth, towards which foreigners strive; Cosmas describes Bohemia as a land in which no foreign river flows, meaning possibly also that the Bohemians subsist from their own resources. The mountain range protects them from the greedy Germans, who lack the necessary physical condition to fight there. Having taken off their helmets because of heat and fatigue, the German warriors show the ‘awful faces of fortunate men’. They are gross (homines crassi), their stomachs full of delicacies (ventres in deliciis); unaccustomed to marching, unaccustomed to battling like foot soldiers.82 In opposition to this greed, the Bohemians formulated their own identity of satisfaction: thus, the powerful Přemyslide kings refused to rule over the Holy Roman Empire and the nobility gains the privilege not to fight beyond the borders of Bohemia and Moravia in the Inaugural diplomas (1310–1311).83 Dalimil, who introduces the new German-related elements to the Saint Wenceslas legend, replaces Duke Wenceslas’s kiss of peace with the following words of reconciliation: ‘dismiss the mine, be satisfied with what you have.’84

Inventing the Bohemian Language (Nation) In the Middle Ages, language assumed an important role in defining nationality.85 The law book of the Sachsenspiegel (c. 1220) correlates the singularity of the king of Bohemia, whose position lay outside the electoral college of Kurfürsten, with the fact that he was not German. But this ruler, whose support for the new king of the Romans was decisive, became a regular member of the college in 1257.86 The identity of the Empire maintained its universalistic and multi-ethnic character: in 1299, when Albrecht of Habsburg met the king of France, the appropriate political counterpart to the ‘Franzoys’ was the ‘Romaer’ and not the German.87 On the border between the Slavonic- and German-speaking worlds, the ancient oppositions were reanimated during the war between Rudolf of Habsburg, king of the Romans (1273), and Přemysl Otakar II, concerning the Austrian lands (the Upper and Lower Austria, Steier and Carinthia). Rudolf launched a barrage of propaganda, stating that Přemysl was only a ‘proud Slav’, who had managed to dominate the German lands and towns to their shame. Přemysl was a grandson 81 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 71, p. 88: ‘Huius itaque rei gracia Albertus, rex Romanorum, homo se erigens in sublime fortune licencia permittente ratus Rhenum nec Danubium sufficere siti sue, molestacionis molimina machinatus est regi et regno Bohemie. Rabies namque avaricie, que eius mentem infecerat, memoriam adeo hebetaverat, quod accepti beneficii, quod pius Wenceslaus, rex Bohemie sextus, eidem impenderat, memor esse non poterat vel forsitan nolebat.’ 82 Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, II, 10, pp. 96–97. 83 Fantysová-Matějková, ‘The Virtual Region’, p. 116. 84 Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, I, 30, pp. 351–52, esp. v. 42: ‘Báťo, nechaj mého, měj v svém dosti!’; Ludvíkovský, ‘Souboj sv. Václava s vévodou kouřimským’, pp. 89–100. 85 Bartlett, The Making of Europe, pp. 197–220. 86 Fiala, ‘Počátky české účasti v kurfiřtském sboru’, pp. 37–42, 48–50. 87 Thomas, ‘Sur l’histoire du mot “Deutsch”’, p. 35.

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of the Roman king Philip of Swabia (d. 1208) and a great-grandson of Friedrich Barbarossa, so his lineage is not in question here: he was a Slav, because Bohemia was a Slavic land. The Austrian lands, inherited from Přemysl’s first wife, Marguerite of Babenberg, had lost their vernacular dynasty. Přemysl was a foreign ruler, whose unfamiliarity should have turned into familiarity thanks to his wedding. Nevertheless, Přemysl’s marriage did not offer any offspring, was eventually annulled and Marguerite died in 1266. Lacking the required dynastic legitimacy, Přemysl’s reign was othered​as Slavic domination and the more entitled German king of the Romans was installed.88 Unfortunately, Rudolf aimed at completely abasing his rival, as the king of Bohemia was expected to be subordinate to the king of the Romans. At the end of the war, Přemysl II was killed in the Battle of Marchfeld at Dürnkrut in Moravia on 26 August 1278. In Bohemia, ‘bad times’ under the administration of Othon of Brandenburg followed, deepening the negative conceptualizations of the Germans in the second continuation of Cosmas’ chronicle.89 In 1281, another banishment of Germans took place within three days, although only the foreigners suspected of robberies, who had flooded the defeated Kingdom, were forced to leave. These were the ‘Theutonici extranei, qui intraverunt Bohemiam causam praedae rapiendae’ or, in other terms, ‘Teutonici alienigenarum nationum’.90 This last expression suggests the question of whether a Teutonicus natione Boemus was conceivable at that time (1289–1305) when roughly one sixth of the inhabitants spoke German and a language identity had not yet been fully appropriated by the Bohemians. The conflict between Přemysl and Rudolf inspired new trends towards establishing the identity of the Bohemian nobility, so sharply articulated by Dalimil after the second period of irregular rule, which followed the assassination of the last Přemyslid king, Wenceslas III (1306). His death was attributed to the Roman King Albrecht, which meant that the Habsburgs were blamed for the murders of the Bohemian kings and, by extension, of the entire nation. Peter of Zittau comes to the conclusion that never was a king of Bohemia killed by a Boemus, but only by a Teutonicus and Alemanus. Dalimil introduces a new prophecy by Libuše, which allows the assassination of Albrecht by John Parricide (1308) to be interpreted as appropriate vengeance for Přemysl II’s death.91 In the last phase of the conflict between Přemysl and Rudolf, Henry of Isernia, an Italian member of the king’s chancery, conceived the so-called Manifesto to the Polish Princes, a fictitious letter asking the Poles for help against Rudolf. It evokes similarity between both territorial nations: ‘nobis magis est conformis spaciose Polonie natio’.

88 Vaníček, Velké dějiny zemí koruny české, III, pp. 152–44, 166–67. 89 Not only Saxons are harder than rocks — as already mentioned by Kosmas —, but the nature of all the Germans is the most ferocious. They are ‘saxis rigidiores, sicut est saevissima natura Theutonicorum’. See the entire episode in: ‘Vypravování o zlých létech po smrti krále Přemysla Otakara II.’, pp. 344–47. 90 ‘Vypravování o zlých létech po smrti krále Přemysla Otakara II.’, p. 354. 91 ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 100, p. 147; Adde-Vomáčková, ‘Les Étrangers dans la Chronique de Dalimil’, p. 39; Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, I, 8, p. 149, v. 20–22.

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Přemysl’s kingdom is presented as a barrier separating the Poles from the ‘insaciabiles Teutonicorum hiatus’, the insatiable maw of the Germans. This bodily metaphor seems to give credence to Cosmas’s pictures of the avaricious emperor and his greedy Germans. More importantly, the Manifesto opens up a route from territorial identity towards language identification, conceived by the versified Dalimil Chronicle (before 1314). The coherence between the Bohemians and the Poles is formulated in terms of language (in lingue consonancia), spatial closeness, common origin (sanguis) and affinity (affinitas).92 Of course, the language is Slavonic,93 but — needless to say — this uncomfortable concept is avoided by the Manifesto. The language is directly linked to territorial identity — the land — and this paves the way for the emergence of the ‘Bohemian language’ and of Czech literature. Dalimil surpasses Cosmas’s Tower of Babel paradox, which disjoined the language and the land: avoiding the Slavonic, he considers the Sorbian language (wendis in German) and derives Bohemian origin from the Croatians, another Slavic people of the Latin rite. Then he postulates the existence of český jazyk, the Bohemian language nation,94 excluded from the territorial nation all those who do not speak Czech. So, the idea of a Teutonicus natione Boemus turns into a contradictio in adjecto. This defensive exclusiveness enables Dalimil to contest the share of power of the German-speaking burghers in the kingdom and to undermine the authority of the foreign kings of Bohemia — all in favour of the traditional Bohemian nobility. Focusing on the opposition between the Czech Bohemians and the Germans, Dalimil merges qualitatively different parts of the binary system and introduces a sort of ‘discourse of the race struggle’95 into the history of Bohemia. Familiar with the Czech and German ethnic nations, modern historians believe the Dalimil Chronicle to be ‘infamous for belonging among the most repugnant creations of medieval nationalism’.96 But in the fourteenth century, its reception was substantially different; the issues raised by its anonymous author were widely shared, although resolved in a different way. A German version and a fragment of an illuminated manuscript with the Latin translation of the Czech chronicle show that it did not resist adaptation. As R. Bartlett notes, medieval ethnicity and race differed from their modern counterparts, acting as ‘social constructs rather than biological data’. Moreover, the medieval ethnic identity that included language was legitimized within the Christian history of salvation.97 It was comprised in the natura, the part of divine creation accessible to the human intellect. In this ethnic context, the term natura was used very frequently and with different degrees of philosophical pertinence, as

92 Regesta diplomatica nec non epistolaria Bohemiae et Moraviae, II, pp. 466–68, nr 1106. 93 Cf. ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, I, 67, p. 81: the Poles and the Bohemians ‘non multum dissonant in idiomate Slauice lingwe’. 94 Bláhová, ‘Český národ ve staročeské kronice tak řečeného Dalimila’, p. 646; Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, I, 1, p. 98 and 2, p. 105. 95 Foucault, ‘Society must be defended’, pp. 70–71. 96 Graus, ‘Die Bildung eines Nationalbewußtseins im mittelalterlichen Böhmen’, p. 29. 97 Bláhová, ‘The Function of the Saints’, p. 102.

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observed in Kojata’s speech, the judgements on the natura Teutonicorum and, last but not least, in Dalimil’s concept of a natural language — přirozený jazyk.98 In contrast to the idea of the nation existing throughout centuries, which in the case of Bohemia a priori excludes the incongruous element of its inhabitants and suggests parallels between medieval and modern nationalism in terms of aversions, xenophobia, and hatred, the concept of land or region enables a more comprehensive understanding of the Bohemian identity, which evolves with circumstances and which changes over time. If we are to answer the question of how historiography shaped identity in the Middle Ages, we must observe, in the first place, historiography conserved deeply rooted conflicts encoded in the binary system of oppositions: between natives and foreigners, civilized Latin Christians and barbarian pagans/ heretics, the dominant and the subordinate, the Germans and the Slavs. In these general conflicts, the fight for a ‘better identity’ took place and negative concepts (pagan/inhuman practices, Slavs-related elements) were refused, rejected, and even violently suppressed (banishment of the Slavonic monks, but also of the German aliens). Concurrently, the constitutive elements of identity, although not directly dismissed, were suppressed, until they found a better context within the accepted part of identity: thus, the language framed as Slavic had been concealed, but as soon as it was appropriated by the land and turned into the ‘Bohemian’ language, the language identity was embraced with enthusiasm. The discourse of Bohemian identity and its specific elements forged the imagined community of Boemi, affected decision-taking in a wide range of political circumstances and exerted influence upon the medieval dynastic conglomerate, either enhancing or disrupting its cohesion.99

Works Cited Primary Sources Cosmae Pragensis Chronica Boemorum, ed. by Berthold Bretholz in collaboration with Wilhelm Weinberger, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum. Nova Series, II (Berlin: Weidmannsche, 1923, second edition 1955). Available online: www.dmgh.de Cosmas of Prague, The Chronicle of the Czechs, trans. by Lisa Wolverton, Medieval Texts in Translation (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2009)

98 Bartlett, The Making of Europe, p. 197; Fantysová-Matějková, ‘The Virtual Region’, pp. 122–25; for natura, see Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, VI, ed. by Ritter and Gründer, pp. 441–55; for přirozený jazyk, see Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila, II, 63, p. 135, v. 60; 86, p. 404, v. 22. 99 The conditions and discourses of the dynastic conglomerate are discussed in other articles issued within the same project: Fantysová-Matějková, ‘The Virtual Region’ and Fantysová-Matějková and Jensen, ‘Creating Cohesion’.

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Kanovník vyšehradský, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/1. Cosmae Chronicon Boemorum cum continuatoribus, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem Musea Království českého, 1874), pp. 199–237. Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/badatele/sources-online.html ‘Mnich sázavský’, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/1. Cosmae Chronicon Boemorum cum continuatoribus, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem Musea Království českého, 1874), pp. 238–69. Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/badatele/sources-on-line. html ‘Letopis Vincencia, kanovníka kostela pražského’, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/2. Annales Pragenses – Annales Bohemiae – Annales Gradicenses et Opatovicenses – Vincentii canonici Pragensis et Gerlaci, abbatis Milovicensis, Annales – Chronicon domus Sarensis, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem Musea Království českého, 1875), pp. 407–60. Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/badatele/sources-online.html Lindsay, Wallace M., ed., Isidori Hispalensis episcopi Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1911) ‘Příběhy krále Přemysla Otakara’, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/1. Cosmae Chronicon Boemorum cum continuatoribus, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem Musea Království českého, 1874), pp. 308–35. Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/ badatele/sources-on-line.html ‘Petra Žitavského kronika zbraslavská’, in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum IV. Chronicon Aulae regiae – Excerpta de diversis chronicis additis quibusdam Aulae regiae memorabilibus – Chronicon Francisci Pragensis – Chronicon Benessi de Weitmil, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem nadání Františka Palackého, 1884), pp. 1–337. Available online: http://cms. flu.cas.cz/cz/badatele/sources-on-line.html Regesta diplomatica nec non epistolaria Bohemiae et Moraviae II: 1253–1310, ed. by Josef Emler, (Praha: Typis Grégerianis,1882). Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/ badatele/sources-on-line.html Staročeská kronika tak řečeného Dalimila. Vydání textu a veškerého textového materiálu, ed. by Jiří Daňhelka and others, 2 vols, Texty a studie k dějinám českého jazyka a literatury, 4 (Praha: Academia, 1988) ‘Vypravování o zlých létech po smrti krále Přemysla Otakara II.’, in Prameny dějin českých – Fontes rerum Bohemicarum II/1. Cosmae Chronicon Boemorum cum continuatoribus, ed. by Josef Emler (Praha: Nákladem Musea Království českého, 1874), pp. 335–68. Available online: http://cms.flu.cas.cz/cz/badatele/sources-on-line.html Secondary Studies Adde-Vomáčková, Éloise, ‘Les Étrangers dans la Chronique de Dalimil, une place de choix aux Allemands’, in Contributions à une histoire culturelle germano-tchèque en Europe centrale. Un espace à reconstruire, ed. by Françoise Meyer and Catherine Servant, Cahiers du CEFRES, 31 (Prague: CEFRES, 2011), pp. 11–52 Aurast, Anna, ‘Wir und die Anderen. Identität im Widerspruch bei Cosmas von Prag’, in Produktive Kulturkonflikte, ed. by Felicitas Schmieder, Das Mittelalter 10, 2005 (Berlin: Akademie, 2005), pp. 28–37

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Bartlett, Robert, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change 950–1350 (London: Penguin, 1993) Bláhová, Marie, ‘Dějepisectví v českých zemích přemyslovského období’, in Przemyślidi i Piastowie – twórcy i gospodarze średniowiecznych monarchii, ed. by Józef Dobosz (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2006), pp. 107–40 ———, ‘Český národ ve staročeské kronice tak řečeného Dalimila’, in Historia vero testis temporum. Księga jubileuszowa poświęcona profesorowi Krzysztofowi Baczkowskiemu w 70. rocznicę urodzin, ed. by Janusz Smołucha and others (Kraków: Tow. Nauk. Societas Vistulan; Instytut Historii Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 2008), pp. 635–53 ———, ‘Národ v pojetí českých středověkých intelektuálů’, in Wspólnoty małe i duże w społeczeństwach Czech i Polski w sredniowieczu i w czasach wczesnonowożytnych, ed. by Wojciech Iwańczak and Janusz Smołucha (Kraków: Księngarnia Akademicka, 2010), pp. 15–33 ———, ‘The Function of the Saints in Early Bohemian Historical Writing’, in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–1300), ed. by Lars Boje Mortensen (København: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), pp. 83–120 Chaline, Olivier, La Bataille de la Montagne Blanche (8 novembre 1620). Un mystique chez les guerriers (Paris: Noesis, 1999) Cornwall, Mark, The Devil’s Wall: The Nationalist Youth Mission of Heinz Rutha (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012) Fantysová-Matějková, Jana, ‘The Virtual Region of the Conglomerate State and its Communitas: The Discourse of Cohesion of the Land Communities in the Historiography of the 14th Century, especially in the Chronicle of Zbraslav’, in Terra – Ducatus – Marchionatus – Regio, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jana Fantysová-Matějková, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 6 (Praha: Casablanca, 2013), pp. 110–41 Fantysová-Matějková, Jana, and Jensen, Kurt Villads, ‘Creating Cohesion in Dynastic Conglomerates, Identities in Comparison: Medieval Bohemia and Denmark’, in The Historical Evolution of Regionalizing Identities in Europe, ed. by Dick E.H. de Boer and others (Bern: Peter Lang, 2020), pp. 63–121 Fiala, Zdeněk, ‘Počátky české účasti v kurfiřtském sboru’, Sborník historický, 8 (1961), 27–66 Foucault, Michel, ‘Society must be defended’: Lectures at the College de France 1975–76, ed. by Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, transl. by David Macey (New York: Picador, 2003) Graus, František, ‘Die Bildung eines Nationalbewußtseins im mittelalterlichen Böhmen (Die vorhussitische Zeit)’, Historica, 13 (1966), 5–49 ———, ‘Der Heilige als Schlachtenhelfer. Zur Nationalisierung einer Wundererzählung in der mittelalterlichen Chronistik’, in Festschrift für Helmut Beumann, ed. by Kurt-Ulrich Jäschke and Reinhard Wenskus (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1977), pp. 330–48 ———, Nationenbildung der Westslawen im Mittelalter, Nationes. Historische und philologische Untersuchungen zur Entstehung der europäischen Nationen im Mittelalter, 3 (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1980) Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, ed. by Joachim Ritter and others, 13 vols (BaselStuttgart: Schwabe, 1971–2007), VI, ed. by Joachim Ritter und Karlfried Gründer (1984)

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Hrabová, Libuše, ‘Na sever od Čech, na západ od Polska (Obraz Lužice a zemí Polabských Slovanů v českých a polských středověkých kronikách)’, in Polaków i Czechów wizerunek wzajemny (X–XVII w.), ed. by Wojciech Iwańczak and Ryszard Gładkiewicz (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Institutu Historii PAN, 2004), pp. 133–39 Kopal, Petr, ‘Kosmas a jeho svět. Obraz politického národa v nejstarší české kronice’ (doctoral thesis, Charles University Prague, 2017) Ludvíkovský, Jaromír, ‘Souboj sv. Václava s vévodou kouřimským v podání václavských legend’, Studie o rukopisech, 12 (1973), 89–100 Moeglin, Jean-Marie, ‘Nation et nationalisme du Moyen Âge à l’époque moderne (FranceAllemagne)’, Revue historique, 123 (1999), 537–54 Monnet, Pierre, ‘Nation et nations au Moyen Age: introductions’, in Nation et nations au Moyen Age. Actes du XLIVe Congrès de la SHMESP à Prague, ed. by Pierre Monnet, Histoire ancienne et médiévale (Paris: Presses Universitaires de la Sorbonne, 2014), pp. 9–34 Palacký, Franz, Würdigung der älteren böhmischen Geschichtsschreiber (Praha: in Commission bei A. Borrosch, 1830) Plassmann, Alheydis, Origo gentis. Identitäts- und Legitimitätsstiftung in früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Herkunftserzählungen, Orbis mediaevalis, 7 (Berlin: Akademie, 2006) Ricoeur, Paul, ‘Memory and Forgetting’, in Questioning Ethics: Contemporary Debates in Philosophy, ed. by Richard Kearney and Mark Dooley (London: Routledge, 1999), pp. 5–11 Sobiesiak, Joanna, ‘Czechs and Germans: Nationals and Foreigners in the Work of Czech Chroniclers: From Cosmas of Prague (12th Century) to the Chronicle of the So-called Dalimil (14th Century)’, in Imagined Communities: Constructing Collective Identities in Medieval Europe, ed. by Andrej Plesczyńsky and others (Leiden: Brill, 2018), pp. 322–34 Thomas, Heinz, ‘Sur l’histoire du mot “Deutsch” depuis le milieu du xiie siècle, jusqu’à la fin du xiiie siècle’, in Actes du colloque. Identité régionale et conscience nationale en France et en Allemagne du Moyen Âge à l’époque moderne, ed. by Rainer Babel and Jean-Marie Moeglin, Beihefte der Francia, 39 (Sigmaringen: Jan Thorbecke, 1997), pp. 27–35. Available online: http://www.perspectivia.net/content/publikationen/bdf/babelmoeglin_identite/thomas_histoire Třeštík, Dušan, Kosmova kronika. Studie k počátkům českého dějepisectví a politického myšlení (Praha: Academia, 1968) Vaníček, Vratislav, Velké dějiny zemí koruny české III: 1250–1310 (Praha-Litomyšl: Paseka, 2002) ———, ‘Bohemi, infestissimi Polonorum inimici?’, in Klio viae et invia. Opuscula Marco Cetwiński dedicata, ed. by Anna Odrzywolska-Kidawa (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo DiG, 2010), pp. 31–62 Wolverton, Lisa, Cosmas of Prague: Narrative, Classicism, Politics (Washington, DC: The Catholic University Press, 2015)

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Przemysław Wiszewski

From the Duchy of Few to the Homeland of Many Regional Identity in Silesian Medieval and Early Modern Historiography

The concept of Silesia as a separate space and community of its inhabitants appeared in the second half of the twelfth century. However, during the Middle Ages it was never a key concept for the construction of the narratives of Silesian historiography. The concepts of ‘Silesia’ and ‘us’ or ‘they — Silesians’ appeared at the margin of main themes in histories written down for the use of various social groups. In works written for counts and dukes ruling the region, Silesia and its inhabitants were the heritage subjected to the line of the Piast dynasty of the dukes of Silesia, according to human and natural laws. Also, in works written for the use of the urban elites, Silesia appeared mainly as a space ruled by those dukes. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in the two aforementioned milieus of the regional elites, Silesia was defined primarily as a social space for the political machinations undertaken by dukes or cities (Wrocław, Legnica, and Głogów). Silesia did not play a decisive role for either group in the understanding and categorization of space and history. Local perspectives dominated the historiography, through the desire to obtain the cohesion of communities within the local duchies and parts of Silesia. Nevertheless, the historiographical sources attest to the continuance of the concept of Silesia in ideological constructions which built the identity of the Odra region’s inhabitants. However, Silesia and regional identity were treated only as the background for much more immediate and important local identities.

A Historical Outline The historical region of Silesia is contemporarily understood as the land occupying the upper and middle reaches of the Odra river. Prior to the tenth century, this region had no political, economic, or social structures which linked the population Przemysław Wiszewski (1974)  •  is professor of Medieval History at the University of Wrocław (Poland) He is one of the members of the Board of the International Centre for Archival Research (ICARUS), and since 2020 serves as the rector of the University of Wroclaw. For many years the history of the region of Silesia, and especially the development and communication of forms of identity has been one of the key themes of his scholarly research. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 91–116 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121488

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settled in the region and differentiated them from their neighbours. This situation was changed by the hypothetical acquisition of these lands by the Czech rulers at the beginning of the tenth century, and particularly by the Piasts in the second half of that century. Already by the tenth century the latter rulers had turned Wrocław into the administrative centre of their western province. The border of this province, which lasted until the mid-twelfth century, is unknown to us. The division of Poland into provinces ruled by dukes of the Piast dynasty (1138–1295) brought changes to the status of the lands along the Odra. In 1138, they were united under the rule of Ladislaus II the Exile. In 1163, they were divided between his two sons, Boleslaus I the Tall and Mieszko IV Tanglefoot. Shortly thereafter, further divisions of the territory took place, with particular intensity after 1241 and throughout the entire fourteenth century. As a result, the Odra region disintegrated into dozens of smaller and medium-sized duchies. The dominions of the descendants of Boleslaus I the Tall, located along the middle part of the Odra, were clearly separate. It was only their rulers who were able to use the title of ‘Dukes of Silesia’. The rulers of the southern duchies bore ducal titles of individual lands. This division was weakened in the fifteenth century. Owing to the cooperation during the Hussite wars between the Silesian dukes and those of the southern Odra region, they began to be perceived from the outside as the dukes of Silesia. However, this Silesia was divided into two sub-provinces — the future Lower and Upper Silesia. In the end, the Hungarian king Matthias Corvinus ordained the creation of a single Silesian province. Ruling over Silesia as an ersatz ruler of the Czech kingdom, whose crown he desired to acquire, he attempted to unify the political and legal structures of the lands along the Odra. This did not meet with the full support of local elites. After the king’s death, they contested a number of his decrees. However, while they did not reject the unity of Silesia, they also failed to affirm it. During the phase of transition from the Middle Ages to the modern era, Silesia may have been perceived as a cohesive province of the Kingdom of Bohemia. Be that as it may, internally it remained deeply divided, and a sense of belonging to a Silesian community which encompassed all of the province’s inhabitants was neither universal nor permanent.1

The Protean ‘Silesia’ in Medieval Historiography In the second half of the twelfth century, sources coming from the lands under Piast rule began to contain references to the concept of ‘Silesia’ (Silesia) and ‘provincial Silesia’ (Silencii provincia) as a separate element in the administrative structure of Poland. Indeed, at the beginning of the eleventh century the chronicler Thietmar of Merseburg made mention of the existence of ‘pagus Silenci’ in the Odra region.



1 See Mrozowicz, ‘Dolny Śląsk w latach 1327–1526’, pp. 105–41; Rosik, ‘Najdawniejsze dzieje Dolnego Śląska’, pp. 15–54; Wójcik, ‘Dolny Śląsk w latach 1138–1326’, pp. 55–104; Żerelik, ‘Dzieje Śląska do 1526 roku’, pp. 18–120.

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However, both the genesis of the name and the nature of this entity are quite debatable. It certainly did not encompass the whole of the territory which was later to become Silesia. It was one of many smaller elements present in the imaginations of individuals attempting to give a framework to the fluid political and social reality present in the Odra basin during the tenth and eleventh centuries.2 Such attempts were undertaken on multiple occasions. As early as at the twilight of the ninth century, an anonymous author referred to as ‘the Bavarian Geographer’ mentioned in his description of the lands east of the Elbe several political communities (including the Slenzaane), which we identify with the tribe inhabiting the lands along the Odra.3 In 1086, Emperor Henry IV, probably referencing an unknown earlier document which detailed the boundaries of the diocese of Prague, listed a number of tribes inhabiting Silesia.4 Some of them correlate with those given in the ‘Bavarian Geography’.5 That said, none of these cases mentioned an overarching entity that would encompass all of the political entities emanating from the tribal tradition.6 The ovum of such an entity, with its central hub in Wrocław, was undoubtedly in existence by the close of the tenth century. Evidence of this is to be found in the creation in 999 and the announcement in 1000 of a bishopric with its seat in that very borough. It was one of five that were placed under the authority of the archbishopric of Gniezno, itself established in the same period. The papal decision to create a new ecclesiastical province was an indication of the most important areas and the administrative spaces of the Piasts’ state.7 The Odra basin with Wrocław found itself alongside Pomerania with Kołobrzeg, Greater Poland with Poznań, the archbishopric of Gniezno and Lesser Poland with Kraków. The creation of a bishopric in Wrocław was not, however, directly reflected in the historiography of the Middle Ages which addressed the regions’ formation, and this was in spite of the fact that Wrocław was mentioned as the central point of one of Poland’s provinces by the first chronicler of the Piasts, the anonymous author of Chronica Polonorum from the first quarter of the twelfth century.8 The omission of the bishopric as an element of the region’s genesis from the regional historiography was the result of the foundation of 1000 having been forgotten by the twelfth century; it had been replaced by the narrative of the bishopric’s establishment in the middle of the eleventh century.9 Additionally, the perception of the bishopric’s role in fostering a common identity among the inhabitants of the Odra region must



2 The role of Mount Ślęża in the formation of identity and collective self-identification of inhabitants of the river basin of Odra has been often described in recent years by Rosik, ‘Najdawniejsza postać Śląska’, pp. 63–76; Rosik, ‘Mons Silensis (Ślęża) a kształtowanie się Śląska’, pp. 71–7 3 ‘Descriptio civitatum ad septentrionalem plagam Danubii’, ed. by Horák and Trávniček, p. 3. 4 Heinrici IV. Diplomata/Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV., ed. by Gladiss, no. 390, pp. 515–17. 5 See Rosik, ‘Opolini, Golensizi, Lupiglaa’, pp. 27–36. 6 See Rosik, ‘“Ślężański” Śląsk’?’, pp. 139–45. 7 Wyrozumski, ‘Der Akt von Gnesen und seine Bedeutung’, pp. 281–90. 8 Galli Anonymi Cronica, ed. by Karol Maleczyński, II,4, p. 68; II,13, p. 78. 9 See Dola, ‘Domniemane przedwrocławskie stolice biskupie na Śląsku’, pp. 45–58; Jurek, ‘Ryczyn biskupi’, pp. 21–66; Leciejewicz, ‘Początki biskupstwa wrocławskiego’, pp. 24–31.

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have been hampered by the division of the Piast state’s Wrocław province, which served as the basis of the bishopric founded in 1000. When, in the second half of the twelfth century, that bishopric had encompassed the entirety of the lands in the upper and middle reaches of the Odra river, the province belonging to the Piast state disintegrated into several parts. The space referred to as ‘Silesia’ was the middle part of the Odra region, while the river’s upper reaches of the river saw the formation of the southern duchies. It was only in the fifteenth century that the administrative borders of the province comprising part of the Empire of Bohemia were drawn in a largely identical fashion to those of the bishopric, and the province was given the name ‘Silesia’, divided into Lower (northern) and Upper (southern) Silesia. As a result, remembrance of the history of the community of the Odra region during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was broken down into several strands: the history of the local Church; the history of the southern duchies; the history of Silesia, i.e. of the northern lands ruled by descendants of Duke Boleslaus I the Tall (1163–1201). The first and second strands can be identified from brief textual remnants of an annalistic and liturgical character, as well as from selected works in the literary pragmatism tradition. Broader narrative, annalistic, and chronicle forms arose among those interested in the history of the northern Odra region. ‘Silesia’ is a recurring theme throughout practically the entire historiographical heritage coming from the northern Odra lands. However, the meaning of this term is debatable, and particularly the identification of ‘Silesia’ by contemporaries with the community encompassing inhabitants of smaller political units (duchies).

The Bishopric as a Community of Odra Region Residents? The history of the Wrocław bishopric did not feature prominently in any broader narrative work in the Middle Ages. However, we do have access to various versions of the catalogue of the Wrocław bishops.10 The specificity of this type of work imposed limitations on historiographical reflections to the history of the local Church as observed from the perspective of the bishop’s administration of the diocese and its people. In the catalogue’s oldest version and in works closely related to it, there is essentially no mention of the issue of the territory occupied by the bishopric and its congregation. The description of the local Church’s history focused on conflicts of a material nature, reforms undertaken by bishops, and their activities as benefactors of particular religious communities.11 In the version of the catalogue written at the beginning of the fourteenth century, it was indicated that owing to Bishop Yaroslav, ‘terra Nyzensis accessit episcopatui’ (the region of Nysa has accrued to the bishopric).12 This small entry did not merely

10 See Mrozowicz, ‘Kataloge der Breslauer Bischöfe’, pp. 59–70. 11 The collective edition of different versions of catalogues of the bishops of Wrocław, see ‘Katalogi biskupów wrocławskich’, ed. by Kętrzyński, pp. 534–85. 12 Monumenta Lubensia, ed. by Wattenbach, p. 13.

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describe the addition of the new territory of the Nysa lands to the Wrocław bishopric. Lands associated with the town in Nysa had been a part of the diocese from its inception. However, Bishop Yaroslav was also the ruler of the Duchy of Opole, itself a part of the Odra region and located within the borders of the bishopric. As duke, he was also the ruler of the town in Nysa. And it was as duke that he decided to transfer this administrative unit — the Nysa lands — as a gift to the bishops of Wrocław. ‘Episcopatus’ as used in the catalogue refers to the entirety of rights and incomes associated with performing the function of bishop.13 It was just this particular element — the office of the bishopric — and its temporary holders that were central to the catalogue’s narrative. The community of the faithful — understood as all those worshippers under the authority of the bishops — was beyond the horizons of the storytellers. A key role was played in the history of the Wrocław Church by the late thirteenth-century transformation of the possessions around Nysa and Otmuchów into an episcopal duchy.14 In texts addressed to people associated with the bishop, the position of his duchy was presented as a privileged one in relation to those ruled over by the Odra region’s secular rulers. The c. 1305 version known to historians of Liber fundationis episcopatus Wratislaviensis presents a detailed breakdown of episcopal possessions by district. The description of the episcopal assets begins with a characterization of the Nysa borough, an episcopal duchy. Later on, the income of bishops from the Wrocław, Legnica, Głogów, and Ujazd districts (encompassing the entire southern Odra region) are presented.15 This structure was not precisely aligned with the political and economic realities of the Silesia of that time. It was rather built on the diocesan divisions that led to the formation of archdioceses in the thirteenth century — Wrocław, Głogów, Legnica, and the southern archdiocese with its seat in Opole.16 There was one exception — that of the separation of the episcopal duchy composed of a single administrative element with its seat in Nysa. This model differed from the previous division of episcopal revenues mentioned in a papal bull from 1245. In it, while summing up the location of episcopal lands, the category of district (territorium) is also applied: the Wrocław, Legnica, Głogów, and Bolesławiec districts are named, as well as the Duchy of Opole.17 This more or less corresponded with the internal political divisions of the Piast dominion, in which Silesia (the northern Odra region) was divided into administrative units (territoria) which soon became independent duchies. In the offices of the diocesan stewards this division fell out of favour in descriptions of the episcopal estate, as in the last quarter

13 This is what can be concluded from the note devoted to Laudislaus, duke of Legnica and archbishop of Salzburg, who tried to make the pope grant him ‘istum episcopatum in subsidium’ (this diocese in support) for six years, and therefore the episcopal see of Wrocław was vacant for two years following the death of Bishop Thomas, Monumenta Lubensia, ed. by Wattenbach, p. 13. 14 Scholz, Das geistliche Fürstentum Neisse, passim; Wünsch, ‘Territorienbildung zwischen Polen, Böhmen und dem deutschen Reich’, pp. 199–262. 15 Liber fundationis episcopatus Wratislaviensis, ed. by Markgraf and Schulte, pp. 1–164. 16 See Panzram, Die schlesischen Archidiakonate, passim. 17 Schlesisches Urkundenbuch, II, ed. by Appelt and Irgang, no. 287, pp. 172–73.

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of the thirteenth century the secular dukes acknowledged the status of the episcopal duchy as equal to their own. It was at that moment at the latest when the mental map of the bishopric’s administrators took shape independently of the political divisions present in the Odra region. Of decisive significance was the legal and manorial history of the Wrocław Church. The historiographical narrative among the diocese’s pastors until the fifteenth century did not address the issue of the existence of the region and the changes occurring within it. It was focused on the histories of bishops which were perceived as separate narratives from the histories of secular state structures.

A Southern View of the Past In the case of the elites in the Odra basin’s southern duchies, they participated in the cultivation of the cultural memory which is known to us through annals, documents, and iconographic relics. The presumed ‘Annals of the Racibórz Dominicans’ are claimed to have been an exceptional source. According to Gerard Labuda, it allegedly contained a broad range of information about the entire Odra region and Poland.18 Acceptance of this hypothesis would enable us to get a grasp of an awareness of the existence of a region which encompassed both parts of the Odra region in the mid-thirteenth historiography of the southern duchies. Unfortunately, convincing arguments have been made by researchers who feel that the aforementioned work is a historiographical construction authored by Gerard Labuda.19 In fact, it was the ‘Annals of Upper Silesia’ that were written in the lands of the southern Odra region in the Middle Ages. Historians are of the opinion that it was written between 1262 and 1300. Its content is quite different from that of northern annals.20 However, it does display a very large number of similarities with annals composed in the neighbouring Lesser Poland. The history of Kraków was of much greater interest to its author(s) than events occurring in Silesia. The distinctness of the historical memory recorded in the ‘Annals of Upper Silesia’ from those known from annals written in the northern Odra region is thrown into particularly sharp relief when we compare the manner in which the Mongol invasion of 1241 is portrayed. Throughout the entire historical tradition of the northern Odra region from the mid-thirteenth century, great stress was placed on the enormous significance of this invasion in the history of Silesia. In addition, even greater emphasis was placed on the significance of the Battle of Legnica and the death of Duke Henry II the Pious, the son of St Hedwig. Meanwhile, in the ‘Annals of Upper Silesia’, the events of 1241 are commented on briefly: ‘Thatari primi Poloniam introierunt’ (the first Tatars entered Poland).21 The author of the annals entirely avoided mentioning St Hedwig, who had 18 Labuda, Zaginiona kronika, passim. 19 See Matuszewski, Relacja Długosza; Cetwiński, ‘Co wiemy o bitwie pod Legnicą?’, pp. 75–94; Irgang, ‘Die Schlacht von Wahlstadtt’, pp. 48–54 and Maroń, ‘Bitwa legnicka w najnowszej historiografii’, pp. 185–92. 20 See Korta, Annalistyka śląska, pp. 122–23. 21 Korta, Annalistyka śląska, entry of 1241.

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Figure 3.1. In the battle between the Mongols and an army led by Polish knights at Legnica (Liegnitz) in 1241, as depicted in an illumination by the anonymous artist of the Vita Beatae Hedwigis (1353) we see the beheading of Duke Henry II and his soul being carried by Angels to Heaven. Ms Ludwig XI 7 (83.MN.126), fol. 11v, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

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achieved cult-like status as early as the mid-thirteenth century. However, he was the only one to mention the date of the death of Viola, the duchess of Opole.22 Following her husband’s death, this ruler raised two sons and quarrelled with the dukes of Silesia — first with Henry I the Bearded, then later with Henry II the Pious. Finally, in writing about the tragic massacre perpetrated against the dukes at the congress in Gąsawa (1227), he mentioned only the death of Leszek the White, duke of Kraków.23 He entirely omitted one of the fundamental themes of the narrative from the northern Odra region — the severe wounds inflicted on Henry I the Bearded. The distinct character of this annals’ narrative when compared to those known from sources originating in the northern Odra region could not have resulted from a lack of access to information. The Battle of Legnica and the holiness of St Hedwig were key facts for constructing a history of the region by the historiographers of the neighbouring Silesia.24 Their avoidance of any reference to the history of Lesser Poland served only to accentuate the independence of this version of historical memory recorded in the ‘Annals’. There is a simultaneous absence of any reference in that work to broader group bonds that would help to construct a regional community. The author of the annals may have felt himself a part of the Duchy of Opole and Racibórz, as well as of the political community of Poland, whose heart at that time continued to beat in Kraków. These, however, were the only identifications he displayed, and he is the only one who left behind a narrative history of the lands of the southern Odra region in our possession. The absence of historiographical sources originating in the southern Odra region does not attest to any lack of historical awareness on the part of the southern Silesian elites. This awareness was rather focused on the details of the genealogy of local rulers, and was recorded — apart from the nomenclature we are familiar with from documents — in necrological documents of familial convents, such as in the necrology of the Norbertines of Czarnowąsy.25 In that particular source, entries are preserved concerning the donor family, which lists its members using the nomenclature appropriate for the sub-region of the southern Odra region (dux/ducissa Opoliensis), or, as in the case of the donor himself, Mieszko IV Tanglefoot, the broad expression ‘dux Polonorum’ (duke of the Poles).26 Both the ducal nomenclature and the content of entries in the convent necrologies clearly emphasized that the self-identification of dukes exercising authority and people associated with them arose within the confines of a narrowly-defined family and territory directly ruled over 2–3 generations. This did not, however, signify the total displacement of the bond linking the Piasts governing the entire Odra region from the memory of the southern elites. When nearly all of the Piasts exercising power in the Odra basin between 1327 and 1329 offered their feudal allegiance to John of Luxemburg, the king of Bohemia, they 22 Korta, Annalistyka śląska, entry of 1251. 23 Korta, Annalistyka śląska, entry of 1227. 24 See Mrozowicz, ‘W poszukiwaniu’, pp. 139–61. 25 Wiszewski, ‘Herzögliche Stifter und Frauenklöster’, pp. 467–68. 26 ‘Necrolog des Klosters Czarnowanz’, ed. by Wattenbach, pp. 226–28, 16 May: ‘Mesco dux Polonorum fundator huius loci’, 7 April: ‘Wyola Ducissa Oppoliensis’.

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were linked by political bonds. These bonds made it easier to establish the cooperation which, in the fifteenth century, blossomed through the formation of military alliances encompassing the entire Odra region. It may even be supposed that among the elite of the southern Odra region the sense of being among the descendants of Ladislaus II the Exile, a group to which the dukes of Silesia proper belonged, never disappeared. However, this was considered of far less significance in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries than was the feeling of belonging to a commonwealth of regions of a lower rank, the duchies of Racibórz, Cieszyn, and Toszek. Perhaps one reason why this general Silesian identification was characterized by weakness was the absence of a codified historical tradition. The strength of identification with a lower-ranking community was ensured by the durability of a liturgical and political message affirming the patrilineal bonds of the ducal clan and the geographical reach of that family’s power.

Silesia as the Lands of the Descendants of Boleslaus I the Tall Different from the south, in the northern part of the Odra region historiographical literature enjoyed a relatively fertile existence. In a part of such works, the issue of regional history was broached while freely crossing the borders of individual duchies. The first remainder of a narrative turn, the so-called ‘Polish Chronicle’ or ‘Silesian Polish Chronicle’, was written around 1290. It was most likely composed in the Cistercian abbey in Lubiąż, and its aim was to emphasize the right of Henry IV the Righteous, duke of Wrocław, to power over all of Poland.27 The chronicle was written at the moment when the partition of the northern Odra region between quarrelling dynastic lines with power over small duchies was becoming a fact. In spite of that, the ‘Polish Chronicle’ presented a vision of one province, Silesia, as the heritage of all descendants of Ladislaus II the Exile. However, in the course of the tale, Silesia was refashioned from a dominion encompassing all of the Odra region into the inheritance of the rulers from the north, themselves descendants of Boleslaus the Tall. The southern duchies remained beyond the horizon of the northern duchies. The first part of the chronicle was a summary of Master Vincentius’ ‘Polish Chronicle’, which described Polish history from the perspective of Kraków’s rulers at the turn of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.28 In that part, the Silesian chronicler took a different approach than that of Vincentius, emphasizing that upon the death of Boleslaus III Wrymouth (1138) his eldest son inherited ducal power (monarchia) and ‘Slesiam et Cracoviam’.29 He and his family were ultimately chased out by his younger brothers. His sons supposedly obtained the consent of his paternal uncle, Boleslaus IV the Curly, to return. According to the chronicler, Boleslaus ‘eis patrimonium Slesie

27 See Mrozowicz, ‘Chronica Polonorum’, p. 395; further reading Mrozowicz, ‘Śląska “Kronika polska”’, pp. 105–28. 28 Mrozowicz, ‘Z problematyki recepcji kroniki Wincentego’, pp. 326–36. 29 ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 630.

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concedit’ (had granted them the possession of Silesia),30 and not only did they settle their lands, but also allegedly demanded that power over Poland be taken away from their father (‘a patro monarchiam repetunt’). Boleslaus IV the Curly supposedly began to battle with them, but they defended themselves with the assistance of German burghers and warriors.31 The tale told by the Silesian historian contrasted with the narrative written by Master Vincentius, which was not very favourable towards the dukes of the Odra region. It justified the separation of the Silesian rulers from the remaining Piasts. In this construction, Silesia played a very important role as the inheritance of the Exile’s descendants. The territory was depicted as a whole, not only in a practical sense, but also in a legal and ideological one. Silesia became a region not only due to administrative divisions of Poland, but also because of the rights and blood ties of its rulers. The second part of the chronicle contained a story more loosely based on the narrative of Master Vincentius, describing the history of the descendants of Ladislaus the Exile. It is far more precise in respect of the history of that Piast line, but the fundamental idea remained unchanged. Ladislaus the Exile had obtained ‘Slesiam provinciam’ as an inheritance from his father. Upon their return from exile, his sons were gifted cities — capitals of lands — located around the province.32 As in the first part, these divisions did not damage the sense of Silesian unity. Following the death of Boleslaus the Tall, the entire region was to be ruled by one duke: ‘pius princeps Henricus, dux Slesie, dictus cum barba’ (the pious prince Henry, duke of Silesia, called ‘the Bearded’).33 The chronicler avoided mention of the Opole dukes’ exercise of power during the life of Henry I the Bearded and his son, Henry II the Pious. In this chronicler’s view, the first partition of Silesia took place following the death of Henry II the Pious. It was then that Boleslaus II the Bald was said to have attacked his underage brothers and perpetrate a large number of crimes. As a result of his acts, the sons of Henry II the Pious lost power over all of their lands save Silesia, where power remained divided between Boleslaus and his brothers. As the historian put it, ‘particio autem terre Slesie sic facta est’ (however the partition of the land of Silesia is made in this way).34 This partition undoubtedly had its roots in the condemnable, and even criminal transgressions of Boleslaus II the Bald. However, in this context the term ‘Silesia’ was not defined as the entire province, but rather a fragment of it, the northern part that was the heritage of the line of Boleslaus the Tall. Silesia remained linked solely with the history of the clan of Henry I the Bearded and St Hedwig, as well as Henry II the Pious, the heroic defender of Christianity against the Mongol hordes. While the name of the province may have encompassed the entire Odra region, from the moment the history of both Henrys, whose fate was so tightly bound up

30 31 32 33 34

‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 633. ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 634. ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 644. ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 648. ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ćwikliński, p. 652.

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with the history of the Salvation, made its appearance, Silesia became the property of Henry II the Pious’ descendants, and theirs alone. It shrank in geographical terms, but in ideological ones it grew stronger and came to overshadow past battles over the inheritance of Boleslaus the Wrymouth. Just a few years later, around the year 1300, an anonymous author associated with the Cistercian abbey in Trzebnica and the Wrocław line of the Piast dynasty composed two versions of the Vita of St Hedwig, wife of the duke of Silesia Henry I the Bearded.35 In analysing them it should be remembered that the author based the works on the previous, lost Vita of the saint penned by the Cistercian Engelbert. He wrote his opus prior to the canonization of Hedwig: between her death in 1243 and her canonization in 1267.36 In seeking ways to apprehend the regional community, it is not possible to fully distinguish the views of both authors. Undoubtedly, the Vita Maior contains an articulate confirmation of the existence of Silesia as a broader territorial community. This is the land that was to have been overrun by ‘Tartarica rabies’ in 1241.37 Silesia, and more precisely ‘terra Slesie’, encompassing the heritage of Henry I the Bearded and Henry II the Pious, was presented in ‘Life and Times’ as a community integrated by the idea of the common welfare of its inhabitants. Hedwig, in a prophetic vision, was said to have lamented the fate of her grandson Boleslaus, the later duke of Legnica, Boleslaus II the Bald: ‘ve, ve tibi, Bolezlae, quanta mala tu adhuc inferes terre tue’ (woe, woe you, Boleslaus, for how much harm you do to your land). These ‘mala’ meant both the wars and the harm visited upon the inhabitants, as well as the fact that he handed over ‘clavem terre, castrum videlicet et territorium Lebusanum’ (the key to the land, namely the castle and the territory of Leubus) to foreign hands. And all this he did in spite of achieving ‘in terra Slesie principatum’ (the principality in the land of Silesia).38 Nonetheless, the issue of the existence of the region was an entirely marginal one for the author, if not for both authors of the sources devoted to Hedwig. It was something obvious, which neither of them spent a great deal of time on. A slightly different perception of this issue is presented in the unique work of the anonymous author of ‘Life and Times’ of St Hedwig, known as ‘The Genealogy of Saint Hedwig’. It was written around the same time as both versions of ‘Life and Times’, and presents a perception of history focused on the appearance of local ducal lines and the marriages of duchesses — descendants of Henry II the Pious. In looking from this perspective at the dynasty ruling over the Odra region, the author only distinguished some of the lines within its orbit — those of Wrocław, Legnica, Oleśnica, and Głogów. He focused solely on portraying the community of the Piasts — the descendants of Hedwig, while seeking to prove that his contemporary, the abbess of Trzebnica and princess of Masovia, also had the blood of that saint flowing in her veins. Issues

35 For older literature see Dunin-Wąsowicz, ‘Hedwig von Schlesien’, cols 1985–86; recent literature Rosik, ‘Pauper et modicus, collegio pauperum aggregatus’, pp. 55–65. 36 Jażdżewski, ‘Engelberci czy Engelbert?’, pp. 191–94. 37 ‘Vita sanctae Hedwigis (Vita maior)’, ed. by Semkowicz, p. 561. 38 ‘Vita sanctae Hedwigis (Vita maior)’, ed. by Semkowicz, p. 571.

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concerning supra-local structures, broader than the duchy, were effectively ignored in their entirety. The concept of Silesia appears almost as an afterthought and plays no role at all in the narrative.39 It may only be supposed that this duality of approaches towards Silesia as an idea in sources dedicated to St Hedwig resulted from the different periods in which they were composed: a feeling of Silesian unity was still maintained in the second half of the thirteenth century (in Engelbert’s era). At the turn of the century, however, there was an increasingly strong perception of the value of bonds within the framework of a community of duchies, accompanied by the diminishing importance of ties at the regional level. In the ‘Chronicle of the Polish Dukes’, written in the second half of the fourteenth century by an anonymous chronicler from Brzeg for his close kin, themselves Silesian dukes ruling over Legnica and Brzeg, Silesia became merely the space in which a dynastic game was played out. A significant part of this chronicle is a reproduction of earlier works — that of Master Vincentius and the second, Silesian part of ‘Polish Chronicle’.40 The author of the ‘Chronicles of the Polish Dukes’ skipped over the elements of the narrative in ‘Polish Chronicle’ that described the exceptional position of Silesia in the mentality of that work’s creator. The chronicler placed much stronger emphasis than his predecessor on the Polish dimension of history and the roots of the dukes’ power. Silesia was portrayed almost exclusively as the heritage of the sons of Ladislaus II the Exile, who was given that land by his father, Boleslaus III Wrymouth. Similar to the ‘Polish Chronicle’, no mention was made of the existence of two fragments of that province; that is the southern duchies bordering Silesia proper. Instead, the author focused on a detailed account of the divisions of Henry II the Pious’ heritage under particular generations of rulers. The term ‘Silesia’ itself appeared with extreme rarity, but the concept of a shared political space of the clan is perceivable in the chronicle. For it is in this Silesian space that the most important political events described in the work took place. Let us not forget, however, that they are viewed from the perspective of the fates of individual local duchies. A concept that would unite them all — Silesia as a shared inheritance from their forefathers — essentially fails to make an appearance in that work. The chronicler was undoubtedly aware of the distinctness of Silesia as a region. In citing the entries of other chronicles, he mentioned that in 1335 ‘validus fuit ventus in Slezia et locis vicinis’(there was a strong wind in Silesia and neighbouring places).41 It is not possible on the basis of this entry to say what he understood by the concept of ‘Silesia’. He perceived the specificity of the Odra region as a political entity, but his attention was focused on the details of the history of the dynasties ruling over the northern part of those lands. As a result, the content of the chronicle was dominated by the history of local duchies. Some scholars are of the opinion that this chronicle was intended to give legitimacy to the efforts of Louis II of Brzeg to seize the Polish crown and become king following the death of Louis I of Hungary.

39 ‘Tractatus sive speculum genealoye [sic!] Sancta Hedwigis’, ed. by Semkowicz, p. 647. 40 See Mrozowicz, ‘Cronica principum Polonie und Cronica ducum Silesie’, pp. 147–59. 41 ‘Kronika książąt polskich’, ed. by Węclewski, p. 554.

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This does not explain the lack of information about the South.42 In those times a clear wall sprang up dividing two areas by the distinct forms of cultural memory possessed by elites. In the South, the process of transformations remains unclear due to a lack of written sources. The North offers greater possibilities for tracking the process of the formation of both a regional entity encompassing the entire Odra region and its local variants, shaped by the social relations existing within the borders of individual duchies throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

Local Perspectives of the Region’s Future The first written work in Silesia where the region’s history features as a general framework for presenting a local history was the ‘Book of Henryków’. This source, which was composed in the second half of the fourteenth century at the Cistercian abbey in Henryków, contained a detailed description of the acquisition of the abbey’s possessions. Because it did not address a wide geographical range, the authors’ focus was on local social, economic, and legal relations, strictly within the borders of the Duchy of Ziębice.43 However, the margins of the book’s principal content also contain references to the histories of broader communities. One such event from the history of Silesia was the Mongol invasion of 1241, clearly leaving its mark on the abbey, and oft mentioned in the ‘Book’, as it was in other Silesian sources.44 In this, as well as in other, quite general remarks, there is a clearly perceivable concept of a regional social and political space within which the world described by the monks’ narrative is located. The often referred to terra found in the ‘Book’ was a point of reference for the events described in a spatial entity occupying a higher position in the administrative structure than the nearest surroundings or native duchy. It appeared as the conclusive stage of the political events influencing the abbey’s situation.45 We can only suppose from the context that ‘terra Silesia’ was treated as the space for the political life in the Odra region under the rule of Henry I the Bearded. When the author of the book’s first section wrote of a feast that had been held, he indicated that it was in honour of Duke Henry I the Bearded and ‘universis maioribus huius terrae’ (all the magnates of this territory).46

42 See Mrozowicz, ‘Cronica principum Polonie und Cronica ducum Silesie’; Mrozowicz, ‘Dlaczego Piotr z Byczyny nic nie wiedział o książętach opolskich?’, pp. 89–107. 43 The latest, most comprehensive presentation of the source and present literature was published by Górecki, A Local Society In Transition, pp. 1–35, 86–90. 44 Cetwiński, ‘Najokrutniejszy miesiąc’, pp. 77–92. 45 See e.g. Górecki, A Local Society In Transition, pp. 106–07; original version: Liber fundationis claustri sancte Marie Virginis, ed. by Grodecki, I,3 (47), pp. 121–22 (concerning the period when the Tartars invaded ‘hanc terram’, the reins of which were taken over by knights after the death of Henry II); I,3 (54), p. 123 (about a new man in the entourage of Henry I the Bearded as ‘in hac terra advena’ and others). 46 Liber fundationis claustri sancte Marie Virginis, ed. by Grodecki, I,1 (21), p. 116.

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Yet, as a result of dynastic divisions, the unity of this land was lost. Nonetheless, awareness of its existence remained a constant feature of the work. It was recalled by the author’s frequent reference to documents bearing the title of the rulers — ‘dux Silesiae’. Abbot Peter, author of the first volume of the work, indicated in a passage describing the conflict between Boleslaus II the Bald and Henry III, son of Henry II the Pious, that at the time ‘exortum est inicium et nocumentum tocius huius provincie’ (originated the beginning and the damaging of all this province).47 The province, arising under the rule of Henry I and Henry II, continued to function for the monks following their death and the division of their dominion, but its ideological existence had no direct impact on the events described in the ‘Book’. Silesia also appeared as a very general point of departure for narratives describing local events in later historiographical works arising out of the monastic milieu. Such a role was played by the tale of Duke Henry I the Bearded and his wife St Hedwig, founders of the abbey in Żagań, in the first part of the late fourteenth-century work by the Abbot Ludolf, ‘Catalogus abbatum Saganensium’.48 In this chronicle of the abbey of regular canons in Żagań, Silesia appeared primarily as an aspect of the history of Duke Henry I the Bearded, acknowledged as the first founder of the house. It is he, referred to by the title ‘dux Slezie’, who, together with his wife St Hedwig, was to receive ‘Slezie principatum’ (the principality of Silesia).49 When the author proceeded to a description of the location of the first abbey, he rejects locating it within the broader horizon of political geography. Readers of the chronicle were to focus exclusively on the foundation’s local context: ‘In Newynborg prope Boberam, in monte et circa ecclesiam sancti Bartholomei, deinde de monte translatum ad vallem […] de qua post longa tempora translatum est in Saganum’ ([the cloister was founded] in Nowogród Bobrzański (Naumburg) near the Bober river, on the mountain, near the church of St Bartholomew, then [it was] transferred from the mountain into the valley […] after many years [the cloister] was moved from there into [the town of] Żagań (Sagan)).50 Such a detailed description was only comprehensible for those familiar with the topography of the Głogów and Żagań duchies. In the Żagań canons’ chronicle, Silesia is an abstract notion with which it would be difficult to identify. It functioned as an element describing the world of the dominion of dukes associated with the abbey — but those from the distant past. Those whom the monks would encounter in their times were mentioned without titles. Readers familiar with the reality of life in the abbey were clearly to surmise that they were the local dukes of Głogów and Żagań.51

47 Górecki, A Local Society In Transition, p. 119; Liber fundationis claustri sancte Marie Virginis, ed. by Grodecki, I,6 (77), p. 130. 48 Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Stenzel, pp. 172–248 (the chronicle continued until the seventeenth century, Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Stenzel, pp. 249–528). For more about the chronicle and its pragmatic dimension: Proksch, Klosterreform und Geschichtsschreibung, pp. 129–37, 181–201. 49 Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Stenzel, p. 176. 50 Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Stenzel, p. 177. 51 e.g. Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Stenzel, pp. 186–87, 191–92.

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Figure 3.2. The Vita Beatae Hedwigis opens with a treatise on the genealogy of her family. The manuscript’s first miniature shows her lineage in two images. The one at the lower half of the leaf shows Hedwig’s marriage, at the age of twelve, to Duke Henry of Silesia. Ms Ludwig XI 7 (83.MN.126), lower part of fol. 10v, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

The extensive depreciation of the significance of Silesia as a political and social space can be observed in sources coming from the Cistercian abbey in Lubiąż. In ‘Versus lubenses’, a work composed in the fourteenth century that describes the early history of the abbey,52 there is a complete absence of concepts that could be identified with the region. The author’s focus was entirely on the local context. When beginning his description of the location where the abbey stood, he simple wrote ‘Est locus iste Lubens Julio de Cesare dictus’ (this place is called Lubens after Julius Caesar).53 The etymology of the name of the place where the abbey was located (Ger. Leubus, Pol. Lubiąż), taken from the chronicle of Master Vincentius, served to place the abbey’s history within the European historical tradition.54 At the same time, it entirely omitted the regional level of Silesia. In support of the argument that local identity dominated in the construction of the social world around the abbey, we may cite the content of another work coming 52 Mrozowicz, ‘Versus Lubenses’, pp. 476–477. 53 ‘Versus lubenses’, ed. by Wattenbach, p. 14. 54 Mistrza Wincentego zwanego Kadłubkiem Kronika, ed. by Plezia, I, 17,2, p. 23.

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from the same abbey in Lubiąż, the ‘Epytaphia ducum Slesiae’. This collection of necrological entries was also composed in the fourteenth century. Contrary to what the title may suggest, its content did not address the dukes of Silesia. Indeed, this title was mentioned in the case of two dukes — Ladislaus the Exile55 and Henry I the Bearded, who was given the appellation ‘dominus tocius Slesie’ (lord of the whole of Silesia).56 However, their descendants were mentioned almost exclusively with reference to their particular titles. This is understandable when taking into account the pragmatic objective of the work. It was intended to commemorate the ancestors of the founder (Boleslaus I the Tall) and those of his descendants who ruled over the territory where the abbey and its primary possessions were located. This is also why only the dukes of Wrocław and Głogów were mentioned,57 as only those two lines of Silesian rulers had dominion over the lands of the abbey. In the eyes of the monks from Lubiąż, the entire Odra region as a community was of little significance. The presentation as if, in medieval Silesia, the concept of the region had little influence on the wider community, was generally applied, not only by the Cistercians, and did not restrict itself to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. A good example of this phenomenon is the chronicle of the abbots of the Norbertine abbey of St Vincent of Wrocław, composed by Nicholas Libenthal at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.58 It contains practically no mention of any administrative entity ranking above the local duchy. Only once is the title ‘Duke of Silesia’ mentioned, in reference to Henry IV the Righteous. Apart from that example, the general designations of ‘dux, princeps’ appear, or indications of a local scope of power (dux Saganensis — Duke of Żagań, dominus Olaviensis — Duke of Oława, etc.).59 No role is played by the region in descriptions of the space in which the history of the monks took place. At the beginning of the sixteenth century (after 1506) a continuation of the ‘Chronicle of the Polish Dukes’ was written at the court of the dukes of Legnica.60 In it, we may find a nearly perfect copy of the primary importance of local identity described above, coupled with mention of events occurring in the Duchy of Legnica in reference to the broader political framework of the region of Silesia. Significantly, however, in this work Silesia as a cohesive entity and political and administrative unit does not appear until entries describing events from the second half of the fifteenth century. In fragments addressing the fourteenth and first half of the fifteenth centuries, the clearly dominant theme is that of the history of the Duchy of Legnica.61 Even in descriptions of the Hussite wars, the only information about its effects that we can find is in reference to the duchy alone. The broader, Silesian context of those wars — to say nothing of the international one — is completely absent.62 It is only

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

‘Epytaphia ducum’, ed. by Wattenbach, p. 16. ‘Epytaphia ducum’, ed. by Wattenbach, pp. 15, 17. ‘Epytaphia ducum’, ed. by Wattenbach, pp. 17–19. Mrozowicz, ‘Libenthal, Nicolaus’, p. 1031. ‘Gesta abbatum monasterii sancti Vincentii’, ed. by Stenzel, p. 137. Geschichtsschreiber Schelsiens des XV Jahrhunderts, ed. by Wachter, pp. xviii–xix. ‘Liegnitzer Chronik’, ed. by Wachter, pp. 95–103. ‘Liegnitzer Chronik’, ed. by Wachter, pp. 101–02.

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Figure 3.3. In the nineteenth century a series of ‘Fürstenbilder’ depicted the tombs of the dukes of Silesia. In vivid colours the mostly vanished medieval polychrome was evoked. Here we see the picture of the tomb of Henry IV the Righteous (Probus), duke of Wrocław Probus, of which the original now is in the National Museum. After Theodor Blatterbauer, Schlesische Fürstenbilder des Mittelalters.

in the narrative dedicated to the efforts of the Piast dukes in receiving confirmation from the Bohemian kings — George of Poděbrady and Matthias Corvinus — of the Piasts’ rights to the Duchy of Legnica that we may find terminology indicating the existence of a ‘Silesian’ community. King George is said to have ordered Duke Frederick I to stay out of Bohemia, and rather to remain with other dukes and territories ‘inn Schlesien’.63 In turn, Matthias Corvinus elected Frederick I to the office of starosta (royal official) of all of Silesia.64 63 ‘Liegnitzer Chronik’, ed. by Wachter, p. 103. 64 ‘Liegnitzer Chronik’, ed. by Wachter, p. 105.

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The chronicler did not find much use for the idea of the existence of a Silesian nation. Quite the opposite, it only appears in the margins of his deliberations. The entire work unequivocally indicates a desire to strengthen the memory of the history of the Duchy of Legnica as a separate entity, with its own historical tradition and dynasty representing that community. Silesia — perceived in accordance with the intentions of the royal administration in the second half of the fifteenth century as the entirety of the Odra region — was the background for strengthening a Legnicacentred identity. The conception of the region is vague; the social, political, and administrative aspects of the duchy are far more sharply defined. It was not by accident that when writing about the assumption of the title of Silesian starosta by the duke of Legnica, Frederick I, the chronicler described it thus: ‘war er ein haupttman uber alle fursten der gantzen Schlesien’ (he was the starosta over all dukes of the whole Silesia).65 A royal official, starosta of ‘all of Silesia’, was for the chronicler the ruler not of a country, nor of a Silesian community, but first and foremost of the duchies comprising that community.

Silesia as a Shared Land In narrative sources from the late Middle Ages written in the abbeys and cities of the Odra basin, the region was treated as a community of a higher rank that, without any need for broader consideration, both existed and had no greater significance. Authors assigned fundamental, practical significance to the community of inhabitants from their immediate surroundings and the elites of the local duchy. However, contemporaneously with this stream of thought, a tradition existed from the beginning of the fourteenth century that cemented the vision of ‘Silesia’ as the general framework for the functioning of the communities located in particular duchies, a social and political category with a permanent presence in history and important for understanding local histories. The role of bearer of this tradition was assigned to yearbooks. Sources of this type were initially composed in monasteries of the Odra region. It was not until the fifteenth century that they also began to be written in towns. Their authors focused on commentary addressing the most important events in their community, while placing them in a broader context. This broader context included information about ‘Silesia’. Most often, it concerned events affecting ‘Silesia’ and its rulers. The context in which they were used always defined ‘Silesia’ as a broader political community, or a larger territory whose relation to the main theme of the work was not always clear; it was assumed that the reader was familiar with the historical tradition that associated information about Silesia with the territorial unit and community in which the yearbook’s main actors were functioning.66

65 ‘Liegnitzer Chronik’, ed. by Wachter, p. 105. 66 See ‘Rocznik cystersów henrykowskich’, ed. by Bielowski, pp. 701–03, entries from 1241, 1261, 1280, 1281, 1289, 1309, 1315, 1317.

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In the ‘Greater Krzeszów Yearbook’ from c. 1307, the term ‘Silesia’ appears almost constantly. The yearbook was written in the Cistercian abbey in Krzeszów, and centres on the history of the monastery’s founder as well as important political events which occurred up to the moment of the work’s completion. The author did not refer to the Piast dukes governing the northern part of the Odra region as the dukes of Silesia. This title was reserved for Bolko I the Strict, duke of Świdnica, the founder of the abbey. When writing about the death of Bolko’s father, he remarked: ‘eodem anno Albertus marchio Brandenburgensis intravit Slesiam cum duce Bolkone’ (in the same year Albert margrave of Brandenburg entered Silesia with the duke Bolko).67 Against the backdrop of the remaining entries about the ‘Wrocław’ and ‘Głogów’ dukes, Bolko was presented as the duke of Silesia. The central point of the yearbook remains an entry from 1301: ‘obiit corona Slesie, fundator et benefactor monachorum in Grissow et monialium in Strelin, illustris et christianissimus dux Bolko’ (The ‘crown of Silesia’, the founder and benefactor for monks of Krzeszów (Grüssau) and nuns of Strzelin (Strehlen), the most dignified and Christian duke Bolko, died; emph. P. W.).68 For the author, as well as for the yearbook’s expected audience, the highest title that could be bestowed on the deceased was one that made him the leader and symbolic pinnacle of ‘Silesia’, understood as a particular political community subject to no external authority. Before the dukes of the Odra region became dependent on the rulers of Bohemia in the third and fourth decades of the fourteenth century, the idea of the local political community as an independent organism remained much alive,69 at least one associated with the descendants of Boleslaus I the Tall. In the fifteenth century there arose two versions of the history of Wrocław’s struggles with George of Poděbrady, the king of Bohemia labelled a heretic and Hussite. Both of them were written by the urban author Peter Eschenloer. The first, addressed to city councillors, was composed in Latin. The second, fuller version, intended to reach a wider audience, was written in German. The part of interest to us is identical in both versions. The author consciously focused on the history of Wrocław, which he highlighted in the introduction to his work.70 Yet at the same time, he placed it against the broad background of the history of the Bohemian Crown.71 He also perceived a community linking all residents of the Odra region, labelling them as Silesians (Slesitae), analogically to the Moravians (Moravi). In the chronicle, this signified the communities of inhabitants in two countries under the Bohemian Crown as separate administrative entities. Because this term appeared in the context of the acknowledgement of the authority of King Ladislaus the Posthumous, it was clearly

67 ‘Rocznik grysowski większy’, ed. by Bielowski, p. 696, entries from 1280. 68 ‘Rocznik grysowski większy’, ed. by Bielowski, p. 697. 69 An interesting example of which is the content of the Yearbook of the Cistercians of Henryków, where the author clearly distinguished Silesia from Poland and Bohemia, treating them as entities linked by a common history and geography but fully independent from one another, see ‘Rocznik cystersów henrykowskich’, ed. by Bielowski, pp. 702, 703, entries from 1281, 1317. 70 Peter Eschenloer, Historia Wratislaviensis, ed. by Markgraff, p. 1. 71 Peter Eschenloer, Historia Wratislaviensis, ed. by Markgraff, pp. 2–3, 5–6.

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Figure 3.4. One of the oldest maps of Silesia, once its shape and identity were established, is the one drawn by the Silesian cartographer Martin Helwig in 1561, which was used by Orthelius in his Theatrum Orbis Terrarum Abrahami Ortelii Antverp. Geographi Regii. This copy comes from the edition by Plantin, Antwerp 1601. Private collection.

evident to the author that Silesians could operate together as a political actor.72 In his narrative, Eschenloer also consciously applied the concept of a regional community. In writing about the emission of poor-quality money by George of Poděbrady, the chronicler indicated that George had done this ‘in non modicam destruccionem Slesie’ (to the immoderate destruction of Silesia).73 Thus, while Eschenloer wrote the history of Wrocław, and this city was his focal point, Silesia was a natural and accented space, and Silesians were the leading characters in the history of the city; equally real and significant as the Kingdom of Bohemia and the Bohemians, or the Kingdom of Poland and the Poles. At the twilight of the era, Silesia saw the appearance of yearbooks unequivocally pointing to the desire of chroniclers to create a vision of multi-layered belonging 72 Peter Eschenloer, Historia Wratislaviensis, ed. by Markgraff, pp. 3, 6. 73 Peter Eschenloer, Historia Wratislaviensis, ed. by Markgraff, p. 9.

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on the part of central figures in events. The lowest level was occupied by membership in a local community (monastery, town), while the highest was held by membership in the group under the king of Bohemia, or in the commonwealth of the Crown of the Kingdom of Bohemia. In the middle there was room for belonging to ‘Silesia’ and the community of ‘Silesians’. In the ‘Yearbook of the Wrocław Magistrate’, written in the second decade of the sixteenth century, there is an entry concerning the struggles with the Hussites in 1428. Its significance stems from the fact that the entire yearbook was focused on local events, meaning the history of Wrocław and the Duchy of Wrocław. The yearbook also precisely describes the stages of the Bohemian kings’ acquisition of the rights to the duchy and the town.74 Meanwhile, in the entry of interest, we may read the following: ‘Wratislavienses et alii Silesii a Bohemis, Hussenis vulgo nuncupatis, prostrati in bello succubuere dolenter atque misere’ (citizens of Wrocław and other Silesians fell painfully and lamentable defeated in the battle by the Czechs, called Hussenis [Hussites]; emph. P. W.).75

Conclusion In historiographical works of the Middle Ages composed in the northern part of the Odra region, the idea of a broader community encompassing either the northern Odra basin, or the entire upper and middle reaches of the Odra river, was a constant feature. What changed, however, was the function of the information concerning that community. There is essentially no source that indicates an attempt to promote the idea of a Silesian community. It was accepted and identified as a natural space of joint action. Its history, however, was not affirmed. The past of a Silesia viewed in a number of different ways was a very general framework used in the construction of traditions of local identities. The fusion of both dimensions of identity — local and regional — is most visible in the thirteenth and the second half of the fifteenth centuries. During this time, political events created favourable conditions for undertaking joint political activity involving political entities from various duchies around the Odra region. However, the period from the fourteenth century to the first half of the fifteenth century was a time of strengthening local identities. The emphasis on the local dimension of communities’ individual histories was particularly visible in the context of monastic communities. One is struck by the fact that the history of the bishopric of Wrocław does not play a significant role in painting the

74 ‘Rocznik magistratu wrocławskiego’, ed. by Bielowski, p. 683, note of 1290 (‘ducatus Wratislaviensis per dominum Rudolphum regem Romanorum, comitem in Habspurck, corone Bohemie incorporatur’ — duchy of Wrocław was incorporated into the Crown of Bohemia by Rudolph, rex of Romans, duke of Habsburg), ‘Rocznik magistratu wrocławskiego’, ed. by Bielowski, p. 685, entry from 1327 (‘ducatus Wratislaviensis et Noviforensis devoluti sunt realiter et cum effectu ad regnum Bohemie’ — duchies of Wrocław and Środa Śląska (Neumarkt) were transferred truly and completely to the Kingdom of Bohemia). 75 ‘Rocznik magistratu wrocławskiego’, ed. by Bielowski, p. 685.

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historiographical picture of Silesia as a region. The history of the region and the history of the bishopric were plotted in parallel, without the necessity of coupling them together tightly. The situation in the duchies of the southern Odra region was complicated and, due to a paucity of sources, opaque. The sources that have been preserved indicate that in the thirteenth century, and likely until the fifteenth century, events taking place in Lesser Poland were of greater significance as a point of reference for local histories than were those in Silesia. The scarcity of sources makes it impossible to say at what moment — and whether in general — the southern duchies exhibited broader acceptance during the Middle Ages of an affiliation with the Silesian community. Political events during the Hussite wars and the reign of Matthias Corvinus undoubtedly facilitated mutual acceptance between the communities of the North and the South. However, while the former left behind evidence of their efforts to produce a feeling of a shared, Silesian history as an element of local identity, their southern neighbours have left us no such proof from the Middle Ages. The construction of lasting, ideological, and historiographical frameworks for the whole of Silesia occurred only during the modern era, under the reign of the Habsburgs as kings of Bohemia.

Works Cited Primary Sources Anonima tzw. Galla Kronika czyli Dzieje książąt i władców polskich/Galli Anonymi Cronica et gesta ducum sive principum Poloniae, published and with an introduction and comments by Karol Maleczyński, Pomniki Dziejowe Polski/Monumenta Poloniae Historica, Seria II/Nova Series, II (Kraków: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1952) Catalogus abbatum Saganensium, ed. by Gustaw Adolf Stenzel, Scriptores rerum silesiacarum oder Sammlung schlesischer Geschichtsschreiber, 1 (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josex Max & Komp., 1835), pp. 172–248 ‘Descriptio civitatum ad septentrionalem plagam Danubii’, in Descriptio civitatum ad septentrionalem plagam Danubii (t.zv. Bavorský geograf), ed. by Bohuslav Horák and Dušan Trávniček, Rozpravy Československé Akademie Vĕd. Řada společenských věd, 66/2 (Praha: Československa Akademie Vĕd, 1956) ‘Epytaphia ducum Slezie’, in Monumenta Lubensia, ed. by Wilhelm Wattenbach (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1861), pp. 15–19 Geschichtschreiber Schelsiens des XV. Jahrhunderts, ed. by Franz Wachter, Scriptores Rerum Silesiacarum, 12 (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1883) ‘Gesta abbatum monasterii sancti Vincentii (Nicolai Libental Gesta abbatum monasterii s. Vincentii), ed. by Gustav Adlof Stenzel, in Scriptores rerum Silesiacarum, 2, (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1839), pp. 135–55 Heinrici IV. Diplomata/Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV., ed. by Dietrich Gladiss, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Diplomata Regum et Imperatorum Germaniae, 6/2 (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1959)

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‘Katalogi biskupów wrocławskich’, ed. by Wojciech Kętrzyński, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 6 (Kraków: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1893), pp. 534–85 ‘Kronika książąt polskich’, ed. by Zbigniew Węclewski, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 3 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1878), pp. 423–578 ‘Kronika polska’, ed. by Ludwik Ćwikliński, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 3 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1878), pp. 578–656 Liber fundationis episcopatus Wratislaviensis, ed. by Heinrich Markgraf and Joachim Lambert Schulte, Codex Diplomaticus Silesiae, 14 (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1889) Liber fundationis claustri sancte Marie Virginis in Heinrichow czyli Księga Henrykowska, ed. and transl. by Roman Grodecki (Wrocław: Muzeum Archidiecezjalne we Wrocławiu, 1991) ‘Liegnitzer Chronik. Fortsetzung der deutschen Uebersetzung der Chronica principum Poloniae’, in Geschichtsschreiber Schelsiens des XV Jahrhunderts, ed. by Franz Wachter, Scriptores Rerum Silesiacarum, 12 (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Comp., 1883), pp. 95–103 Mistrza Wincentego zwanego Kadłubkiem Kronika Polska / Magistri Vincentii dicti Kadłubek Chronica Polonorum, ed. by Marian Plezia, Monumenta Poloniae Historica, nova series, vol. 11 (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1994) Monumenta Lubensia, ed. by Wilhelm Wattenbach (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1861) ‘Necrolog des Klosters Czarnowanz’, ed. by Wilhelm Wattenbach, Zeitschrift des Vereins für Geschichte und Alterthums Schelsiens, 1 (1856), 226–28 Peter Eschenloer, Historia Wratislaviensis et que post mortem regis Wladislai sub electo Georgo de Podiebrat Bohemorum rege illi acciderant prospera et adversa, ed. by Herman Markgraff, Scriptores Rerum Silesiacarum, 7 (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Comp., 1872) ‘Rocznik cystersów henrykowskich’, ed. by August Bielowski, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 3 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1878), pp. 699–704 ‘Rocznik grysowski większy’, ed. by August Bielowski, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 3 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1878), pp. 696–97 ‘Rocznik magistratu wrocławskiego’, ed. by August Bielowski, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 3 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1878), pp. 680–88 Schlesisches Urkundenbuch, vol. 2: 1231–1250, ed. by Heinrich Appelt and Winfried Irgang (Köln: Böhlau Verlag, 1977) ‘Tractatus sive speculum genealoye [sic!] sancte Hedwigis quondam ducisse Slesie’, ed. by Aleksander Semkowicz, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 4 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1884), pp. 642–55 ‘Versus lubenses’, in Monumenta lubensia, ed. by Wilhelm Wattenbach (Breslau [Wrocław]: Josef Max & Komp., 1861), pp. 14–15 ‘Vita sanctae Hedwigis (Vita maior)’, ed. by Aleksander Semkowicz, in Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 4 (Lwów: Akademia Umiejętności w Krakowie, 1884), pp. 501–633

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Secondary Studies Cetwiński, Marek, ‘Co wiemy o bitwie pod Legnicą?’, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis, Historia, 50 (1985), 75–94 ———, ‘Najokrutniejszy miesiąc – czas i przestrzeń w legendzie legnickiej’, in Kultura średniowieczna Śląska. Pierwiastki rodzime i obce, ed. by Kazimierz Bobowski, Acta Universtitatis Wratislaviensis No 1362, Series: Historia Nr. 98 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 1993), pp. 77–92 Dola, Kazimierz, ‘Domniemane przedwrocławskie stolice biskupie na Śląsku’, in Millenium Kościoła na Śląsku, ed. by Jan Kopiec (Opole: Wydział Teologiczny Uniwersytetu Opolskiego, 2000), pp. 45–58 Dunin-Wąsowicz, Teresa, ‘Hedwig von Schlesien’, in Lexicon des Mittelalters, vol. 4 (München: Artemis, 1989), col. 1985–86 Górecki, Piotr, A Local Society In Transition: ‘The Henryków Book’ and Related Documents, Studies and Texts, 155 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2007) Irgang, Wienfried, ‘Die Schlacht von Wahlstadtt in der Darstellung des Jan Długosz’, in Wienfried Irgang, Schlesien im Mittelalter. Siedlung, Kirche Urkunden. Ausgewählte Aufsätze, Materialien und Studien zur Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 17 (Marburg: Verlag Herder-Institut, 2007), pp. 48–54 (reprint of an article of 1991) Jażdżewski, Konstanty K., ‘Engelberci czy Engelbert? W związku z autorem pierwszego żywota św. Jadwigi śląskiej (druga połowa XIII wieku)’, in Mente et litteris. O kulturze i społeczeństwie wieków średnich, ed. by Helena Chłopocka and others (Poznań: Uniwersytet Adama Mickiewicza, 1984), pp. 191–94 Jurek, Tomasz, ‘Ryczyn biskupi. Studium z dziejów Kościoła polskiego w XI wieku’, Roczniki Historyczne, 60 (1994), 21–66 Korta, Wacław, Średniowieczna annalistyka śląska (Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy imienia Ossolińskich, 1966) Labuda, Gerard, Zaginiona kronika w Rocznikach Jana Długosza (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 1983) Leciejewicz, Lech, ‘Początki biskupstwa wrocławskiego’, in Miejsce i rola Kościoła wrocławskiego w dziejach Śląska, ed. by Krystyn Matwijowski (Wrocław:DTSK Silesia 2001), pp. 24–31 Maroń, Jerzy, ‘Bitwa legnicka w najnowszej historiografii’, Sobótka, 53 (1998), 185–92 Matuszewski, Józef, Relacja Długosza o najeździe tatarskim w 1241 roku. Polskie zdanie legnickie (Łódź: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1980) Mrozowicz, Wojciech, ‘Śląska “Kronika polska”. Wstęp do studium źródłoznawczego [part 1]’, in Goliński, Mateusz, ed., Studia z historii średniowiecza, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis. Historia, 163 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2003), pp. 105–28 ———, ‘Cronica principum Polonie und Cronica ducum Silesie – die Hauptwerke der Fürstenchronistik Schlesiens (Einige Überlieferungs- und Deutungsprobleme)’, in , Die Hofgeschichtsschreibung im mittelalterlichen Europa. Projekte und Forschungsprobleme, ed. by Rudolf Schieffer and Jarosław Wenta (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2006), pp. 147–59

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——— ‘Dolny Śląsk w latach 1327–1526’, in Dolny Śląsk. Monografia historyczna, ed. by Wojciech Wrzesiński, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis No 2880 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2006), pp. 105–41 ———, ‘Dlaczego Piotr z Byczyny nic nie wiedział o książętach opolskich? Książęta opolscy w średniowiecznej historiografii śląskiej’, in Jak powstawało Opole? Miasto i jego książęta, ed. by Anna Pobóg-Lenartowicz (Opole: Instytut Historyczny Uniwersytetu Opolskiego, 2006), pp. 89–107 ———, ‘Z problematyki recepcji kroniki Wincentego w średniowiecznym dziejopisarstawie polskim (ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem śląskiej “Kroniki polskiej”)’, in Onus athlanteum. Studia nad Kroniką biskupa Wincentego, ed. by Andrzej Dąbrówka and Witold Wojtowicz (Warsaw-Szczecin: Instytut Badań Literackich PAN, 2009), pp. 326–36 ———, ‘Chronica Polonorum’, in The Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle, ed. by Raymond Graeme Dunphy, vol. 1: A–I (Leiden: Brill, 2010), p. 395 ——— ‘Versus Lubenses’, in The Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle, vol. 2: J–Z (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 476–477 ———, ‘Libenthal, Nicolaus’, in The Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle, vol. 2: J–Z (Leiden: Brill 2010), p. 1031 ———, ‘Kataloge der Breslauer Bischöfe. Überlegungen über alte und die Möglichkeiten neuer Editionsansätze’, in Quellen kirchlicher Provenienz. Neue Editionsvorhaben und aktuelle EDV-Projekte. Editionswissenschaftliches Kolloquium 2011, ed. by Helmut Flachenecker and Janusz Tandecki, in cooperation with Krzysztof Kopiński (Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 2011), pp. 59–70 ———, ‘W poszukiwaniu śląskiej tożsamości regionalnej (do 1526 r.)’, Sobótka, 67 (2012), 139–61 Panzram, Bernhard, Die schlesischen Archidiakonate und Archiprezbyterat bis zur Hälfte des 14. Jahrhunderts (Breslau [Wrocław]: Müller & Seiffert, 1937) Proksch, Constance, Klosterreform und Geschichtsschreibung im Spätmittelalter, Kollektive Einstellungen und sozialer Wandel im Mittelalter, N.F., 2 (Köln: Böhlau, 1994) Rosik, Stanisław, ‘Opolini, Golensizi, Lupiglaa…: ziemia opolsko-raciborska we wczesnym średniowieczu (uwagi w sprawie dyskusji historyków)’, in Sacra Silentii provincia: 800 lat powstania dziedzicznego księstwa opolskiego (1202–2002), ed. by Anna PobógLenartowicz, Z dziejów kultury chrześcijańskiej na Śląsku, 27 (Opole: Wydawnictwo Wydziału Teologicznego Uniwersytetu Opolskiego, 2003), pp. 27–36 ———, ‘Pauper et modicus, collegio pauperum aggregatus. Der anonyme Hagiograph der Hl. Hedwig von Schlesien als Theologie’, in Śląska republika uczonych – Schlesische Gelehrtenrepublik – Slezská Vědecká Obec, ed. by Marek Hałub and Anna MańkoMatysiak, vol. 1 (Wrocław: Oficyna Wydawnicza ATUT, 2004), pp. 55–65 ———, ‘Najdawniejsze dzieje Dolnego Śląska (do roku 1138)’, in Dolny Śląsk. Monografia historyczna, ed. by Wojciecj Wrzesiński, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis No 2880 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2006), pp. 15–54 ———, ‘Najdawniejsza postać Śląska (do XIII w.). Pejzaż krainy a kształtowanie się ślaskiej tożsamości regionalnej: przykład Ślęży i Trzebnicy’, in Radices Silesiae – Silesiacae Radices. Śląsk: kraj, ludzie, ‘memoria’ a kształtowanie się społecznych więzi i tożsamości (do końca XVIII wieku), ed. by Stanisław Rosik (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Chronicon, 2011), pp. 63–76

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———, ‘Mons Silensis (Ślęża) a kształtowanie się Śląska. Historyczny proces wobec najdawniejszej tradycji’, in Ślężańskie światy, ed. by Wojciech Kunicki and Joanna Smereka (Wrocław: Oficyna Wydawnicza ATUT, 2011), pp. 71–79 ———, ‘“Ślężański” Śląsk? Od Geografa Bawarskiego i Kroniki Thietmara do… współczesnych mitologizacji przeszłości’, in Silesia Historica. Badania nad historią Śląska. Metody i praktyka historiografii oraz nowe poszukiwania / Forschungen zur Geschichte Schlesiens. Methoden und Praxis der Histriographie und neue Untersuchungen, ed. by, Sławomir Moździoch, Stanisław Rosik, and Thomas Wünsch (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Chronicon, 2012), pp. 139–45 Scholz, Bernhard W., Das geistliche Fürstentum Neisse. Eine ländliche Elite unter der Herrschaft des Bischofs (1300–1650). Forschungen und Quellen zur Kirchen- und Kulturgeschichte Ostdeutschlands, vol. 42 (Köln: Böhlau, 2011) Wiszewski, Przemysław, ‘Herzögliche Stifter und Frauenklöster in Schlesien (13.-Mitte 14. Jahrhundert)’, in Monarchische und adlige Sakralstiftungen im mittelalterlichen Poland, ed. by Eduard Mühle (Berlin: Akademie, 2013), pp. 467–68 Wójcik, Marek, ‘Dolny Śląsk w latach 1138–1326’, in Dolny Śląsk. Monografia historyczna, ed. by Wojciecj Wrzesiński, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis No 2880 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2006), pp. 55–104 Wünsch, Thomas, ‘Territorienbildung zwischen Polen, Böhmen und dem deutschen Reich: das Breslauer Bistumsland vom 12. bis 16. Jahrhundert’, in Geschichte des christlichen Lebens im schlesischen Raum, Vol. 1, ed. by Joachim Köhler and Rainer Bendel (Münster: LIT, 2002), pp. 199–262 Wyrozumski, Jerzy, ‘Der Akt von Gnesen und seine Bedeutung für die polnische Geschichte’, in Polen und Deutschland vor 1000 Jahren. Die Berliner Tagung über den ‘Akt von Gnesen’, ed. by Michael Borgolte, Europa im Mittelalter, Abhandlungen und Beiträge zur historischen Komparatistik, 5 (Berlin: Akademie, 2002), pp. 281–90 Żerelik, Rościsław, ‘Dzieje Śląska do 1526 roku’, in Historia Śląska, ed. by Marek Czapliński, Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis No 2364 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2002), pp. 18–120

Lenka Bobková, Petr Hrachovec, and Jan Zdichynec

Chronicles of the Towns of Upper Lusatia Reflecting the Political and Cultural Identity of the Region?

Chronicles Written in the Towns of Upper Lusatia Upper Lusatia is a historic region of Central Europe spanning over approximately 5000 square kilometres, which is today divided between Germany and Poland. It was defined as a specific region as early as in the early Middle Ages; however, it never had its own ruler, a ruling dynasty, or a ruler’s residence. In the seventh or eighth centuries, the region was colonized by the Slavic tribe of Milzener. In the tenth century, it became a part of the Holy Roman Empire and it was partially germanised. In the South, Upper Lusatia bordered with Bohemia, whose Přemyslid rulers ruled the land (with one short break) from 1086 up until 1253. Then the land transferred into the hands of the Ascanians of Brandenburg. After the dynasty died out in 1319, the rule of Upper Lusatia once again fell to the king of Bohemia, John of Luxembourg (1310–1346) and the land became part of the medieval state of Bohemia called Corona Regni Bohemiae. Over the course of time, the Crown of Bohemia was established as a conglomerate of several historic regions, which were connected through their

Lenka Bobková  •  is professor emeritus of Czech and Czechoslovak History at the Charles University of Prague (Czech Republic), where she also served as deputy director of the Institute of Czech History, and as head of the Seminar of Medieval History. From 2009 to 2016, she was chairwoman of the editorial board of the magazine History – Issues – Problems, published by the Faculty of Arts of Charles University. Her main research interests are in the political, social, and cultural history of the Lands of the Crown of Bohemia in the Middle Ages, and the history of the Luxembourg dynasty. Petr Hrachovec  •  is researcher at the Department of the Early Modern History of The Institute of History, Czech Academy of Sciences. His main research interest is the history of the Bohemian Crown Lands (fourteenth–seventeenth centuries): primarily urban and ecclesiastical history, Reformation history, and early modern town chronicles. Jan Zdichynec  •  is assistant professor at the Institute of the Czech History of the Charles University Prague. His main research interests are Czech and Central European history of the early modern period: in particular, the cultural and religious history, the history of religious institutions, and the history of the secondary countries of the Czech Crown. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 117–143 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121489

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Figure 4.1. Map of Upper Lusatia as part of the Bohemian Crown Lands in 1462, by Dick E. H. de Boer, based on the map by Eva Chodějovská.

ruler. Upper Lusatia was part of the Crown until 1635, when the rule of the Saxony Prince Electors started.1 The region was dominated by the royal towns of Bautzen, Görlitz, Zittau, Löbau, Lauban, and Kamenz. In 1346, these towns formed an alliance called the League of Six Towns (Hexapolis, Sechsstädtebund). The importance of this town alliance increased over the course of the fifteenth century, when these Upper Lusatian towns became important players among the regional Estates. The towns’ position was seriously threatened in 1546/1547, when they indirectly participated in the Estates



1 See the survey of Upper Lusatian history in Bahlcke, Geschichte der Oberlausitz; Bobková, Březina, and Zdichynec, Horní a Dolní Lužice.

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uprising against the Habsburgs during the Schmalkaldic war. The king of Bohemia Ferdinand I (1526–1564) used their resistance as a pretext for punishing them (the so-called Pönfall). He abridged their liberties and their autonomy, he submitted them to greater control by the royal officers and he subjected them to significant financial fines. In spite of that, the League of Six Towns continued to flourish, both economically and culturally. The economic growth was much helped by the strategic position of the towns: the towns were on the route of the Via regia, which ran from Erfurt to Wrocław, thus connecting Western and Eastern Europe. These historical circumstances are reflected in the extensive works on history produced in Upper Lusatia, namely in the aforementioned royal towns. In terms of the number and scope of the historical works, the Upper Lusatian towns’ writing compares to that of the most significant cities in the Holy Roman Empire, such as Nürnberg and Augsburg. The oldest chronicles reach back to the late Middle Ages (beginning in Central Europe after the 1350s); the golden era of historiographic production, however, came in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.2 In Upper Lusatia, the tradition of handwritten chronicles was kept alive throughout the eighteenth century, when it ran parallel to printed history books. Today, we know of approximately 354 handwritten Upper Lusatian town chronicles.3 These books include broader-scope chronicles as well as annals, more or less continuous, but often fragmentary narratives of the most important events, natural catastrophes, etc. All these texts written from the Middle Ages up until the beginning of the modern era are difficult to classify, to determine the precise genre and their mutual relations, interpolations, etc. In comparison, a similarly rich chronicle tradition can be found in some Silesian towns, while in Bohemia and Moravia, the tradition wasn’t as strong.4 In recent years, intensive research on Upper Lusatian chronicles has been undertaken, and the history works found elsewhere in the Crown of Bohemia were the focus of attention in the Czech Republic, Poland, and Germany.5 The recently published encyclopaedia of European chronicles reflects the findings of the above-mentioned research in the entries dedicated to medieval Upper Lusatian chronicles.6 Some chronicles were also first published in print recently, after 140 years, as part of the series Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum – Neue Folge (henceforth



2 Johanek, ed., Städtische Geschichtsschreibung. 3 Fröde, ‘Die handschriftlichen Stadtchroniken in den Sechsstädten’. The number of versions of the chronicles preserved to this day: Görlitz c. 105, Bautzen c. 110 Zittau c. 53, Lauban c. 45, Löbau c. 24, Kamenz c. 17; yet these numbers are not final, since research continues. 4 Concerning Bohemia, see Tošnerová, Kroniky českých měst z předbělohorského období; concerning Silesia, see Kersken, ‘Historiographiegeschichte’. 5 Bobková and Zdichynec, eds, Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation; Bobková and FantysováMatějková, eds, Terra – Ducatus – Marchionatus – Regio. 6 Dunphy, ed., Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle. Joachim Bahlcke painted an overall picture of Upper Lusatian printed historiography in Bahlcke, ‘Entwicklungsphasen und Probleme der oberlausitzischen Historiographie’; in the context of town chronicles of Saxony, see Bräuer, Stadtchronistik und städtische Gesellschaft.

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Figure 4.2. Map of Upper Lausitz, as published by the brothers Willem Janszoon (1571–1638) and Joan Blaeu (1596–1673) in their Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, sive Atlas Novus in quo Tabulæ et Descriptiones Omnium Regionum (Amsterdam 1644), based on the map by the astronomer and cartographer Bartholomäus Scultetus (Barthel Schulze 1540–1614) who served as mayor of his native town Görlitz. When colouring the map, an error was made in the coat of arms, which should have a gold wall and a blue field. Private Collection.

SRL NF).7 Two evaluative international conferences have taken place in the last decade. Upper Lusatian chronicles came under close scrutiny in Kamenz (2012),8 while they were examined in a comparative light in November 2013 at a conference in Bautzen.9 At the same time, an extensive work dedicated specifically to the early modern Upper Lusatian town chronicles came out in print.10 In this article dedicated to Upper Lusatian town chronicles, we focus on how their authors perceived the region of Upper Lusatia, denoted here as a political entity (the Margraviate of Upper Lusatia), on how the authors felt they belonged to this such entity and how this feeling evolved over time, and how they viewed their relations 7 Annalen der Stadt Kamenz (Haberkornsche Chronik); Chronik der Stadt Zittau 1255–1623. 8 Binder, ed., 666 Jahre Sechsstädtebund. 9 Dannenberg and Müller, eds, Studien zur Stadtchronistik (1400–1850). 10 Dannenberg and Müller, eds, Studien zur neuzeitlichen Geschichtsschreibung.

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Figure 4.3. Prospect of the town of Zittau, engraving by Johann Georg Mentzel (1677–1743) in Grosser, Lausitzische Merckwuerdigkeiten (1714).

with the Crown of Bohemia, their governing body. We shall also touch upon the works that deal with the history of the whole of Upper Lusatia, as these works were very much based on the town chronicles and they also influenced them retrospectively. First of all, however, we deal with the handwritten civic/urban historiography as an important source in the study of regional self-awareness, which was the subject of the Cuius Regio project.11 We pay attention to the critical moments that formed the region, specifically to those that had to do with the incorporation of Upper Lusatia into the Crown of Bohemia. We selected three towns for detailed analysis: Görlitz, Zittau, and Lauban (today Lubań in Poland). Among the six Upper Lusatian towns forming the League of Six Towns, these towns had a special place. Economically, Görlitz was the leader of the six towns; mostly, it presented itself independently, as the centre of the Eastern part of Upper Lusatia.12 Zittau was a prosperous town located on the border with Bohemia and where the road to Prague crossed. Lauban was a smaller town, politically less significant, yet its position was extremely important as it was on the merchant’s route Via regia. Lauban had many contacts with the bordering region of Lower Silesia,

11 Project EuroCORECODE: Cuius Regio, see the introduction of the present volume. 12 Administratively, Upper Lusatia was divided into terra Budissinensis and Gorlicensis in the thirteenth century under the rule of the Ascanians of Brandenburg. King John of Luxembourg reunited the land; later, Charles IV (1346–1378) established the new duchy of Görlitz in 1377 for his son John (1370–1396). The duchy died with John in 1396, yet Görlitz maintained its exclusive status later on. Bobková, ‘Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz’.

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which was also a part of the Crown of Bohemia conglomerate. All three of these towns had varied cultural life; all three had an important grammar school in the early modern era, and later even printing-works and public libraries. Among the other Upper Lusatian towns, one must not forget Bautzen, the administrative centre of the land. It was the residence of the governor (German Landvogt, Latin capitaneus), nominated by the king, and from the fifteenth century, the land Estates assembly took place there. Bautzen has an extensive and specific chronicle tradition, but in the present paper, we did not have enough space to deal with it in detail. In the above-mentioned towns, history works written during the Middle Ages were still rare. The oldest chronicle records dating back to the last third of the fourteenth century were found in Zittau, written by the town scribe Johann of Guben († between 1383–1387).13 In Görlitz, extensive annals of the town council, the Ratsannalen, from the fifteenth and the first half of the sixteenth century were preserved. Like the other towns, they served the pragmatic needs of the town office; they were mostly administrative records.14 In Lauban, the oldest narrative sources are 300 so-called ‘old verses’, most probably written in the local Franciscan monastery sometime in the fifteenth century. In slightly modified form, they found their way into nearly all later chronicles of this town.15 The boom of chronicle literature came to all three towns in the sixteenth century. It had to do with the arrival of the new generation of Protestant historians with humanistic education, who aimed at completing the history of the given town from the earliest day. Some of the most cherished characteristics of human nature at that time were bravery, patriotism, and Christian morals, specifically in the Lutheran sense. The given concept is clearly demonstrated in the introductory chapters of town chronicles. Here, authors often referred to the historians well known from the classical era and they stressed that apart from presenting moral models from history, their main goal was to celebrate their Patria, usually meaning the town where they were born or where they lived.16 When writing about the Middle Ages, they used older local chronicles as sources of information, as well as a variety of other resources. Thus, they collected a sum of information about the ‘ancient’ days of the town and the land, and their successors usually trusted their credibility all the way up until the 1800s. Many of the writers were members of the municipal administration (town councillors), while others were teachers or — less frequently — clergymen.17 In the sixteenth century, Upper Lusatian historiographic texts contained histories of the whole region, too, perceived here as an independent political and geographic entity, both from the administrative and estate point of view. A key to understanding this shift can be found in the humanist concept of history as well as in the political 13 Jahrbuecher des Zittauischen Geschichtsschreibers Johannes von Guben. 14 Bobková, ‘Stadt, Region und Herrscher’. 15 Zdichynec, ‘Lauban/Lubań mit den Augen der humanistischen Geschichtsschreiber gesehen’, p. 371. The oldest and most extensive record of this so-called Old Verse, Alte Reime, is found in the following chronicle by Donat Crugius († probably 1541), Chronicon Crugii urbis Lubani, pp. 1–11. 16 Arnold, ‘Städtelob und Stadtbeschreibung im späteren Mittelalter’. 17 Generally Postel, ‘“Warumb ich disse Historiam beschrieben”’.

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Figure 4.4. Portrait of Duke Sobieslaus I († 1140), in the German manuscript translation of Manlius’s Commentaries. He is presented as king of Bohemia, which he had never been, and as founder of the town of Görlitz, upon which he is looking down. It is one of the rare examples of a high-quality illumination in this handwritten historiographical text. The manuscript is preserved now in the BUWr., under the mark Mil. II/173, Commentariorum rerum Lusaticarum libri VI quibus accessit septimus de Lusatijs literarum armorumve gloria claris collectore Christophoro Manlio. Scripsit Christianus Schaefferus (1708).

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and social developments after 1547. The first general history of the region was written by Christophorus Manlius (1546–1575), a humanist scholar from Görlitz, whose work was an important source of information for the following generations of historians. Younger writers in other Upper Lusatian towns copied passages of his work or they at least used it as a source of information.18 The attachment of the land to Saxony in 1635 brought along a new era of Upper Lusatian historiography. Similar to other regions in Central Europe, a Baroque approach to history gained stronger voice, partly reflecting the new political situation in the region. Apart from urban intellectuals, members of the noble Estates spoke up as writers (August Adolph von Haugwitz, 1647–1706),19 bibliophiles (Hans von Gersdorf, 1630–1692, in Bautzen), and benefactors (the family of the lords and counts von Nostitz). In the newly written chronicles, the Prince Elector family of Wettins of Saxony had a prominent role, although records about the ‘Bohemian’ history weren’t cut out in any way. The history itself, including its Slavic roots, was one of the pillars of the defence of certain independence of Upper Lusatia, now part of Saxony. Further on, Upper Lusatian historiography split in two paths. On the one hand, the Upper Lusatian history was increasingly often published in print, while on the other hand, the tradition of manuscript town chronicles lived on. In 1719, Christian Gottfried Hoffmann (1692–1735) published the work of Manlius as part of the series Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum, as well as a number of smaller history-oriented works.20 In the beginning of the eighteenth century, extensive chronicles of both (Upper and Lower) Lusatias and of the town of Zittau written by two authors came out in print — the works of Samuel Grosser (1714)21 and Johann Benedikt Carpzov (1716/1719).22 However, handwritten towns chronicles continued to thrive, usually produced by individual families or by authors associated with the town hall. Most texts show inspiration by Manlius’ Comentarii, as well as by other works published later on in print. Sometimes, these are restricted to copies of older texts. The chronicles normally contain the description of the region and the explanation of the etymology of the local names, but new topics appear, too. In some younger Bautzen chronicles, one can find extensive illustrated sections describing the pagan Slavic gods.23 These can also be found in Grosser (1664–1736) and in Hoffmann’s Scriptores. Since these handwritten chronicles were finalized as late as in the beginning of the eighteenth century, it is hard to determine where the images of Slavic gods appeared first. In the

18 Manlius wrote a short history of Upper and Lower Lusatia, Deigma sive epitome, and more detailed Commentariorum rerum Lusaticarum Libri VII (1568), divided into seven parts/books (libri) which were not printed in the course of his lifetime. There were nevertheless many copies of his works circulating in the area. 19 Only a short abstract of Haugwitz’s Prodromus was printed; part of a handwritten copy of his manuscript was preserved, today kept in BUWr; another copy is kept in the Sächsische Landes- und Universitätsbibliothek Dresden. 20 Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum antiqui et recentiores (SRL). 21 Grosser, Lausitzische Merckwuerdigkeiten. 22 Carpzovius, Analecta Fastorum Zittaviensium; Carpzovius, Neueroeffneter Ehren-Tempel. 23 Annales Budissinenses; Beschreibung des Landes Oberlausitz.

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Figure 4.5. The coats of arms of the royal towns of Upper Lusatia in the work of Johann Benedict Carpzov (1675–1739), Neueroeffneter Ehren-Tempel, often using the lion of the Kingdom of Bohemia as a heraldic figure.

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eighteenth century, Lauban chronicles illustrate the oldest history of the town with the narrative about the figures of Bohemian mythology (the dukes of the legends), while at the same time confronting them with the impact of the Holy Roman Empire on the region and sometimes complementing them with systematic biographies of the kings of Bohemia.24 Bohemian rulers are mentioned in the chronicles of other Upper Lusatian towns, too. The scope of information and the content differs depending on the period and the place of origin of the given chronicle. Some of the scribes make do with a short note placed outside of the main text. These include, for example, Bartholomäus Scultetus — in his Annales Gorlicenses, he scribbled notes above the main body of text covering not only the direct rulers of Upper Lusatia, but also the current Roman emperors. These notes were probably meant to serve as a guideline about the general temporal and political context of the town’s history.25 Similar ‘framing’ of town’s history can be found in some chronicles from Zittau and Lauban, where these usually mention only the coronation or the death of a certain king.26 Several epic humanistic chronicles include extensive chapters dedicated to the history of Bohemia. These may include the ancient rulers of Bohemia known from Czech mythology, beginning with the Forefather Cech (Čech, i.e. Bohemus). This information was usually taken from the Historia Bohemica by Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini (1405–1464) or from popular histories from the sixteenth century — Historiae Regni Boiemiae by Jan ( Johannes) Dubravius (1486–1553) and the German translation of the Bohemian Chronicle by Wenceslaus Hájek of Libočany. Sometimes, Bohemian dukes are mentioned in connection with the Christianisation of the region (Manlius).27 This applies mostly to Bautzen, to some extent also to Görlitz and Zittau, but not so much to Lauban. Lauban received the status of a (future) royal town during the Ascanian rule and thus it linked its beginnings to the margraves of Brandenburg. The changes of rulers are usually noted by the writers of Lauban chronicles, while they do not care much about the dynasty they came from, whether they were kings of Bohemia, the margraves of Brandenburg, or the dukes of Silesia. The important fact here is that they were the margraves of Upper Lusatia and thus the rulers of their town. Mostly, the kings of Bohemia and other rulers are mentioned in relation to the events that took place in the town or land. Logically, privileges given to the towns by their rulers are mentioned here, as well as the visits of rulers in the towns, etc. From

24 Laubanische Annales. 25 SRL NF 1, pp. 1–57. 26 This applies to all the important chronicles originating in Lauban: information about changing rulers are found already in the quoted text of Crugius’ chronicle (Crugius, Chronicon Crugii urbis Lubani) or in the Chronicle of Bohemus: Laubnische Kirchen- und Stadt-Chronica. A number of burgomasters and town councillors for each year is noted by Martin Zeidler († 1637), compare Annales civitatis Laubanae (BUWr, sign. 6452) or Christophorus Wiesner, Annales Laubanenses (a number of copies and manuscripts of this chronicle exists, for example version in three volumes (BUWr, Akc. 1948/I 279–281). 27 For more detailed resources, see Bobková, Stadt, Region und Herrscher.

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Figure 4.6. Christian Schaeffer (1666–1747): The title of the illustrated Görlitz chronicle with the lion, the symbol of the Kingdom of Bohemia, and the Austrian Eagle. Ratsarchiv Görlitz, without Inv.nr. (Vol. 5 of the Annals).

the land’s perspective, most chronicles typically mention the charter of Charles IV from 1355, which sealed the incorporation of Upper Lusatia into the Crown of Bohemia — this applies to the chronicles of Görlitz, Bautzen, and Lauban alike. From the chronicles, it is apparent that the general public of Upper Lusatia noted the subordinance of the land to the Crown of Bohemia, represented by the king. Besides, this awareness of being a part of certain entity was strengthened by the everyday events in the towns — they kept in frequent touch with the king as their direct superior authority. In general, the dynastic principle, not solely reduced to the dynasties of the kings of Bohemia, was one of the elements forming the regional awareness. The ruler of the land was also important in his role of the town’s benefactor. In Lauban, the Brandenburg margraves John I († 1266), Otto III († 1267) and Otto V (the Tall, † 1298) had a key role, as they provided the town with certain economic privileges in the last third of the thirteenth century: they permitted the building of the town’s fortification and they founded the local Franciscan monastery. The same applied to the Silesian duke Henry of Jauer ( Jawor, † 1346), the founder of the local monastery of the Magdalene order, who expanded the town’s trading privileges. In Zittau, on the other hand, the heritage of the Přemyslid dynasty was strong.

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The Reflection of Regional Awareness in the Perception of Key Events in the Early Modern Chronicles of Three Upper Lusatian Towns The key moments (mostly various crises) of history were the decisive points serving in the shaping of the regional historical awareness and identity and, in terms of the Cuius Regio project, key factors of regional cohesion. In the words of Jan Assmann, ‘these break points of tradition or continuity’ established the past. In the historiography, this phenomenon is especially strong.28 Based on their strictly synoptic nature, where records kept repeating about epidemics, great fires, executions, floods, tragic deaths, frosts and heat waves, storms, periods of high cost of everything, etc., a great number of Upper Lusatian chronicles show the traditional, cyclical approach to history and time. This perception of history held up strongly until the beginning of the nineteenth century. In the given region, the past ‘shed light onto the future’ as late as in the early nineteenth century. Yet in this context, the descriptions of key moments and crises brought fresh air into such static perception of time, they pinpointed those unique moments and, maybe, showed a hint of purpose. We focused on four such key moments in the history of Upper Lusatia, from its historical origins up until the seventeenth century: • Christianisation and the founding of towns • the founding of the town, the etymology of the name, and its relations with the ruling dynasty • the reflection of the Utraquist movement and the effect of the Hussite wars, the division of the Crown of Bohemia between two rulers, Vladislaus II of Hungary and Matthias Corvinus. • the Reformation and the process of validation of the new denomination (until 1635) We primarily focus on events from the history of the Church, because especially in the fifteenth–eighteenth centuries, religion and religious disputes played key role in the history of the given region. Christianisation and the Founding of Towns

For the historical identity and legitimacy of each town and region, probably the most important point was the beginning. It was the beginning that placed the town or region firmly into the scholastic and scientific structures of their day — it was an important point for orientation in such structures. That is why the narrative describing this all-important moment was elaborately and deliberately built, with respect to the teleological aspect of the problem. The issue of the first inhabitants of

28 Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Concerning the application of this concept to the chronicles of Zittau, see Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’, pp. 253–56.

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the region and their religion (whether they were Slavs or Germans) was as important as the question of who introduced Christianity in the region (whether ‘German’ emperors or Přemyslid dukes of Bohemia) — both topics were politically touchy in the early modern era. These trends are well documented in the Zittau chronicles. The local writers started asking questions about the origins of Christianity in the town and the surrounding area around the mid-seventeenth century. Up until then, their chronicles reflected the topic only in the German translation of Deigma (a short history of Upper and Lower Lusatia) by the above-mentioned Christophorus Manlius. The Zittau chronicles of the early modern era, from approximately the mid-seventeenth century, pretty clearly favoured the Slavic interpretation of the region’s early days; for example, the so-called Vandal (i.e. Slavic) origin of most towns, and the Bohemian or Great Moravian origin of Upper Lusatian Christianity. The chronicles mostly stated that the first person to bring Christianity to Zittau was the mythic duchess Zittavia, the daughter of the Polish and Vandal king Mitislaus. Allegedly, she built the first churches and monasteries as well as the town’s fortification before 1021. On the other hand, the handwritten chronicles (at least the ones from around 1650) mentioned the missionary activities of German Emperor Otto I (936–973) in the land. Other handwritten Zittau chronicles of the early modern era (similarly to some of the Görlitz chronicles) include extensive chapters dedicated to the ancient pagan era of Bohemian history, describing the mythic origins of the Přemyslid dynasty. The Zittau syndic and burgomaster, the above-mentioned historian and jurist Johann Benedict Carpzov,29 considered Zittau, his own town, as well as the whole Upper Lusatia to be part of the Přemyslid Bohemia from the early mythical days (including the Great Moravian mission in the land). He spoke very sharply against his contemporaries (Benjamin Leuber, Samuel Grosser), who linked the political beginnings of Upper Lusatia and the local Christianity with the Empire, particularly with the Saxon Wettins — allegedly, the husband of Duchess Zittavia was a member of this family. The Prince elector’s chamber attorney Benjamin Leuber (1601–1675) was a so-called German imperial patriot and so he criticized the ‘Bohemian authors, especially those who came from Bohemia or who adopted such nature. Because in the previous century [i.e. the sixteenth century] the same men were especially eager to put forward their own nation and themselves, their Bohemia, while disdaining all other nations, especially German dukes and lords and their acts and endeavours and they tried to destroy them as much as possible’.30 In the pre-modern era, the mythical and historical roots of the region were a hot political issue. In the regional

29 See note 22. 30 In the original language ‘[…] die Boͤhmischen Scribenten, die jenige zumahl so Zechen Geburt sind / oder derselben Natur an sich genommen haben: Denn in obigen Seculo haben dieselben sich sonderbar dahin beflissen / nur sich und ihre Nation / und ihr Boͤhmerland / groß und herrlich zumachen / und hergegen alle andere Nationes bevorab aber die Deutzschen Fuͤrsten und Herren / und alle deroselben Thun und Lassen / gering zuhalten / zuverachten / und so viel an ihnen zuvernichten’: Leuber, Von dem Uhrsprung des Schlosses, pp. 31–32. Compare Wenzel, ‘Geschichtswerk und Erinnerungsort’.

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historiography of the Enlightenment era, the beginnings of Christianity in Upper Lusatia were usually attributed to the mission of the German Empire (Emperors Charlemagne (768–814) and Otto I, in the work of Christian Knauthe (1706–1784),31 or in the chronicles of Lauban), although chronicles from Zittau now and then referred to the Great Moravian or Přemyslid mission.32 As early as in the sixteenth century, the writers of Lauban (specifically the town’s scribe Joachim Cnemiander (1506–1568) and the local Lutheran pastor Martin Bohemus (1557–1622)) did not hesitate to mention the Slavs of the region. However, they linked the founding of the town to the forming of the Empire’s structure in the tenth century — it goes without doubt that they aimed at stressing the ancient character of the town. To them, it was important that the town belonged to Germania (and not only politically, that is, in terms of its subordinance to the Holy Roman Empire, but also in humanist sense, with Germania of Tacitus (c. 56–120), its roots going back to the classical era). They also stressed the early adoption of Christianity, finalized by the early adoption of Lutheranism in the first third of the sixteenth century.33 Here, we may see the position of the town as a sort of beacon in the East of Upper Lusatia and the Empire in general, a region more advanced than the areas of Poland and Silesia located further East — in respect to the early adoption of Christianity, among other things. The writers of Lauban liked to set themselves apart from the ‘barbarians’ of Silesia and Poland, against whom the Prince Electors from the Empire built their fortifications, but with whom, in fact, they liked to trade and keep in touch, both economically and culturally. In this context, the chronicles like to mention the mythical duke Ulrich of Glogau, who was supposed to fight against the imperial and Lauban forces in 908. The described clash was to take place during the night; supposedly, mere rampage was enough to scare Ulrich and force him to flee the battleground. Similar stereotypes abound in Silesian historiography of the period concerning the Poles, especially in the work of Joachim Curaeus (1532–1573).34 The Founding of the Town, the Etymology of the Name, and its Relations with the Ruling Dynasty

The origin (in the sense of the German Herkommen), maximum possible tradition/ age, etymology of the town’s name and the figure of the town’s founder plus his famed deeds were the decisive factors of prestige of the given town’s community — and not only in the town’s chronicles. A number of towns competed among each other in this respect. In legal terms, it was necessary to link the founding of the town with the figure of its founder, authorized for such act. In Upper Lusatian texts, we may find legends tied to the complicated etymology of the town’s name presented alongside credible historical information.

31 Knauthe, Derer oberlausitzer Sorbenwenden Umständliche Kirchengeschichte. 32 Hrachovec, ‘Die Religion und die Konfession in der Zittauer Historiographie’. 33 Zdichynec, ‘Die Chronistik der Stadt Lauban des 16. und des ersten Drittels des 17. Jahrhunderts’. 34 Kozák, ‘“Dem Vaterland ist man Danckbarkeit schuldig!”’.

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This is true for the oldest preserved chronicle written by Johann of Guben of Zittau, who wrote about events in the town in 1255–1375. He wrote in German and later on the main body of text was supplemented with Latin notes about the kings and events in Bohemia. This author links the founding of the town directly to the figure of King Ottokar II of Bohemia (1253–1278). In his work, Guben uses all the usual figures of speech used in the description of the founding of a certain institution by his contemporaries: the town was founded in wilderness, yet on rich soil; the fortification of the future town was ploughed by the king himself, in the style of Romulus of Rome; the king consciously included as much land as possible since he expected that the town would soon flourish; the author describes the frequent stays of the king in town (supposedly, King of Bohemia Wenceslaus II (1278–1305) lived in Zittau as a child for three years); the fact that the burghers of Zittau were often the counsellors of the king; he mentions the frequent jousts organized in town by the king, hinting at the importance of the town for the aristocracy, thus emphasizing the dynastic, residential, and aristocratic tradition from the early days of Zittau and its surroundings. The narrative about the golden era of the town during the Přemyslid rule was used by Guben as a counterpoint to the current politics of Charles IV, who administered heavy taxes on the town’s inhabitants.35 In the early modern chronicles, one will find Guben’s narrative of the early days of the town (so-called ‘Basiserzählung’) in its original form, but dated earlier than 1255, as the original author did. This was probably due to the ‘contest’ with the surrounding towns in the region for the most ancient tradition. This applies despite the fact that the other communities of the League of Six Towns are seldom mentioned in Zittau chronicles and the political activities of this regional union weren’t worth mentioning to any of the Zittau authors, up until the day of Carpzov in the beginning of the eighteenth century. This was typical for the writers from other towns, too, whose towns were part of some city alliance, such as the Hanseatic League. This is why it shouldn’t surprise us that none of the other Upper Lusatian towns mentioned the establishment of the League of Six Towns in 1346 — this information is missing from all of the town chronicles. On the other hand, the chronicles did mention the joint activities of several towns as well as their disputes — for example, Johann of Guben mentions the military campaigns of the Upper Lusatian towns in the fourteenth century in his Zittau chronicle, the chronicles of Lauban note the joint defence of the towns against the Hussites in the fifteenth century, etc.36 In Zittau (and very probably in other towns of Upper Lusatia, too), the historical tradition of the local Franciscan monasteries was an important part of the given town’s history. The earliest roots were traced without historical context, deep beyond the life of St Francis of Assisi († 1226). The beginning of this new tradition probably lies somewhere around the conflict of Silesian-Upper Lusatian Conventual Franciscans (the Martinian branch) with the Observants, taking place around 1500. The Conventual

35 More detail in Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’, pp. 260–65. 36 Cf. Hrachovec, ‘Der Sechsstädtebund und die Sechsstädte’. The results are similar in case of Lauban, cf. Zdichynec, ‘Frühneuzeitliche Laubaner Geschichtsschreibung’.

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Franciscans feared that their monasteries would be overtaken by the Observants, supported by Vladislaus II Jagiello, the king of Bohemia (1471/1490–1516), and thus they made up ‘ancient’ traditions concerning their monasteries and used these in their struggle against the Observants. Finally, in the early modern period, the beginnings of Zittau monastery were established around 1109 and the neighbouring Lauban monastery around 1126. Obviously, even after the Reformation, the towns liked to link to this tradition, because Zittau, ‘founded’ in 1109, was thus many years older than its greatest regional opponent, Görlitz, which dated its founding in 1131 in the chronicles ever since the fifteenth century. This wasn’t the end of the regional towns’ struggle37 to be the oldest, and thus most honourable, of all the towns around. The story about the duchess Zittavia as the founder and missionary of Zittau moved the beginning of the town further back by another century — the duchess allegedly died in Zittau in 1021. Early modern authors from Zittau did not hesitate to point out this ‘fact’ — the writers of the so-called Kießling and Lankisch chronicle based the superiority of Zittau over the surrounding Upper Lusatian towns on it: ‘it is necessary to believe it absolutely; and from this, we shall understand and not doubt the ancientness of this famous town, which should have priority to its neighbours. […] That kind of towns which were founded by important princesses and princes mean more’.38 Lauban’s aspiration to be the first and most honoured town of Upper Lusatia based on its ancient origin isn’t expressed so openly in its chronicles; however, up until the nineteenth century, the authors did not hesitate to state that the town was founded in 900, 906, or 908, they insist on the very early establishment of the town hall and religious institutions, etc. Repeatedly, the reader comes across a perfectly dated story about the unsuccessful siege by a Silesian duke. A story about a lecherous priest also appears in many chronicles; on the one hand it documents that the town had Christian institutions early on (the story is placed sometime before 941), but it can also be read as a hidden critique of the Catholic Church. The story says that the town had a ‘solid chapel’ where service took place every day. Local minister Michael Wange had a lecherous chaplain; the minister punished him for his sinful behaviour, but the punished chaplain poisoned him out of spite. Similarly, the chronicles of Lauban are well aware of the lives of ‘pious counts’ who ruled over the region — Widukind, Siegried (in both cases mythical figures), etc. In 953, a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary was allegedly built in the town and it held many relics of saints (viel Heiligthumb). A pilgrimage also took place here.

37 The ‘hunt’ of Zittau burghers for proof of the ancient character of their town had its critics, too; for example, at the end of the seventeenth century, Johannes Christian Nesen (1653–1727) pointed out the benefits of being able to achieve greatness over a short time span, cf. Nesenus, Historia Lusatica, p. 260. 38 ‘Deme allem denn wohl glauben zugeben und daraus die antiquithet dieser berümbten stadt, so andern umbliegenden derowegen auch vorzuziehen, zuvernehmen […] und zwar bedarff es keines zweifels, weil dergleichen städtte mehr, so von hohen fürstlichen weybes- und mannespersonen fundirt, zubefinden’, Annales Zittauienses oder Jahrbuch der Stadt Zittaw, CWB Zittau, Mscr. A 90, p. xv; same section in Zittauische Chronica bis 1622, CWB, Mscr. A 121, p. 10.

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Lauban chronicles repeat an interesting legend that says that in 954, Heinrich, i.e. Henry, of Schweidnitz (Świdnica, also, again, a Silesian duke) attacked the town. He captured the town and the burghers gave him the key to the town gate (it is remarkable that this story goes against the often-stressed loyalty of the burghers towards the Empire). As a reward for giving up their town in peace, the duke gave them a coat of arms showing the crossed keys (which is used to this day) and he permitted the fortification in the form of a moat. Quite against common sense, the story from the days of Henry of Jauer who lived in the fourteenth century was thus transferred to the oldest history of the town. Interestingly, in the beginning of the seventeenth century, Zeidler doubts the credibility of all details found in the ‘old verses’, yet he states that it is quite easy to prove that the town was founded in the tenth century, and he even mentions a yet earlier date, ad 702. Otherwise, the period of the Middle Ages in Lauban chronicles isn’t covered with much general information. All in all, writers mostly followed the internal problems, conflicts, and matters of their town. Similar to Zittau, they liked to mention, for example, various archery competitions organized in town, as these drew the attention of the aristocrats from the surrounding area.39 The etymology of the name of the town or the region was also very important. According to Felix Fabri († 1502), an early humanist Dominican from Ulm, the origin and the age of a certain town can be detected based on its ‘name and situation’ (ex nomine et situatione eius).40 In this respect, Upper Lusatian town chronicles are no exception. They all write about the etymology of local names — and the eventual political implications of such explanations must be considered. One of the many commentaries on the founding and naming of the town of Bautzen points to Bohemia. The origins are linked to a certain district officer appointed by the king of Bohemia who had difficulties with building the town. Allegedly, his pregnant wife comforted him by saying Bude-li syn, bude i město (If a son comes, a town will come to being, too). From this, the name Budissin was created, later to be transformed into the German name Bautzen.41 There are other etymologies available too, mostly based on the name of the mythical duke named Budos or Budiß.42 The founding of the town of Görlitz was always linked to the Sobieslaus I, Duke of Bohemia. In 1131, he had a new town built on the site of a burnt-down manor and he named it Yzhorelik, meaning ‘burnt down’. In German, this transformed into Görlitz, while in Czech and Polish, the original name Zhořelec/Zgorzelec stayed. The date and the act of foundation originated in the Bohemian chronicle of Kosmas’s successors.43 In the case of Zittau (once we set aside the story of the heroine bearing the same name, Zittavia), the early modern historians thought the name had either German or Czech origin. The German etymology did not bear any political and regional connotations, as it was quite direct — ‘Sit there!’ (sitze da) or ‘the sweet plain with 39 40 41 42 43

Zdichynec, ‘Lauban/Lubań mit den Augen der humanistischen Geschichtsschreiber gesehen’, p. 378. According to Graf, Gmünder Chroniken im 16. Jahrhundert, p. 111. Until 1868, see Baier, Von Budissin nach Bautzen. Bobková, ‘Chroniken der Oberlausitzischen Städte’. Cosmæ Chronicon Boemorum, pp. 205, 212. Kosmas of Prague (c. 1045–1125) was the author of the oldest preserved Bohemian chronicle Chronica Boemorum (finished in 1125).

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fertile soil’ (siesse awe propter soli fertilitatem). The second mentioned etymology implicates the literary stereotype of so-called ‘lovely place’ (locus amoenus), intensified by the fact that the ‘Sit there!’-etymology was in some chronicles extended to ‘Sit there and have fun!’ (Sitze da und habe deine Unterhaltung!). The parallel Czech etymology links the name of the town with the Czech word ‘žito’ (rye). This ‘Czech’ commentary was favoured by the local historian Johann Benedikt Carpzov in his work from the beginning of the eighteenth century. The Czech name of the town corresponded with his belief that the earliest history of Zittau and the whole Upper Lusatia must be linked with Bohemia.44 The name of Lauban is also linked to Slavic or German words. In German, the word Laube, leaves, comes to mind, and the Slavic words ‘lub’ or ‘luh’ meaning ‘shrubbery’ or ‘wilderness’ come close. Other towns/regions with similar names are mentioned too (‘Lu’), with Lusatia being the most prominent one. Both possible explanations are presented side by side without judgement — the Slavic past apparently doesn’t bother Lutheran German writers too much, as long as it proves the ancient character of their town.45 The Reflection of the Utraquist Movement and the Effect of the Hussite Wars

In the fifteenth century, the Crown of Bohemia underwent major changes. It was weakened by years of Hussite revolution (1419–1434) and by the fight of George of Poděbrady (1458–1469/1471) against Matthias of Hungary (1469–1490) over the throne. In these moments of crisis, the Upper Lusatian stakeholders took the fate of their region into their own hands for the first time in history. These turning points were reflected in the town chronicles. So, how did the authors from the region present the Hussites? Medieval and early modern writers took mostly a negative stand towards the Hussites. The fact that they were heretics was less stressed than their image as rogues and exploiters. The Lutheran authors of Zittau chronicles didn’t back away from their negative anti-Hussite stereotype, although after 1526, they stood side by side with the Utraquists of Bohemia in the Estate’s opposition camp against the Habsburgs. In history books written in Zittau around 1600, we miss the motif so common in contemporary German books by non-Catholic writers, stating that Hus and the Hussites were direct predecessors of Martin Luther (1483–1546) and the (German) Reformation movement. For Zittau writers, Hus’s teaching was considered to be a poison that poisoned the whole of Bohemia. Similarly, the war between Upper Lusatia and George of Poděbrady launched in 1467 was considered to be a war against heretics, and the Hussite king George was painted in bleak colours (as the murderer of the righteous King Ladislaus the Posthumous (1440/1453–1457) and a racketeer). Despite that, the wars with Hussite Bohemia had an important role in the chronicles of Upper Lusatia: already during the late Middle Ages, they created a

44 Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’, pp. 259–60, 276–77. 45 E.g. Annales Laubanenses, fol. 9r.

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negative religious and national stereotype, thus helping to shape the identity of Upper Lusatian towns. This did not change even after the Upper Lusatian towns joined the Protestant side in the sixteenth century. A certain shift in perception of the ‘Bohemian threat’ came along in the eighteenth century. The burning of John Hus (c. 1370–1415) in 1415 began to be considered to be an unjust act, yet the ensuing Hussite wars were still interpreted as destructive raids into the region. In the eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth centuries, the Lutherans of Zittau and other Upper Lusatian towns took mostly a negative stand towards the Hussites. This served to strengthen their own Lutheran religious identity (similarly to their older colleagues from around 1600). This is very interesting, because sometimes, they were the descendants of Bohemian exiles, Utraquists or Czech/Bohemian Brethen, who came to Zittau after the violent re-Catholisation in Bohemia after 1620. The following generation readily adopted the German Lutheran identity (one of them was Christian Adolph Pescheck (1787–1859), the author of the most extensive history of the town after J. B. Carpzov from 1834/1837).46 The chronicles of Lauban, which was raided and burnt down by the Hussites in 1427 and 1431, speak of the slaughter of the local clerics, monks, nuns, and burghers that happened in church. These events are described naturalistically and they dominate the narrative dedicated to the Hussite wars. John Hus is usually described as a reformer of the Church, although without a direct link to the Lutherans. Some chronicles use a similar narrative when speaking about the Papal Schism and the Decree of Kutná Hora as the earliest roots of the Hussite movement. The Taborites and the Orphan’s Union members were also in this town always seen as violent raiders, vandals, and thieves. It is worth noting that the chronicles of Lauban mention how the attack of the Hussites on the town was rooted in the town memory — signs and stones reminding of the tragic events in church, or the canister with the blood of the victims of the Hussite attack of 1427.47 However, there were some shifts of meaning in the explanation of post-Hussite history. For example, the above-mentioned Zittau historian Johann Benedikt Carpzov did not perceive King George of Poděbrady to be a murderer and heretic, as did his fellow chroniclers. He saw him as ‘ein weiser, tapfferer, gnaͤdiger, und mit ausnehmenden Qualitæten begabter Herr’ (a wise, brave, gracious and exceptionally gifted gentleman). His enemies who led a crusade against him by the order of the pope (many of them from Upper Lusatia), were ‘die aͤrgsten Schelmen, Diebe, Hurer und Moͤrder’ (the worst rogues, thieves, adulterers and murderers). A more or less positive image of George of Poděbrady (although he was a Utraquist) is also found in the works of several other Upper Lusatian historians from the Baroque and Enlightenment eras.48 In the chronicles of other towns, the relations of the particular town towards the ‘heretic King’ are described in a neutral way and they reflect the 46 Cf. Hrachovec, ‘Die Religion und die Konfession in der Zittauer Historiographie’; Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’. 47 Zdichynec, ‘Die Chronistik der Stadt Lauban des 16. und des ersten Drittels des 17. Jahrhunderts’, pp. 367–68. 48 For references to resources and literature, compare Hrachovec, ‘Die Religion und die Konfession in der Zittauer Historiographie’, pp. 182–83.

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historic facts. In the Bautzen chronicles, we can find a detailed description of the festive arrival of King George in town in 1462.49 Several details from the history of Lauban have to do with the events in the fifteenth century: when giving tribute to Ladislaus the Posthumous, the Lauban chronicles stress the fact that the Lusatian League swore an oath of loyalty to the Crown of Bohemia (again, this is repeated in the chronicles of Görlitz and Bautzen). George of Poděbrady as a heretic king is either left without mention,50 or he is mentioned in a neutral way — it is said that five Upper Lusatian towns rendered him tribute, Bautzen, Lauban, Löbau, Zittau, and Kamenz, after initial hesitation caused by the fact that he was proclaimed to be a heretic. It is stressed that the people of Görlitz took the longest to make the decision, but in the end, they gave in.51 Another interesting story concerns the alleged withholding of important Lauban privileges, concerning their judicial independence. The previous kings of Bohemia confirmed the privileges without trouble, while under George, Lauban burghers were accused of mishandling their judicial privileges. They were summoned to Prague where their privileges were held and superseded. According to Lauban writers, King George died ‘of grief because he could not pass the Crown on to his descendants’.52 The change in perception of King George among the Upper Lusatian towns is best illustrated by the events of 1468 in Görlitz. Then, the town was divided in two camps, originally because a promise of marriage was broken by one of the prominent burghers, Georg Emmerich (1422–1507). In 1468, his supporters brusquely proclaimed support for King Matthias and called their opponents conspirators who wanted to betray the king. When tortured, the unfortunate burghers pleaded guilty and five of them were executed. In the tradition of the town, Georg Emmerich lives on as a pilgrim to Jerusalem and the man who sponsored the building of the Sepulchre of Christ in Görlitz.53 The Reformation and the Process of Validation of the New Denomination (until 1635)

In the Zittau chronicles from the end of the sixteenth to the early nineteenth centuries, the introduction of Lutheranism in the 1520s was described in typical Lutheran terms, as shedding the light onto ‘der Finsterniß der Roͤmischen Irthuͤmer’ (the

49 Beschreibung des Landes Oberlausitz, pp. 364–67. Chronik der Stadt Görlitz bis 1495, p. 461. The expenses Görlitz had with hosting King George and his company are recorded in the town’s accounts, edited Codex diplomaticus Lusatiae Superioris III, pp. 253–55. 50 For example, in Cnemiander’s work; he writes in detail about John Hunyady (c. 1406–1456) and his son Matthias Corvinus, so he may be perceived as an advocate of the ‘Catholic side’, De Origine Marchionatus Super. Lusatiæ et præsertim Civitatis Luban. 51 Annales civitatis Laubanae, p. 92. 52 E.g. De Origine Marchionatus Super. Lusatiæ et præsertim Civitatis Luban, pp. 149–50. 53 Chronik der Stadt Görlitz bis 1495 (see note 49), pp. 511–54. Hoche, ‘Die Familie Emmerich und Horschel’.

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darkness of the Roman errors) and the introduction of ‘das helle Licht der wahren seligmachenden Religion’ (the clear light of the one true religion leading to salvation). Like the founding of the town, this event became a competitive point among the town chronicle writers in the region. Historians of Zittau naturally considered their town to be the first in Upper Lusatia where the Reformation has taken roots (in 1521). Those writings around 1600 paint an idyllic picture of the Lutheran Reformation in a town free of religious fights, simply by not mentioning the followers of other confessions (documented in other sources from that era). The Zittau town chronicles nicely document how the religious culture and identity was established, by taking a stand against other confessions and by pushing them aside (here by failing to mention them at all). The same applies to the Utraquist denomination, prevalent in the neighbouring Bohemia. Zittau writers of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries do not mention them in a negative way like they did in the fifteenth century — they do not mention them at all. On the other hand, the religious situation in Bohemia is described strictly from a German Lutheran viewpoint. In narratives about the forced re-Catholisation of Bohemia, Zittau writers care about the fate of their German brothers in faith, or, to a certain extent, they try to state that all Czech exiles are Lutherans — the town was filled with the refugees after 1620. In the contemporary chronicles, only rare details hint at the fact that not all Czech exiles were German Lutherans (as indeed they weren’t).54 Most Upper Lusatian writers from the end of the sixteenth century until the early nineteenth century saw the events of the Reformation solely in the context of their town, maybe of their region, and sometimes they referred to the general religious events in the Empire. The religious struggles of the non-Catholics of Bohemia weren’t linked with the events in Upper Lusatia. One exception among Zittau historians was Christian Altmann († c. 1728), who concluded that the relative religious freedom of Upper Lusatia (when compared to the rest of the Empire) must be linked to the tradition of the pre-Lutheran Reformation of Bohemia. Altmann’s work Historia ecclesiastica Zittaviensis was published after his death by Urban Gottlieb Haußdorff (1685–1762) in 1732 under Haußdorff ’s own name. Altmann gives an overview of the Reformation in Bohemia from its beginning, around 1350. He interprets the Hussite wars as an attack of Germans on Czechs, not the other way around, going against the usual interpretation of most Upper Lusatian chronicles. According to Altmann, the Reformation in Bohemia reached its high point when a decree was published by King Rudolph II (1576–1611/1612) in 1609, the so-called letter of Majesty, granting freedom of religion to Utraquists, Czech Brethen, and Lutherans. The author thinks that this was a direct cause for the issue of the so-called Upper Lusatian Assurance, granting religious freedom to Lutherans, issued by King Matthias II (1611/1612–1619)

54 Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’, pp. 296–97.

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two years later.55 This key foundation of Upper Lusatian religious freedom was directly linked to the events in Bohemia by Altmann (although he mentions it in context with the Peace of Augsburg for Holy Roman Empire from 1555). The Bohemian period in the history of the region before 1620 is seen as a religious ‘golden era’ by Altmann.56 When talking about the Reformation, the writers of Lauban speak solely about their own town. Some of them do not even mention Luther’s appearance from 1517. They do, however, emphasize early sermons in Luther’s spirit in their town (1525). Here, the disputes among Lutherans themselves aren’t stressed. On the other hand, the writers do mention the animosity between the town and the Catholic monastery of the Magdalene order, with which the town shared the parish church of the Trinity. The town and the monastery were in dispute over the pay of the clergy and over the unrest in connection with the Estates’ uprising in 1618–1620. All the chronicles mention the twelve nuns who left the monastery in 1525 as well as the problems of the Catholic convert, the burgomaster Scheuffler († 1593) and his daughter, who were victimized by the Lutherans. However, the religious differences are not described in detail. The chronicles also fail to mention numerous Czech exiles — like Zittau, there was a considerable number of them in Lauban. The rule of the Habsburgs in the region underwent two crises. First of these was the so-called Pönfall in 1547 (see above). In the Zittau chronicles, this event is not assessed, merely described. On the other hand, Christophorus Wiesner of Lauban (1566–1627) goes into great detail, including dark omens that preceded it. For him, it meant the loss of the town’s independence, although he describes it carefully, with loyalty to the king, and maybe as a warning for the future.57 In a way, Pönfall may be the reason why the kings of Bohemia moved out of focus. While in the Zittau chronicles from the fourteenth century, as well as the later chronicles which wrote about the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the king played a central role in the history of the town and region (the dynastic tradition dominated), in the texts from and about the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Bohemian kings are rarely mentioned, apart from their encomiastic visits in the area. Maybe, the fact that the Habsburgs were Catholics is to blame. On the other hand, chronicles dedicated to the period after 1550 mention the Wettins of Saxony increasingly often, even in texts written in the days when nobody yet doubted the rule of Bohemia over the region, that is, before 1620. Upper Lusatian writers must have felt a religious (Lutheran) and cultural (many of them studied at universities in Saxony) alliance with Wettin Saxony.58 The second crisis was the Estates uprising in Bohemia in 1618–1620. This launched the process at the end of which Upper and Lower Lusatia split from the Crown of 55 It was, in contrast to the letter of Majesty, just a verbal unofficial promise with questionable legal validity; similar promises were granted by Habsburgs in Bohemia earlier on (Bohemian Confession, 1575), as well as in Austria. 56 Altmann, Historia ecclesistica Zittaviensis. In details Hrachovec, ‘Die Religion und die Konfession in der Zittauer Historiographie’, pp. 183–87. 57 Zdichynec, ‘Frühneuzeitliche Laubaner Geschichtsschreibung’. 58 Hrachovec, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik’, pp. 298–300.

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Bohemia and it became a part of the Electorate of Saxony. The current writers of chronicles did not pay much attention to political events leading to this change of rule over Upper Lusatia. The gradual process of the splitting up is described without much enthusiasm from the writers who paid more attention to the frequent sieges and conquests of towns in the region, to the forced accommodation of soldiers, to epidemics and religious persecutions. The split of Upper Lusatia from Bohemia in 1635 (the Peace of Prague) is stated as a mere fact by most writers and they do not comment on it. Neither do the writers of Zittau mention it with regret. Similarly, the Estate’s Uprising in Lauban is seen without much emotion, although the local writer Wiesner was personally engaged in politics in Bohemia and thus he was better informed about the events, which he adjusts to the needs of his chronicle (the situation was similar in Bautzen).

Conclusion Using the example of the chronicle tradition of three important Upper Lusatian towns in the early modern era (sixteenth–eighteenth centuries), we may document certain important features of regional awareness, as it was formed among the burgher elites. Similar to the town chronicles in other parts of Central Europe, Upper Lusatian writers focus on the earliest roots of their towns, thus forming the specific town identity (the ancient character of the town — links to the rulers of Bohemia, the Holy Roman Empire, and Brandenburg — the early adoption of Christianity — affiliation to the Empire — Slavic presence), passed on in the chronicles up until early nineteenth century. They created a fairly stable canon of early town history. A very important element of the town’s identity was the relation towards the king, the king of Bohemia specifically, and later to the Prince Elector of Saxony. The examined chronicles do put the local history into a clearly defined geographical framework (more often the Empire than the Crown of Bohemia) as well as the historical frame of Christianity and Protestantism, yet apart from the narrative about the earliest beginnings of the town, they very often lack a clear concept of history. More often, they take on the form of a mere succession of events, putting emphasis on the crises forming the actual thinking of the burghers. Their main goals are to serve as a source of information for the people of their town, as well as offering them moral guidance.

Works Cited Abbreviations

CWB Zittau BUWr SRL

Christian-Weise-Bibliothek Zittau Biblioteka uniwersytecka we Wrocławiu Scriptores Rerum Lusitacarum

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Manuscript and Archival Sources Bautzen, Domstiftsarchiv Bautzen, Beschreibung des Landes Oberlausitz, des gleichen der Alten königlichen Haupt Sechs Stadt Budißin, Mscr. 3516 (old shelf mark E II.29) Dresden, Sächsische Landes- und Universitätsbibliothek Dresden, Mühlwolff, George and Caspar Möller, Annales Budissinenses, Mscr. L 241 Dresden, Library of Sächsisches Hauptstaatsarchiv Dresden, Cnemiander, Joachim, De Origine Marchionatus Super. Lusatiæ et præsertim Civitatis Luban, sign. AA 760a, Tomus I Görlitz, Ratsarchiv Görlitz, Scultetus, Bartholomäus, Chronik der Stadt Görlitz bis 1495, without shelfmark Wrocław, Biblioteka uniwersytecka we Wrocławiu, Haugwitz, August Adolph von, Prodromus Lusaticus, sign. Akc. 1948/I/617 ———, Laubanische Annales / Fata Laubae sign. 6672 (the anonymous manuscript comes from Görlitz, where it had the signature Mil. IV/139) ———, Laubnische Kirchen- und Stadt-Chronica […] durch Martinum BOHEMUM, Laubensem, Prediger in seinem Vaterlande, sign. Akc. 1947/XI 14 ———, Wiesner, Christophorus, Annales Laubanenses, I–III, sign. Akc. 1948/I/279–81 ———, Zeidler, Martin, and Christian Schwartz, Annales civitatis Laubanae, sign. 6452 (Mil II 358) Zittau, Christian-Weise-Bibliothek Zittau, Crugius, Donat, Chronicon Crugii urbis Lubani, Mscr. A 61 ———, Annales Zittauienses oder Jahrbuch der Stadt Zittaw, Mscr. A 90 ———, Zittauische Chronica bis 1622, Mscr. A 121, p. 10 Primary Sources Annalen der Stadt Kamenz (Haberkornsche Chronik), ed. by Lars-Arne Dannenberg, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Kamenz, 2; SRL, 7 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2013) Chronik der Stadt Zittau 1255–1623 [Christian-Weise-Bibliothek Zittau, Mscr. A 89], ed. by Tino Fröde. SRL, 8 (Görlitz: Oberlausitzische Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, 2013) Codex diplomaticus Lusatiae Superioris III, Die ältesten Görlitzer Ratsrechnungen bis 1419, ed. by Richard Jecht, (Görlitz: Oberlausitzer Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, 1905–1910) Cosmæ Chronicon Boemorum cum continuatoribus, ed. by Josef Emler in Fontes rerum Bohemicarum 2, (Praha: Gregr and Datel, 1874) Haugwitz, August Adolph von, Prodromus Lusaticus (Budissinae: n. pub., 1681) Jahrbuecher des Zittauischen Geschichtsschreibers Johannes von Guben und einiger seiner Amtsnachfolger, ed. by Ernst Friedrich Haupt, Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum, NF 1 (Goerlitz: Heinze, 1837), pp. 1–213 Nesenus, Johannes Christianus, Historia Lusatica, in Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum antiqui et recentiores, ed. by Christianus Godofredus Hoffmannus 2 (Lipsiae: Richter, 1719), pp. 249–64 Scriptores Rerum Lusaticarum antiqui et recentiores, ed. by Christianus Godofredus Hoffmannus, (SRL), I–IV (Lipsiae: Richter, 1719)

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Secondary Studies Altmann, Christian, Historia ecclesistica Zittaviensis, , ed. by U. G. Haußdorff (Budissin: Richter, 1732) Arnold, Klaus, ‘Städtelob und Stadtbeschreibung im späteren Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit’, in Städtische Geschichtsschreibung im Spätmittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Peter Johanek, Städteforschung, A 47 (Köln: Böhlau, 2000), pp. 247–68 Assmann, Jan, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (München: Beck, 2nd edn 1997) Bahlcke, Joachim, Regionalismus und Staatsintegration im Widerstreit. Die Länder der Böhmischen Krone im ersten Jahrhundert der Habsburgerherrschaft (1526–1619) (München: Oldenbourg, 1994) ———, ‘Entwicklungsphasen und Probleme der oberlausitzischen Historiographie vom 16. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart’, Neues Lausitzische Magazin Neue Folge, 5/6 (2002/2003), 37–64 ———, Geschichte der Oberlausitz, Herrschaft, Gesellschaft und Kultur vom Mittelalter bis zum Ende des 20. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag, 2nd edn 2004) ———, ed., Historische Schlesienforschung. Methoden, Themen und Perspektiven zwischen traditioneller Landesgeschichtsschreibung und moderner Kulturwissenschaft, Neue Forschungen zur Schlesischen Geschichte, 11 (Köln: Böhlau, 2005) Baier, Roland, ed., Von Budissin nach Bautzen, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Stadt Bautzen (Bautzen: Lusatia, 2002) Binder, Thomas, ed., 666 Jahre Sechsstädtebund, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Kamenz, 1 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2012) Bobková, Lenka, Luděk Březina, and Jan Zdichynec, Horní a Dolní Lužice [Upper and Lower Lusatia], Stručná historie států [Brief History of States], 54 (Praha: Libri, 2008) Bobková, Lenka, and Jan Zdichynec, eds, Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation. Die schriftliche Kultur in den Ländern der Böhmischen Krone im 14.–18. Jahrhundert, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 5 (Praha: Casablanca, 2011) Bobková, Lenka, ‘Stadt, Region und Herrscher in der spätmittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Historiografie der Oberlausitzer Städte am Beispiel der Stadt Görlitz’, in Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation. Die schriftliche Kultur in den Ländern der Böhmischen Krone im 14.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jan Zdichynec, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 5 (Praha: Casablanca, 2011), pp. 318–43 ———, ‘Chroniken der Oberlausitzischen Städte und ihre böhmischen mittelalterlichen Themen’, in 666 Jahre Sechsstädtebund, ed. by Thomas Binder, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Kamenz, 1 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2012), pp. 11–26 ———, ‘Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz – zwei Länder der Böhmischen Krone in der Zeit der Luxemburger’, in Die Nieder- und Oberlausitz – Konturen einer Integrationslandschaft I: Mittelalter, ed. by Heinz-Dieter Heimann, Klaus Neitmann, and Uwe Tresp, Studien zur brandenburgischen und vergleichenden Landesgeschichte, 11 (Berlin: Lukas, 2013), pp. 96–111

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Bobková, Lenka, and Jana Fantysová-Matějková, eds, Terra – Ducatus – Marchionatus – Regio. Die Bildung und Entwicklung der Regionen im Rahmen der Krone des Königreichs Böhmen, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 6 (Praha: Casablanca, 2013) Bräuer, Helmut, Stadtchronistik und städtische Gesellschaft. Über die Widerspiegelung sozialer Strukturen in der obersächsich-lausitzischen Stadtchronistik der frühen Neuzeit (Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag, 2009) Carpzovius, Johannes Benedictus, Analecta Fastorum Zittaviensium, I–V (Zittau: Schöps, 1716) ———, Neueroeffneter Ehren-Tempel Merckwuediger Antiquitæten des Marggraffthums OberLausitz, I–II (Leipzig: Richter, 1719) Dannenberg, Lars-Arne, and Mario Müller, eds, Studien zur neuzeitlichen Geschichtsschreibung in den böhmischen Kronländern Schlesien, Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz, Beihefte zum Neuen Lausitzischen Magazin, 11 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2013) ———, eds, Studien zur Stadtchronistik (1400–1850), Bremen und Hamburg, Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz, Brandenburg und Böhmen, Sachsen und Schlesien, Beihefte zum Neuen Lausitzischen Magazin, 20 (Hildesheim: Olms, 2018) Dunphy, Raymond Graeme, ed., Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle, 2 vols (Leiden: Brill, 2010) Fröde, Tino, ‘Die handschriftlichen Stadtchroniken in den Sechsstädten – eine Bestandsaufnahme’, in Studien zur neuzeitlichen Geschichtsschreibung in den böhmischen Kronländern Schlesien, Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz, ed. by Lars-Arne Dannenberg and Mario Müller, Beihefte zum Neuen Lausitzischen Magazin, 11 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2013), pp. 157–233 Graf, Klaus, Gmünder Chroniken im 16. Jahrhundert. Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Reichsstadt Schwäbisch Gmünd (Schwäbisch Gmünd: Einhorn, 1984) Grosser, Samuel, Lausitzische Merckwuerdigkeiten, I–V (Leipzig: Richter, 1714) Heimann, Heinz-Dieter, Klaus Neitmann, and Uwe Tresp, eds, Die Nieder- und Oberlausitz – Konturen einer Integrationslandschaft I: Mittelalter, Studien zur brandenburgischen und vergleichenden Landesgeschichte, 11 (Berlin: Lukas, 2013) Hoche, Siegfried, ‘Die Familie Emmerich und Horschel. Hintergründe zum Heiligen Grab in Görlitz’, Görlitzer Magazin, 17 (2004), 61–74 Hrachovec, Petr, ‘Der Sechsstädtebund und die Sechsstädte in der Zittauer Chronistik des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts’, in 666 Jahre Sechsstädtebund, ed. by Thomas Binder, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Kamenz, 1 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2012), pp. 129–43 ———, ‘Böhmische Themen in der Zittauer Stadtchronistik des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts’, in Studien zur neuzeitlichen Geschichtsschreibung in den böhmischen Kronländern Schlesien, Oberlausitz und Niederlausitz, ed. by Lars-Arne Dannenberg and Mario Müller, Beihefte zum Neuen Lausitzischen Magazin, 11 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2013), pp. 251–318 ———, ‘Die Religion und die Konfession in der Zittauer Historiographie des 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Terra – Ducatus – Marchionatus – Regio. Die Bildung und Entwicklung der Regionen im Rahmen der Krone des Königreichs Böhmen, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jana Fantysová-Matějková, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 6 (Praha: Casablanca, 2013), pp. 171–88

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Johanek, Peter, ed., Städtische Geschichtsschreibung im Spätmittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit. Städteforschung, A 47 (Köln: Böhlau, 2000) Kersken, Norbert, ‘Historiographiegeschichte’, in Historische Schlesienforschung. Methoden, Themen und Perspektiven zwischen traditioneller Landesgeschichtsschreibung und moderner Kulturwissenschaft, ed. by Joachim Bahlcke, Neue Forschungen zur Schlesischen Geschichte, 11 (Köln: Böhlau, 2005), pp. 93–125 Knauthe, Christian, Derer oberlausitzer Sorberwenden Umständliche Kirchengeschichte (Görlitz: Fickelscherer, 1767) Kozák, Petr, ‘“Dem Vaterland ist man Danckbarkeit schuldig!” Joachim Cureus (1532–1573) und der “Sinn” der schlesischen Geschichte’, in Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation. Die schriftliche Kultur in den Ländern der Böhmischen Krone im 14.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jan Zdichynec, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 5 (Praha: Casablanca, 2011), pp. 416–31 Leuber, Benjamin, Von dem Uhrsprung des Schlosses in Deutscher Sprach Ortenburgk […] genennet (Budissin: n. pub., 1662) Postel, Rainer, ‘“Warumb ich disse Historiam beschrieben”. Bürgermeister als Chronisten’, in Städtische Geschichtsschreibung im Spätmittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Peter Johanek, Städteforschung, A 47 (Köln: Böhlau, 2000), pp. 319–32 Tošnerová, Marie, Kroniky českých měst z předbělohorského období. Úvod do studia městského kronikářství v Čechách v letech 1526–1620 [The Bohemian Town Chronicles before the Battle of White Mountain: An Introduction to the Studies of the Town Chronicles, 1526–1620], Studie o rukopisech [Manuscript Studies]. Monographia, 15 (Praha: Masarykův ústav a Archiv Akademie věd ČR, 2010) Wenzel, Kai, ‘Geschichtswerk und Erinnerungsort. Die Stuckdecke im kurfürstlichen Kammergemach der Ortenburg zu Bautzen’, in Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation. Die schriftliche Kultur in den Ländern der Böhmischen Krone im 14.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jan Zdichynec, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 5 (Praha: Casablanca, 2011), pp. 297–314 Zdichynec, Jan, ‘Die Chronistik der Stadt Lauban des 16. und des ersten Drittels des 17. Jahrhunderts und ihre bohemikalen Bezüge’, in Geschichte, Erinnerung, Selbstidentifikation. Die schriftliche Kultur in den Ländern der Böhmischen Krone im 14.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. by Lenka Bobková and Jan Zdichynec, Die Kronländer in der Geschichte des böhmischen Staates, 5 (Praha: Casablanca, 2011), pp. 353–73 ———, ‘Frühneuzeitliche Laubaner Geschichtsschreibung und das Land der Sechsstädte’, in 666 Jahre Sechsstädtebund, ed. by Thomas Binder, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Stadtarchiv Kamenz, 1 (Görlitz: Oettel, 2012), pp. 101–27 ———, ‘Lauban/Lubań mit den Augen der humanistischen Geschichtsschreiber gesehen. Die Bildung der mittelalterlichen Geschichte der Stadt’, in Die Nieder- und Oberlausitz – Konturen einer Integrationslandschaft I: Mittelalter, ed. by Heinz-Dieter Heimann, Klaus Neitmann, and Uwe Tresp, Studien zur brandenburgischen und vergleichenden Landesgeschichte, 11 (Berlin: Lukas, 2013), pp. 359–89

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From Principality into Province The Historiography of the Guelders-Lower Rhine Region from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Centuries

Introduction One of the pivotal questions of the Cuius Regio project as a whole revolved around the question as to what a region actually consists of. Apart from the problem that the connotation of the word ‘region’ differs per country, there is the more general problem that in different academic disciplines the concept region seems to refer to different things.1 Michael Keating has aptly articulated the Babel-like confusion surrounding the concept of region: 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.2 This contribution is devoted to late medieval and early modern historiography of the duchy, later on province, of Guelders and some of its neighbouring principalities. As a genre, historiography typically deals with quite a number of the elements listed by Keating. Broadly speaking, it touches upon two different concepts of region. On the one hand, historiographical texts are usually tied to a spatially fairly defined area, such as a town, a principality or a kingdom, or to a ruling dynasty with possessions in

1 See the short discussion in: Terlouw and Weststrate, ‘Regions as Vehicles’, and the chapter by De Boer and Fonseca in this volume. 2 Keating, Regions and Regionalism, p. xi. Job Weststrate  •  was attached to the Cuius Regio project as a postdoc researcher at the University of Groningen (Netherlands). He is currently employed as a Senior Policy Advisor at the Department of Educational Advice & Quality Assurance of the Faculty for Humanities at Leiden University. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luís Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 145–164 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121490

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Figure 5.1. Map showing the principalities of Guelders, Cleves, and Jülich in the wider Lower Rhine region. Image by D. E. H. de Boer, after a map by André Stufkens and Jacobus Trijsburg, Nijmegen.

more or less delimited areas. On the other hand, one can argue that historiography is a literary genre and as such may be part of a literary region, or even Kulturraum, that defies the frame of political borders or dynastical possessions. The latter problem is very rightly raised by Helmut Tervooren in his work on the Rhine-Meuse basin as a literary region in the twelfth–fifteenth centuries. Tervooren explicitly states that, in keeping with the consensus in cultural historical studies, he considers the Rhine-Meuse area a Kulturraum.3 He even goes on to give a spatial interpretation of this area: it contains, ‘according to a never precisely defined casu quo definable opinio communis’, the bishoprics of Liege and Cologne, parts of the bishoprics of Utrecht, Münster, and Trier; the princely territories of Guelders, Cleves, (the eastern part of) Brabant, Loon, Limburg, Jülich, Berg, and a number of smaller principalities mainly along the Meuse and in the Northern Eiffel.4 This region consists of a number of cultural-literary centres that are well-connected, most notably the large dioceses of Cologne and Liege, the larger urban centres, a number of monasteries and convents.



3 Tervooren, ‘Überlegungen zu einer regionalen Literaturgeschichte’, pp. 7–12. 4 Tervooren, ‘Überlegungen zu einer regionalen Literaturgeschichte’, p. 14.

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However, behind this seemingly straightforward geographical description of the Rhine-Meuse area lies an array of factors undermining the apparent unity. Tervooren is quick to concede that this region should be seen as a non-fixed entity for a number of reasons. Firstly, not all of its constituent elements played the same part over time: the episcopal cities were and remained strong cultural foci during the entire Middle Ages, but the monasteries’ key role was mostly confined to the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The process of ongoing urbanization made a number of mid-sized towns such as Deventer, Arnhem, Nijmegen, Duisburg, and Aachen come to the fore as cultural centres, at least from the middle of the fourteenth century onwards. Apart from the impact of the shift in centres of cultural production over time, Tervooren readily admits that, when studying literary genres, one has to take into account considerable differences in the local variants of the vernacular Middle Low German. As a consequence, over time, different literary genres seem to have produced different ‘literary regions’: the courtly romances written by Hendrik van Veldeke in the second half of the twelfth century obviously functioned in a different geographic area and social milieu than the literary products of the Devotio Moderna that were produced and consumed in urban centres along the Meuse and the Rhine and its branches some two centuries later.5 Historiography, the genre that is central in this contribution, deals in itself with the history of dynasties and territories, with territorial claims, with historical liaisons between rulers, their possessions, and the people over which they ruled, and thus with aspects of the phenomenon of the region (although never in these words). Moreover, more often than not historiographical texts were compiled together with other historiographical texts. Which specific texts were bound or printed together may in itself indicate a certain regional awareness, or regional wishful thinking, of the compiler. Production of historiographical texts intensified when lands and rights were contested. This contribution seeks to trace the development of the regional awareness within the historiography of the duchies of Guelders and to a lesser extent Cleves, from the mid-fifteenth century, when the historical writing on both duchies gained momentum, to the second half of the seventeenth century, when it became clear that both duchies were to be bound up in new political constellations, leaving behind the dynastical ties that had bound them intermittently until well into the sixteenth century. The emphasis will be on the historiography of Guelders, which is richer than its Cleves’ counterpart, especially in the seventeenth century.

Regional Orientations: Cleves and Guelders, c. 1450–1550 From the thirteenth century onwards, a number of historiographical works on the dynasties and territories along the Lower Rhine had come into being.6 These works



5 Tervooren, ‘Überlegungen zu einer regionalen Literaturgeschichte’, pp. 15–30. 6 A complete survey on the late medieval and sixteenth-century historiographical production in Guelders is offered by Noordzij, Gelre.

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generally focus on one single territory, or on one dynasty. As some of the dynasts that are central in this historiography ruled over more than one principality, one may expect that the historiographical works themselves would mingle the histories of the terrae under the rule of this dynasty. A case in point would be the reign of Duke William I of Guelders (1377–1402) and his son Reinald IV of Guelders (1402–1423). From 1393 onwards William also ruled over the neighbouring duchy of Jülich and Reinald subsequently ruled over both lands until his death.7 It did not lead to the creation of a truly combined history of Guelders and Jülich. This may be due to the relatively short period of 30 years that both duchies were jointly ruled. However, in general one may find that the extant chronicles in the area that Tervooren described as the Rhine-Meuse region do not seem to be written to imprint a sense of unity between territories and thus to create an image of a number of terrae that form a coherent region. The separate principalities and their ruling dynasts were the building blocks of late medieval dynastical historiography. For late medieval Guelders this axiom is illustrated by the work of Willem van Berchen, the rector of the main altar and canon of the chapter of the Saint Steven church in Nijmegen. A pioneer of the historiography of Guelders, Van Berchen wrote two very influential histories of his native duchy.8 In his outlook on the history of the Low Countries in general and Guelders in particular, Van Berchen showed himself a learned man: he was trained as a priest at the University of Cologne and had a good command of Latin. References to Aristotle and Cicero in his chronicle of Guelders further indicate his learned background. Van Berchen was not blind to the outer world as the context for the history of Guelders; in his second chronicle he firmly puts the history of Guelders in the context of the history of the Netherlands, and he was in a perfect position to do so. He wrote several chronicles on other principalities in the Low Countries, including Holland, Utrecht, and Brabant.9 Van Berchen completed his first chronicle of Guelders in 1465 and spent the following years compiling several short chronicles of the high noble lineages in the Holland-Guelders riverine area.10 Material from this compilation then served as one of the sources for the second, more comprehensive Guelders chronicle, which Van Bergen started in the 1470s and continued until his death in 1481. As a sharp observer of the history and present day of the Low Countries, Van Berchen devoted ample attention to the rise and expansion of Burgundian power. His political agenda however was entirely anti-Burgundian and pro-Guelders, or to be more precise: pro-Nijmegen, his city of birth.11

7 Alberts, Geschiedenis van Gelderland, pp. 89–106. 8 Kuijs, ‘Willem van Berchen’. The second chronicle of Van Berchen has been published both in Latin as well as in a modern Dutch translation: Wilhelmus de Berchen, ed. by Sloet van de Beele and De Gelderse kroniek van Willem van Berchen, ed. by de Mooy. See also Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 78–92 and Carasso-Kok, Repertorium van verhalende historische bronnen, pp. 427–30. 9 Carasso-Kok, Repertorium van verhalende historische bronnen, nos 396–97; Tilmans, ‘De Hollandse Kroniek’. 10 Tilmans, ‘De Hollandse Kroniek’. 11 Kuijs, ‘Willem van Berchen’, p. 32.

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Figure 5.2. A miniature in the Middle-Netherlandish translation of the Chronicles of Froissart which shows Duke William of Guelders-Jülich, recognizable by the medlar flowers on his coat, bowing to the French king Charles VI near Erkelenz in 1388. The Hague, Royal Library of the Netherlands, MS 130B21, fol. 359r. Reproduced with permission.

Compiling and Clustering History Separate histories, such as those by Van Berchen, do not only appear as single manuscripts. Often historiographical manuscripts consisted of a number of these separate histories. The combination of the histories of certain principalities may reveal something about the intentions of the compiler and about the milieu in which the historiographical texts functioned. Throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries such ‘clustering’ of chronicles was widespread. Chronicles on the Lower Rhine principalities Guelders, Cleves, Mark, Berg, and Jülich seem to have appeared in three geographically differently oriented types of clusters: a ‘Lower Rhine’ or eastward clustering (from the viewpoint of Guelders), a westward clustering, and a general ‘Netherlandish’ clustering.12 It is tempting to look at these clusters as expressions of feelings of regional cohesion or togetherness, but the fact of the matter is that authors did not comment explicitly on regional cohesion or questions of identity. It seems

12 Noordzij, ‘Zelfstandigheid en integratie’, pp. 47–50.

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quite obvious that the texts they produced and compiled did serve political purposes, yet we are hardly informed in what ways they were meant to do so. Compilations of the eastward clustering seem to have put emphasis on the dynastical ties between Guelders, Cleves, Jülich, and Berg. A good example is the Cronica comitum et principum de Clivis et Marca, Gelriae, Juliae et Montium, necnom archiepiscoporum Coloniensis, usque ad annum 1392 (Chronicle of the counts and princes of Cleves and Mark, Guelders, Jülich and Berg, as well as the archbishopric of Cologne until the year 1392), that was written or copied by Hugo of Cleves, probably in one of the first decades of the sixteenth century.13 While it is unclear in what circles this text functioned, it obviously deals with a touchy subject, as the last decades of the fifteenth and first decades of the sixteenth centuries witnessed a fierce struggle between the aspiring Duke Charles of Egmond and his Burgundian and later on Habsburg foes.14 Noordzij points out that much the same can be said about two small chronicles that were written around the same time by the Guelders’ historiographer Johannes Cluys, De Gelrie ac Zutphanie comitum, Gelrique et Julie deinde ducum origine (which drew heavily on the work of Willem van Berchen, see above) and Tractatulus de ducatus Gelrie origine atque ejusdem ducum Julieque genealogia.15 The grouping together of the histories of the principalities along the Lower Rhine was not confined to dynastical historiography either. The Duisburger Chronik by Johann van Wasserberg is an interesting example of a chronicle that was created within an urban historiographical tradition, but mixed the urban outlook with more dynastically and territorially oriented histories.16 The eclectic nature of the Chronik is in itself proof of how difficult it is to ascertain the ‘regional’ scope of this type of late medieval historiographical work, especially since Wasserberg himself spent no words on justifying his choices. He was probably born in Duisburg and spent the largest part of his adult life as a knight Hospitaller at the Church of St Mary’s in Duisburg. He wrote his chronicle during the first decades of the sixteenth century and completed it in 1517. His history, that spanned the history of his hometown Duisburg from 1474 to 1517, may be seen as a partial continuation on the so-called Koelhoffschen Chronicle that had been published in Cologne in 1499.17 The Koelhoffschen Chronicle was conceived as a history of the world from the Creation to the present day, but throughout the work the Cologne perspective loomed large, especially in the last chapters on more recent historical events. This meant for instance that the author mentioned and commented on political and military events within the Lower Rhine area, such as the violent clashes between the duchies of Guelders

13 Noordzij, Gelre, p. 88, note 167. 14 Ehm, ‘De oppermachtige buurman’; Rotthoff-Kraus, ‘Geldern und Habsburg zur Zeit Maximilians I.’; Alberts, Geschiedenis van Gelderland, pp. 123–39; Meij, ‘1492–1543’. 15 Noordzij, Gelre, p. 48. 16 Ilgen, Die Chroniken der westfälischen und niederrheinischen Städte. 17 On the Koelhoffschen Chronicle: Mölich, Neddermeyer and Schmitz, Spätmittelalterliche städtische Geschichtsschreibung in Köln; Buschinger, ‘Die “Cronica van der hilliger Stat van Coellen”’.

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and Cleves-Jülich in the last decades of the fifteenth century.18 While Wasserberg drew heavily on the chronicle from Cologne, he did add a number of original chapters that convey a certain amount of ‘Lower Rhine’ clustering. Three chapters were devoted to the history of the duchy of Cleves, most notably to its origins. The subsequent chapter described the origins of Mark, Guelders, and the bishopric of Utrecht. This clustering seems to indicate an awareness that the histories of these territories were interrelated, or at least that clustering these histories was relevant for the author, although he does not explicitly states his reasons for doing so. The last part of the Duisburger Chronik consists of a chronicle that reported on events in the duchy of Cleves, and most notably in the town of Duisburg during his own lifetime, from 1474–1517. In this chapter the author also provides information on (mainly political) events in Cologne (both bishopric and city), Westphalia, and Guelders. The struggle between the house of Burgundy and Egmond is especially mentioned in the coverage of developments in the latter duchy. There is some evidence that the Lower Rhine Region itself at times was regarded as a distinct cultural entity, from an outsider’s point of view. A case in point is the Livre de la description des Pays that was written down shortly after 1451 by Gilles de Bouvier, herald of the French king Charles VII.19 In his Livre, de Bouvier provides shorter and longer descriptions of a number of political territories and landscapes within Europe, and the coherence between them. In the western part of the Netherlands he distinguished between the separate principalities Holland, Zeeland, and Brabant, yet he did not lump them together under a common denominator such as ‘les pays bas’. Further to the east, however, he observed a higher level of coherence: the duchies of Guelders, Cleves, and Jülich formed a sort of unity in his view. He described them as ‘très bon païs de la condition de Brabant et parlent tous alemant. Et s’appelle ce païs basse Allemaigne’. A number of principalities further to the south apparently were also part of this Lower Allemania, most notably the bishoprics of Mainz and Cologne, as well as the city of Cologne. According to the Livre, the inhabitants of these parts were ‘le plus gentilz et honnestes’ of the entire German Empire, especially those of Cologne. This short passage shows that the different territories could be and were grouped together. However, quite an opposite positioning of the Lower Rhine territories can be found in late medieval historiography as well. A number of chronicles from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries put the history of Guelders in a different, westward oriented framework. These works placed the history of Guelders in a ‘Netherlandish’ cluster with the bishopric of Utrecht, and the counties of Holland and Zeeland, such as in the Tielse Kroniek and the Annales Tielensis that both were drawn up in the Guelders

18 Koelhoffschen chronicle, digital edition of the University Library of Wolfenbüttel: http://diglib.hab. de/inkunabeln/131-2-hist-2f/start.htm?image=00733. 19 Le livre de la description des pays de Gilles Le Bouvier, dit Berry, ed. by Hamy.

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town of Tiel around 1460.20 Other compilations draw the boundaries for clustering even wider: the Dutch adaptation and extension of Werner Rolevincks Fascilus Temporum by Jan Veldener (1474) contained chronicles from the ‘Netherlands at large’: Holland, Utrecht, Guelders, Brabant, Liège, Cleves, Cologne, Mark, and Berg.21 A similar compilation was drawn up around 1450, possibly at the court of the Dukes of Guelders.22 Several types of clustering thus existed, yet the separate principalities were the building blocks of the historiography of the Lower Rhine region, even when they were part of larger clusters. In a study on Clevish and Guelders’ historiography, Carola Kirschner has pointed out that these separate historiographical traditions also differed in their orientation and content. Both traditions were principally oriented towards the ruling dynasties, but Kirschner showed that in Guelders, in addition to the dynastical perspective, there was the vivid idea that Guelders as a county was more than a set of princely possessions. Guelders was also tied together by the concept that it consisted of more or less coherent terrae. These territories and its people were conceived of as the main entities that shaped Guelders, irrespective of who bore the title of count at a given time.23 Kirschner presents a prime example of the difference between Cleves and Guelders in her analysis of the foundation myths of the ruling dynasties in Cleves and Guelders. In Cleves’ late medieval historiography, most clearly in the so-called Clevische Chronik by Gert vander Schuren,24 the origins of the ruling dynasty are traced back to the marriage of Helias, the mysterious Swan Knight, to Beatrix, heiress to the county of Cleves. Through his line of descent the mythical figure of the Swan Knight connected the house of Cleves on the one hand with Rome and Troy, and at the same time with a lineage of the oldest knighthood, as Helias was supposed to have been one of the Knights of The Grail. The glory that is described in this origin myth is the glory of the princes of Cleves, not of the land, nor of its inhabitants.25 Contrasting markedly with this emphasis on the dynasty is the tone of Dit is dat beginsel, a late fifteenth-century chronicle of Guelders in the vernacular. There we find a version of the famous origin myth of the house of Guelders that had been written down for the first time in the decades before by Willem van Berchen in Latin.26 The story tells of a ghastly beast that roams the lands of Guelders and wreaks havoc on its inhabitants, while crying out ‘Gelre, Gelre!’ (Guelders, Guelders!). Then two young 20 De Tielse Kroniek, ed. by Kuijs. See Noordzij, ‘Zelfstandigheid en integratie’, pp. 48–49. Another example is the chronicle of Arent thoe Boecop from the 1570s/1580s, in which the author clusters Guelders with Utrecht, Overijssel, Frisia and Groningen. 21 Carasso-Kok, Repertorium van verhalende historische bronnen, pp. 339–46, nos 311–19. 22 Noordzij, ‘Geschiedschrijving en nationale identiteit’, p. 15. 23 Kirschner, ‘Land, Herrscher, Herrschaft’, pp. 67–68. 24 Scholten, Clevische Chronik. 25 Kirschner, ‘Land, Herrscher, Herrschaft’, pp. 65–66. 26 Kirschner, ‘Land, Herrscher, Herrschaft’, p. 67; On other vernacular versions of the story of the Guelders’ beast see Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 87–88. See on the origin myth also the lemma ‘Draak van Gelre’ in the Nederlandse Volksverhalenbank of the P. J. Meertens Institute: http://www.verhalenbank. nl/items/show/51266, including extensive literature.

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Figure 5.3. In the seventeenth century displaying Guelders identity through a series of paintings was quite popular. The mythical past, and especially the story of the brothers Wichard and Lupold slaying the dragon, remained very popular. This painting by an anonymous artist around 1680, possibly painted at the occasion of the imagined 8th centennial of the event, shows the dramatic killing. The castle of Guelders, the medlartree, and the flowers on the shield refer to the symbolic identity, whereas in the last fiery breath, one can read three times ‘Gelre’. A large inserted text explains all to the reader. Digital image: Limburgs Museum, courtesy of the Townhall of Geldern.

noble brothers, by the name of Wichard and Lupold, sons of the lord of Pont, enter the scene. They find the beast under a medlar-tree, fight and slay it, and on the spot where the beast died, they build a castle they call Gelre, after the final cries of the beast. The people that lived in the neighbourhood are all delighted. They subject themselves to both brothers and choose them to be the princes and guardians of their

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land.27 The main point here of course is not the mythical component of both origin stories. The important point is that in the case of Cleves the tale is focused entirely on the princely dynasty, whereas the chronicles of Guelders mention the lands of Guelders — thus: a territorial component — and its people. Its inhabitants form an independently acting community: they subject themselves to the brothers and choose them as their princely leaders. This implies that in the Guelders’ chronicle princely authority is regarded as a form of power that originates in the will of the people, or at least as a form of power that requires the consent of the people.28

Early Modern Historiography: The Humanist Turn and the Changing Political Backdrop The notion of a people of Guelders as the bearers of a territorial, or even proto-national consciousness that is discerned by Kirschner in late medieval historiography became decidedly more important in works on Guelders’ history during the sixteenth century. The main driving force behind this development was the struggle of the dukes of Guelders against their Burgundian and later on Habsburg foes, that went on (intermittently) from 1492 to 1543.29 The claims to power from both sides gave rise to the production of historiographical texts, supporting the views of both parties. The Habsburg claims did not extend to the duchy of Cleves, which may explain the modest Clevish historiographical production compared to that in Guelders. Some things remained the same. As in the previous centuries, there was hardly a distinct cultural memory of the Lower Rhine region as a whole in the historiography of the sixteenth century. Authors mainly focused on the history of the separate territories (i.e. Guelders, Oversticht, or Cleves, etc.), or of separate towns, as was the case in the urban histories of Duisburg, Nijmegen, and Cologne, that were written from the late fifteenth century onwards until well in the seventeenth century.30 Some authors stress the role of their subject within the German Empire, as was clearly done in the history of Nijmegen. Sometimes links with other territories or towns in the Lower Rhine are mentioned, but never consistently with the intention of recollecting a glorious past of the Lower Rhine region as a whole. For the historiographical genre as such, it is perhaps more important that there was a decisive shift in the paradigm of the most important authors involved. The most influential writers of Guelders’ history of the sixteenth century, most notably Gerard

27 ‘Ende alle dat volck dat daeromtrent woende, gaven hem onder dese twe brueders ende coeren dese twe brueders tot hoir twe princen ende vaechden ende overste van hoeren lande te wesen’; Doorninck, Geldersche Kronieken, p. 4. 28 Kirschner, ‘Land, Herrscher, Herrschaft’, pp. 71–73; Noordzij, ‘Geschiedschrijving en nationale identiteit’, pp. 8–12. 29 Meij, ‘1492–1543’, pp. 13–72; Looz-Corswarem, ‘Gelre en zijn buren’, pp. 127–33. 30 See note 16 and 17. A history of Nijmegen, Oppidum Batavorum, seu Noviomagum, written by Johannes Smetius sr. was first published in 1644. A modern translation was published as Nijmegen. De stad der Bataven.

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Geldenhouwer, but also lesser known historiographers as Konrad von Achterveld from Arnhem and Henricus of Aquilius from Zutphen were humanist authors and they participated in discussions with their fellow humanists on questions that still revolved around the land and people of Guelders, yet in a humanist framework, using humanist rhetoric schemes and argumentation. While they were indebted to the work of their predecessors, especially of Willem van Berchen, some humanist authors were critical of the mythical elements in the earlier historiography, such as the origin myths of Guelders and Cleves. The humanist scholar Gerard Geldenhouwer is a prime example: he considered both the myth of Wichard and Lupold slaying the ghastly creature as well as the Clevish Legend of the Swan Knight ludicrous.31 However, in the work of other humanist authors such as Aquilus, the story of the Guelders beast remained intact. The beast thus retained its function as a ‘national’ Guelders symbol, which enhanced feelings of unity and cohesion among its (learned) inhabitants. Throughout the sixteenth century the story also found its way into several smaller publications on the history of Guelders that were probably printed as school material.32 During the sixteenth century the endeavours of Gerard Geldenhouwer were probably the most influential in changing the outlook on the history of Guelders. Geldenhouwer was born in Nijmegen and after a period of wanderings was given a chair in theology at the University of Marburg; he took part in the discussion on the place of settlement of the Germanic tribe of the Batavians in Roman times. The Batavians were regarded as the forefathers of the inhabitants of the Netherlands. While competing humanists, such as Erasmus of Rotterdam and Aurelius, made a case for Holland as the Batavian place of settlement, Geldenhouwer argued in his Lucubratiuncula de Batavorum insula (1528) and Historia Batavica (1530) that they must have settled in the Guelders’ river area, thereby firmly placing Guelders in the history of the Netherlands rather than that of the Lower Rhine, already in the first half of the sixteenth century.33 In the same vein, Geldenhouwer portrayed the people of Guelders as true descendants of the Batavians: strong, brave and warlike, in the most positive meaning of the term.34 Similar images, interspersed with humanist interpretations of the Germanic background of the people of Guelders, are found in the work of other sixteenth-century authors, such as Henricus Aquilius and Konrad von Achterveld. In a number of respects Aquilius’ approach was not as sophisticated as that of Geldenhouwer. Aquilius did incorporate the origin myth of the Guelders beast in his work and identified the people of Guelders not so much with the Batavi, but with another Germanic tribe, the Sicambri, who allegedly were the ancestors of the people of Guelders. This identification can also be found in the writings of Van Achterveld. For both

31 Noordzij, Gelre, p. 238, citing the translation of Geldenhouwer, Germaniae inferioris in: Geldenhouwer van Nijmegen, Historische werken. 32 Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 89–90. 33 Bejczy, ‘Drie humanisten en een mythe’; Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 297–301. 34 Geldenhouwer van Nijmegen, Historische werken, pp. 57–59.

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authors the people of Guelders shared their prowess with the ancestral Sicambri, just as Geldenhouwer suggested a link between the Batavi and the inhabitants of Guelders of his day. Examples of similar modes of ‘Germanic’ identification can be found in early seventeenth-century histories on the neighbouring territory of Overijssel and Deventer: there historiographers regarded the Salian Franks as their predecessors of choice. Despite these differences, one may conclude that rather than occupying themselves with dynastical history, the humanists of the sixteenth century built their histories around the notion of the People (‘het Volk’) of Guelders. They put much emphasis on the Germanic roots of the inhabitants of Guelders, and as true humanists they did so by studying Roman authors such as Tacitus. The intellectual discussion between Geldenhouwer, Erasmus, and Aurelius was not solely about the identity of Guelders and the Guelders people, but rather on the role Guelders did or did not play in the formation of the Dutch national identity. Still, for Geldenhouwer the perspective of Guelders counted the most: he explicitly referred to Nijmegen as his native town and the duchy of Guelders as his patria. And though Geldenhouwer was entirely aware of the fact that there existed differences between the four Quarters into which Guelders was subdivided (headed by the towns Nijmegen, Arnhem, Zutphen, and Roermond), he still went on to construct, at least on paper, a Guelders’ identity that encompassed the whole of the duchy. He, and his fellow humanists from Guelders, put the emphasis on the German descent of the inhabitants of the duchy — apart from the aforementioned Batavi, they identified the tribe of the Sicambri as predecessors of the Guelders’ people. Their characteristic traits — courage, braveness, warlike spirit, independence — were transferred to the Guelders’ people in general and became stereotypes that would remain functional until well into the eighteenth century. The humanist historical perception saw Guelders as part of Germania, which was first and foremost an intellectual construction that referred to the German-speaking world as opposed to the Romance-speaking world; at the same time it does refer to the ties that bound the duchy of Guelders and the Imperial town of Nijmegen to the German Empire.35

The Seventeenth Century: Guelders’ History from Principality to Province The seventeenth century marked a watershed in the history of both Guelders and Cleves. Both territories had endured hard times as they formed one of the fronts in the Dutch War of Independence. They ended up in different corners. Guelders, on the one hand, was finally incorporated into the Dutch Republic in 1648 when the Peace of Westphalia was signed. Cleves, on the other hand, saw two succeeding wars of succession when Duke Johann Wilhelm of Cleves and Berg passed away heirless in 1609. As a result his possessions were split up between the Catholic Wolfgang 35 Noordzij, Gelre, pp. 293–96.

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Wilhelm of Count Palatinate of Neuberg, who received Jülich and Berg, and the Protestant Prussian Brandenburg Elector Johann Sigismund, who got Cleves, Mark, and Ravensburg. Wesel remained in the hands of the Spaniards, who needed the town as a bulwark against the Dutch. The partition was tentatively confirmed in the Treaty of Xanten of November 1614, but remained controversial until the Treaty of Cleves of 1666 sealed the matter more definitely.36 For most authors after Geldenhouwer, writing in the seventeenth century, the territory of the Dutch Republic was and remained the main constellation within which to frame the history of Guelders. To be sure, there was not that much historiographical output after 1600. Until the nineteenth century the strongly related works of Pontanus (Historia Gelrica, 1639) and the Gelderse Geschiedenissen (1653) by Arend van Slichtenhorst were in fact the only historical works one could rely on, as far as the history of the entire duchy and later on province of Guelders was concerned.37 Pontanus’ Historia was an official history of Guelders, already assigned by the Estates of Guelders to Paulus Merula in 1597 and then brought to full fruition by Pontanus in 1639, as the war between the Habsburgs and the Republic of the Netherlands was drawing to a close. The book by Van Slichtenhorst was a translation of the Latin history by Pontanus, with some revisions and additions; it was a conscious attempt to spread the Latin work of Pontanus to a broader audience inside and outside of Guelders.38 Pontanus and Van Slichtenhorst had absorbed the humanistic slant of the sixteenth-century tradition,39 but added some of their own observations and provided their readership with a detailed chronicle of the history of Guelders from Roman times until their present. Although both authors treated the Guelders’ wars of the sixteenth century exhaustively in their chronicles, they refrained from a clear judgement on the conquest of Guelders by Charles V in 1543. If anything, they wrote down the military events quite matter-of-factly, and spent some passages on the legal foundations on the claims of William I and Charles V to the Guelders’ ducal throne, without expressing very explicitly their preference for any one of these candidates. Both Pontanus and Van Slichtenhorst made much of the Imperial medieval past of Guelders, but neither of them dwelt on a possible eastward-oriented alternative for the integration of the Habsburg lands, nor did they seem to truly lament the loss of independence of the duchy.40 Apart from the chronicles, both Pontanus and Van Slichtenhorst added a description of the Land of Guelders to their work. The one written by Van Slichtenhorst is the most revealing. While the larger part of the chronicle was copied without much rewriting from older sources, Van Slichtenhorst’s description of Guelders (called ‘Toneel des Lands van Gelder’ or Stage of the Land of Guelders) was an entirely 36 Engelbrecht, ‘Der Dreißigjährige Krieg und der Niederrhein’. 37 Pontanus, Historiæ Gelricæ; Van Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen. 38 See Esser, The Politics of Memory, pp. 249–53; Heinen-von Borries, ‘Het Gelderlandgevoel in historieliederen en geschiedschrijving’. 39 See, for instance, Van Slichtenhorst’s rejection of the ancient origin myth of the beast that cried ‘Gelre, Gelre’, Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, pp. 21–22. 40 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, pp. 447–69, especially pp. 467–69.

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Figure 5.4. The frontispiece of the 1653 edition of Pontanus’ History of Guelders, translated and extended by Van Slichtenhorst brings together regional and national identities. To both sides of the text: (left) Gaius Julius Civilis, the leader of the inhabitants of the Batavian region (part of Guelders) against the Romans in ad 69, and (right) William of Orange who led the rebellion against Habsburg Spain. Below the text the funeral monument of Charles I of Egmond, duke of Guelders and count of Zutphen, who had a principal role in the Frisian peasant rebellion and the Guelders Wars against Habsburg is depicted. The coats of arms refer to the dynastic and urban identities of Guelders. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1992– 202. Reproduced with permission.

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original piece of work. The author had gone through some lengths to compile the description: in the 1640s he travelled for three years through the duchy, studying noble genealogies and city archives.41 The Toneel has been characterized as an amalgam of ‘objective information, excessive praise for the patria, and some sly remarks on the neighbouring territories’ (most notably Holland and the German territories to the east).42 The more or less objective information concerns the territory, its landscape, and its borders. Van Slichtenhorst’s description of the borders however reflects his opinion of what Guelders should be rather than what the actual borders of the province were at the time. The entire Overkwartier of Guelders is incorporated in the description of the patria, while in reality this part of the former duchy was ceded to the Spanish enemy during the Dutch Revolt, a situation that was consolidated in the Peace of Westphalia.43 It was not until the Treaty of Vienna of 1813 that the western part of these lands (which had become Prussian after the Spanish War of Succession of 1702–1713) returned to the newly created Kingdom of the Netherlands, by then in the guise of the new province of Limburg. Van Slichtenhorst also did not hesitate to include the entire border area with Cleves, including the Duffel, Liemers, Rees, Kranenburg, Gennep, Huissen, and the Reichswald, into his perception of Guelders, even though in the status quo of the time they were considered to be part of Prussian Cleves. At the time of his writing Van Slichtenhorst still counted on the return of these contested lands to Guelders.44 Praise for the patria and sly remarks on, if not defamation of, the neighbours go hand in hand in the Toneel des Lands van Gelder. In the humanist tradition Van Slichtenhorst elaborates on the Batavian past of the area and the Roman settlement at the banks of the river Waal. He emphasizes the academic tradition of Guelders: not only does he mention a number of scholars that were born in Guelders, but he also proudly refers to the newly founded University of Harderwijk, the first university within the province.45 Van Slichtenhorst’s excessive praise for the patria is manifest first and foremost in his description of the customs and manners of the people of Guelders. He compares them to their Dutch and High German neighbours — the latter category seems to refer indistinctly to the inhabitants of all territories to the east of Guelders — and unsurprisingly the Guelders’ people always come out favourable. They are for instance far more moderate than High Germans. According to Van Slichtenhorst, his fellow-countrymen are not as inclined to binging and wallowing in pleasure as much as the High Germans, nor are they as grubby in their clothing and household. They are not so unfit as the High Germans where vices are concerned, and not as ‘prone to exaggeration in matters of vain honour and respectability, even though those from Guelders in other matters do not lack in bullheadedness and belligerence at 41 Heinen-von Borries, ‘Het Gelderlandgevoel in historieliederen en geschiedschrijving’, p. 491. 42 Heinen-von Borries, ‘Het Gelderlandgevoel in historieliederen en geschiedschrijving’, pp. 491–92. 43 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, pp. 59–63; Esser, The Politics of Memory, p. 262. 44 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 32. 45 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, pp. 24 and 101–02.

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all’. No, the people from Guelders are Nederlanders, inhabitants of the Netherlands, who are characterized by their moderation, especially when compared to the much more sinful peoples of the territories surrounding them.46 This classification of the Guelders’ people as Nederlanders does not mean that Van Slichtenhorst regarded them as entirely equal to the other Nederlanders. Especially interesting, and spirited, is Van Slichtenhorst comparison of Guelders with its neighbours to the west, the inhabitants of the province of Holland. During the decades between the start of the Dutch Revolt and the conclusion of the Peace of Westphalia in 1648, it had become crystal clear that in practically all-important political, military, or economic matters concerning the Dutch Republic, the interests of the province of Holland were dominant. It is tempting to see in Van Slichtenhorst’s work not only a desire to carve out Guelders as a political, economic, and cultural entity onto itself, but clearly also to separate clearly between Guelders and the province that in reality had come to overwhelm it completely: Holland. The outspoken need to distinguish between a (Guelders) Self and a (Holland and to a lesser extent High German) Other, in combination with a glorification of the illustrious Roman and medieval past of the Guelders principality and later on province, seems to be a manifestation of what Raingard Esser has aptly typified as the ‘[incorporation of] narratives of decline and marginalisation’, which she also observed in the historiography of other provinces that transformed from independent political entities in the sixteenth century to peripheral areas within the Republic one century later.47 In this process, Van Slichtenhorst seems to create a distinct identity for the Guelders’ people, or to put it differently: he evokes an image of them entirely drawn up from a number of stereotypes. Van Slichtenhorst admits that the Hollanders surpass the Guelders people in the cleanliness of their homes48 and the power of their people and their riches, yet those of Guelders are not as spineless nor as bland as their neighbours. The Hollanders are spoilt, according to Van Slichtenhorst, they frown upon even the sweetest delicacies and best-seasoned fare as if it were poison.49 In another line of argument Van Slichtenhorst turns to a notion of racial purity avant la lettre to prove the superiority of the Guelders’ people vis-a-vis their Hollandish neighbours and mixes it up with elements of sexual (and thus moral) purity as well. He states that due to the large influx of ‘new arrivals’ the Hollanders are hardly recognizable as Hollanders anymore: ‘their old vices have been turned around so severely, that one can hardly find any Hollanders in Holland anymore. […] The Geldersman on the other hand is naturally inclined to chastity. Lasciviousness and dishonest love will not be found in Guelders, not necessarily because it is forbidden by law, but because the people of Guelders live in the tacit habit of not indulging in 46 ‘hebben met de andere Nederlanders de middelmaet behouden van de uitstekende deugden en ondeugden, daer men beyde die volcken, in welker midden sy geleghen syn’; Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 31. 47 Esser, The Politics of Memory, p. 288. 48 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 31. On the remarkable phenomenon of Dutch cleanliness: Bavel and Gelderblom, ‘The Economic Origins of Cleanliness’. 49 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 31.

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such practices’. Van Slichtenhorst winds up this argument with the statement that it is just as hard to find a brothel within Guelders as it would be to avoid one elsewhere.50 In short, Van Slichtenhorst treats all kinds of aspects of the past and present of Guelders, elements that make up an image of Guelders as a distinct province with a distinct identity. Only in the matter of language does Guelders not appear as an island onto its own, but as part of a larger language area, that of the Lower Saxon languages. All neighbours to the west, east, north, and south belonged to that language area. But purity in matters of language was only achieved in Guelders. Van Slichtenhorst dwells on some differences of pronunciation, especially between the Hollanders and Guelders. It is hardly surprising that he considers the way Dutch language (‘spraeke van Nederlandt’) is spoken in the province of Holland is crude. Quite on the contrary one can hear the language being spoken in its most manly and perfect form in Guelders, in the sense that the Guelders’ way of speech resembles the ‘German [i.e. Lower Saxon] mother tongue’ the most. Still, language barriers are permeable: even Van Slichtenhorst had to concede that in the westernmost parts of Guelders at the borders with Utrecht and Holland, the inhabitants are inclined to speak in the manner of the Hollanders.51 It is hardly surprising that Van Slichtenhorst’s assessment in matters of language are rather predisposed. He completely fails to specify what yard stick one has to use to measure the pureness of that ‘German mother tongue’, which of course is quite convenient for his line of argument.

Conclusion In all their efforts to make Guelders stand out as a distinctive entity — which more or less follows from the assignment to write a history of the province — both Pontanus and especially Van Slichtenhorst frame Guelders as an integral part of the Netherlands, without much stress on the ties with the Roman Empire. They did not necessarily regard Guelders as a principality that should be as independent as possible, let alone strive for independence, as the poet and scholar Staring would have it, 150 years later.52 The medieval duchy was no longer the main building block of historiography; nor did the histories of single principalities compiled in regional clusters serve that way anymore. The history of Guelders was embedded in the humanist historical tradition and at the same time the province was defined as a border region with a character of its own and a strong defensive function in the territorial framework of the Netherlands. These elements converge in the short poems written by Arend van Slichtenhorst at the hand of his Toneel des Lands van Gelder. The town of Arnhem

50 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 31. 51 ‘Geene spraeke van Nederland en koemt de Duytsse moeder-tael naerder dan de Geldersse, als de welke t’eenemael mannelijk is ende de woorden volkoemen uutbrenght: uutgezonderd daer de ingezeetene aen ‘t Sticht van Utrecht ofte Holland belenden, die een botter tael hebben dan de binnenlanders’, Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, p. 23. 52 Weststrate, ‘“De verhooging van den luister des Vaderlands”’.

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appears as a ‘fence of the Roman Empire and a door of the Netherlands’ and to Nijmegen are devoted these words: As Guelders is the head of the seven Netherlands And I [Nijmegen] am its chief and City of Batavians A bulwark and fence up to the beaches in the west Which town out of hundreds deserves so much laurels?53 In a sense the late medieval and early modern history of the Guelders had arrived at the end point of its development with the Geldersse Geschiedenissen. Central to Van Slichtenhorst’s history, and especially the Toneel des Lands van Gelder were the land and above all the people of Guelders. The stress on the relationship between dynasty, land, and people was already present in the work of the fifteenth-century authors, most notably in the work of Van Berchen. A certain continuity thus can be discerned there, on the understanding that the role of the dynasty was played down severely by the humanist scholars of the sixteenth century, which in its turn served Pontanus’ and Van Slichtenhorst’s framing of Guelders within the Republic rather well. The make-up of the Dutch Republic would remain relatively unchallenged until the late seventeenth century. The principality of Cleves was already territorially reframed at the beginning of that century. The ties that may have bound the two former duchies together are hardly stressed again in the historical literature until well into the nineteenth century.

Works Cited Primary Sources Geldenhouwer van Nijmegen, Gerard, Historische werken, ed. and trans. by I. P. Bejczy and S. Stegeman (Hilversum: Verloren, 1988) De Gelderse kroniek van Willem van Berchen, ed. by A. J. de Mooy (Arnhem: S. Gouda Quint, D. Brouwer en zoon, 1950) Le livre de la description des pays de Gilles Le Bouvier, dit Berry, ed. by E. T. Hamy, Recueil de voyages et de documents pour servir à l’histoire de la géographie depuis le xiiie jusqu’à la fin du xvie siècle, 22 (Paris: Leroux, 1908) Pontanus, Johannes, Historiæ Gelricæ libri XIV.: Deducta omnia ad ea usq(ue) tempora nostra, quibus firmata sub ordinibus respublica (Harderwijk: Nicolaas van Wieringen, 1639) Slichtenhorst, Arend van, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, van ’t begin af vervolghd tot aen de afzweeringh des konincx van Spanien, waer van ’t eerste deel verhandeld de land-beschrijvingh (Arnhem: Jacob van Biesen, 1653) Smetius sr., Johannes, Nijmegen. De stad der Bataven, ed. and trans. by A. A. R. Bastiaensen, S. Langereis and L. G. J. M. Nellissen, 2 vols (Nijmegen: Vantilt, 1999)

53 Slichtenhorst, XIV. boeken van de Geldersse geschiedenissen, pp. 114 (Nijmegen) and 116 (Arnhem).

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De Tielse Kroniek. Een geschiedenis van de Lage Landen van de Volksverhuizingen tot het midden van de vijftiende eeuw, met een vervolg over de jaren 1552–1566, ed. by Jan Kuijs (Hilversum: Verloren, 1993) Wilhelmus de Berchen. De nobili principatu Gelrie et eius origine, ed. by A. J. W. Sloet van de Beele (Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff, 1870) Secondary Studies Alberts, W. Jappe, Geschiedenis van Gelderland tot 1492. Van heerlijkheid tot landsheerlijkheid. Overzicht van de geschiedenis van Midden- en Noord-Limburg en Gelderland in de Middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Walburg Pers, 1978) Bavel, Bas van, and Oscar Gelderblom, ‘The Economic Origins of Cleanliness in the Dutch Golden Age’, Past and Present, 205 (2009), 41–69 Bejczy, Istvan, ‘Drie humanisten en een mythe. De betekenis van Erasmus, Aurelius en Geldenhouwer voor de Bataafse kwestie’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 4 (1996), 467–84 Buschinger, Danielle, ‘Die “Cronica van der hilliger Stat van Coellen” oder “Koelhoffsche Chronik”’, in Strukturen und Funktionen in Gegenwart und Geschichte. Festschrift für Franz Simmler zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Claudia Wich-Reif (Berlin: Weidler, 2007), pp. 465–86 Carasso-Kok, Marijke, Repertorium van verhalende historische bronnen uit de middeleeuwen. Heiligenlevens, annalen, kronieken en andere in Nederland geschreven verhalende bronnen, Bibliografische reeks van het Nederlands Historisch Genootschap, 2 (Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981) Doorninck, Pieter N. van, Geldersche Kronieken, I (Arnhem: Gouda Quint, 1908) Ehm, Petra, ‘De oppermachtige buurman: Gelre en Bourgondië onder Filips de Goede en Karel de Stoute’, in Het hertogdom Gelre. Geschiedenis van kunst en cultuur tussen Maas, Rijn en IJssel, ed. by Johannes Stinner and Karl-Heinz Tekath (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2003), pp. 140–44 Engelbrecht, Jörg, ‘Der Dreißigjährige Krieg und der Niederrhein. Überblick und Einordnung’, in Der Dreißigjährige Krieg im Herzogtum Berg und in seinen Nachbarregionen, ed. by Stefan Ehrenpreis (Neustadt an der Aisch: Schmidt, 2002), pp. 10–25 Esser, Raingard, The Politics of Memory: The Writing of Partition in the Seventeenth-Century Low Countries (Leiden: Brill, 2012) Heinen-von Borries, Ute, ‘Het Gelderlandgevoel in historieliederen en geschiedschrijving, zestiende en zeventiende eeuw’, in Het hertogdom Gelre. Geschiedenis van kunst en cultuur tussen Maas, Rijn en IJssel, ed. by Johannes Stinner and Karl-Heinz Tekath (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2003), pp. 482–93 Ilgen, Theodor, Die Chroniken der westfälischen und niederrheinischen Städte, III: Soest und Duisburg, in Chroniken der deutschen Städte, 24 (1895), pp. 193–260 Keating, Michael, Regions and Regionalism in Europe (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2004) Kirschner, Carola, ‘Land, Herrscher, Herrschaft. Formen und Funktionen spätmittelalterlicher regionaler Geschichtsschreibung am Beispiel von Geldern und Kleve’, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, 122 (2003), 57–73

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Kuijs, Jan, ‘Willem van Berchen, 1415/20-na juni 1481, Kroniekschrijver en Geestelijke’, in Biografisch Woordenboek Gelderland. Bekende en onbekende mannen en vrouwen uit de Gelderse geschiedenis. Deel 4, ed. by Jan Kuijs and others (Hilversum: Verloren, 2004), pp. 30–32 Looz-Corswarem, Clemens von, ‘Gelre en zijn buren Kleef, Gulik en Berg, van de late Middeleeuwen tot 1543’, in Het hertogdom Gelre. Geschiedenis van kunst en cultuur tussen Maas, Rijn en IJssel, ed. by Johannes Stinner and Karl-Heinz Tekath (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2003), pp. 127–33 Meij, Petrus J., ‘1492–1543’, in Geschiedenis van Gelderland 1492–1795, ed. by Petrus J. Meij and others (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1975) pp. 13–78 Mölich, Georg, Uwe Neddermeyer and Wolfgang Schmitz, Spätmittelalterliche städtische Geschichtsschreibung in Köln und im Reich. Die “Koelhoffsche” Chronik und ihr historisches Umfeld. Veröffentlichungen des Kölnischen Geschichtsvereins, 43 (Köln: SH, 2001) Noordzij, Aart, Gelre. Dynastie, land en identiteit in de late middeleeuwen (Hilversum: Verloren, 2009) ———, ‘Zelfstandigheid en integratie. Gelre, de Nederrijn en de Nederlanden in de zestiende eeuw’, in Bourgondië voorbij. De Nederlanden 1250–1650. Liber alumnorum Wim Blockmans, ed. by Mario Damen and Louis Sicking (Hilversum: Verloren, 2010), pp. 47–50 ———, ‘Geschiedschrijving en nationale identiteit. Gelre in de vijftiende en zestiende eeuw’, Bijdragen en Mededelingen Gelre, 95 (2004), 6–48 Rotthoff-Kraus, Claudia, ‘Geldern und Habsburg zur Zeit Maximilians I. als Herzog von Burgund (1477–1492)’, in Het hertogdom Gelre. Geschiedenis van kunst en cultuur tussen Maas, Rijn en IJssel, ed. by Johannes Stinner and Karl-Heinz Tekath (Utrecht: Matrijs, 2003), pp. 145–53 Scholten, Robert, Clevische Chronik nach der Originalhandschrift des Gert van der Schuren (Kleve: Boss Verlag, 1884) 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), 24–35 Tervooren, Helmut, ‘Überlegungen zu einer regionalen Literaturgeschichte des RheinMaas-Raumes’, Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, 122 (2003) (Sonderheft: Regionale Literaturgeschichtsschreibung. Aufgaben, Analysen und Perspektiven), 7–30 Tilmans, Karin, ‘De Hollandse Kroniek van Willem Berchen’, Holland. Regionaal Historisch Tijdschrift, 16 (1984), 101–20 Weststrate, Job, ‘“De verhooging van den luister des Vaderlands”. Gelderland in de Nederlandse historiografie rond 1800’, in Tussen streek en staat. Identiteit, beeldvorming en functioneren van regio’s aan de rand van Nederland rond 1800, ed. by Job Weststrate and Dick E. H. de Boer (Hilversum: Verloren, in print)

Cornelia Popa-Gorjanu

Transylvania in the Historical Writing of Nicolaus Olahus, Georg Reicherstoffer, and Antonius Verancsics

This contribution focuses on the representation of Transylvania in the writings of three authors from the sixteenth century, Nicolaus Olahus, Georg Reicherstorffer, and Antonius Verancsics. In the second quarter of the sixteenth century, Transylvania was described in their geographical and historical writings destined for foreign audiences with the purpose of triggering solidarity and trust from western powers in a broader effort to contain the Ottoman threat. The military advantages, riches in minerals, products of agriculture and animal husbandry, as well as valuables were presented as resources worth fighting for or defending against the Ottoman encroachments. The descriptions differed as concerns the organization of Transylvania resulting from its complex constitution of three autonomous (sub) regional identities corresponding to distinct territorial areas, inhabited by four different nationes. This contribution first presents the work of Nicolaus Olahus, the context of his writing, and the way he described Transylvania’s geographical position, resources, organization, and population. Then, the analysis turns to the similarities between Olahus’ description and those one found in Georg Reicherstorffer’s work on Transylvania. The last description of the area and its population included in this analysis is that by Antonius Verancsics. His rendering differed from those by Olahus and Reicherstorffer in the sense that while the first two gave more attention to the Transylvanian Saxons, he presented also the Hungarian nobles. The status of Transylvanian Romanians, numerically important, also important from the humanist point of view of anti-Ottoman alliances due to their Roman origins, but deprived of rights, privileges, and an autonomous area similar to those of the other three nationes was a reality that Verancsics presented. From the point of view of their methodology and goals, these historiographical works can be ranked among the productions belonging to professionals having a direct knowledge of the realities described and working for their patrons. In all Cornelia Popa-Gorjanu  •  is lecturer in medieval history at the ‘1 Decembrie 1918’ University, Alba Iulia, Romania. She defended her PhD Thesis entitled Nicolaus Olahus – Istoricul [Nicholas Olahus, the Historian] in 2009. Her main fields of research are medieval history and historiography, Byzantine history, and the history of medieval women. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 165–186 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121491

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three cases, the authors served the Habsburgs in various offices and tried to provide useful tools for the achievement of the territorial ambitions of their patrons, namely the acquisition of what was considered the heritage of the crown of Hungary by King Ferdinand of Habsburg. Nicolaus Olahus (1490–1568) was politically and intellectually active during the dramatic decades following of the collapse of the kingdom of Hungary leading to occupation of its western and northern part by the Habsburgs, the central part by the Ottomans, and the formation of the principality of Transylvania in the east.1 Olahus’ political activity as a faithful servant of the Habsburgs — employed as secretary to the dowager queen Mary of Hungary — is known from his rich correspondence with various diplomats, chancellors, and humanists.2 His historical and geographical work presents a particular view on the situation of Transylvania in 1530–1536. The information he provided was influenced by his political agenda and can be better assessed by comparing it with similar writings produced in the 1540s and 1550s by two other authors, namely Georg Reicherstorffer and Antonius Verancsics. The first part of this contribution is dedicated to an analysis of the circumstances of the creation of Hungaria and the details that Olahus offered about Transylvania. The second part will discuss the influence of his manner of description. The similarities and the differences between his information and that given by the other two authors will be discussed. An introductory remark must be made about the significance of a recurring topic in the historical works from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries referring to the area of the lower Danube, including Transylvania, namely that of the Roman origin of the Romanians. While some modern, revisionist historians might be inclined to question even the use of this ethnic term for the sixteenth century,3 a thorough investigation into the history of the idea of the Roman-ness of the Romanians, carried out by Adolf Armbruster has produced valuable insights in the history of the ideas regarding the origins of Romanians, as well as clarifications regarding Romanians’ consciousness about their ancient origins.4 However, this paper is not concerned with this question, but rather with a valuable observation resulting from Armbruster’s investigation, that the humanist writings produced in the second half of the fifteenth and the sixteenth century followed a pattern repeating the idea of the Roman origin of Romanians. As Armbruster observed, these humanist works appeared in moments of aggravation of the Ottoman threat or in connection with the plans of anti-Ottoman alliances.5 These plans encompassed and involved not only Transylvania, but also its southern and eastern neighbours, the principalities of Wallachia and Moldova. The Roman origin of the Romanians seems to have

1 For an overview in English of his life and work, see Birnbaum, Humanists in a Shattered World, pp. 125–68. 2 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi. 3 For a synthetic view of this question, see Papacostea, ‘The Shaping of an Ethnic Identity’. 4 Armbruster, Romanitatea românilor, pp. 55–76, 82–114. 5 Armbruster, Romanitatea românilor, 81–82, 85, 88.

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represented one of the few ideas that were repeated in several works, starting from Pope Pius II to Verancsics.

Nicolaus Olahus’ Historical Writing and its Context The work was written between 1530 and 1536, while the author was living in the Low Countries, at the court of Queen Mary who, in early 1531, was asked by her older brother, Holy Roman emperor Charles V, to assume the regency of the Netherlands as its governor.6 The book comprised two parts; the first entitled Origines Scytharum et Chorographica descriptio Regni Hungariae, and the second Atila sive de initiis Atilani per Pannonias Imperii, et rebus bello ab eodem gestis. The first part was intended primarily as a geographical description of the realm of Hungary, even though the first three chapters dealt with the origins of the Scythians, long regarded as the mythical ancestors of the Huns. The geographical description made room for historical digressions in certain places. The next sixteen chapters of the Hungaria were dedicated to the description of the realm, two chapters of which, namely XIV and XV, focused on Transylvania. Information on Transylvanian mineral and natural riches was also presented in chapters XVIII and XIX, where Olahus described natural resources of Hungary. At the end of Atila, which was intended as a historical presentation of Atila’s exploits, he added one more chapter which described the Szeklers from Transylvania. The second part, Atila, was published by Johannes Sambucus in 1568, while the Hungaria, although circulated and read by Olahus’ friends, remained unpublished until eighteenth century. The first edition of Hungaria appeared in 1735; when it was published by Mathias Bel. The next edition was produced by Adam Francis Kollar in 1763, while the first modern edition was published by Kálmán Eperjessy and László Juhász in 1938. Written at a time when the kingdom of Hungary was in danger of falling under the domination of the Ottomans, during the power struggle between King John Szapolyai, who was strongly supported by the Sultan Süleyman, and King Ferdinand of Habsburg, the aim of this work was to trigger sympathy and appreciation for the kingdom in the west. For the subject of this contribution, the first part of the Hungaria et Athila is of particular interest. The first three chapters described the area called Scythia, the origin of the Scythians, and the connection of the Hungarians with that area. After this introduction, the geographical and ethnographical focus of his description moved to the territory of the realm of Hungary.

6 Adparatus ad historiam Hungariae, ed. by Mathias Bel, p. 16. The editor gave the following introduction by Olahus: ‘Haec, scripta a me fuere, Bruxellis, XVI Maii, Anno 1536, dum essem Serenissimae Reginae Mariae, viduae Domini Ludovici Regis Hungariae, sororis Caroli et Ferdinandi Imperatorum, a secretis et consiliis. [These were written by me in Brussels, May 16, 1536, while I was secretary and counselor of Most Serene Queen Mary, widow of Louis, King of Hungary and sister of the Emperors Charles and Ferdinand]. On Mary’s regency, see Federinov and Docquier, eds, Marie de Hongrie: politique et culture sous la Renaissance.

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Figure 6.1. Portrait of Nicolaus Olahus, at the age of sixty-seven, showing him as archbishop of Esztergom and scholar. Woodcut by Donat Hübschmann in 1560. From a 1740 edition.

The Geographical Description of Hungary The location of the land was indicated by providing latitude and longitude coordinates. Then, because there were many regions (multas complectitur regiones), the author proposed to divide its territory into four major areas. The criterion of division was

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provided by the major rivers, namely the Danube, Tisza, Drava, and Sava. Thus, starting from the west, he described first Western Hungary (Hungaria occidentalis, ulterioris), that is the capital Buda, with the royal library and the castle of Visegrád, in chapters V–VIII. The second part of Hungary was the area located around the Sava river (ultra et citra Savum sita), described in chapter IX. Chapters X–XI described the third part, namely the area bordered by the rivers Danube and Tisza (quae Danubium et Tibiscum interiacet) including also the northern part of the kingdom, corresponding roughly to the territory of today’s Slovakia. The fourth part of Hungary, located east of the river Tisza (Hungaria Transtibiscana), coincided with Ptolemy’s Dacia, being bordered by the Danube in the south, by Sarmatia in the north, and by the river Dniester in the east. This fourth part of Hungary included several provinces, namely Wallachia, Moldavia, Transylvania, Maramureș, Someș area (Samosköz), Crișana (Körösköz), Nyir, and the Banat (Temesköz). Olahus included in his geographical description all territories of Hungary attempting to revive the splendour of the fading realm. The inclusion of the Romanian principalities within the borders of the kingdom of Hungary is unique. According to Tibor Klaniczai, in the sixteenth century, the concept of Hungaria began to dissolve as a result of the political and military catastrophe suffered in 1526. Comparing the writings of several sixteenth-century authors, he noticed that among those using the term Hungaria, Olahus’ concept covered the most extensive area, since he was the only one who included within it Wallachia and Moldavia. Klaniczai attributed this particular view to Olahus’ sympathy for Romanians, owing to his own Romanian origin.7 In my opinion, the aim of the work, namely that of describing the richness and considerable military resources of the disintegrating realm to Christian readers explains this decision better than the sentimental argument. It is true that the political connections between the principalities and the kingdom of Hungary were strong at times, but those lands were not part of the realm. The Hungaria was meant for making the endangered realm known to Western readers, whose political influence could have eased the provision of military help needed to rescue his country from imminent Ottoman occupation. However, as we will see below, Reicherstorffer and Verancsics too felt the need to describe Wallachia and Moldavia in connection with Transylvania, but for different reasons.

Transylvania’s Position, ‘Nationes’, and Resources Olahus started the description of Hungaria Transtibiscana with Wallachia (chapter XII), which occasioned a digression about the political life of the principality and some details concerning Olahus’ own genealogy as the son of a Wallachian princely émigré in Transylvania. Chapter XIII dealt with the location and organization of Moldavia. Transylvania itself was described in the chapters XIV–XV. The description debuted with a portrayal of its location within the Carpathian Mountains and the indication of the major routes leading into the province. The central idea of the paragraph

7 Klaniczai, ‘The Concepts of Hungaria and Pannonia in the Age of the Renaissance’, p. 174.

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highlighted the naturally fortified character of the province, surrounded by mountains and easily defensible against outside attacks. While the province could be entered through a relatively wider pass from Moldavia, the route leading from Wallachia into Transylvania was characterized as narrow and abrupt, meaning invading Ottomans were easily stopped by small armies. Equally defensible were the three routes leading from Transylvania into Hungary along the rivers Someș, Criș, and Mureș. All these roads could be blocked with cut trees. His conclusion consolidated the image of the strong military position of the region by asserting that it was much easier to conquer Hungary by attacking it from Transylvania than the other way around.8 After the presentation of Transylvania’s geographical position and its natural military advantages, Olahus described concisely the region’s population, emphasizing its military abilities. He characterized the people as robust, warlike, and possessing weapons and good horses (‘gens adhaec, membris bene compacta, bellicosa et equis robustis bonisque provisa’).9 As to the complex ethnic and political composition of Transylvania, Olahus was one of the first authors to employ the term natio with the sense of an ethnic group, and not as a juridical category or estate. He stated briefly that in Transylvania lived four different peoples, Hungarians, Szeklers, Saxons, Romanians (‘in hac sunt quattuor genere nationes: Hungari, Siculi, Saxones, Valachi’).10 Then, he went on to explain that Hungarians and Szeklers employed the same language, even though the latter used some words of their own. As concerned the Szeklers, he announced that the reader would find more information at the end of the work. The Saxons were from the outset characterized as the least fit for war of the Transylvanian peoples (‘inter quos, ineptiores bello putantur Saxones’).11 This characterization was completed with brief remarks concerning the Saxons’ German origin, as rumour went, in a colony settled in Transylvania by Charlemagne. Olahus believed that this tradition was confirmed by the resemblance of the language spoken by Saxons and that of the inhabitants of Germany. The language resemblance was invoked when he explained the origin of Romanians, who, according to tradition, descended from Roman colonists, whose rule over Transylvania was proved by finds of numerous coins.12 This brief presentation of the inhabitants of the province was followed by a detailed description of the main rivers of the region, starting from those located in the northern part of the province to those in the south. The geographical presentation employed consistently followed the river courses in order to present the cities, towns,

8 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, pp. 25–26. ‘Facilius ex Transylvania, quae triginta vel circiter, milliaria Hungarica longa est, et lata fere totidem, aut paullo minus, totam Hungariam subigere possis, quam ex Hungaria Transylvaniam. Nam, itinera eius, roboribus succisis, facile coarctari possunt’(It is easier to conquer the whole of Hungary by attacking from Transylvania, which has a length of thirty Hungarian miles or about that, than the other way around, for its roads can be easily blocked with cut trees). In reality, Ottoman armies had penetrated into southern Transylvania on several occasions during the fifteenth century demonstrating that that province was not as easily defensible as Olahus presented it. Nevertheless this idea was repeated by Reicherstorffer too. 9 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 26. 10 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 26. 11 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 26. 12 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 26.

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and strongholds located in their valleys. It is the part in which Olahus strove to achieve accuracy, although at points the presentation is confused, and the description overstepped the limits of the region. This is the case of the major rivers which originate in Transylvania and flow westwards, outside the region: rivers like the Someș, Crișul Alb, Crișul Repede, and Mureș. Where appropriate, the author offered details on the mineral resources available in various places. Seeking to cover a broad space quickly, he had little room for descriptions of localities. For this reason, major cities such as Bistrița, Cluj, and Brașov received only passing remarks stating their fame, richness, industriousness of their traders, and the importance of their position in long-distance trade or the existence of fortification walls. Alba Iulia was noted for its cathedral, the richness of the ecclesiastical benefices, and the burial place of the national hero John Hunyadi. What one misses from this presentation of rivers and localities is the information concerning the organization of power in this area. The description leaves the impression of a strongly urbanized area which is created by omitting to mention that this was the region where nobility held sway, in spite of the presence of strong cities.

The Saxons Seats and Military Organization This omission contrasts with the next chapter, which focused on the organization of the seven Saxon seats. The preceding chapter ended with a slightly longer description of Brașov, which was a district formerly under the authority of the count of the Szeklers, but it belonged in the early sixteenth century to the political organization of universitas Saxonum. Although Brașov was larger than Sibiu, the latter city represented the political capital of the organization of Transylvanian Saxons. In the writing of Olahus, the city received attention and space equal to that allowed to the royal capital of Hungary, Buda and its palaces. The author was born in Sibiu and this fact partly explains why only this city benefitted from a more detailed description. To this subjective reason one may add the direct knowledge he had as native of that city. But there is another possible reason that rendered the author more sensitive towards this city, and this was produced by the political situation. Sibiu remained firmly on the side of King Ferdinand during the struggle with King John Szapolyai. Although the latter succeeded in bringing Transylvania under his authority by 1529, Sibiu continued to resist until 1536, to a large extent due to its formidable system of fortifications. This digression on Sibiu ended with brief statements concerning the fact that although the Saxons’ fiscal obligations were fixed by statutes, they were often required to pay extraordinary obligations. One detail which developed into a topos being repeated in later descriptions of Transylvania, such as that by Antonius Verancsics, concerned the labour capacity of the Saxon women, who equalled their husbands in diligence, and the hospitality of the Saxons based on their prosperity.13

13 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 29, ‘Agriculturae, et aliis laboribus sunt mirum in modum dediti: foeminae perinde opus faciunt, ac mare, quae patientissimae sunt laborum. His ex caussis Saxones opulenti sunt, hospites honorifice excipient, et lautissime tractant’ (They are

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The account of the Saxon seats brought his story to the area between Sibiu and Orăștie, the place of a memorable battle between the Transylvanians and an invading Ottoman army. The battle was remembered for the heavy loss of lives on both sides. Olahus placed the event imprecisely in the golden age of King Matthias Corvinus, the time when the kingdom of Hungary was strong and victorious against its enemies. It is one of the few instances when he referred to the ruler of Transylvania, in this case the voivode Stephen Báthory, who summoned the Transylvanian forces in order to stop an invading Ottoman army of 60,000 horsemen. The victory of the Transylvanian forces against the Ottomans in the battle of Câmpul Pâinii (Kenyer) on 13 October 1479 was a memorable event which reinforced Olahus’ statement about the military aptitudes of Transylvanians. Moreover, their patriotism and piety towards fallen heroes was epitomized by the pious gesture of the bishop of Transylvania, who went in person on the battlefield in order to collect the bodies of his 200 fallen knights, for whom he organized funerals.14 Hungaria intended to promote a beautiful image of the crumbling realm in the eyes of the western audience. While it was accurate in its description of geographical features, the insistence on details concerning natural, mineral, human resources, military advantages, and the existence of fortifications had the role of increasing the importance and value of this country. One should reckon among the military resources available in the fourth part of the kingdom of Hungary not only those of Transylvania, but the forces of the princes of Wallachia and Moldavia as well, each credited with the possibility of recruiting 40,000 soldiers. When Olahus described the area of the Banat (Temesköz), the region bordering Transylvania on south-west, he added the detail concerning the soldiering duties of the inhabitants of Lugoj. Olahus on the Economy, Wealth, and Resources of Hungary

The description of each region followed a set of criteria which included the existence of fortifications, aqueducts, works for improving the quality of air, the beauty of buildings, the religious importance (holy relics, beautiful churches, libraries, ecclesiastical benefices), the quality of regional wines, the fertility of the soil, the skills of the local population, the availability of fish. The information on important localities and distances between them, the location of fortified spots and fortresses

amazingly devoted to agriculture and other kinds of works. The women work in the same manner, for they are the most apt to bear the toils of work. Because of these reasons, the Saxons are rich, they receive their guests honorably and treat them most neatly). 14 Olahus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis’, p. 29, ‘Episcopi Transyluani eius temporis, ducenti equites cataphracti, in ea pugna desiderati sunt. Ad hordum corpora conquirenda, ipsemet profectus, ea, Albam Juliam, quae tribus circiter milliaribus ab eo distat campo, cum pompa funebri reduxit. Tanta fuit boni huius viri, erga suos, in defensione ab hostibus patriae, trucidatos pietas’ (The bishop of Transylvania lost 200 armoured knights in this battle. The bishop went in person to search the bodies of the fallen soldiers on the field Alba Iulia, which is at about three Hungarian miles from that field, and brought them back with funeral pomp. So great was the piety of this distinguished man for his men who were killed by enemies while defending their country).

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give the work the character of an analytical report on resources available for launching military actions. In fact, some of the earliest descriptions of Transylvania in the sixteenth century were produced by Habsburg agents, such as Georg Reicherstorffer and Hans Derschwam, with the mission of evaluating the revenues that could be extracted from the province.15 The final two chapters of the Hungaria described the agricultural resources, the richness of pastures and the large number of cattle. Although he could make rough estimations concerning the export of cattle from Hungary to Austria and Italy, the author indicated some numbers that he had learnt from royal customs officers. The image of Hungary as a rich land was strengthened with details concerning huge flocks of domestic animals and the copiousness of game. The abundance of wild animals allowed not only aristocrats, but also commoners to hunt bears and deer, while wild birds, regarded as a delicacy in Western Europe, had no price in Hungary. The wealth of forests was of such an extent that commoners could cut and carry as much wood as they needed without any restrictions. The mineral resources, salt and metals represented another important criterion for supporting the argument of Hungary’s value.

Expressions of the Regions’ Self-Consciousness Maria Holban has noticed the disparity between the dramatic situation of the former realm in the 1530s and the serene image of the glorious kingdom of the time of Mathias Corvinus’ rule that Olahus constructed in his writing. In hindsight, Holban asserted that the printing of the first map of Transylvania in 1532, at Basel, by Johannes Honterus, entitled Chorographia Transylvaniae, a title used later by Georg Reicherstorffer for his descriptions of Moldavia (1541, 1550) and Transylvania (1550), and the description of the province by Antonius Verancsics after 1550, were expressions of a process by which Transylvania ‘prenait lentement conscience d’elle meme’.16 In fact, the descriptions of the province produced by Reicherstorffer and Verancsics reproduced some of the ideas presented by Olahus, but also offered supplementary information which he had withheld. The limits of Olahus’ description resulted from the overall plan of his work, intending to create an attractive image of a magnificent and rich kingdom. Transylvania’s place within this description was important due to its defensible, naturally fortified territory, rich mineral resources, and a strong and warlike population. Olahus was aware of the fifteenth-century treaties binding together the three privileged Transylvanian Estates (nobility, Saxons, and Szeklers) but did not detail them (‘Gens adhec membris bene compacta, bellicosa, armata et equis robustis bonisque provisa’). The mention of the pacts binding together the various groups of Transylvanians was based on the awareness of the existence of the agreements of union made by the representatives of the Transylvanian nobility

15 Călători străini despre Țările Române, ed. by Holban, pp. 252–56. 16 Holban, ‘Nicolaus Olahus et la description de la Transylvanie’, p. 502.

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Figure 6.2. Chorographia Transylvaniae, map of Transylvania, printed in 1532 in Basel by Johannes Honterus (1498–1549), who one year later started his own printing press in Brașov (Kronstadt). This map was published in at least 125 editions and influenced until the eighteenth century the design of maps of the region. After Johannes Honterus’ Chorographia Transylvaniae (Wien: Graesser, 1898).

with those of the Saxons and Szeklers in 1437–1438, 1459, 1467.17 The process of the development of the regional identity, as expressed in political action initiated and carried out by the bearers of regional identity can be documented from the late twelfth century onward. The first to assert their regional identity were the ancestors of the Saxons, sometimes called Flandrenses (because of an assumed Flemish origin) or Theutonici Transilvani or Ultrasilvani. During the fourteenth century, the community of Transylvanian nobles (universitas nobilium partium Transsilvanarum) asserted its own collective goals and some specific demands were entered into charters of privileges for their group. In line with his aim at presenting a harmonious image of the realm of Hungary, Olahus did not offer more details on the specific organization of Transylvania, which consisted of three different autonomous areas, controlled by the Hungarian nobles in the seven counties, by the Saxons in their seven seats and two districts, and by the Szeklers in the eastern areas of the province. He recognized

17 Popa-Gorjanu, ‘Unirea de la Mediaș’, pp. 174–84.

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the importance of Romanians as a population spread in the whole of Transylvania, mentioned their Roman origin, but omitted the details that most of them were serfs living on noble or church land and therefore under the jurisdiction of their landlords. Consequently, they were not among the privileged Transylvanian nationes. The work circulated as a manuscript among his friends Petrus Nannius, Conradus Goclenius, and Franciscus Craneveldius, as testified by the letters they sent to Olahus in 1536–1537. Petrus Nannius reported to Olahus that he had received the book from Conradus Goclenius for one week only, but hoped that the books were going to be published soon and thus he could get it.18 In another letter, Nannius expressed his hope that Hungary would be saved from falling into oblivion once Olahus’ book was published.19 Furthermore, Nannius urged Olahus to expand the book on Atila and to write about the other heroes born in that land, such as John Hunyadi and Matthias Corvinus.20 Olahus was praised for his Hungaria, by another intellectual, namely Conradus Goclenius, professor at Collegium Trilingue in Louvain, who mentioned that he received a copy of the book for criticism.21 A third friend who commented upon the manuscripts was Franciscus Cranaveldius.22 These testimonies prove that although the work was not published, it circulated in manuscript form. The circulation of the manuscript, albeit difficult to trace with precision, explains the similarities existing between Olahus’ description and those written within the next two decades by two other authors Olahus knew well the boundaries of Transylvania as well as its internal administrative divisions, namely

18 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, pp. 600–02, letter of Petrus Nanius to Nicolaus Olahus, 30 June 1537. 19 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, p. 603, letter of Nanius to Olahus, 16 July 1537, ‘Habemus Hungariam, modo liber in publicum exeat, in perpetuum ab obliuionis iniuria vindicatam’ (As the book just became public, we have Hungary forever freed from the injury of oblivion). 20 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, p. 610, letter of Nanius to Olahus, 20 November 1537, ‘Utinam Atthilae temporibus tui Hunniadis et Mathiae et caeterorum usque ad hoc aevi adiungeres, ut qui cum summo ingenio pari eruditione singula loca descripsisti, cum dotibus suis etiam heroas omnes, quos illa terra produxit, describes’ (I wish that you add your Hunyadi and Mathias and others to the history of Attila up to this age, so that you write about all the endowments and heroic deeds produced by that land with the most innate quality and equal erudition you described each place). 21 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, p. 594, letter of Conradus Goclenius to Olahus, 4 November 1536 ‘[…] nam quoties sumo in manus tuam Hungariam, quam mihi castigandam tradidisti, tocies animus ad illud munus velut obtorpescit, praesertim cum stilus ille tuus inaffectatus rem ipsam clarissime, non exponat modo, verum etiam oculis subiiciat, quem aliquorum locorum mutatione sibi inaequalem reddere non visum est e dignitate operis’ (For as many times as I take in hand your Hungaria, which you handed to me for correction, as many times it is as if my judgment is benumbed at the gift, especially because with that natural style of yours, you do not only expose the matter in the most clear manner, but also you put it before the eyes, which through the change of some places is not perceivable from the merit of the work); Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, p. 599, letter of Goclenius to Olahus, 1 June 1537, ‘Athilam tuum cum Chorographia Hungariae legi magno fructu; nam multa didici, quae iucundum erit meminisse’ (I have read with great delight your Athila with Chorographia Hungariae, for you taught many things that would be pleasing to bear in mind). 22 Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, ed. by Ipolyi, p. 606, letter of Franciscus Cranaveldius to Nicolaus Olahus, 3 October 1537.

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the existence of the noble counties, Saxon and Szeklers’ seats, which he equated to the privileged groups. The inclusion of Romanians, who were not among the privileged Transylvanian groups, can be explained by the humanist valuation of Romanians as allies in the fight against the Ottomans based on their Roman origin and military potential. These aspects were addressed somewhat differently by the next authors, Reicherstorffer and Verancsics. Olahus’ Influence on Reicherstorffer’s Writing

The first to do so was the Transylvanian Georg Reicherstorffer, a Saxon originating probably in Richiș (Reichesdorf), in the area of Mediaș. He was secretary and counsellor of King Ferdinand of Habsburg and was sent on various diplomatic missions to Transylvania and Moldavia during the power struggle between Ferdinand and John Szapolyai.23 In 1527 and 1535 he travelled to Moldavia in order to negotiate an alliance between his patron and Prince Peter Rareș. These experiences enabled him to achieve the first description of the province, which initially had the form of a concise diplomatic report. At the request of Ferdinand, he expanded that report and published it as the Chorographia Moldaviae in 1541, in Vienna. Ioan Totoiu asserted that this work was produced not only at the request of King Ferdinand, as stated by the author, but also as the result of entreaties coming from his humanist friends and from Nicolaus Olahus. The relationship between Olahus and Reicherstorffer was close. Totoiu pointed out that both authors originated in Sibiu; they served at the court of King Ferdinand; moreover, some details from the writing of Olahus appeared in Reicherstorffer’s Chorographia Transylvaniae, published in Vienna, in 1550.24 Although Reicherstorffer was retired in 1543, he hoped that he could make a comeback in the service of Ferdinand by publishing the description of Transylvania in 1550.25 The fact that his descriptions of Moldavia and Transylvania were published provided both works with contextual elements that help to understand the aim of Olahus’ own efforts in writing the Hungaria et Atila and his influence on Reicherstorffer and Verancsics. The aim of the works was not only to describe the people, the geography, and resources available in these parts, but also to draw attention to the dangers represented by the eventual occupation of these lands by Ottomans. These warnings appear both in the final exhortation of the Chorographia Transylvaniae as well as in the Chorographia Moldaviae, and are echoing similar worries that Olahus included in many of his letters to various correspondents.26 Olahus’ work lacked the dedication

23 For his biography and the importance of his writings see Capesius, ‘Der Hermanstädter Humanist Georg Reicherstorffer’. 24 Totoiu, ‘Cu privire la cea mai veche “Descriere a Moldovei”’, p. 131. 25 Călători străini despre Țările Române, ed. by Holban, p. 184. 26 Reicherstorffer, Chorographia Transylvaniae, p. 19 v, ‘[…] quo demum Maiestas tua cognosceret, quam opulenta et dives, diuersisque nationibus et populis ista Transyluaniae provincia sit referta, quae tuae Maiestati imperio iam propemodum adempta, atque in ditionem Tyranni, ac in servitutem (proh dolor) non sine maxima totius Christianitatis iactura redacta, ut rursus istud Regnum, quod ad tuam Maiestatem omni iure et legitima et Regali successione spectat, ex faucibus hostium

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part, where the purpose of the writing is usually stated, but the similarities between the Hungaria and the Chorographia Transylvaniae can be explained through their origin in the same cultural and political milieu.

Transylvania and its Peoples in the Writing of Reicherstorffer Reicherstorffer’s description of Transylvania was more detailed and more extensive than the two chapters dedicated to it by Olahus. There is also a substantial section dedicated to the ancient history of Transylvania (the wars between King Decebalus and Emperor Trajan, the story about the treasure of the Dacian king hidden in Strei riverbed), which did not appear in Olahus’ writing. Reicherstorffer described very concisely the population, stating initially that the province was inhabited by three peoples, differing in religion, customs, and laws, namely Saxons, Szeklers, Hungarians, but adding the Romanians as well.27 Then, he offered a slightly broader description of the origin and dialect spoken by Saxons; on the Scythian origin of Szeklers; the organization and location of the seven Szekler seats; finally, very briefly, on Hungarians and nobles. He concluded this section putting the military resources of the three nations to more than 90,000 soldiers, connecting this figure with alleged victories won by Transylvanians against enemies. Then he returned to Romanians of Transylvania, mentioning that they lived dispersedly, without a certain territorial organization, in contrast with Saxons, who possessed fortified cities and fortresses all over the province and who surpassed the other nations in wealth.28 Then he described

eripiendum, armisque vindicandum, ac pristine libertati suae restituendum niteretur’ (… finally, your Majesty knew what wealthy, rich, and diverse nations and peoples fill up this province of Transylvania, which is at present nearly taken away from the command of your Majesty and in the control of the Tyrant, and reduced to slavery (alas) with the greatest damage for the whole Christianity, so that this realm, which pertains to your Majesty’s complete power and legitimate royal succession, should be taken away from the throat of the enemy, freed by war, and restored to the glitter of its former liberty); for the correspondence of Olahus see Popa-Gorjanu, ‘Corespondența lui Nicolaus Olahus cu Cornelius Duplicius Scepperus (1533–35)’, p. 189, ‘Relațiile lui Nicolaus Olahus cu Erasmus de Rotterdam’, p. 220. 27 Reicherstorffer, Chorographia Transylvaniae, p. 3 v, ‘Eadem provincia in tres dividitur nationes, suis inter se ritibus, moribus, consuetudinibus, et legibus aliquantulum dissidentes, ipsamque regionem distinctis terrarum locis incolentes: utpote Saxones, Ciculos, et Hungaros. Inter quos ipsi Valachi eiusdem provinciae incolae, in quibusdam desertis possessionibus et villis resident […]’ (The same province is divided into three nations, which differ from each other through religion, habits, customs, and somewhat laws, and which inhabit distinct territories, that is the Saxons, Szeklers, and Hungarians. Among them live the Romanians themselves, the inhabitants of these provinces, in some deserted settlements and villages). 28 Reicherstorffer, Chorographia Transylvaniae, p. 4 r, ‘Valachi etiam hanc terram, sed sparsim sine certa sede incolunt. Teutones vero seu Saxones munitissimas passim et urbes et arces habent, qui rebus omnibus caeteris nationibus facile praestant’ (Romanians also inhabit this province, but scattered and without a certain seat. The Germans or Saxons have at different places fortified cities and fortresses, and easily surpass with their means all other nations).

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Wallachia, located south of Transylvania, in order to introduce a digression about the derivation of the province name from Flaccus-Flaccia and its alleged transformation into Valachia, according to ideas introduced by Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini. Unlike Olahus, who relied on rivers as textual vectors, Reicherstorffer used a west-east communication route, namely the road from Oradea to Cluj and then to Sibiu. However, like Olahus, he favoured the latter city, which was described as the metropolis of Transylvania and was praised for its seven-years long resistance against the enemies of Ferdinand of Habsburg, due to its excellent fortification system and internal organization. The geographical description of the province started at Oradea, an important city located outside traditional Transylvania, though reflecting the political realities of 1550s, after the Ottomans had occupied Buda, and the new principality of Transylvania was taking shape, including areas that later were designated as Partium. The description of Sibiu presents striking similarities with that offered by Olahus. At this juncture, Reicherstorffer detailed the list of the seven Saxon seats, with their main cities, villages, and ecclesiastical organization of Saxon chapters. Seven major cities of Transylvania, whose coats of arms were illustrated in a woodcut, Sibiu (Cibinium, Hermanstat), Brașov (Brassovia, Corona, Cronstat), Bistrița (Bistricia, Nosenstat), Sighișoara (Segeswaria, Schesspurg), Mediaș (Megies, Mydwisch), Sebeș (Zabesus, Zaazsebes, Millenbach), Cluj (Coloswaria, Clausenburg) described in this order, were followed by smaller cities, such as Alba Iulia, Orăștie (Zazwaras), or towns like Hațeg (Haczak), or the mining towns Abrud (Abrugbania), Zlatna, and Baia de Criș (Keresbania). Details concerning the ancient history of the province were given for Alba Iulia, the episcopal town, and residence of Queen Isabella of Hungary at that time, but also a place filled with Roman ruins and inscriptions. Reicherstorffer provided texts of Roman inscriptions from Cluj, and from mining cities Abrud and Zlatna, differing in this respect from Olahus, who did not dwell on the presence of ancient vestiges, mentioning them only in passing when writing about Romanians and their Roman ancestry. By 1550s, the sensibility for Roman antiquities seems to have increased, a fact which might explain the presence of this type of information. The seven noble counties of the Transylvanian nobility were omitted completely from presentation. This omission is striking when compared to the detailed description of the Saxon seats, and to a lesser extent, of the Szekler seats. Reicherstorffer’s bias is perceivable also in the final paragraph, before his conclusions, where he summarized his view of Transylvania’s past emphasizing the history of Saxons. He stated that Transylvania was the most prosperous and important part of former Dacia (eius florentissima et precipua pars), conquered and colonized by Emperor Trajan after his victory against King Decebalus. Traces of Roman presence were visible in his time in numerous inscriptions. Then, this region came to be occupied by Germans (Teutones), who arrived from Saxony, Germany, or Rhine area in the time of King St Stephen, according to the Hungarian chronicle. The generous space given to the Saxons exceeds the comparatively shorter description of the Szeklers and makes all the more striking the extremely short description of nobles. This omission is probably explained by the intended audience of the book, which was perhaps not very favourable to this category of Transylvanians.

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Antonius Verancsics on Transylvania Antonius Verancsics (Verantius) (1502–1573), unlike Olahus and Reicherstorffer, was not a Transylvanian by birth.29 He was born in Šibenik (today Croatia), but arrived in Alba Iulia as provost of the cathedral chapter, while his uncle, John Statilius, was bishop of Transylvania and a supporter of Szapolyai. He was sent on several diplomatic missions by King John Szapolyai, thus he travelled to Poland, Italy, France, England, and after 1549, when he moved into the service of King Ferdinand of Habsburg, in the Ottoman Empire. His rich correspondence and historical writings were published in the nineteenth century. In his De situ Transylvaniae, Moldaviae et Transalpinae, Verancsics achieved a description of these three regions within an extended historical work entitled De rebus gestis Hungarorum ab inclinatione regni. Although the work was not dated, based on information from Verancsics’ correspondence with an erudite scholar from Bistrița, Pomarius (Baumgarten), Maria Holban proposed the year 1549.30 The text De situ was not published, remaining work in progress, to which the author added supplementary notes at uncertain moments in time. The purpose of his geographical and historical description of the region was to warn Christian princes about the dangers threatening their realms if Transylvania and the other two Romanian principalities fell under Ottoman occupation.31 The danger

29 For his biography and bibliography see Birnbaum, Humanists in a Shattered World, pp. 213–41. 30 Călători străini despre Țările Române, ed. by Holban, pp. 395, 422. In July 1549, although Verancsics was aware that the work was not finished, he planned to publish the description by adding 200 Latin inscriptions from Transylvania, illustrations of ancient monuments and a map that Pomarius was proposed to design. Holban suggested that the publication of Reicherstorffer’s Chorographia Transylvaniae in 1550 contributed to the failure of this project. 31 Verancsics, De situ, pp. 122–23, ‘Ego, quantum per exiguitatem licebit, salvo omnium honore ac pace, memorabiliora tantum, et illa in acervum congeram, eo potissimum inductus animo, ut cernens inclinationem Christianorum, quos in dies novae seditiones incessunt, atque exagitant, extremi periculi, quod ex amissione earum provinciarum toti reliquae Europae immineat, illi, a quibus res, salusque christiani status dependet, admoniti et petiti sint, velint advigilare, et eniti totis viribus, ne Transsylvania saltem, quia cum Transalpina atque Moldavia dudum male agitur, in Turcicam potestatem devolvatur. Quandoquidem id si acciderit, quod malum Deus avertat, ut cuneus in lignum, sic in eam illapsi Turcae, facile ad quacumque voluerint finitima Christianorum regna, citra magnum discrimen habebunt aditum, repressoque etiam Danubii nomine, altius Istrum in Germaniam proferent, et imperium suum latius propagabunt, tam opportuna ejus tyranni successibus foret Transylvania’ (I shall collect those things which are worth remembering in a compilation, as shortly as possible, and respecting the honor and peace of everyone, being led especially by this purpose, that by discerning the bending of Christians, who are assailed and tormented every day by new dissensions, I wish to draw the attention of those on whom the affairs and salvation of the Christian state depends to and awaken them to the extreme peril impending upon the rest of Europe by the loss of those provinces. They should be advised to watch and strive with all their strengths so that Transylvania, at least — because Wallachia and Moldavia are suffering since a long time — should not fall under Turkish power. Because if indeed this mishap took place, which evil God should avert, the Turks entering this province, like a nail in a wood, would reach easily whichever adjoining Christian realms they wish, and suppressing the name of the Danube they will advance deeper into Germany on upper Istrum and will enlarge their empire. So much is Transylvania favorable for the tyrants’ successes). The same text in Wrancius, Expeditionis Solymani, p. 31.

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Figure 6.3. Portrait of Anton Verancsics at the age of sixty-nine years, as author and archbishop of Esztergom, where he was the successor of Olahus. This engraving was made in 1571 by the Dalmatian artist and printer Martin Rota.

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of the Ottoman expansion was a well-known argument in Olahus’ letters and the main reason behind his historical work.32 Verancsics provided the same arguments of the naturally fortified location of Transylvania, its ability to sustain the Ottoman forces with its grain production and financial resources based on the abundance of its products, vineyards, and minerals. Moreover, he warned that the Ottomans were to benefit from the exploitation of the mineral resources of the province as they had experience and knowledge to develop mining enterprises at their disposal. In his description, Olahus praised the richness of the province. Verancsics, writing after the occupation of Buda (1541), when an Ottoman occupation seemed likely, warned about the advantages that Ottomans would gain from benefitting directly from the exploitation of those riches.

Verancsics on the History and Character of Transylvania’s Inhabitants His decision to treat Transylvania, Wallachia, and Moldavia together was explained by a reference to ancient Dacia, whose territory coincided with that of these principalities. The geographical presentation of these regions’ borders was followed by details about the ancient history of Dacians, Roman conquest, a critique of Flaccus-Valachus derivation. Thus, the historical part of his writing was inclined towards a reconstruction of ancient history. As a native speaker of Croatian and being acquainted with the Balkan peoples, he delved into details about the ancient Romans and medieval Balkan Vlachs, whom he regarded as heirs of Romans. He used his linguistic abilities in order to reject Piccolomini’s theory deriving Valachus from Flaccus by asserting that even though variants of Valachi were employed by various languages, Romanians called themselves and their language Roman.33 His description was based not only on erudition, but he also used his contemporary observations in discussing the history of ancient and contemporary peoples. The geographical description of Transylvania mentioned briefly the major cities, and strongholds, but unlike Reicherstorffer, Verancsics provided the Transylvanian nobility with a space equal to that given to the Saxons and Szeklers’ description. He also presented the seven Transylvanian counties, along those of the Szekler seats. When it came to the population of Transylvania, he hesitated between the two meanings of natio, namely a privileged estate and an ethnic group. Asserting first that the region had three nations, meaning the privileged ones, according to the political and juridical meaning, then he added Romanians as well, who could easily equal the 32 Popa-Gorjanu, ‘Despre motivația scrisului istoric la Nicolaus Olahus’, pp. 79–92. 33 Verancsics, De situ, pp. 134–35, ‘Praeteritis igitur infinitis vocabulis, quae Valacchi cum lingua latina et Italorum vernacula eadem ac certe intelligibilia habent; interrogantes quempiam an sciret Valacchice: scisne, inquiunt Romane? et an Valacchus esset: num Romanus sit? quaerunt’ (Leaving aside the countless common or intelligible words that Romanians have in common with Latin and Italic idioms, when they want to know if someone speaks Romanian they ask: Do you know Romane? And if they want to know if somebody is Romanian, they ask: Are you Roman?).

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number of the other three nations, but who were lacking privileges.34 He explained that except for a few nobles in the Hațeg district, who earned a noble privilege for fighting against Ottomans during John Hunyadi, Romanians were the serfs of Hungarian nobles. They were spread in the entire province, had no organization of their own, and lived a hard life in the wooded and mountains areas. The ethnic and status diversity of Transylvania seems to have been a stumbling block for these writers. Olahus solved it by stating plainly that the province was inhabited by four nationes. But Reicherstorffer and Verancsics hesitated upon the meaning of natio as a privileged group or ethnic group and in the same way stated that there were three nations and a fourth one. The historical writing of these three authors was not addressed to Transylvanians themselves and had little influence if any on the way things evolved in Transylvania. Other forces were more active than historiography in shaping Transylvania’s boundaries and constitution. In fact, as these works were intended for foreign audiences, they had little chance of influencing the definitions of the region from within. The authors reflected to some extent the divisions existing in the province, separated in three (sub)regions, each of them dominated by a specific group. Hungarian nobles dominated the area of the seven counties, governed by the voivode of Transylvania. The emergence of the nobility as a dominating layer in the counties of Transylvania was achieved during the fourteenth century, when specific privileges buttressed the jurisdiction of the nobles over their tenants and insured their influence in the local county institutions.35 The population of the counties was ethnically mixed, consisting of Romanians, Hungarians, and Saxons. The Saxon area, namely the royal land from southern and north-eastern parts of the province, donated to western settlers in the twelfth–thirteenth centuries, was dominated by the Saxons, but was also inhabited by Romanians. The Szeklers inhabited a distinct area organized in seven seats in eastern Transylvania. Speaking Hungarian (Magyar) language made Szeklers similar to Hungarians, but their specific status, obligations and separate organization under the authority of the count of the Szeklers (since mid-fifteenth century this office was cumulated by the voivode of Transylvania) provided sufficient grounds for their separate identity. All three authors were aware

34 Verancsics, De situ, p. 143, ‘Natio eam triplex incolit: Siculi, Hungari, Saxones, adjungam tamen et Valacchos, qui quamlibet harum facile magnitudine aequant, verum nulla illis libertas, nulla nobilitas, nullum proprium jus, praeterquam paucis districtum Hazak incolentibus, in quo regia Decebali creditur extitisse, qui tempore Joannis Hwnyady, inde oriundi, nobilitatem, quod semper contra Turcas pugnanti strenue affuerunt, adepti sunt. Ceteri plebei omnes, Hungarorum coloni, et sine propriis sedibus, sed sparsi hinc inde per totum regnum, rari in apertis locis incolae, montibus ac sylvis, plerumque cum suo pecore pariter abditi, sordide vitam ducunt’ (That province is inhabited by three nations, Szeklers, Hungarians, Saxons, however I would add the Romanians, who although easily equal in numbers the other three, they have no privileges, no nobility, no law of their own, except a few living in Hațeg district, where it is believed that the royal seat of King Decebalus existed, and who in the time of John Hunyadi, native of that district, ennobled them because they always fought vigorously against the Turks. The others are all commoners, serfs of the Hungarians, having no residences, scattered in the whole realm, seldom in open areas, but mostly in mountains and forests, they live a squalid life hidden with their herds). 35 Popa-Gorjanu, ‘The Nobility as Bearers of Regional Identity’, pp. 41–58.

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of these lines of fiddure existing within Transylvania as a broader notion (in earlier documents expressed as partes Transsiluanas) composed of three territorial blocks. The identification of nationes with regiones was not unfounded since the three privileged groups were territorialized, their privileges and status were bound to certain territories.

Conclusion The three descriptions of the history and geography of Transylvania produced in 1530s–1550s were written by authors who had strong connections with the Habsburg dynasty and its political interests. The purpose of these writings was that of creating a positive image of the territorial units on which they focused that was likely to build sympathy and eventually support military action on their behalf. Olahus wrote a description of the whole kingdom of Hungary, which included in its eastern part not only Transylvania, but Wallachia and Moldavia as well. His description of Transylvania was elegant, geographically accurate, and fully corresponded to his aim of emphasizing its military capacity and material richness. Reicherstorffer’s Chorographia Transylvaniae written after the occupation of the kingdom by Ottomans, focused on the presentation of Transylvania, insisting more on the Saxons and their organization and on the ancient monuments of the province. This work was published together with the Chorographia Moldaviae, thus emphasizing the strong interdependence of these provinces. As a friend of Olahus, he probably read the Hungaria, a fact which could explain the similarities between these two writings. These similarities appear not only as concerns their content, but in purpose as well. Verancsics, who spent almost two decades in Alba Iulia as provost of the cathedral chapter of Transylvania came to have direct knowledge of the realities of the region as well as the political and military connections with Wallachia and Moldavia.36 His purpose in writing his De situ Transylvaniae, Moldaviae et Transalpinae was identical with that of Olahus and Reicherstorffer. His description was more balanced when it came to describing the political forces of Transylvania. Regardless of their origin (Olahus was a Transylvanian of Romanian descent, Reicherstorffer was Saxon, and Verancsiscs Croatian), when writing about the population of Transylvania all three authors mentioned the population descending from the Roman colonies. Each of them supplemented the description of Transylvania with information on the province’s eastern and southern neighbours. It is difficult to judge if they were attempting to keep or create the same conceptual distance when mentioning four instead of the three officially recognized nations in Transylvania. Except for Olahus, whose Romanian origin was openly affirmed (in his correspondence, historical work, in his two ennoblement charters, in the assertion of his father’s kinship ties with the Wallachian rulers and that of the Hunyadi family),

36 Discussing the question of authorship of Verancsics, Mariana Birnbaum referred to an opinion of an earlier exegete (Ignác Acsády) who considered that he was the author of the De situ Transsylvaniae. Birnbaum, Humanists in a Shattered World, p. 237.

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the other two authors had different origins. Certainly, they intended to draw the attention of the Habsburg authorities to the situation of the Romanian population from Transylvania. This population had the same origin as the Romanians from the principalities, they were numerous, but lacked an autonomous organization similar to that of the other privileged Transylvanian nations and were kept dependent of their landlords. As Verancsics explained, most of the Romanians from Transylvania were serfs on the domains of the Hungarian landlords.37 The description of the two principalities of Wallachia and Moldova and their military capacities was not gratuitous. Adolf Armbruster has observed the pattern of humanist historical writing, which tended to refer to the idea of Roman origins of Vlachi/Flacci in the context of preparation of anti-Ottoman alliances. The inclusion of references to Romanians (from Wallachia and Moldova) in such works emphasized the strategic and political importance of the Romanian principalities in military campaigns. These writings, aiming at various audiences, reflected indirectly the actual situation and the hopes of their authors at that moment. Olahus, as mentioned by Birnbaum, created in his Hungaria an ‘idealized picture of a cherished homeland from which the author was separated. According to this work, Matthias left behind a wonderfully wealthy country, whose rich yields were shared in a brotherly manner by Hungarians, Germans, Slavs, and Romanians’.38 The three authors described the four nations of Transylvania as privileged or politically significant or not, but also as parts of the same Christian world. That Christian world was expected to unite in order to fight against the ever-growing Ottoman power. The Habsburg emperor was expected to be the leader of that fight. Olahus referred repeatedly in his correspondence to the role of Charles V as the leader of Christendom in the struggle against the Ottomans. In his view, like in that of other previous humanists, not only Transylvania, but also the other two Romanian principalities were to participate in this struggle.

37 Close to this problem came Gábor Almasi, in his thorough and balanced analysis of the negative images of Romanians (whom he chose to call ‘Wallachs’, in order to avoid an anachronism, while at the same time recognizing that it was not entirely anachronistic to call them Romanian, see footnote 2, pp. 91–92) in the sixteenth to seventeenth centuries writings, Almási, ‘Constructing the “Wallach” Other’, p. 115. This remains one of the outstanding treatments documenting the negative characterizations of Romanians in the Transylvanian context and calling them what they were, racist prejudices justified by economic and political incentives. 38 Birnbaum, Humanists in a Shattered World, p. 151.

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Works Cited Primary Sources Bel, Mathias, Adparatus ad historiam Hungariae (Posonii [Bratislava]: Typis Joannis Pauli Royer, 1735) Călători străini despre Țările Române, vol. i, ed. by Maria Holban (Bucureşti: Editura Științifică, 1968) Oláh Miklós, Levelezése, Monumenta Hungariae Historica, Diplomataria, vol. xxv, ed. by Arnold Ipolyi (Budapest: Akademia Könyvkiadó, 1875) Olahus, Nicolaus, ‘Hungaria, sive De Originibus Gentis, Regionis Situ, Diuisione, Habitu, atque Opportunitatibus’, in Adparatus ad historiam Hungariae, ed. by Mathias Bel (Posonii [Bratislava]: Typis Joannis Pauli Royer, 1735) Reichersdorffer, Georgius, Chorographia Transylvaniae, quae Dacia olim appellata, aliarumque provinciarum et regionum succinta descriptio et explicatio (Wien: Egidius Aquila, 1550) Verancsics, Antonius, ‘De situ Transsylvaniae, Moldaviae et Transalpinae’, Monumenta Hungariae Historica. Scriptores, II, Verancsics Antal Összes Munkái, vol. i, ed. by Laszló Szalai (Pest: Kmich G. Könyvnyomdája, 1857), pp. 119–51 Wrancius Sibenicensis Dalmata, Antonius, Expeditionis Solymani in Moldaviam et Transsilvaniam libri duo. De situ Transsylvaniae, Moldaviae et Transalpinae liber tertius, ed. by Colomanus Eperjessy (Budapest: K. M. Egyetemi Nyomda, 1944) Secondary Studies Almási, Gábor, ‘Constructing the “Wallach” Other in the Late Renaissance’, in Whose Love for Which Country? Composite States, National Histories and Patriotic Discourse in Early Modern East Central Europe, ed. by Balázs Trencsényi and Márton Zászkaliczky (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 91–129 Armbruster, Adolf, Romanitatea românilor. Istoria unei idei, second revised edition (Bucureşti: Editura Enciclopedică, 1993) Birnbaum, Marianna D., Humanists in a Shattered World: Croatian and Hungarian Latinity in the Sixteenth Century (Columbus: Slavica, 1986) Capesius, Bernhard, ‘Der Hermannstädter Humanist Georg Reicherstorffer’, Forschungen zur Volks- und Landeskunde, 8–10 (1965–1967), 35–62 Federinov, Bertrand and Gilles Docquier, eds, Marie de Hongrie: politique et culture sous la Renaissance aux Pays-Bas. Actes du colloque tenu au Musée royal de Mariemont les 11 et 12 novembre 2005 (Morlanwelz: Musée royal de Mariemont, 2008) Holban, Maria, ‘În jurul chorografiilor lui Reicherstorffer’, Studii, 18/1 (1965), 147–70 ———, ‘Nicolaus Olahus et la description de la Transylvanie’, Revue Roumaine d’Histoire, VII (1968), 493–513 Klaniczai, Tibor, ‘The Concepts of Hungaria and Pannonia in the Age of the Renaissance’, Hungarian Studies, 10 (1995), 173–89

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Papacostea, Șerban, ‘The Shaping of an Ethnic Identity: The Romanians in the Middle Ages’, Revue Roumaine d’Histoire, 32 (1993), 3–13 Popa-Gorjanu, Cornelia, ‘Corespondența lui Nicolaus Olahus cu Cornelius Duplicius Scepperus (1533–35)’, Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 7 (2003), 187–90 ———, ‘Despre motivația scrisului istoric la Nicolaus Olahus’, in Reconstituiri istorice. Idei, cuvinte, reprezentări. Omagiu profesorului Iacob Mârza, ed. by Laura Stanciu (Alba Iulia: Aeternitas, 2006), pp. 79–92 ———, ‘Relațiile lui Nicolaus Olahus cu Erasmus de Rotterdam’, Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 13 (2009), 211–21 Popa-Gorjanu, Cosmin, ‘The Nobility as Bearers of Regional Identity in Fourteenth Century Transylvania’, Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 16/II (2012), 41–58 ———, ‘Unirea de la Mediaș (25 noiembrie 1459) și identitatea regională’, Terra Sebus, 9 (2017), 173–85 Totoiu, Ion, ‘Cu privire la cea mai veche “Descriere a Moldovei”’, Studii Revistă de Istorie, 3 (1959), 123–33

Part II

The Creation of Regional Identity in Nineteenth-Century Historiography

Nils Holger Petersen

Post-Medieval Appropriation of Regional Sainthood in Scandinavia St Knud Lavard and St Olav

Saints and Collective Identity The purpose of this contribution is to point to national and/or regional appropriation of medieval saints in post-medieval Nordic cultures. What is presented here is also meant to give a glimpse into the historiographical insights resulting from one of the projects in the recently closed EuroCORECODE-programme of the European Science Foundation, the collaborative research project Symbols that Bind and Break Communities: Saints’ Cults as Stimuli and Expressions of Local, Regional, National and Universalist Identities (2010–2014). This project has contributed to the understanding of the development of regional and other communal identities in Europe during the Middle Ages and beyond, through studies of medieval saints’ cults and their reception in post-medieval times. The cults of saints, established first through veneration of martyrs in connection with persecutions before the Constantinian turn in the early fourth century, were gradually extended to other deceased holy men and women (so-called confessors) from the fourth century onward. A cult of a saint usually began as a local cult. The general theological premise was, as expressed explicitly in Book 22 of Augustine’s De civitate dei (Concerning the City of God, written 413–425), that God continued his history with humans also in the present. The fundamental events of salvation history were made known in the Bible, but God would still let his divine actions of grace

Nils Holger Petersen  •  received his PhD in 1994, at the University of Copenhagen, with a dissertation on the liturgical origin and genre of the medieval Latin music drama. His career since is marked by this twofold interest: he is a renowned Danish composer and since 2000 associate professor of Church History at the Faculty of Theology of the same university. He served there, among others, as leader for the Centre for the Study of the Cultural Heritage of Medieval Rituals at the Section of Church History, and of the EUROCORECODE-project Cultsymbols. His main research interests are medieval liturgy and drama; music drama and theology; cultural history and theology, and medievalism. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 189–207 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121492

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happen in this life to help direct the faithful to divine truth through particularly holy persons and their lives and deaths.1 Augustine claimed that Christians actually did not pray to the saints or give sacrifices to them, but did so to God because of the saints: ‘Quod offertur, offertur Deo qui martyres coronavit, apud memorias eorum quos coronavit’ (The offering is made to God, who gave the crown of martyrdom, while it is in memory of those thus crowned).2 However, it is clear that intercession to a saint in practice and in general was an essential part of the cults.3 It would, in any case, probably have been difficult for others than the intellectual theologians to distinguish between prayer to God at a saint’s grave or a relic because of the saint’s merits and prayer to the actual saint in question. In the West, the canonization of saints eventually became centralized, beginning in the late twelfth century.4 Until then, the local bishop would determine whether the local cult of a saintly person should lead to an official celebration in the form of an office for the saint’s day, an office that then would have to be composed. Even if the bishop would not accept the cult, popular veneration could still continue, although it would have to take place in less formalized ways. Cults of saints travelled and were transmitted from one place to another in connection with trade and other human exchanges, including, of course, also ecclesiastical contact. What matters in what follows is that different regions, and even different localities within a region, during the Middle Ages would have different emphases on saints. This had deep roots in local memory, and these different emphases were in many cases closely connected to the formation of local and regional identities. Some saints were evidently connected to local cultural memory because a saint actually had lived, died or at least was believed to have lived or died at the very place; in other cases, saints or relics had become attached to the place through narratives telling about how they were brought to the place. Whatever the case, the veneration of a saint at a particular place would be connected to some collective or cultural memory that linked the saint with the history of the place as this was told and remembered by the population, by and large. Such a ‘memory’ was not a memory in the ordinary sense of how humans remember. It could, however, be established through the genuine memories of some people, and thereby gradually become a jointly shared and cherished narrative of great past events. But it could also be the result of political or religious campaigning, imposed 1 For the rise of the cult of saints, see Brown, The Cult of the Saints, Vauchez, Sainthood, and Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?; for the significance of saints’ cults and saints’ narratives in Christian liturgy, see also Heffernan and Matter, eds, The Liturgy of the Medieval Church, and Petersen, ‘Memorial Ritual’. 2 S. Aurelii Augustini Hipponensis episcopi, Contra Faustum Manichaeum libri triginta tres, XX, 21, col. 0384. Patrologia Latina Database (PL, vol. 42), accessed through the Royal Library, Copenhagen on 29 August 2015 at http://pld.chadwyck.co.uk.ep.fjernadgang.kb.dk. English translation (copyright Kevin Knight 2008) at the Catholic website New Advent under the heading, ‘The Fathers of the Church’, Reply to Faustus the Manichaen’ XX.21; accessed 29 July 2015 at https://www.newadvent.org/ fathers/index.html. 3 Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, p. 1. 4 Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, pp. 57–64.

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on a particular place, and in this way gradually become part of a privileged historical narrative which along the way was no longer questioned. Whatever the historical background for the establishing of such narratives behind the veneration of a saint at a particular place, the way in which, at a given time, a saint would be considered a saint in that place would involve a share in the perceived identity of that locality, or, expressed in a different way, that the saint was part of the cultural memory of the community belonging to that place. It should also be remembered that place or region may relevantly in many such cases be thought of not just as one geographical place or region, but as a mental construction that would be shared between a number of localities or communities. This is particularly relevant for monastic orders with their particular saints, shared between monasteries or convents placed in many different countries, as for instance the Cistercians, the Franciscans and others with a number of particularly important saints shared by all in the monastic order. As emphasized by Jan Assmann in his studies of the notion of cultural memory, cultural memory is about the way in which a particular social group privileges the preservation of certain narratives and events, certain ideas as well as cultural artefacts like pictures, architecture, music, literature and, no less important, ideas about what is most important to teach new members of the group, children, students, novices, etc., about feasts to be remembered and celebrated in the calendar of the group. In other words, this is about what are the most essential historical features and artefacts for the group in question. An analogy is what in a modern culture is thought important to preserve in museums, libraries, and studied in the curricula of schools and universities. All this − and much more − belongs to the cultural memory of a society, of a country, a region, or a particular group.5 In the Middle Ages, saints were venerated in a complex mixture of actual memories of their deeds and lives, their life history, and very often not least their deaths. Gradually, over time, this would be combined with notions and ideas from the various cultural and religious contexts in which they were venerated, institutions and practices: churches, monasteries, guilds, and confraternities, as well as, again, individual persons in their pious devotions. Saints exemplified values (openly or in hidden ways) sanctioned by religious doctrine or revealed divinely through events connected to the saint, either through his or her life or death. Saints were understood to reveal or remind the faithful of some fundamental Christian aspect, identified in the life history of the saint, at least as understood, received or constructed by the agents whose veneration turned the person in question into a saint. In this chapter, I shall exemplify how even the post-medieval reception of saints’ cults, long after the religious veneration of the saint in question in the society had ceased, might still be connected to and expressive of national, regional, or local identities. The saint’s life story and the values which it emphasizes, the perceived narrative identity of the saint, may for instance in a Protestant or even non-religious context still be perceived by a social group as importantly embodying and expressing the group’s collective identity; what stands out for the group in question is what 5 Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, and Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory.

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Figure 7.1. Knud Lavard enthroned (detail from the central vault of St Bendt’s Church, Ringsted, Denmark). Fresco from c. 1300. Photo: Robert Fortuna, 2015, National Museum of Denmark.

particularly characterizes its ideals and how it understands its values, its role, or function in a larger context. I shall first discuss two main examples of this in a Nordic historical context; both concern royal saints, the Danish St Knud Lavard and the Norwegian St Olav.

Appropriating a Twelfth-Century Danish Royal Saint around 1800 Knud Lavard (c. 1096–1131) was the son of King Eric the Good of Denmark who died during a pilgrimage, when Knud was only a small boy. As King Eric and his queen left on their pilgrimage, Knud was entrusted to one of the most influential noblemen in the kingdom. Later, as the king died and was followed on the throne by his brother Niels (d. 1134), Knud was sent to be educated in Germany at King Lothar’s court, at the time still duke of Saxony (he became king in 1125), later to become Holy Roman emperor (1133–1137). Knud was called back to Denmark, made duke of Schleswig near the Danish-German border, probably around 1115 successfully subordinating the Wends and Obotrites. With Lothar’s consent he was given the title of knes as a ruler of the Obotrites (1129); apparently this was misunderstood (or misrepresented) as king of the Obotrites, something that gained him the mistrust of the Danish king and especially the king’s son Prince Magnus. Magnus was also king of the Goths and

Post-Medieval Appropriation of Regional Sainthood in Scandinavia

feared that Knud was trying to take what Magnus may have considered his natural place as the next king of Denmark, although at the time the king would legally have been elected by the people at a national moot. This is undoubtedly a main reason why Magnus, at the end of the Christmas season 1130, the day after Epiphany 1131 (7 January), lured Knud into an ambush and killed him. The dramatic and tragic events led to a civil war in which King Niels and Magnus were both killed (1134), Magnus in battle with Knud’s younger brother Eric (king 1134–1137), Niels in Knud’s city Schleswig, in vain trying to make peace with the townsmen. The civil war went on for decades between the princes of the next generation. It was finally won by Knud’s son Valdemar I, born a week after the murder of his father. In 1157 he controlled the whole kingdom and remained on the Danish throne until his death in 1182. Valdemar started to work for his father’s canonization early in his reign but had to give up his first attempts because of resistance from Archbishop Eskil of Lund (the Danish archbishop’s seat was at Lund, in present-day Sweden). Eskil and Valdemar were not on the best terms, for years they supported different popes during the papal schism between Alexander III and Victor IV until the latter’s death in 1164. Later, Valdemar sent a delegation to Rome to convince Pope Alexander to canonize his father. The mission was successful and a papal bull, written in 1169, led to the translation of St Knud on 25 June 1170 in the Benedictine Church of St Bendt (St Benedict) in Ringsted. The solemnities on 25 June 1170 also included the coronation of Valdemar’s seven-year-old son Knud as future king of Denmark. The celebrations were presided over by Archbishop Eskil promoting St Knud as a saintly protector of the kingdom. For the second time within a few decades a royal saint showed the Danish kingdom as fully belonging to the European ecclesiastical and royal culture (Knud’s uncle King Knud IV, ‘the Holy’ had been canonized in 1100). As claimed by the Danish church historian Carsten Breengaard, the main drive behind the Danish Church’s involvement in these royal canonizations may well have been to establish ‘a new set of social norms’, to ‘criminalize insurrection and the involvement of the king in feuding’.6 The saint’s offices for the day of the murder (or martyrium) on 7 January as well as for the Feast of the Translation have been preserved in a unique manuscript of the thirteenth century, containing also the readings for Nocturns, which give the basic narrative presented here as a story of a potential rex iustus, a well-known character of a royal saint.7 The cult of St Knud Lavard (and his uncle) as of many other Nordic as well as more universal saints continued throughout the Middle Ages in Denmark. Knud Lavard was never promoted very actively outside of Denmark, however. His stronghold as a saint was the Danish royalty, and locally he was particularly popular around Ringsted and the site of the martyrdom, Haraldsted Forest, where a pilgrimage chapel was erected, 6 Breengaard, Muren om Israels Hus, English summary, pp. 332–33. 7 For modern historical accounts in English (with many references also to Danish historical scholarship), see DuBois and Ingwersen, ‘St Knud Lavard’, Riis, ‘The Historical Background of the Liturgy’, and also Bergsagel, Hiley, and Riis, Of Chronicles and Kings. Concerning the preserved offices, see Bergsagel, ed., The Offices and Masses, and Petersen, ‘Theological Construction in the Offices’. See also Breengaard, Muren om Israels Hus.

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Figure 7.2. The façade of the Knud Guildhall, as drawn by Georg Friedrich Geist in the first half of the nineteenth century (before the reconstruction of the building in the 1860s). See Mänd, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation’, Figure 6.12 (p. 125). Some have argued that if the guild was founded in the first half of thirteenth century, it would most likely have had Knud Lavard as its patron saint. However, Mänd considers it more likely that it was founded in the late thirteenth century and with King Knud ‘the Holy’ as patron saint, see Mänd, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation’, pp. 119–27, esp. 120–21.

the ruins of which are still in existence. Also the city of Schleswig, his city as a duke, remained a centre for his cult, not least through guilds established with him as protector saint. Knud guilds were established for both of the Knud saints and over time the two saints seem often to have been conflated so that it is difficult to know which Knud is meant in the statutes. Knud guilds were established in many cities around the Baltic Sea.8



8 See Bisgaard, ‘The Transformation of St Canute Guilds’, Mänd, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation of Scandinavian Saints in Medieval Livonia’, and Petersen, ‘St Canute Lavard around the Baltic Sea’.

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The Danish Reformation in 1536 brought the actual cult of St Knud — as of other saints — to a halt, although saints as such were not abolished and some saints’ holidays were preserved in Lutheran countries, including Denmark, albeit in transformed ways. Sixteenth-century Danish interest in Knud Lavard did not stop, however, and in the sixteenth century literary treatments of his figure show how he was transformed into a Christian hero to be remembered, thus still a part of the Danish cultural memory. Especially around 1800 such historical interest was revived in agreement with the growing historical consciousness of the Enlightenment and, not least, early Romanticism. A monument in Danish historiography is the publication (over a number of years, 1782–1828) of Peter Friderich Suhm’s (1728–1798) Historie af Danmark (History of Denmark) in fourteen volumes, eight of these published posthumously. The work treats Danish (and to a high extent Nordic) history from prehistoric time up to c. 1400, based on readings of the main sources with source criticism. In volume 5, published in 1792 one finds, among other things, his discussion of the events related to Knud Lavard, drawing mainly on the account in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum written around 1200. Saxo was Archbishop Absalon’s historiographer, and his chronicle is obviously written from the point of view of King Valdemar I. Suhm, however, does draw on other sources to balance his view. Suhm’s account and discussion would seem to be the closest possible one may come what would have been the received understanding of these events around 1800 in Denmark. Suhm accepts the overall picture of Knud Lavard as an honest person, murdered because of the jealousy of Prince Magnus in which he is deemed innocent. However, as a typical Enlightenment rationalist Suhm does not accept the miracles ascribed to Knud Lavard in Saxo as well as in the legendary literature: ‘Heraf maae man slutte, at dels Bedragere, dels Vankundige, have gjort og udbredet Mirakler om ham, thi at de ere virkeligen skeede troer vel ingen Fornuftig nu omstunder’ (Therefore one may conclude that partly imposters, partly ignorants, have invented and propagated miracle stories about him, since no sensible person nowadays will probably believe that they really happened).9 Completely in agreement with this, and also primarily — but freely — based on Saxo Grammaticus’ account, Balthasar Bang’s tragedy Knud Lavard published in 1807, submitted to the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen but not accepted for performance, and to my knowledge never performed, does not deal with Knud as a saint. As most other literary treatments of Knud Lavard after the Danish Reformation (with a few exceptions), the focus is the life and death of Knud, not the cult or the miracles told about him after his death. Apparently, Bang (1779–1856) wrote in a somewhat outdated style causing only a few of his plays to be performed.10 In spite of a seemingly realistic approach, the saintly image of Knud is unquestioningly accepted and further elaborated in Bang’s and other nineteenth-century

9 Suhm, History of Denmark, vol. 5, p. 383. 10 Biographical article by H. Topsøe-Jensen in Dansk Biografisk Leksikon (3rd edition, 1979–1984), available on the internet at http://www.denstoredanske.dk/Dansk_Biografisk_Leksikon/Kunst_og_ kultur/Litteratur/Forfatter/ _Bang (visited 30 August 2015).

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portrayals of Knud.11 Based on one crucial scene in the Knud Lavard narrative, I shall discuss Bang’s portrait of Knud Lavard and its seeming dependence on Suhm and certainly on Saxo. Saxo became eminently important for early Danish Romanticists, and one of the very most important and influential persons in Danish culture, the Lutheran church minister, poet, and historian N. F. S. Grundtvig (1783–1872) rewrote Saxo’s Latin text in Danish (1818–1823); it had been translated into Danish for the first time in 1575. Bang is a transitional literary figure between Enlightenment and Romanticism and has largely been forgotten in modern times. What is primarily of interest in the context of this chapter, however, is that Bang’s portrait appears to be typical for the time just around 1800. At this time a fairly recent historiographical consciousness was combined with the rise of nationalism. In Denmark this came to the fore not least in the idea of a Danish people; this idea may briefly be characterized as a group-identification of (most) people living in Denmark with a historically based idea of a Danish nation, again identified with the king. This idea is strongly developed in the most famous Danish Romantic novels written by B. S. Ingemann, starting in 1824 with his medievalistic novel Valdemar og hans Mænd which is about Valdemar’s victory in the aforementioned civil war. It takes place after Knud’s death, but Knud is an important figure behind the actual narrative presented in the novel, which ends with the celebrations of 25 June 1170 including the translation of Knud Lavard. This is also the essence of the deliberations in Balthasar Bang’s tragedy in the way Knud Lavard is portrayed as unwavering in his struggle for what is good for Denmark and the Danish people. Although the way this was dealt with in the early 1800s is far away from medieval thought one can find expressions in the texts of the preserved medieval offices in honour of Knud Lavard that emphasize him as not only a leader of the people, a just ‘king’, but also as a man of the people. Most likely that should be understood as an expression of his humility, ‘Hic est vere martyr Christi miles Kanutus, quem Dominus constituit ducem populi sui, qui extolli noluit. Set fuit inter illos quasi unus ex illis’ (Here is the true martyr, Christ’s soldier Knud, whom the Lord made duke of his people, and who refused to be extolled. But he was among them as one of them).12 Probably in 1130 Knud Lavard was summoned to a moot by King Niels to answer accusations of having overstepped his competence as a duke, intruding upon the king’s prerogatives, not least by accepting the crown of the Obotrites as a vassal of the German emperor. This, interestingly, anticipates the complex history of Schleswig-Holstein as connected duchies, divided under the overlordship of the Holy Roman emperor of the German Lands and the Danish king. This complex political construction lies behind many controversies (and wars) up to the referendum in 1920 where the borders were settled by vote. The situation at Knud Lavard’s time was not

11 See the discussion of a number of post-reformation receptions of Knud Lavard in Petersen, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard’. 12 From Beatus vir, respond from First Vespers of both the office in passione and in translacione, see Bergsagel, ed., The Offices and Masses, vol. 2, pp. 2 and 33. See also Petersen, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard’, pp. 136–39.

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(yet) regulated by treaties, but the fundamental problem was the same. Knud was duke of Schleswig and vassal of the Danish king, but the throne of the Wends and of the Obotrites were given to him as a vassal of Emperor Lothar, and the question would have been whether this was compatible with his duties as duke of Schleswig under King Niels. The interest around 1800 of several playwrights and poets in Knud Lavard has its roots in the historiography of the Schleswig-Holstein region, which also plays a role in Michael Bregnsbo’s article in this volume. The situation of this particular region as associated with both Denmark and the German Empire, since the two duchies were to remain connected as codified in a treaty and through privileges during the fifteenth century, combined with the well-known story of the question of Knud Lavard’s possibly double allegiance to the Danish king and the German emperor made it obvious to identify Knud with the region, albeit in a different light depending on the playwright’s affiliation or sympathies. Scene 4 of the Second Act of Bang’s tragedy is set at the moot where Knud must answer to the king’s accusations. As in the office readings and in Saxo, the accusations are seen as set up by Magnus and his co-conspirators who have convinced the king that Knud is committing treason against him. According to these narratives, the king himself, however, fundamentally loves Knud and used to trust him, just as Knud has always supported the king and, not least, the cause of the Danish kingdom. Still, at this point Magnus has managed to stir up the king’s fury against Knud. After a number of other accusations have been answered and annulled by Knud, the king goes on, ‘Hele Holsteen og Jylland og Slesvig kalder dig jo allerede Konge, og du tager derimod; har jeg skienket dig nogen Kongetitel, eller har Danmark nogen anden Konge end Niels?’ (All of Holstein, Jutland and Schleswig already call you king, and you accept it; did I give you the title of king, or does Denmark have any other king than Niels?)13 To this Knud answers: Holsteen og Jylland kalde mig ikke Konge, ingen af dine Undersaatter, ikke en eneste giør det. Mine Underhavende kalde mig Herre, mine Slesviger Hertug, og at Hendrik indsatte mig til Thronarving over alle sine Lande, og Keiser Lotharius skikkede mig en Krone, kan dog umulig være nogen Brøde af mig. Obetriterne og Venderne kalde mig Konge, det er jeg, denne Ret har Folket og dets Fyrste selv frivillig overdraget mig, og jeg veed ikke, hvorfor jeg skulde afstaae den? Dersom min konge imidlertid skulde finde sig fornærmet over, at der var flere i Danmark, der bar Kongenavnet end du, saa lad Magnus først nedlægge Upsals Krone, og jeg skal med Glæde skienke dig Obetriternes. Holstein and Jutland do not call me a king; none of your subjects do. My subjects call me lord, my Schleswigians duke, and that Hendrik has made me an heir to the throne of all his lands, and that Emperor Lothar sent me a crown, cannot possibly be an offence by me. The Obotrites and the Wends call me a king, the people and their prince have voluntarily handed over that right to me, and I do not know why I should give it up. However, if my king 13 Bang, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil’, p. 68.

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should feel insulted that there are others than yourself who carry the title of king, let Magnus first give up the crown of Uppsala, and I shall happily grant you the crown of the Obotrites.14 The king becomes furious at this answer accusing Knud of disgrace. Knud then answers: Konge! du bedrøver mig! jeg seer dig imod din sædvanlige Sagtmodighed fortørnet, og hører dig tale i en Tone, der er ligesaa uværdig din Høihed og Alder, som den er fremmed for den Fromhed, jeg altid beundrede hos dig; du er forledt, mine Fiender have ført dig bag Lyset, de misunde mig din Tillid og mit Rygte, og derfor har man søgt at opbringe dig imod mig, men det skal ikke lykkes dem. (Han vender sig til Folket). Her i denne Forsamling, her opfordrer jeg enhver offentlig til at tale imod mig, og sige høit for Folket, hvad han hemmelig har forebragt Kongen; han være Ridder eller Klerk, Bonde eller Borger, han træde frem her, og jeg vil høre hans Beskyldninger, og nedlade mig til at forsvare mig. King! You make me sad! Against your customary gentleness, I see that you are resentful and I hear you speak in a tone that is just as unworthy of your Highness and your age as it is far from the piety that I have always admired in you. You have been misled, my enemies have deceived you, they are envious of the trust you have given me and my reputation; therefore they have tried to stir up your anger against me, but they shall not succeed. (He turns to the people). Here in this assembly I call on everyone to speak publicly against me and say loud before the people what he has secretly submitted to the king. May he be a knight or a clerk, a peasant or a townsman, let him come forward, and I shall hear his accusations and vouchsafe to defend myself.15 This is (unsurprisingly) received with complete silence from all present. Then the king looks with tense expectation to where Magnus and his friends are standing. He says, ‘No-one? Not a single one?’ He turns to the people, ‘No one here either?’ And Knud can conclude, ‘You see, King, I am innocent’.16 The king still has a few other questions, but Knud has prevailed and the conspirators must make a new plan that eventually leads to the murder. The rhetoric of Knud’s answers at the moot is very close, indeed, to the answers as formulated by Suhm in his aforementioned 1792-volume; and, indeed, it paraphrases Saxo’s version of Knud Lavard’s speech in Book 13, 5.9.17 What is different, however, is the way Knud appeals to the people at the moot in Bang’s version. There is no such popular appeal in Saxo nor in Suhm. In Bang’s presentation, the people has become an almost mythological (silent) voice that in various parts of the narrative add their voice, always in support of Knud Lavard and in judgement over Magnus

14 15 16 17

Bang, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil’, p. 68. Bang, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil’, p. 69. Bang, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil’, pp. 69–70. The full text of Saxo’s Gesta Danorum is available at a website managed by the Royal Library in Copenhagen at http://www2.kb.dk/elib/lit/dan/saxo/lat/or.dsr/ (visited 30 August 2015).

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and the conspirators, but variously critical or supportive of King Niels according to his changing attitudes toward Knud. Thus, after the murder, Saxo tells that King Niels, at a moot without the presence of Magnus, agrees to banish Magnus and to only let him come back if the people accept it (receptam a populo, see Book 13, 7.7); this is similarly reported by Suhm.18 In the context, however, it is quite clear that this is the result of a negotiation between representatives at the moot and the king. Bang in his tragedy, however, has made a rather radical change. The whole final Act 5 takes place after the murder, in the royal castle at Roskilde where Magnus, the king, and more or less all characters of the play participate, including notably Ingeborg, Knud Lavard’s wife who comes to the castle where the people have gathered outside, furiously demanding revenge over Knud. She comes — much in the spirit of Knud as he is characterized in the play, and very much seen through Christian Enlightenment eyes, to restore peace between the king and the people, to a large extent out of compassion with the king. She acts as the go-between between the people (outside the castle, but not represented on stage) and the king; Knud’s brothers, Harald and Erik, are also involved in the scene, and at the end of the play the king hands over his kingdom to Erik (historically Erik became king after Niels’ death in 1134). As she enters, Ingeborg reports the will of the people, again in such a fashion that the people’s voice appears as a mythical voice that can be expressed unanimously through the beloved wife of the people’s beloved Knud Lavard. Asked by the king about her decision concerning the fate of Magnus and himself, she answers: Ikke jeg, min Konge, ikke jeg, men Folket. Det vil, at du skal blive her, og regiere alle dine Lande, som forhen, men i deres Navn forkynder jeg Hertug Knuds Morders Landflygtighed, han forvises Hof og Rige, kommer ikke mere tilbage uden Folkets eenstemmige Tilladelse, afstaaer al Ret til Danmarks Throne, og udvælger Erik, min Knuds kiereste Broder, til Thronfølger efter dig. Kun paa disse Vilkaar fik jeg Folket tilfredsstillet, der længselsfuldt venter mit Svar. Not I, my king, not I but the people. They will you to stay and rule all your lands as before, but in their name I pronounce the exile of Duke Knud’s murderer. He shall be exiled from court and realm, and will not come back except with the unanimous permission by the people. He must give up all right to the throne of Denmark, and Erik, my Knud’s most beloved brother shall succeed to the throne after you. Only on those conditions could I satisfy the people now anxiously awaiting my answer.19 Altogether, Bang’s tragedy shows the appropriation of the medieval saint’s narrative to form an understanding of the identity of the Danish people, an identity shaped by way of an ideal historical hero whose narrative identity was adapted from the narrative of the saint.

18 Suhm, Historie af Danmark, vol. 5, p. 390. 19 Bang, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil’, pp. 180–81.

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Knud Lavard was also to be appropriated so as to form an expressive metaphor of the innocent Danish realm against its great enemies, seen as conspirators, in a poem by Carsten Hauch. The poem was written as part of his tragedy Svend Grathe (1841, about the civil war after Knud Lavard’s murder) and was set to music by Niels W. Gade.20 During the time between the loss of southern Jutland to Prussia in the disastrous war of 1864 and the aforementioned referendum in 1920, which brought much of the southern duchies back to Denmark, a similar but slightly different appropriation of Knud Lavard took place in a German tragedy, Friedrich Erdmann’s Knud Lavard (1901). The very same point, Knud Lavard’s acceptance of the throne of the Obotrites as a vassal of the Holy Roman emperor was here formulated with an explicit emphasis on Knud’s love for Germany while still manifesting his loyalty to Denmark.21 Seen from a German-oriented perspective at that point in history, it would have been an important message to state that there is no contradiction between loyalty to Denmark and love of Germany (and vice versa). The same point could be claimed on the basis of Bang’s text, but it is clearly not the point of his drama. For Bang the focus is clearly the importance of the conformity between the Danish people and its king, the fundamental values of honesty and heroism against evil and treachery that must be heeded by all. If they are not, the Danish history becomes a tragedy like the story of Knud Lavard’s murder.

Post-Reformation Appropriation of Sainthood in Norway By way of conclusion, I would like to refer to a completely different, yet comparable kind of political and cultural appropriation of Nordic saints. The Norwegian St Olav, the most widely venerated Nordic saint in the Middle Ages (martyred at the battle of Stiklestad in 1030), has had a conspicuous revival in modern Norway. The cult of St Olav took off in Norway itself mainly from around the time when the Norwegian archbishopric in Nidaros (Trondheim) was established in the mid-twelfth century. This led to the building of the magnificent Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim with its octagon in which the shrine of St Olav was placed. The cathedral was in a bad state centuries after the Lutheran Reformation in Norway (at the time part of the Danish-Norwegian realm), and the cathedral was reconstructed in several stages from the nineteenth century. It also became involved in the revival of the cult of St Olav. Although Olav was widely venerated in Europe, he achieved a particular importance as a national saint in Norway, especially in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, in connection with the Norwegian struggle for national independence. In this connection, his traditional title as rex perpetuus norvegiae (eternal king of Norway) became expressive of his continued position as a guardian of Norway.

20 For a discussion of this poem and its musical setting, see Petersen, ‘Introduction’, pp. 12–19. 21 Erdmann, Knud Lavard. Ein Trauerspiel, p. 16.

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Figure 7.3. The Olav statue, decorated with a garland, in the west front of Nidaros Cathedral, Trondheim. Photo: Eiler Munksgaard.

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Norway was part of a double monarchy, and basically under Danish dominance, from the fourteenth century until 1814 where Denmark lost Norway to Sweden, but so that Norway obtained home rule. In May 1814, Norway had established a constitution, as the first Nordic country and it was believed, for a short time afterwards, that Norway could become an independent kingdom. However, this only happened in 1905. Thus, a historical identity for an independent Norway had to be looked for in medieval history, even more in Norway than for instance in Denmark, and St Olav became a hugely important symbol of Norwegian nationalism. The task of reconstructing the west façade of Nidaros Cathedral after the Second World War was seen as a means of creating a national monument. Also, during the twentieth century the saint’s day of St Olav has developed into a major feast, Olsok, which especially in Trondheim is celebrated with a modernized version of the medieval office inside and outside the cathedral. Moreover, the Norwegian cult of the female saint Sunniva has had a similar modern revival. According to the legend, Sunniva, purportedly an Irish medieval queen fleeing persecution, arrived in Norway where she was martyred but then was found with her equally martyred followers by the first Norwegian Christians. She was venerated as a saint on the island where she was martyred and also in Bergen. Both Sunniva and Olav have assumed modern roles in which they are popularly identified with the formation of symbolic national identity in Norway, and even to this day, they are strongly associated with particular geographical places.22 In a speech, held on King Olav’s saint’s day, 29 July 1897, at a time when the celebration of Olsok was not allowed in the Norwegian (Lutheran) Church, the famous and also politically important Norwegian poet Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832–1910) discussed the figure of St Olav, distinguishing between the historical King Olav Haraldsson and St Olav: Olav Haraldsson og Olav den Hellige er ikke den samme. Den første, som vi kjender ham fra Snorre og vore Historikere, er bare Fodstykke for den andre, som i fem hundre Aar steg saa højt og gjorde saa stor Gjerning i det norske Folk, at ingen norskfødt naar ham til Ankelen. King Olav Haraldsson and Olav the Holy are not the same. The first, as we know him from Snorre and our Historians, is only a socle for the other, who during five hundred years rose so high up carrying out such a deed for the Norwegian people that no one born in Norway reaches him to the ankle.23 His main point, not unlike the Romantic identification between the Danish people and St Knud Lavard in Balthasar Bang’s tragedy as discussed above, concerns the intimate relationship between the Norwegian royal saint and the Norwegian people.

22 See Nilsen, ‘The Cathedral of Nidaros’, and Mikaelsson, ‘Locality and Myth’. The latter along the way also deals with St Olav and his modern revival. For historical information about the two saints and their cults, see Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, Lindow, ‘St Olaf and the Skalds’, DuBois, ed., Sanctity in the North, and Petersen, ‘Locality and Distance’. 23 Bjørnson, ‘Tale paa Olavsdagen’, p. 367.

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This does not only regard the five hundred years up to the Norwegian Reformation (in 1537), but also Bjørnson’s contemporary Norway under the Swedish crown, albeit with local independence. In his speech, Bjørnson appropriates the figure of St Olav as a vehicle for a nationalist struggle for complete Norwegian freedom, which Bjørnson identifies with the possibility for celebrating Olsok in the Church of Norway. First he deplores what the Lutheran Reformation meant for the Norwegian identification with St Olav: I hans Martyrdød blev de et Folk; den gjorde Ende paa Fremmedherredømet. Han var Landets Værn, dets Fane, dets Lov, dets højeste Ærestinde. Vi maa prøve at forstaa, hvordan det tog sig ud for dem, da han havde været dette i fem hundre Aar, og det saa lærtes, at Altsammen var Bedrag. At det var unyttig at bede Hellig Olav hjælpe dem hos Gud. Ja det var Synd. Hvis denne Synd gjentog sig, var det Sjæls Fortabelse. In his martyrdom they [the Norwegians] became a people; it made an end of foreign rule. He was the guardian of the country, its banner, its law, its highest pinnacle of honour. We must try to understand how it appeared to them when he had been all this for five hundred years and it was then taught that it was all a deception. That it was futile to pray to St Olav for God’s help. Indeed, it was a sin. If this sin was repeated, it meant the soul’s damnation.24 He goes on to claim that what was lost was poetically taken up in the soul of the Norwegian people: At have noget saa inderlig kjært gjør Livet rigere; at tabe det med Smerte gjør den poetiske Undergrund rigere. Hellig Olav findes igjen i Folkesjælen. Han har været med at lægge Strenge i den og at stemme den. To hold something so sincerely dear makes life richer; to painfully lose it makes the poetic underground richer. St Olav can be retrieved in the soul of the people. Also he has put strings into its soul and tuned it.25 Toward the end of the speech, Bjørnson turns this poetic reception of St Olav into a political demand for the possibility to celebrate St Olav at a service in the Norwegian Church, a demand which is identified with the demand for full Norwegian independence under a Norwegian king. Indeed, Bjørnson was not concerned with the religious message of the cult of St Olav. For him King Olav, or rather St Olav, was a symbol of Norway:26

24 Bjørnson, ‘Tale paa Olavsdagen’, p. 370. 25 Bjørnson, ‘Tale paa Olavsdagen’, p. 371. 26 Cf. The following statement by the Norwegian historian (University of Oslo), Hans Jacob Orning: ‘Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832–1910) var én av de første som mente man burde se bort fra de religiøse sidene ved Olav den hellige og heller gjøre den gamle kongen til et symbol for nasjonen Norge’ (Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832–1910) was one of the first who thought that one should disregard the religious sides of St Olav and rather make the old king a symbol of the Norwegian nation). Orning, ‘Bruken av Olav den hellige’.

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Vi er efterhaanden blevet noget mere end Enkeltmennesker; optaget af mere end vor egen Sjælstilstand. Vi er blevet et Samfund af Medansvarlige, et Fællesskab til Fædrelandets Ære og Velfærd. Her er vi, her staar vi nu i en alvorlig Kamp! Endelig engang vil vi atter, hvad Olav vilde: gjøre dette Landet helt til vort. Endelig engang som han fri det helt fra Fremmedherredømet. Det skulde vel ikke være under Kirkens Værdighed at komme med paa det? At mødes med Hellig Olav i det? […]. Her staar vi paa Olavs Dag udenfor hans Kirke og kan ikke holde Gudstjeneste der. Den er stængt for vor Tale, for saadan norsk Tale som jeg nu fører. Hvorfor er den stængt? Havde vi vor egen Konge, som ikke behøvde at tage Hensyn til andre end os, var den da stængt? Gradually, we have become more than individual people; concerned with more than our own state of mind. We have become a society of jointly responsible people, a community for the honour and well-being of the fatherland. Here we are, here we stand in a serious struggle! At long last do we want again what Olav wanted: to make this country completely ours. Finally, as he, free it completely from foreign rule. It should not be below the dignity of the Church to agree on this, should it? To join St Olav in this? […] Here we stand on Olav’s Day outside of his Church and cannot hold our service there. It is closed for our discourse, for such a Norwegian discourse that I hold. Why is it closed? If we had our own king, who did not need to pay attention to anyone else than us, would it then be closed?27 As already pointed out, what Bjørnson longed for and demanded, indeed came true in the twentieth century. And whereas the Romantic identification of St Olav with the ‘soul of the Norwegian people’ may not be a relevant description of Norwegians’ relationship to St Olav in modern times, Olsok (including the religious services on this day at least in parts of Norway) still importantly has a part in the identity of many Norwegians.28

Conclusion It is clear that there are common traits in the nineteenth-century appropriations of the discussed saints in Denmark and Norway. Probably because of the very different historical and political situations of the two countries, the overall importance of medieval saints became much more important in Norwegian society than in Denmark. Whereas there has been a continued cultural interest in St Knud Lavard in Denmark also up to recent times, medieval sainthood has had little importance

27 ‘ Bjørnson, ‘Tale paa Olavsdagen’, pp. 372–73. 28 See Mikaelsson, ‘Locality and Myth’ and above at n. 22.

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for a broader and politically relevant discourse on Danish identity.29 In contrast, the Norwegian engagement in the struggle for complete national independence throughout the nineteenth century, made such figures from the medieval centuries of Norwegian independence (until Norway during the fourteenth century came under Danish dominion) and especially St Olav important markers of Norwegian (political) identity. In spite of this marked difference, the saintly appropriations of royal saints in nineteenth-century Denmark and Norway both share the Romantic notion of a people’s identity, identifying the Danish people or the Norwegian people with the figure of a royal saint. In Denmark, there was no struggle for national independence, although Danish history in the nineteenth century with its great losses of parts of Denmark, Norway in 1814, and the southern part of Jutland in 1864, gave rise to notions of a martyred, innocent people. In Norway, the parallel notion of the identity of the Norwegian people became a tool in the nationalist political struggle for freedom.

Works Cited Primary Sources Augustine, De civitate dei, ed. by B. Dombart and A. Kalb, 2 vols (Turnhout: Brepols, 1955) Augustine, Concerning the City of God against the Pagans, trans. Henry Bettenson (Hammondsworth: Middlesex Penguin, 1984 [orig. 1972]) Bang, Balthasar, ‘Knud Lavard. Sørgespil I 5 akter’, in Balthasar Bang, Dramatiske Forsøg, 2nd edition (Kjøbenhavn [København]: C. Steens, 1820) Bergsagel, John, ed., The Offices and Masses of St Knud Lavard, 2 vols (København: The Royal Library and Institute of Mediaeval Music, 2010) Bergsagel, John, David Hiley, and Thomas Riis, eds, Of Chronicles and Kings: National Saints and the Emergence of Nation States in the High Middle Ages (København: Museum Tusculanum, 2015) Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne, ‘Tale paa Olavsdagen, 29. Juli 1897’ [‘Speech at St Olav’s Day, 29 July 1897’], in Dokumentasjonsprosjektet [Documentary Project of Norwegian texts concerning language and cultural history, maintained by the University of Oslo, Norway, including an archive of Norwegian literary texts. Bjørnson’s speech is available at https://www.dokpro.uio.no/litteratur/bjoernson/art/0000/bb_sakprosa000183. html (accessed 9 July 2019) Erdmann, Friedrich, Knud Lavard. Ein Trauerspiel in fünf Akten (Hamburg: Boysen, 1901) Suhm, Peter Frideric, Historie af Danmark, 14 vols (København: Brødrene Berlings Skrifter [vols i–vi], Schultz [vols vii–xiv], 1782–1828)

29 See esp. Petersen, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard’ and Petersen, ‘Introduction’.

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Secondary Studies Assmann, Jan, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination, trans. by David Henry Wilson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011, orig. published in German 1992) ———, Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies, trans. by Rodney Livingstone (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006, orig. published in German 2000) Bartlett, Robert, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013) Bisgaard, Lars, ‘The Transformation of St Canute Guilds in the Late Middle Ages’, Quellen und Studien zur Baltischen Geschichte, 20 (2012), 77–92 Breengaard, Carsten, Muren om Israels Hus: Regnum og sacerdotium i Danmark 1050–1170 (København: G. E. C. Gad’s, 1982) with an English summary, pp. 328–33 Brown, Peter, The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981) Buckley, Ann, ed., Music, Liturgy, and the Veneration of Saints of the Medieval Irish Church in a European Context, Ritus et Artes, 8 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017) DuBois, Thomas A., ‘Sts. Sunniva and Henrik: Scandinavian Martyr Saints in Their Hagiographic and National Contexts’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2008), pp. 65–99 DuBois, Thomas A., and Niels Ingwersen, ‘St Knud Lavard: A Saint for Denmark’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2008), pp. 154–202 Heffernan, Thomas J., ‘The Liturgy and the Literature of Saints’ Lives’, in The Liturgy of the Medieval Church, ed. by Thomas J. Heffernan and Ann E. Matter (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2001), pp. 73‒105 Heffernan, Thomas J., and Ann E. Matter, eds, The Liturgy of the Medieval Church (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2001) Iversen, Gunilla, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, in The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, ed. by Margot E. Fassler and Rebecca A. Baltzer (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 401‒29 Lindow, John, ‘St Olaf and the Skalds’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2008), pp. 103–27. Mänd, Anu, ‘The Cult and Visual Representation of Scandinavian Saints in Medieval Livonia’, in Saints and Sainthood around the Baltic Sea: Orality, Literacy and Communication in the Middle Ages, ed. by Carsten S. Jensen, Tracey R. Sands, Nils H. Petersen, Kurt V. Jensen, and Tuomas Lehtonen (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2018), pp. 101–43 Mikaelsson, Lisbeth, ‘Locality and Myth: The Resacralization of Selja and the Cult of St Sunniva’, Numen, 52 (2005), 191–225 Nilsen, Dag, ‘The Cathedral of Nidaros Building a Historic Monument’, Future Anterior: Journal of Historic Preservation, History, Theory, and Criticism, 7 (2010), 1–17

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Petersen, Nils Holger, ‘Theological Construction in the Offices in Honour of St Knud Lavard’, in Music of War, ed. by Roman Hankeln, special edition of Plainsong and Medieval Music, 23 (2014), 71–96 ———, ‘The Image of St Knud Lavard in his Medieval Saints Offices and its Historical Impact’, in Of Chronicles and Kings: National Saints and the Emergence of Nation States in the High Middle Ages, ed. by John Bergsagel, David Hiley, and Thomas Riis (København: Museum Tusculanum, 2015), pp. 129–58 ———, ‘Memorial Ritual and the Writing of History’, in Historical and Intellectual Culture in the Long Twelfth Century: The Scandinavian Connection, ed. by Mia Münster-Swendsen, Thomas K. Heebøll-Holm, and Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn (Durham: PIMS, 2016), pp. 166–88 ———, ‘Locality and Distance in Cults of Saints in Medieval Norway’, in Music, Liturgy, and the Veneration of Saints of the Medieval Irish Church in a European Context, ed. by Ann Buckley, Ritus et Artes, 8 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 51–66 ———, ‘St Canute Lavard around the Baltic Sea’, in Saints and Sainthood around the Baltic Sea: Orality, Literacy and Communication in the Middle Ages, ed. by Carsten S. Jensen, Tracey R. Sands, Nils H. Petersen, Kurt V. Jensen, and Tuomas Lehtonen (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2018), pp. 175–99 ———, ‘Introduction’, in Symbolic Identity and the Cultural Memory of Saints, ed. by Nils Holger Petersen, Anu Mänd, Sebastián Salvadó, and Tracey R. Sands (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2018), pp. 1–20 Orning, Hans Jacob, ‘Bruken av Olav den hellige i modern norsk historie’ [The use of St Olav in Modern Norwegian History], article on website for Norwegian History maintained by the University of Oslo, available at https://www.norgeshistorie.no/ hvordan-blir-historie-til/historie-i-bruk/2004_olav-den-hellige-i-moderne-norskhistorie.html (accessed 9 July 2019) Riis, Thomas, ‘The Historical Background of the Liturgy of St Knud Lavard’, in The Offices and Masses of St Knud Lavard, ed. by John Bergsagel, 2 vols (København: The Royal Library and Institute of Mediaeval Music, 2010), vol. 2, pp. xiii–xxx Topsøe-Jensen, H., ‘Balthasar Bang’, in Dansk Biografisk Leksikon (3rd edition, 1979–1984), available online at https://biografiskleksikon.lex.dk/Balthasar_Bang (accessed 03 October 2020) Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. by Jean Birrell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005 [orig. French 1997]) Online Sources S. Aurelii Augustini Hipponensis episcopi, Contra Faustum Manichaeum libri triginta tres, XX, 21, col. 0384, Patrologia Latina Database (PL, vol. 42), http://pld.chadwyck.co.uk. ep.fjernadgang.kb.dk (accessed 29 August 2015). English translation (copyright Kevin Knight 2008), ‘The Fathers of the Church’, Reply to Faustus the Manichaen’ XX.21, https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/index.html (accessed 29 July 2015) Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, available online at the Royal Library in Copenhagen at http://www2.kb.dk/elib/lit/dan/saxo/lat/or.dsr/ (accessed 30 August 2015)

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Conceptions of History and Imagined Regions in the Baltic Provinces in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

Hegemonies on the Move and the Shaping of Identity The Baltics are a region that since the Middle Ages developed into a crossroad of great geopolitical and cultural significance.1 In this article, the Baltics are defined as an area that more or less coincides with the territories of today’s Estonia and Latvia, which as a result of the Baltic Crusades, was merged into the Western Christian world at the turn of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In the Middle Ages this region was known as Livonia.2 Here, Western and Eastern Christianity, German and Russian expansion, as well as Scandinavian and Central European interests encountered and conflicted with each other. If we agree with the hypothesis of the ‘Clash of Civilizations’, then the so-called Huntington’s fault line runs right through here.3 However, native peoples of the Baltics are not a homogeneous group either, but are divided by a linguistic boundary: while Estonians are Finno-Ugric, Latvians (like Lithuanians) belong linguistically to the Baltic peoples. The German-speaking elites were differentiated from them; they were small in number, but dominant in

1 See Kasekamp, A History of the Baltic States; Pistohlkors, ed., Deutsche Geschichte im Osten Europas: Baltische Länder; Maciejewski, ed., The Baltic Sea Region: Cultures, Politics, Societies. 2 Tamm, ‘Inventing Livonia’; cf. Tamm and others, eds, Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier. 3 Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations, p. 158.

Linda Kaljundi • is associate professor of history and a research fellow at the Institute of Humanities of Tallinn University (Estonia). Her main research interests are the crusade historiography and the medieval expansion of Europe. Alongside this, she participates in interdisciplinary projects on Baltic and Estonian cultural memory. Aivar Põldvee • is senior researcher at the Institute of Humanities of Tallinn University (Estonia). His main research interests are the early modern history of Estonian culture, education, and language. He received his PhD in 2010, and currently works on interdisciplinary research on the roots of Estonian culture in the seventeenth century. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 209–235 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121493

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the Baltics both economically and socially from the thirteenth century until the foundation of the independent states of Latvia and Estonia in 1918. Since the crusades the hegemonic power in the Baltics has changed several times. In the Middle Ages, these lands remained divided between local dioceses and the Teutonic Order, and no strong central power developed here. The existing political order collapsed in the Livonian War (1558–1583) that was set off by Russia, and Livonia was eventually divided between Sweden, Poland (until 1629), and Denmark (until 1645). In the Great Northern War (1700–1721), Russia conquered the Swedish Baltic Sea provinces of Estonia, Livonia, and Saaremaa (Ösel) and in 1795 also acquired Courland (now part of Latvia) during the partition of Poland. Russia further expanded its borders in the beginning of the nineteenth century and incorporated Finland in 1809. As these territories have been moved from the hands of one great power to another, different rulers have applied different ideologies and colonial strategies.4 The legacy of these discourses and practices has enabled — and keeps enabling — the construction of various regional historical narratives and identities. This article focuses on the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries. This was a period when, for the first time, competing conceptions of Baltic history evolved that, on the one hand, expressed the local social and ethnic interests, and on the other hand established a wider regional vision. Although the article begins with the Enlightenment, it primarily follows the connections between the strengthening of regional and national identities and rivalry on this multi-ethnic frontier of a major empire. In the Baltics, the spread of nationalism — the leading ideology of the nineteenth century — first concerned the Germans, but in the 1860s also led to the emergence of the Latvian and Estonian national movements.5 While it has been often argued that regional (like imperial) conceptualizations of history offer an alternative to national histories, in the Baltics the regional dimension was closely connected to nationalist aspirations. Next to this, it also served as an alternative to the imperial identity, or the regional identification of the Baltics with the Russian empire.

Historical Knowledge and the Construction of Regions In the nineteenth century, history writing played a key role in the construction of both national and regional identities all over Europe, as well as on a global scale.6 In this article, however, we do not concentrate on historiography in stricto sensu, but on other humanities — especially ethnography and the study of language and folklore. Even though they are less studied, these fields of research played a major role in

4 For a recent thorough study on the Russian imperial strategies see Brüggemann and Woodworth, Russland an der Ostsee. 5 Raun and Plakans, ‘The Estonian and Latvian National Movements’; Raun, ‘Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-Century Estonian Nationalism Revisited’; Karjahärm, ‘Eesti rahvusliku liikumise mudelid uusimas historiograafias’. 6 Berger and Lorenz, eds, Nationalizing the Past; Berger, ed., Writing the Nation.

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the creation of regional and ethnic history and identity in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,7 when the boundaries between different disciplines were not that clear-cut. Therefore, we examine two Baltic German authors, Garlieb Merkel and Ludwig von Maydell, who acted in the periphery of the scholarly study of history. Their respective works offer novel insights into the construction and functioning of historical knowledge in the Baltics. By choosing such a focus, we would also like to highlight the interaction of different disciplines, genres, and media in the making and reshaping of national history and memory. As recently pointed out in the studies of cultural memory, efficient realms of memory are born out of repetition: when historical events, persons, or places and other phenomena are repeatedly represented in various (e.g. written, visual, performative) media.8 Thereby the representation of history in different scholarly fields and forms of writing, such as academic and fictive histories also gains an important function in the crystallization of any collective’s history. This also helps to contextualize the role of historiography in the construction of collective memory and identity, pointing out that its efficacy is based on cooperation with other genres and media that likewise actively participate in shaping the ways in which a community remembers and identifies with its past.9 In examining cooperation of historiography and other media in the construction of divergent pasts and regional identities, what interests us more than conflicts is how contradictory identities entangle and are determined by each other. As at around that time interdependent identities also sprang up elsewhere in Europe,10 the Baltic case could also provide a more broadly stimulating example of the ways in which the emergence of competing historical identities can simultaneously both divide and unite communities. Concerning the concept of region, we follow the researchers who define it as a social construct and an assemblage that is ‘the product of the networks, interactions, juxtapositions and articulations of the myriad of connections through which all social phenomena are lived out’.11 Consequently, a region is not historically immutable, as well argued by Anssi Paasi: ‘A “region” is normally in a state of becoming, assembling, connecting up, centring, and distributing all kinds of things. Yet, it has not been always there: it has been constructed and will probably eventually disappear’.12 The question asked by Paasi — ‘who construct regions’ — can also be answered from the point of view of the history of ideas, and in that context the answer may highlight the role of the individual: there always have been thinkers, writers, poets, or politicians, whose visions have helped to create regions, even if they are imagined.13 The following

7 Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe, pp. 23–48. 8 Rigney, ‘Plenitude, Scarcity and the Circulation of Cultural Memory’, pp. 20–25. Cf. Berger and others, eds, Narrating the Nation. 9 Burke, ‘History as Social Memory’; cf. Rigney, Imperfect Histories. 10 For the importance of various kinds of (ethnic, social, and religious) ‘other’ in the nineteenth-century constructions of national history, see Berger and Lorenz, eds, The Contested Nation. 11 Allen and others, Rethinking the Region, p. 50. 12 Paasi, ‘Regions are Social Constructs’, p. 2299. 13 Cf. Anderson, Imagined Communities.

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case-studies also seek to trace the functioning of individual works and ideas at the backdrop of a broader socio-cultural context. Since the 1980s, the research about the construction of regions has been also spurred by the influence of constructivist studies of nationalism and the postcolonial theory.14 This has resulted in a large number of studies, which analyse some region’s ‘invention’ in a certain period, their scope reaching from continents to counties and uses very different materials as sources from historiography to fiction and travelogues and to tourism images. In connection with the Baltics, so far there has been more thorough consideration of the making of Livonia in the Middle Ages and the emergence of this new region on the mental map of the Western Christendom.15 Another topic that has received more attention is the twentieth-century concept of ‘Baltoscandia’, which was created by Swedish geographer Sten de Geer and developed further by Estonian Edgar Kant and Lithuanian Kazys Pakštas, which envisions the Baltic and Scandinavian lands and Finland as a common cultural and political space.16

A System in Change Although the period that interests us has been little researched with regard to the formation of regional identities in the Baltics, pivotal processes started explicitly at that time. The second half of the eighteenth century bore witness to a new phase of the development of communication and the circulation of knowledge. Estonia, Livonia, and Courland belonged to a so-called Northern and Eastern European communication system, which stretched from Hamburg and Lübeck in the West to St Petersburg and Moscow in the East.17 The Baltics had especially close ties with Northern Germany, while Königsberg and Riga became centres of that intellectual cooperation. For example, Immanuel Kant was renowned here regionally before he became famous all over Germany, and his Kritik der reinen Vernunft (Critique of Pure Reason) was published for the first time in Riga in Johann Friedrich Hartknoch’s publishing house in 1771. Hartknoch also published Johann Georg Hamann’s works and Johann Gottfried Herder, who worked as a teacher in the Cathedral School of Riga in the years 1764–1769, belonged to Hartknoch’s group of friends that formed at the University of Königsberg. The Respublica litterarum that had developed in the early modern period now tied the Baltic German writers closely with the ideas of the European Enlightenment that reached the Baltics mostly through the German

14 For the critical studies of nationalism, see Hobsbawm and Ranger, eds, The Invention of Tradition; Gellner, Nations and Nationalism; cf. Anderson, Imagined Communities. From among the postcolonial studies, most influential to the constructivist studies on regions has been Said, Orientalism. 15 Tamm, ‘Inventing Livonia’. 16 Kant, Estlands Zugehörigkeit zu Baltoskandia; Pakštas, The Baltoscandian Confederation; Kuldkepp, ‘The Scandinavian Connection in Early Estonian Nationalism’. 17 Ischreyt, ‘Buchhandel und Buchhändler’, pp. 249–60.

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mediation.18 The improvement of communications also helped to connect the three Baltic provinces better; for example the founding of new journals, such as the monthly ‘Das Inland’ (‘Homeland’) (1836–1863), contributed to the strengthening of a common identity. Contrary to the rapid spread of ideas, in the Russian Baltic provinces social hierarchies changed slowly. The German nobility maintained their extensive privileges and German-speaking autonomy (so-called Baltic Landesstaat) until the reforms that were carried out in the second half of the nineteenth century. Towns were also governed by the German nobility. At the end of the eighteenth century, Germans made up less than 3% of Estonia’s population, in Livonia their proportion was below 7% and in Courland about 8%. The nobility constituted around 0.5% of the population, while peasants made up 90–95%. The peasantry was mainly Latvian and Estonian, to a small extent also Swedish and Russian. Land belonged predominantly to German estate owners and peasants were mainly serfs. The German name for Estonians and Latvians was Undeutsche, and social ascent from peasant status or urban lower class meant Germanisation for Estonians and Latvians (the term Halbdeutsche was used to designate the intermediate step). Education in Estonian and Latvian was limited to Lutheran elementary schools. Thus, humanism and the Enlightenment, characterized by the ideas of restructuring hierarchic societies, found a fertile soil in the Baltics. At first, the Baltic Enlightenment, which started in the second half of the eighteenth century, was dominated by an anti-serfdom ideology. Yet, as the status of serf-peasants matched to a large extent with ethnic Latvians and Estonians, gradually more and more historiographic and ethnographic arguments were involved in the debate that requested agrarian and social reforms. Eventually, this social and intellectual movement brought about the nationalization of Latvians and Estonians.19

Enlightened Authors: Garlieb Merkel and his Contemporaries Of the Baltic enlighteners, Garlieb Helwig Merkel (1769–1850) went the furthest with historical argumentation in works Die Letten (1796),20 and Die Vorzeit Lieflands (1798).21 Criticizing serfdom and social injustice, Merkel attacked colonial historiography and turned upside down the values attached to historical agents of the Baltics. In his works German knights and priests — who were previously esteemed for bringing Christianity and the European culture to these lands — were depicted as conquerors and robbers, but local Livonians, Latvians, and Estonians became ‘noble savages’, 18 Jürjo, ‘Die Geistesgeschichte des Baltikums zu Zeiten Kants’, pp. 119–24; Jürjo, ‘Lesegesellschaften in den baltischen Provinzen im Zeitalter der Aufklärung’, pp. 544–46; Jürjo, ‘La réception de la Révolution française dans les provinces baltes’, pp. 85–106. 19 Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians and the Issue of Serfdom. 20 Merkel, Die Letten vorzüglich in Liefland am Ende das philosophischen Jahrhunderts. 21 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands.

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whose opportunities for cultural advancement had been violently cut off.22 Merkel’s philosophical views and social criticism have been thoroughly studied,23 and also the influence of his conception of history to Estonian and Latvian national ideology has not gone unnoticed.24 Nevertheless, the way in which Merkel used ethnic and regional dimensions in his constructions of ancient history and mythology of the Baltic indigenous people has so far not been researched. Herein, we are examining it closer in the Estonian context. The Estonian literary scholar August Annist (1935) has phrased well the significance of Merkel’s concept of history that was also relevant for the future: If ever, then here, it has been said to a pauper most unexpectedly that he is a prince! And though perhaps then it was not yet listened to by any Estonian, it was listened to more carefully afterwards: throughout the next century the approach to Estonian prehistory follows the direction started by Merkel.25 Despite the fact that Merkel’s historiography left a lot to be desired in terms of factual reliability, he is the founder of a new historiographic tradition and one of the most important ideologists of history in the Baltics. The logic of his cyclic conception of history enabled readers to deduce that the golden age of Estonians and Latvians would be repeated in the future, while the German rule that has dominated the Baltic society for a long time will wither.26 It is therefore not surprising that the Baltic German public received Merkel’s concept of history with sharp criticism, yet, its explosive force erupted only two generations later with the Latvian and Estonian national awakening, which began in the 1860s. For Merkel, describing Latvian and then also Estonian peasants as a nation, was a literary and aesthetic technique that he used in the socio-political debate, following the ideas of Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803) and the spirit of American and French Revolutions.27 Merkel communicated closely with Herder, who knew the Livonian circumstances, in 1797 in Germany, where he continued his studies and was preparing his work Die Vorzeit Lieflands. Merkel described ancient Latvians as a nation whose birthplace was Prussia and argued that Lithuanians were one of its branches. From the data collected by him about Prussian, Latvian, and Lithuanian gods, Merkel combined a description of the ancient mythology of Latvians, which according to the contemporary tradition was part of the representation of history, with an overview of a nation’s character and traditions. While Merkel had had contact

22 For the diverging conceptualizations of the Livonian crusades in different contexts, see Kaljundi and Kļaviņš, ‘The Chronicler and the Modern World’. 23 Heeg, Garlieb Merkel als Kritiker der livländischen Ständegesellschaft. 24 Undusk, ‘Kolm võimalust kirjutada eestlaste ajalugu’; Undusk, ‘“Wechsel und Wiederkehr” als Prinzipien des Weltgeschehens’. 25 Annist, ‘Muinsusromantika osast Eesti arengus’, p. 85. 26 Undusk, ‘Kolm võimalust kirjutada eestlaste ajalugu’, pp. 724–25. 27 Merkel translated, in 1797, into German David Hume’s and Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s theories of social contract; and his views were also influenced by Montesquieu, Voltaire, Marmontel, Raynal, and others.

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with Latvians, for describing Estonians he had to rely only on written sources. At that time, the literature on that topic was extremely scarce and limited mainly to medieval and early modern chronicles. However, one important source was Thomas Hiärne’s chronicle of Estonia, Livonia, and Latvia that was compiled in the 1670s, but published for the first time in 1794. Hiärne was born in Ingria as a son of a Swedish parson, knew local languages, and came to the conclusion that once upon a time Estonians were together with Finns ‘one nation with one language and same traditions’.28 Probably right from here, Merkel found the key to describing Estonians as a big ancient nation, i.e. an analogy with Finnish kindred peoples: ‘Estonians, to whose prehistory these pages are in fact dedicated, differ from other peoples of the same [Finnish] kind so little in traditions and religion that their description [i.e. of the Finnish] is in the main line also that of Estonians’.29 Compared to Hiärne’s time, when it was known that there was a linguistic affinity between the Finnish peoples and Laplanders (who both belonged to the Swedish realm),30 the eighteenth century saw the expansion of knowledge about Finno-Ugric peoples who lived in the Russian territory. The History professor August Ludwig von Schlözer from the University of Göttingen played an important role in introducing them to Europe and he distinguished twelve Finnish peoples (1771): Laplanders, Finns, Estonians, Livs, Zyryans, Permians, Mansis, Udmurts, Maris, Mordvinians, Ostyaks of Konda, and Hungarians. The notion ‘indigenous peoples’ (Stammvölker) had an important place in Schlözer’s approach, which he explained in more detail with the example of Estonians: they are indigenous people as there is no knowledge of any other people who would have lived in Estonia before them; yet the Germans and Russians are not indigenous peoples, and also Swedes are not indigenous people in Scandinavia, since the Laplanders were living there already.31 While for Schlözer indigenous peoples are a neutral ethnographic fact, Herder’s description of Finnish peoples (1792) has a humanistic note of compassion. Herder admits that although once there was a glorious barbarian temple in Bjarma (Perm), where the deity Jumala was honoured, these kindred peoples did not establish an independent culture anywhere. This was not because they lacked the ability but because of bad conditions and character: ‘They were not warriors like Germans, because even now, after long centuries of oppression, all Laplander, Finnish and Estonian tales and songs show that they are soft natured (sanftes) peoples’. Therefore, Laplanders are confined close to the North Pole, and Finns, Ingrians, Estonians, and others enslaved, whereas Livs [a Finno-Ugric people who lived in present-day Latvian territory] are almost extinct. The fate of these peoples around the Baltic Sea

28 Hiärne, Thomas Hiärns Ehst- Liv- und Lettländische Geschichte, p. 36. 29 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, pp. 216–17. 30 Lotman and Lotman, ‘Fennougristika eellugu ja Thomas Hiärne’. Already by then scholars like Georg Stiernhielm and Martin Fogelius assumed that there was also a language affinity between the Finnish peoples and Hungarians. See Setälä, Lisiä suomalais-ugrilaisen kielentutkimuksen historiaan; Stipa, Finnisch-ugrische Sprachforschung. Von der Renaissance bis zum Neupositivismus. 31 Schlözer, Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte, pp. 263–64, 301–15.

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Figure 8.1. Laps on skis. From Olaus Magnus, Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus (Rome, 1555). Woodcut. Reproduction from Olaus Magnus, Die Wunder des Nordens (Frankfurt am Main: Eichborn, 2006).

is according to Herder ‘a sad (trauriges) page in the history of humankind’.32 Merkel’s description of the history of Estonians, i.e. Finnish peoples in general, is based clearly on Schlözer’s and Herder’s concept and remarks, but expands, develops and changes them, mounting charges ‘against the spirit of parsons and knights’ (Pfaffen- und Rittergeist) and developing a new historical ideology. As well as Latvians, Merkel idealized the ancient Estonians. He speculated that possibly in the whole of Europe there is not an older nation than the Estonians, and tied them together with other peoples of the Finnish kinship: ‘So as cliffs break and mountains and oceans separate continents, so also crumble nations. […] The Finns perhaps slid already in the beginning of our time on their long skis over the Norwegian Alps (Fig. 8.1), while others dug the Ural Mountains […]. The Finns were fishing at the same time in the Arctic Ocean, the Irtysh River, and the Caspian Sea; slaves now on the coast of the Baltic Sea and on the Banks of the Danube. A number of peoples belong to their family but neither culture nor cooperation binds these sisters with friendly ties since the tragic turns of history (traurige Revolutionen) once

32 Herder, Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, 4, pp. 20–24.

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separated them from each other’.33 With combining notices from Tacitus, chronicles, and sagas, as well as from Scandinavian authors like Olaus Magnus, Olof Rudbeck, and others, Merkel evoked for the first time in front of the readers’ eyes a big ancient Finnish nation and their gigantic territory, a lost world that was split by Teutons, Slavs, and Latvians. Merkel repeats Herder’s claim that the Finns (with the exception of Hungarians) have never been conquerors, but adds that ‘it would be erroneous to infer weakness or lack of courage from that. All older Nordic history writers unanimously describe them as a very belligerent nation, whose physical force was consistent with their climatic zone and whose bravery was steadfast like their cliffs’.34 Unlike Herder, who thought that the Finnish tribes lacked mostly political organization (politische Verfassung) and cooperation between them, Merkel looked for examples of those qualities, exaggerating historical notices in the process. He claimed that although the Finnish peoples had state management (Staatsverfassung), it was not the same everywhere: Bjarma people were once governed by a king, then by a queen; the Finns, Tavastians, Karelians in their swampy valleys, stood under minor dukes chosen by them, like the Livs; the Estonians even had a republican government system (eine rein respublikanische Verfassung). Despite these differences, all Finnish peoples were tied by a certain public spirit. Rarely do we find a single nation raising arms on their own when a war started behind the borders. Their fleets and troops consisted of several units, as often could be noticed from the actual history of Livonia.35

Pan-Finnish Identity and an Estonian Pantheon While writing a greater history for Estonians, Merkel outlined the idea of a common Finland, which resembled constructions that used the ideologies developed in the nineteenth century, such as Pan-Germanism, Pan-Slavism, Scandinavism, and others.36 These ideologies that sought the (re)unification of nations based on language affinity and ethnic characteristics, funnelled in many cases into a force that helped to transform not only national and regional identities, but also the political map of Europe. The common past of Finland that Merkel described remained purely imaginary because there was no political demand for it at the turn of the nineteenth century. The Estonian public had not emerged yet and also in Finland Merkel’s historic vision of a common Finland did not find any response. When in the mid-nineteenth century the contacts between Finnish, Hungarian, and Estonian intellectuals started to grow, and a foundation was laid for the so-called Finnish bridge, it was already affected by new ideas that came especially from the scholars of folklore. Thus, although Merkel 33 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, pp. 205–07. 34 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, p. 217. 35 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, p. 230. 36 For national pan-movements see Snyder, Macro-Nationalisms: A History of the Pan-Movements.

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had a major influence on Estonian historiography and identity, at the time they were published his ideas were like coals smouldering under the ashes. While the vision of an ancient, gigantic common Finland remained imperceptible for Estonians, Merkel’s representation of the ancient religion of the Finns left a more visible print on the formation of Estonian mythology. This was the first attempt at creating an Estonian pantheon. In fact, Merkel’s compilation should be dealt with as pseudo-mythology, because it relied on scarce written sources and on fabulous notices, which mostly lacked any connection with actual Estonian folklore. According to today’s researchers, there are no reliable sources on a pantheon of prehistoric Estonian gods. At the end of the eighteenth century, a pantheon belonged to what we might call a compulsory repertoire of historic description of nations. Next to this, in the spirit of James Macpherson and Herder, a method had been created, which allowed folklore to be revived and recreated, even from a few fragments of preserved folk poems. Nonetheless, Herder left Merkel far behind when he published a book in Germany comprising of examples of the Estonian character, language, and traditions based on an Estonian folksong and a Livonian fairy-tale.37 Notwithstanding that Merkel could not find more comprehensive works about Finnish history and mythology from German libraries, this does not render his compilation less original. He also did not get hold of Christfrid Ganander’s Mythologia Fennica (1789),38 otherwise Merkel’s mythology or perhaps the whole of subsequent Estonian pseudo-mythology would have turned out differently.39 Merkel’s version of an Estonian pantheon is a compilation relying on the sporadic traces found in chronicles and sagas,40 which have been given a hierarchical structure on the basis of the representation of the religion of Norwegian Laplanders in the works of Knud Leem, Erich Johan Jessen-Schardeböll, and Johan Ernst Gunnerus.41 In Merkel’s opinion, the old common Finnish religion had been preserved most authentically by Laplanders. Next to the chief god Jummala (Laplanders’ Ibmele) or Thor from the banks of Dvina in Bjarma, and inferior deities and tutelary spirits of Laplanders, Merkel fit into Estonian mythology also some Finnish gods. These he found from the aforementioned Hiärne’s chronicle, which included a copy of a list of Tavastian and Karelian gods published by the bishop of Turku (Åbo), Mikael Agricola in 1550.42 In that list was mentioned, for the first time, also the Finnish god of poetry and song Väinämöinen (Äinemöinen by Agricola, Ainemoinen by Hiärne).43 To that 37 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, pp. 272–74, 280–81; Herder, Volkslieder, 2. Theil, pp. 96–97. 38 Ganander, Mythologia fennica. It is difficult to overestimate the impact of that work for Finnish folklore; the Finnish national epic ‘Kalevala’ was also derived from Elias Lönnrot’s initial commentaries and additions to Ganander’s work. 39 Ganander’s work was translated into German and complemented with Estonian materials by an Estonian university student Kristian Jaak Peterson. His book influenced F. R. Faehlmann and F. R. Kreutzwald, with whose literary creations Estonian pseudo-mythology was born. Peterson, Christfrid Ganander Thomasson’s Philos. Mag. Finnische Mythologie. 40 Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands, vol. 1, pp. 231–47. 41 Leem, Jessen-S[chardeböll], and Gunnerus, Knud Leems Beskrivelse over Finmarkens Lapper. 42 Põldvee, ‘Agricola’s List’. 43 Hiärne, Thomas Hiärns Ehst- Liv- und Lettländische Geschichte, pp. 37–39.

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god of song — ‘Finnish Orpheus’ — Merkel dedicated more attention compared to other deities, as it was to serve as an example of Estonians’ love of poetry and music. In addition, he published in his book an image of Wainamöinen, whom the artist Conrad Westermayr depicted in an Estonian national costume, against a backdrop of an Estonian farmyard in a Finnish rocky landscape, complete with the rays of the rising sun (Fig. 8.2). This was also the very first image of Väinämöinen, which in this context could also be interpreted as a symbol: to a programmatic text about Estonian history, a Baltic German author from the Latvian area adds a contribution by a German artist, who worked in Weimar — an image of Finnish god of song in Estonian clothes and incorporates this figure into Estonian and Finnish landscapes. This vision became a historical reality 40 years later, when in 1838 Baltic German Estophiles (who took an interest in the Estonian popular culture and language) and first intellectuals of Estonian descent, established in Tartu the Learned Estonian Society (Gelehrte Estnische Gesellschaft). In the beginning of its first year of activity, an Estonian doctor and writer, Friedrich Robert Faehlmann (1798–1850), presented in a meeting of the society a literary folk tale about Vanemuine,44 from what began the real stardom of the Estonian god of song. One of the inspirations for the Learned Estonian Society was the Finnish national epic ‘Kalevala’ that was published in the year 1835. In 1839, a Baltic German doctor, writer and folklorist Georg Julius Schultz-Bertram gave a speech before the Society about the need to compile an epic for the Estonian people. He compared the mythical Estonian hero Kalevipoeg with Hercules and the German Siegfried. ‘Let’s give a nation an epic and a history and all have won!’ predicted Schultz-Bertram. The epic ‘Kalevipoeg’, which compilation was started by Faehlmann and which was put between the covers of a book by an Estonian doctor and writer Friedrich Reinhold Kreutzwald (1803–1882) in the years 1857–1861, starts with an address to the god of song: ‘Lend me your lyre, Vanemuine!’.45

The Upsurge of a History-Based Baltic Nationalism At around the same time, however, there also emerged a different view of the Baltic past. The nineteenth century was also crucial for the formation of a Baltic German identity that followed the so-called Kulturträgertum ideology and stressed the endeavour of medieval German colonists introducing their civilization into these lands. In the following, we are interested in the ways the Enlightenment authors, whose impact on the Estonian and Latvian construction and use of the past is widely acknowledged and studied, also participated in provoking a pronounced pro-colonial version of Baltic history. Several key elements of this colonial narrative had already been in existence for a long time. Yet, the construction of a specifically pro-colonial

44 Fählmann, ‘Wannemunne’s Sang’, pp. 42–44. 45 Kreutzwald, Kalevipoeg, trans. by Kartus, p. 17.

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Figure 8.2. Conrad Westermayr, ‘Waina-Möinen – the Finnish Orpheus’ (Waina-Möinen – Orpheus der Finnen). From Garlieb Merkel, Die Vorzeit Lieflands. Ein Denkmahl des Pfaffen- und Rittergeistes, vol. 1 (Berlin: Voss, 1798). Copperplate engraving.

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and German historical identity gained a much more crucial role in the nineteenth century due to a number of factors: most of all the spread of nationalism and social changes in the Baltic provinces. Nevertheless, even though serfdom was abolished already in the 1810s,46 the social and national rise of Latvians and Estonians started only after the ‘peasants reforms’ that were carried out in the 1850s and 1860s. Hence, nationalism, as well as Romantic historicism spread first in the Baltic German circles. Like the arrival of the Enlightenment in the Baltics, the growing fascination with constructing a national past was a cultural import from Germany, a forerunner in the rapid development of the scholarly and popular uses of history.47 In the provinces that were dominated by the German-speaking elite, this import had a special national imprint. During the course of the nineteenth century, when ethnic and political rivalries grew stronger, the skills learned from the Mutterland became much needed for the construction of a common and durable German past for these borderlands. In the Baltics, the development of history as a scholarly discipline gained much from the reopening of the University of Tartu (Dorpat) in 1802, which was a German-language institution until 1895 (when the university changed to Russian). In addition to academia, learned societies and institutions were also founded which fostered the study of history, as well as the publication of historical sources. Additionally, one should not omit the importance of popular, non-academic forms of constructing the past. Even though popular media played a prominent role in the construction of national pasts throughout nineteenth-century Europe, their impact was particularly strong on smaller and geographically or socially peripheral communities. This has not only been often argued in connection to the national movements of the non-dominant ethnic groups in Eastern Central and Eastern Baltic Europe, such as Estonians and Latvians,48 but also should be taken into consideration in the case of the Baltic Germans who, among other things, likewise lacked the support of (an emergent) nation state.

Historical Identity Imagined: Von Maydell Our second case study, thus, is an album of historical engravings titled Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der Deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Rußlands (Fifty Pictures from the German Baltic Provinces of Russia) by a Baltic German artist Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell (1795–1846). This work, which constitutes the first artistic visualization of the Baltic history, was originally planned in five parts. However, only the first two booklets (1839, 1842), each containing ten images and an historical preface, were published.49 The oeuvre’s format, ‘history in images’ (Geschichte in 46 Serfdom was abolished in Estonia in 1816, in Courland in 1817, and in Livonia in 1819. 47 Although it should not be confused with the idea of the uniqueness of the history of the German nation and nationalism, see Iggers, ‘Nationalism and Historiography, 1789–1996’, pp. 16–17. 48 Hroch, Social Preconditions of National Revival. 49 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1–2. See Kaljundi and Kreem, eds, Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli pildid Baltimaade ajaloost. Also: Kaljundi and Kreem, ‘Friedrich Ludwig von Maydells “Fünfzig Bilder”’.

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Bildern) is particularly characteristic of its time, bearing witness to the growing importance of visual media in communicating and constructing knowledge about the world — including knowledge about the past.50 Visually, the album shows Maydell’s close ties with the Nazarene movement of German Romantic painters, and the growing prominence of historical themes in German art.51 This album also illustrates well another typical feature of the nineteenth century: the close ties between professional and popular treatments of history.52 On the one hand, Maydell stresses that he is not a historian, when stating: ‘Hereby the most available historical sources have been used with responsibility, truthful and impartial, so that from here onwards no one will find new historical researches that should be left for the invitees and the arranged’.53 This attitude that acknowledges the authority of professional historians echoes the growing prominence of history as an academic discipline. On the other hand, as already hinted in the above quotation, Maydell still imitates the historian’s craft: in accordance with the nascent spirit of source criticism, he prefers and carefully studies the oldest available sources. Based on these old chronicles, the artist writes a lengthy historical introduction to his album. A good indicator of the still limited scale of historical culture in these lands is the fact that Maydell’s text, accompanying the images, is one of the very first modern popular histories of the Baltics. In the local context, furthermore, Maydell’s album as a whole appears particularly innovative: it is one of the earliest examples where the Romanticist appropriation of history is used for constructing a specifically Baltic German identity. It also illuminates well the development of the canon of history. Since the artist had to choose from a limited number of simultaneously spectacular and significant events, characters, and phenomena for his visual representation of history, the album’s images provide a good perspective to the key elements of this community’s version of history. Above all, the album presents a pronounced pro-colonial history, which aims to legitimize the colonial past and present — and hence also the rights and privileges of the colonial elite.54 Maydell’s selection of events focuses on the founding moments of the colony, i.e. the military conquest and the establishment of the German settlement and institutions, such as the founding of Riga (1201) or the incorporation of the Livonian Brothers of the Sword into the Teutonic Order (1237). A number of ‘founding fathers’ — many of them forefathers of the local nobility (e.g. Conrad von Üxkyll) — are equally at the centre of his images.55

50 Bann, The Clothing of Clio; cf. Burke, Eyewitnessing. 51 The mutual impact between Maydell and the German artists is particularly visible when one compares his engravings to the works of Adrian Ludwig Richter (1803–1883) and Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeldt (1794–1872). 52 This has been well pointed out especially in connection to the development in tandem with scholarly history writing and historical fiction, see Southgate, History Meets Fiction. 53 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 54 Kaljundi, ‘Balti ajalugu’. 55 For Maydell’s selection of historical events, heroes, etc., see Kaljundi and Kreem, eds, Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli pildid Baltimaade ajaloost, pp. 24–34.

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Figure 8.3. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘The First Landing of the Bremen Merchants on the Daugava. 1156’ (Erste Landung der Bremer Kaufleute in der Düna. 1156). From Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands, vol. 1 (Dorpat: C. A. Kluge, 1839). Copperplate engraving.

The most iconic example of this approach is the album’s opening image, ‘The First Landing of the Bremen Merchants on the Daugava’ (Fig. 8.3), which depicts the legendary founding moment of the German colony in Livonia in 1156/1158.56 On the one hand, it points to broader, interregional influences. The picture that shows Europeans offering mirrors and other small objects to the amazed indigenous people, illustrates well how the discovery of America and modern colonialism had shaped the imagery of the medieval expansion of Europe. Indeed, the story about the arrival of the German merchants is also based on an early modern interpolation with the oldest local chronicle, the thirteenth-century Chronicle of Henry of Livonia.57 On the other hand, the image is closely related to specifically German colonial fantasies. In his historical preface, Maydell develops the idea that, due to the successful colonization of Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, especially the Germans were the first among the Europeans who could be labelled as colonizers. As such, his 56 ‘Erste Landung der Bremer Kaufleute in der Düna. 1156’, Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 57 Johansen, ‘Die Legende von der Aufsegelung Livlands’.

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album is an early example of what has been called ‘German colonial fantasies’.58 This discourse, emerging from the very lack of German colonies in the age of imperialism, became particularly prominent in the late nineteenth century, when the newly united German state (1871) was finally able to start acquiring its first colonial possessions. Not insignificantly, in 1872, some elements from Maydell’s engraving were re-used for a mural painting, ‘The Colonisation of the Baltic Coast’, that was made for Bremen’s neo-gothic exchange hall (1864), which depicted the town’s citizens as the founders of Riga.59 It illuminates fittingly the use of those medieval colonies for the German ‘motherland’, as well as paying tribute to the idea that the Baltic provinces belong to the German Kulturraum.

The Baltics and the German Kulturraum In Maydell’s album, the Baltics’ close ties to Germany are constructed in a number of ways. The artist stresses, both visually and textually, many elements that signify historical connections to Germany, such as the presence of the Teutonic Order in medieval Livonia. As he argues in the historical preface: With the arrival of the Teutonic Order began a new era in the history of our fatherland. With that it not only gained importance abroad, but also a closer and more diverse connection and association with the motherland, so that isolation was prevented and there started to evolve societal relations on the basis of strict laws, contracts and privileges as well as administrative tools relying on peace and order […].60 Maydell also repeatedly compares the rhymed chronicles of the Livonian branch of the Teutonic Order and the Niebelungenlied. ‘These words that place the conquest of Livonia among the Heldenbücher,61 and the sagas of the Niebelungenlied, bear witness to a close and beneficial relationship with the motherland and simultaneously show how that German national epic — rediscovered in our time — was in the past so widespread that one could recall it largely from memory’.62 Next to this, the prominence of medieval history in this album might also relate to the aim of connecting the frontier of the Russian empire more closely to Germany. Even though the relevance of the period stems as well from the medieval founding of the colony, the Middle Ages gain a national imprint. Medievalism was widespread in nineteenth-century

58 For the connections between the German and Livonian colonial fantasies, see Plath, ‘Esten und Deutsche in den baltischen Provinzen’; Plath, ‘Europe’s Last Savages’. 59 Together with the exchange hall, the mural painting by Peter Janssen was destroyed in the Second World War. Platt, ‘Bremeni börsihoone’. 60 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 61 Heldenbücher (‘books of heroes’) designates a group of manuscripts and prints from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries containing German epic poetry. 62 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1.

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Europe,63 but it achieved a very special meaning in German Romantic nationalism. Throughout the century, German history was above all medieval history — it has even been argued that the Middle Ages almost became the metonym for the nation.64 Thus, the Baltic German appropriation of mainly the medieval past also helped to emphasize the Germanness of these borderlands, and at the same time, was easily backed by the German cultural resources. Finally, it is worth stressing the close connection between the idea that the Baltics belong to the German cultural sphere and the civilizing argument, according to which, as a result of the medieval crusades, a higher civilisation conquered and integrated underdeveloped Eastern Baltic areas into its cultural sphere. Although these regions were inhabited already before the West [i.e. the Deutschritterorden and following waves of Germans] colonised them, they nevertheless lacked even the slightest of its own history that forms only when persons starts to think and admits their part in it, but keep quiet about the mad rampages of savage hordes of barbarians and acknowledges them hesitantly only thanks to his educated neighbouring nations.65 The argument was crucial for the legitimation of colonialism, as well as for the regional identity that was based on the idea that in the Baltics the German civilisation superseded the native barbarian culture. The spread of such ideas also points to a larger change — the abandoning of the Enlightenment critique of the crusades and colonialism, as well as the glorification of the native noble savages, discussed in the previous subchapter of this article. In his historical preface, Maydell ardently argues against the criticism of the crusades and colonialism: hereby another suspicion should be eliminated, which has often been raised by misunderstood philanthropy, and its question: ‘Exactly how did strangers entitle themselves with the right to settle here and intervene in the lives of the natives?’ blames them of great injustice. In this context, it could only be argued that culture does not only has the right but even a duty to fight against barbarianism and to destroy it, as barbarianism, as a consequence of the original sin, is both degrading the human race and committing a sacrilege.66 Consequently, Maydell openly criticizes the views of Merkel and other promoters of the Enlightenment in the Baltics.67 Maydell’s images, in turn, illustrate his keen concern for constructing the fundamental difference between the natives and the German settlers. The visual representation enables a particularly detailed representation of this gulf between (indigenous) barbarity and (German) culture: 63 See Evans, The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States. 64 Fritzsche, ‘The Archive’, pp. 19–20. 65 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 66 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 67 As also pointed out in Jansen, ‘Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli “Fünfzig Bilder” aus der Geschichteder deutschen Ostseeprovinzen Rußlands’.

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the smallest elements of the material culture of both groups differ markedly. Yet, details related to self-representation such as clothing, hairdressing, or arms particularly stand out in this connection, as can also be observed from Figs 8.3 and 8.5. Nevertheless, Maydell’s album also points towards the catalysing role of the Enlightenment authors in strengthening the Kulturträger perspective. The question of the native ‘other’ is, of course, crucial since the argument was that their paganism and barbarianism actually justified the crusades and subsequent conquests and colonization. Culture does not only have the right but also has the duty to fight barbarianism, Maydell argues.68 Yet, it seems plausible to suggest that Maydell is emphasizing the gap between the two civilisations so strongly, mainly because of the need to debate with Enlightenment authors, such as Merkel. Indeed, the key arguments of the Baltic Enlightenment — the criticism of the crusades, colonialism, and serfdom — were based principally on the idea of the greatness of the native culture in the pre-colonial period, as shown above. This points towards a certain instrumentality of the representations of natives for both ideologies: in a wider European context, it has even been argued that the ‘noble savage’ was an instrument of the bourgeoisie to criticize the nobility.69 Maydell’s works and their afterlife, yet, also reveal the complexity of the relations between the colonizers and the colonial subjects, clearly demonstrating that the colonizer’s feeling of supremacy is never complete, but always mingled with fascination, desire, and fear. Despite of his negative conceptualization of the native culture in his album, Maydell’s works show a deep fascination towards native popular culture. Already his historical images contain a number of ethnographic elements. This is not accidental, but closely tied to Maydell’s active involvement with the above-mentioned Learned Estonian Society where he, for example, organized the visual archiving of Estonian material culture, especially folk costumes.70 In the framework of the Society’s activities, Maydell also visualized a number of Estonian pseudo-mythological heroes, discussed above. He even made a portrait of Kalevipoeg, the hero of the later national epic. Most interesting, however, are his illustrations to the aforesaid Faehlmann’s Estonian fairytales, which were published in the proceedings of the Society: ‘Koit and Hämarik’ (Koit und Ämarik) (1844) and particularly ‘The Song of Vanemuine’ (Wannemunne’s Gesang) (1840) (Fig. 8.4). The contrast between these illustrations and the attitudes expressed in his historical images is remarkable: let us be reminded that Maydell-the-historian argued that culture does not only has the right but also the duty to fight barbarianism. Nevertheless, he created the image of Vanemuine playing the harp in an idyllic pastoral scenery only a year after having depicted the pagan gods of the uncivilized Livs as demons growing out of trees in his album of historical images (Fig. 8.5). This image, which represents the German missionary ‘Theodoric

68 Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. 69 White, ‘The Noble Savage Theme as Fetish’, p. 191. 70 Allikvee, ‘Estica baltisaksa kunstis 1800–1860’, pp. 20–22.

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Figure 8.4. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘The Song of Vanemuine’ (Wannemunne’s Sang). From Verhandlungen der gelehrten Estnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat, vol. 1, part 1 (Dorpat: Severin, 1840). Lithograph.

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Figure 8.5. Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell, ‘Theodoric in Danger of Becoming Sacrificed to Gods in 1192’ (Der Mönch Theodorich in Gefahr den Goetzen geopfert zu werden. A° 1192). From Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands, vol. 1 (Dorpat: C. A. Kluge, 1839). Copperplate engraving.

in Danger of Becoming Sacrificed to Gods in 1192’,71 highlights not only the conflict between nature and culture, but also the violence embedded in those native religions. The comparison of these pictures shows that Maydell’s attitude towards Estonians was clearly ambiguous. At least partly, the controversy between the two images seems to derive from their different contexts. Departing from the Romantic interest in folklore, Maydell’s images of the Estonian popular culture operate in a kind of a timeless, half-mythical, half-ethnographic frame of reference. As such, this ‘ethnographic other’ does not pose any threat to the ruling elites or their version of history. Although the glorification of the crusades and the Middle Ages is equally Romantic in origin, it is combined with the need to legitimize that contemporary colonialism and results in the depiction of pagan demons and barbarians, whose very savagery

71 ‘Der Mönch Theodorich in Gefahr den Goetzen geopfert zu werden. A° 1192’, Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 1. A later variation of the same imagery can be found from an image published at the album’s second volume and titled as ‘The Missionaries Hacking the Sacred Groves of the Estonians in 1220’ (Missionęre hauen die Götzenbäume der Ehsten um A° 1220), Maydell, Fünfzig Bilder, vol. 2.

Conceptions of History and Imagined Regions in the Baltic Provinces

justified crusades and conquests. The co-existence of two conflicting approaches towards the natives in Maydell’s works, nevertheless, also opens up a perspective on the interdependency of the diverging historical interpretations and identities. In the same connection, it seems not insignificant that Maydell ended up with visualizing the same local divinity — Vanemuine — that had fascinated Merkel.

The Reception of Merkel’s and Maydell’s Ideas In conclusion, one should also look at the Estonian reception of Merkel’s and Maydell’s works, in order to examine more fully the claim that in the Baltics the colonial situation led to the development of closely combined and interdependent identity patterns. Firstly, let us come back for a moment to Maydell’s image of Vanemuine. One could argue that the folkloristic and unthreatening framing of the Estonian divinities also derived from the low social status of Estonians and Latvians in the 1830s–1840s. Nevertheless, Faehlmann himself placed his fairy tales not only in a folkloristic, but also in a historical framework. These stories also present a new interpretation of the Baltic history — and one that is completely the opposite of Maydell’s version. Faehlmann not only glorifies the pre-colonial age, but also condemns the German conquest and depicts the following ‘age of slavery’ in dark shades. At that time, this was a considerably radical interpretation of local history, comparable only to Merkel’s view of the Baltic past.72 Faehlmann, however, still doubted whether a better past might lead the way for a better future. Even though his fairy tales include the sunrise motif, he also speaks of ruins and extinction. The sun rose only thirty years later, in the 1860s — and the motif of dawn became widespread in Estonian nationalism. Typically to the national revivals of the ‘non-dominant ethnic groups’, the early Estonian nationalists strongly relied on ethnographic heritage and folklore.73 The activists of the national movement took to wider use also Merkel and Faehlmann’s mythology, whereby the very same Vanemuine became particularly popular. For twenty years, Vanemuine had been figuring only as a literary person in the German-speaking communication sphere of Estophile intellectuals, while Estonian people only heard for the first time about ‘their’ god of song from a newspaper in the year 1858. Thereafter a rapid success followed. The first Estonian Song Festival was held in Tartu in the year 1869, organized by the Vanemuine Society (founded in 1865), which made the god of song so popular that his shine tended to overshadow another important pseudo-mythological idol, chief god Taara.74 Equally revealing to the close ties between Baltic German and Estonian interpretations of history is the reuse of Maydell’s visual legacy, especially the illustration

72 Jansen, ‘Muinaseesti panteon’, p. 272. 73 Hroch, Social Preconditions of National Revival. 74 Põldvee, ‘Vanemuise sünd’, pp. 20–21; Jansen, ‘Muinaseesti Panteon’; Viires, ‘Muistsed jumalad ühiskonna teenistuses’.

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of Vanemuine. A vivid example is the cover image of the songbook ‘The Sounds of Vanemuine’s Zither’.75 Although Vanemuine has changed his harp for a zither, the composition of the image and the choice of animals and birds corresponds completely with Maydell’s version. However, the fact that Maydell’s example has been used here byEstonian nationalists, makes this picture even more interesting. Namely, that song book was published by Carl Robert Jakobson as a sort of protest against the aforementioned first Estonian Song Festival. Jakobson considered this venture as too pro-German, which is why his songbook contains emphatically Estonian songs. Like Faehlmann, Jakobson was also influenced by Merkel’s ideas. The Estonian national approach to history that Jakobson sketched in 1868 in a so-called Fatherland Speech held in the Vanemuine Society ‘The ages of light, darkness and dawn of Estonian people’,76 is a further development of Merkel’s positions, including the great common Finnish prehistory. With the ‘ages’ named in the title of the speech, Jakobson denoted ancient freedom, German hegemony and the reign of Russian emperor, when serfdom was abolished. Admittedly, Jakobson did not deem it necessary to name Merkel, but his speech contained recognizable references to Merkel’s work ‘Die Vorzeit Lieflands’. Thus, it could be said that Merkel’s contradictory and hopeful approach to history laid the foundation for the formation of the Estonian (and Latvian) identities, which brought about decades later a national cooperation that rose above provincial boundaries and new regional identities. The importance of the Finno-Ugric identity grew with the development of nationalism. By the end of the nineteenth century it was also propagated by Estonian history textbooks.77 Although the popularity of the Finnish connection is explained as a young nation’s wish to find alternatives to a colonial German identity, the emergence of this idea is both a paradoxical and a characteristic example of how the alternative of Baltic German colonial interpretation of history appeared as a project that stemmed from the German cultural space. Thereby Merkel’s approach to history and mythology, critical of colonialism, played a key role. Yet no less characteristic is how, on a visual level, this process involved also the works of Maydell, who otherwise represented the Baltic German colonialist approach to history, as well as emphasized German connections. On the background, one should take into account the growing rivalry of different communities in the late nineteenth century. On the one hand, the appearance of ‘young nationalisms’ was closely linked to major changes in social status of Latvians and Estonians. On the other hand, the socio-cultural rivalry of the ‘young nations’, but also the growing pressure of Russian imperialism, in turn evoked a counter-reaction by the Baltic Germans and the further strengthening of their historical identity, national feeling, and identification with Germany. So, even though the Baltic German and Estonian communities developed two conflicting historical identities, these identities were ultimately closely intertwined,

75 Jakobson, Vanemuine kandle healed. 76 Jakobson, Kolm isamaa kõnet, pp. 5–48. 77 Bergmann, Üleüldine ajalugu; Blumberg, Juhataja kodu- ning isamaa tundmisele. From among the two, the latter textbook was particularly influential as it enjoyed six editions in the period 1871–1907.

Conceptions of History and Imagined Regions in the Baltic Provinces

at the same time both dividing and uniting the local communities. As a whole, this illustrates well the complexity of the colonial situation where the colonial subject evokes both fear and fascination among the colonial elites. It also leads the colonized to a partial adaptation of the colonizer’s discourse. Therefore, both identity projects are best understood as hybrid cultural traditions: they are not uniform, but ambivalent, full of internal tensions and contradictions. In the wars of the twentieth century, the ambitions of the Baltic Germans — directed at the union with the German Kulturraum — ultimately failed, while the Estonian and Latvian projects led to a consolidation of these nations. In their identities, however, the legacies that both divided and united them with the Baltic Germans are still looming large.

Works Cited Secondary Studies Allen, John, Allan Cochrane, and Doreen Massey, Rethinking the Region (London: Routledge, 1998) Allikvee, Anu, ‘Estica baltisaksa kunstis 1800–1860 = Estica in der deutschbaltischen Kunst 1800–1860’, in Neli baltisaksa kunstnikku = Vier deutschbaltische Künstler, ed. by Anne Lõugas (Tallinn: Eesti Kunstimuuseum, Saksa Kultuuriinstituut Tallinnas, 1994), pp. 15–27 Anderson, Benedict, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991) Annist, August, ‘Muinsusromantika osast Eesti arengus’, in Raamatu osa Eesti arengus. Koguteos, ed. by Daniel Palgi (Tartu: Eesti Kirjanduse Selts, 1935) Bann, Stephen, The Clothing of Clio: A Study of the Representation of History in NineteenthCentury Britain and France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984) Berger, Stefan, ed., Writing the Nation: A Global Perspective (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007) Berger, Stefan, Linas Eriksonas, and Andrew Mycock, eds, Narrating the Nation: Representations in History, Media and the Arts (New York: Berghahn, 2008) Berger, Stefan, and Chris Lorenz, eds, The Contested Nation: Ethnicity, Class, Religion and Gender in National Histories (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008) Berger, Stefan, and Chris Lorenz, eds, Nationalizing the Past: Historians as Nation Builders in Modern Europe (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). Bergmann, Jaan, Üleüldine ajalugu, 2 vols (Tartu: Schnakenburg, 1879–1880) Blumberg, Gustav, Juhataja kodu- ning isamaa tundmisele (Tartu: Laakmann, 1871) Blumbergs, Andrew James, The Nationalization of Latvians and the Issue of Serfdom: The Baltic German Literary Contribution in the 1780s and 1790s (Amherst: Cambria, 2008) Brüggemann, Karsten, and Bradley D. Woodworth, eds, Russland an der Ostsee. Imperiale Strategien der Macht und kulturelle Wahrnehmungsmuster (16. bis 20. Jahrhundert) (Cologne: Böhlau, 2012)

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Burke, Peter, ‘History as Social Memory’, in Varieties of Cultural History, ed. by Peter Burke (London: Polity, 1997), pp. 43–59 ———, Eyewitnessing: The Uses of Images as Historical Evidence (London: Reaktion, 2001) ———, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009 [1978]) Evans, Robert J. W., and Guy P. Marchal, eds, The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010) Fählmann, Friedrich Robert, ‘Wannemunne’s Sang’, in Verhandlungen der Gelehrten Esthnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat, vol. 1, part 1 (Dorpat: Severin, 1840), pp. 42–44 Fritzsche, Peter, ‘The Archive’, History and Memory, 17 (2005), 15–44 Ganander, Christfrid, Mythologia fennica, eller Förklaring öfver de nomina propria deastrorum, idolorum, locorum, virorum & c. eller afgudar och afgudinnor, forntidens märkelige personer, offer och offer-ställen, gamla sedvänjor, jättar, troll, skogs- sjö- och bergsrån m.m. […] (Åbo: Frenckell, 1789) Gellner, Ernest, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983) Heeg, Jürgen, Garlieb Merkel als Kritiker der livländischen Ständegesellschaft. Zur politischen Publizistik der napoleonischen Zeit in den Ostseeprovinzen Russlands (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1996) Herder, Johann Gottfried, Volkslieder. Nebst untermischten andern Stücken, 2nd part (Leipzig: Weygand, 1779) ———, Ideen zur Geschichte der Menschheit, 4th part (Riga: Hartknoch 1792) [Hiärne, Thomas,] Thomas Hiärns Ehst- Liv- und Lettländische Geschichte. Nach der Originalhandschrift herausgegeben, 1st part (Mitau: Wehrt, 1794) Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terrence Ranger, eds, The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambrige University Press, 1983) Hroch, Miroslav, Die Vorkämpfer der nationalen Bewegung bei den kleinen Völkern Europas: Eine vergleichende Analyse zur gesellschaftlichen Schichtung der patriotischen Gruppen, Acta Universitatis Carolinae Philosophica et Historia, Monographia, XXIV (Prague: Universita Karlova, 1968) ———, Social Preconditions of National Revival in Europe: A Comparative Analysis of the Social Composition of Patriotic Groups among the Smaller European Nations (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000) Huntington, Samuel P., The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2003) Iggers, Georg C., ‘Nationalism and Historiography, 1789–1996: The German Example in Historical Perspective’, in Writing National Histories: Western Europe Since 1800, ed. by Stefan Berger, Mark Donovan, and Kevin Passmore (London: Routledge, 1999), pp. 15–30 Ischreyt, Heinz, ‘Buchhandel und Buchhändler im nordosteuropäischen Kommunikationssystem (1762–1797)’, in Buch und Buchhandel im achtzehnten Jahrhundert, ed. by Giles Barber and Bernhard Fabian, Wolfenbütteler Schriften zur Geschichte des Buchwesens, 4 (Hamburg: Hauswedell, 1981), pp. 249–70 Jakobson, Carl Robert, Vanemuine kandle healed (St Peterburg: Jakobson, 1869) ———, Kolm isamaa kõnet. Kriitiline väljaanne käsikirjast kommentaaride ja järelsõnaga (Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1991)

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Jansen, Ea, ‘Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli “Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostseeprovinzen Rußlands” = Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell’s “Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostseeprovinzen Rußlands”’, in Neli baltisaksa kunstnikku = Vier deutschbaltische Künstler, ed. by Anne Lõugas (Tallinn: Eesti Kunstimuuseum, Saksa Kultuuriinstituut Tallinnas, 1994), pp. 39–47 ———, ‘Muinaseesti panteon: Faehlmanni müütide roll eestlaste rahvusteadvuses’, in Vaateid eesti rahvusluse sünniaegadesse, ed. by Ea Jansen (Tartu: Ilmamaa, 2004), pp. 268–84 Johansen, Paul, ‘Die Legende von der Aufsegelung Livlands durch Bremer Kaufleute’, in Europa und Übersee: Festschrift für Egmont Zechlin, ed. by Otto Brunner and Gerhard Dietrich (Hamburg, Hans Bredow-Institut, 1961), pp. 42–68 Jürjo, Indrek, ‘Die Geistesgeschichte des Baltikums zu Zeiten Kants’, in Kant und der Frieden in Europa. Ansätze zur geistigen Grundlegung künftiger Ost-West-Beziehungen, ed. by Arnold Buchholz (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1992), pp. 119–24 ———, ‘Lesegesellschaften in den baltischen Provinzen im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Lesegesellschaften von Hupel in Oberpahlen’, Zeitschrift für Ostforschung, 39 (1990), 540–71 ———, ‘La réception de la Révolution française dans les provinces baltes’, Revue d’Histoire Nordique / Nordic Historical Review, 2 (2006), 85–106 Kaljundi, Linda, and Kaspars Kļaviņš, ‘The Chronicler and the Modern World: Henry of Livonia and the Baltic Crusades in the Enlightenment and National Traditions’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 409–56 ———, ‘Balti ajalugu, kolonialism ja kultuurimälu: Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli ajaloopildid = The Workings of Cultural Memory and Colonialism: Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell’s Baltic History in Images’. Eesti Kunstimuuseumi toimetised = Proceedings of the Art Museum of Estonia, 5 [10] (2015), 213−267 Kaljundi, Linda, and Tiina-Mall Kreem, eds, Friedrich Ludwig von Maydelli pildid Baltimaade ajaloost – Friedrich Ludwig von Maydells Baltische Geschichte in Bildern. – Friedrich Ludwig von Maydell’s Baltic History in Images (Tallinn: Eesti Kunstimuuseum – Kadrioru Kunstimuuseum, 2013) ———, ‘Friedrich Ludwig von Maydells “Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands”: Zur Erforschung baltischer Geschichtsbilder’, Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 66 (2017), 493−516 Kant, Edgar, Estlands Zugehörigkeit zu Baltoskandia (Tartu: Akadeemiline Kooperatiiv, 1934) Karjahärm, Toomas, ‘Eesti rahvusliku liikumise mudelid uusimas historiograafias’, Acta Historica Tallinnensia, 14 (2009), 146–71 Kasekamp, Andres, A History of the Baltic States (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). Kreutzwald, Friedrich Reinhold, Kalevipoeg: The Estonian National Epic, trans. By Triinu Kartus. (Tartu: Estonian Literary Museum, 2011) Kuldkepp, Mart. ‘The Scandinavian Connection in Early Estonian Nationalism’, Journal of Baltic Studies, 44 (2013), 313–38

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Leem, Knud, Erich Johan Jessen-S[chardeböll], and Johan Ernst Gunnerus, Knud Leems Beskrivelse over Finmarkens Lapper, deres Tungemaal, Levemaade og forrige Afgudsdyrkelse, oplyst ved mange Kaabberstykker […] / med J. E. Gunneri Anmærkninger. Og E. J. Jessen-S Afhandling om de norske Finners og Lappers hedenske Religion (Kiøbenhavn [København]: Kongel. Wæysenhuses Bogtrykkerie af G. G. Salikath, 1767) Lotman, Piret, and Mihhail Lotman, ‘Fennougristika eellugu ja Thomas Hiärne’, in Läänemere provintside arenguperspektiivid Rootsi suurriigis 16/17. sajandil, ed. by Enn Küng, III (Tartu: Eesti Ajalooarhiiv, 2009), pp. 206–30 Maciejewski, Witold, ed., The Baltic Sea Region: Cultures, Politics, Societies (Uppsala: Baltic University Press, 2002) Maydell, Friedrich Ludwig von, Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen OstseeProvinzen Russlands, vol. 1 (Dorpat: C. A. Kluge, 1839) ———, Fünfzig Bilder aus der Geschichte der deutschen Ostsee-Provinzen Russlands, vol. 2 (Dorpat: F. Kluge, 1842) Merkel, Garlieb Helwig, Die Letten vorzüglich in Liefland am Ende das philosophischen Jahrhunderts. Ein Beitrag zur Völker- und Menschenkunde (Leipzig: Gräff, 1796) ———, Die Vorzeit Lieflands. Ein Denkmahl des Pfaffen- und Rittergeistes, vol. 1 (Berlin: Voss, 1798) Paasi, Anssi, ‘Regions are social constructs, but who and what “constructs” them? Agency in question’, Environmental and Planning A, 42 (2010), 2296–2301 Pakštas, Kazys, The Baltoscandian Confederation (Chicago: Lithuanian cultural instituute, 1942) Peterson, Christian Jaak, Christfrid Ganander Thomasson’s Philos. Mag. Finnische Mythologie […] (Reval: Dullo, 1821) Pistohlkors, Gert von, ed., Deutsche Geschichte im Osten Europas: Baltische Länder (Berlin: Siedler, 1994) Plath, Ulrike, Esten und Deutsche in den baltischen Provinzen Russlands. Fremdheitskonstruktionen, Lebenswelten, Kolonialphantasien 1750–1850 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011) ———,‘Bremeni börsihoone maal kui allegooria. Plaanvankrid, konkistadoorid ja “saksa Benjamin”. = Das Bremer Börsenbild als Allegorie. Planwagen, Konquistadores und der “deutsche Benjamin”’, Eesti Kunstimuuseumi toimetised, = Proceedings of the Art Museum of Estonia, 5 (2015), 343−80 ———, Europe’s Last Savages – Estonians in the German Colonial Discourse (1770–1870) (Letonica [forthcoming]) Põldvee, Aivar, ‘Vanemuise sünd. Lisandusi eesti pseudomütoloogia ajaloole’, Tuna, 1 (2013), 10–31 ———, ‘Agricola’s List (1551) and the Formation of the Estonian Pantheon’, in Re-forming Texts, Music, and Church Art in the Early Modern North, ed. by Tuomas M. S. Lehtonen and Linda Kaljundi (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), pp. 449−74 Raun, Toivo U. ‘Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-Century Estonian Nationalism Revisited’, Nations and Nationalism, 9 (2003), 129–47 Raun, Toivo U., and Andrejs Plakans, ‘The Estonian and Latvian National Movements: An Assessment of Miroslav Hroch’s Model’, Journal of Baltic Studies, XXI (1990), 131–44

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Rigney, Ann, Imperfect Histories: The Elusive Past and the Legacy of Romantic Historicism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001) ———, ‘Plenitude, Scarcity and the Circulation of Cultural Memory’, Journal of European Studies, 35 (2005), 11–28 Said, Edward, Orientalism (New York: Vintage, 1978) Setälä, Emil Nestor, Lisiä suomalais-ugrilaisen kielentutkimuksen historiaan (Helsinki: Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura, 1891) Schlözer, August Ludwig, Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte. Aus den neuesten und besten Schriftstellern und nach eigenen Untersuchungen beschrieben, und als eine Geographische und Historische Einleitung zur richtigen Kenntnisß aller Skandinavischen, Finnischen, Slavischen, Lettischen und Sibirischen Völker (Halle: J. J. Gebauer, 1771) Snyder, Louis L., Macro-Nationalisms: A History of the Pan-Movements (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1984) Southgate, Beverly C., History Meets Fiction (Harlow: Longman, 2009) Stipa, Günter Johannes, Finnisch-ugrische Sprachforschung. Von der Renaissance bis zum Neupositivismus (Helsinki: Suomalais-ugrilainen seura, 1990) Tamm, Marek, ‘Inventing Livonia: The Name and Fame of a New Christian Colony on the Medieval Baltic Frontier’, Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 60. 2 (2011), 186–209 Tamm, Marek, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen, eds, Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). Undusk, Jaan, ‘Kolm võimalust kirjutada eestlaste ajalugu: Merkel – Jakobson – Hurt’, Keel ja Kirjandus, 11–12 (1997), 721–34; 797–811 Undusk, Jaan, ‘“Wechsel und Wiederkehr” als Prinzipien des Weltgeschehens: Zu Merkels Geschichtsideologie’, in “Ich werde gewiß große Energie zeigen.” Garlieb Merkel (1769– 1850) als Kämpfer, Kritiker und Projektmacher in Berlin und Riga, ed. by Jörg Drews (Bielefeld: Aisthesis, 2000), pp. 133–47 Viires, Ants, ‘Muistsed jumalad ühiskonna teenistuses. Pseudomütoloogia Eesti avalikkuses 19. ja 20. sajandil’, in Ants Viires, Kultuur ja traditsioon, Eesti mõttelugu, 39 (Tartu: Ilmamaa, 2001), pp. 217–25 White, Hayden V., ‘The Noble Savage Theme as Fetish’, in Hayden V. White, Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), pp. 183–96 (reprint of first publication in First Images of America: The Impact of the New World on the Old, ed. by Fredi Chiappelli (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), pp. 121–35

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Michael Bregnsbo

National Regionalisms before Political Ideologies* Schleswig-Holstein in 1848

1848 was a year of revolutionary turmoil in Europe. Almost everywhere ideological, national, political, and social antagonisms were the order of the day and people with those attitudes frequently came into fierce conflict.1 The same antagonisms certainly made themselves felt within the region of Schleswig as well. However, the course of events in Schleswig turned out somewhat differently seen in a general European perspective. Thus, it would seem that in Schleswig in 1848, common regional identities had the upper hand in comparison with traditional antagonisms such as absolutism versus a free constitution, aristocracy versus democracy, landowners versus peasants, farmers versus labourers, industrialists versus workers, conservatism versus liberalism, liberals versus radicals or even socialists, etc. In March 1848 the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein (from then on written with a hyphen between them: Schleswig-Holstein) seceded from the Danish state and declared itself an independent state and formed a new government. This government, formed in March 1848, was a broadly based coalition. The minister of war was the local prince Frederick who was the brother of the local duke of Augustenburg, who was the designated the head of state for the new Schleswig-Holsteinian state. The minister of foreign affairs was Count Friedrich Reventlow-Preetz, an outstanding member of the old Schleswig-Holsteinian aristocratic elite. Prime Minister Wilhelm Hartwig Beseler was a leading liberal politician, and minister of the interior Theodor

* This contribution is an extended version of a paper that was originally read at the Cross-CRP Conference ‘Role and expressions of regions during periods of crisis’ under the auspices of the EUROCORE program: European Comparisons in Regional Cohesion, Dynamics and Expressions held at the University of Alba Iulia in Romania on 8 March 2013. A slightly revised and abridged version: Bregnsbo, ‘Schleswig(-)Holstein 1848’. 1 Sperber, The European Revolutions. Michael Bregnsbo  •  is associate professor of Modern History at the University of Southern Denmark (Odense). His main fields of research are Danish and European political history, church history, and history of political ideas 1500–1900. Within these fields the emphasis is on processes of state formation, and territorial integration. He was one of the organizers of the conference on Denmark, Scandinavia, and Europe 1814–1848. Monarchies, Emotions, and Nations (2017). Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 237–256 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121494

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Figure 9.1. Map showing the complex composition of Schleswig-Holstein until 1863/1864. Schleswig was a duchy that used to be part of the kingdom of Denmark and the Danish king was still the duke here. It was also constitutionally closely associated with Holstein that was another duchy under the king of Denmark but also a member of the German Federation. The little duchy of Lauenburg was more or less an appendix to Holstein. The question of succession to these duchies was largely unclear. Moreover, Schleswig was ethnically and linguistically mixed between Danish and German. The northern part was mainly Danishminded, the southern part predominantly German-minded whereas the middle part was mixed. Image supplied by D. E. H. de Boer, after NordNordWest.

N at i o n al R eg i o n al i s m s b e fore Po li t i cal Id eo lo gi e s

Olshausen belonged to the radical-democratic wing.2 Almost everywhere else in Europe during the spring of 1848 people with such ideological and political convictions were fighting each other savagely, but in Schleswig-Holstein they sat in the same government. Furthermore, this new government called for elections to a constituent assembly which passed a Schleswig-Holsteinian constitution which, according to Friedrich Engels, was the ‘most democratic ever written in the German language’.3 How can all this be explained? Why did a common regional identity seem to overshadow traditional ideological, political, and social antagonisms as far as Schleswig-Holstein was concerned? What was behind? And how did historical awareness, historical argumentation, and historiography of and about the region play a role in these dramatic events?

Long-Term Factors In order to explain this, it is necessary to move somewhat back in history in order to understand the legal and political background of the history of Schleswig and Holstein and their place within the Danish state. The Danish monarchy around 1848 consisted of the kingdom of Denmark (= Denmark proper) and the duchy of Schleswig and the duchy of Holstein plus the small duchy of Lauenburg, which is not so important in this connection. Schleswig and Holstein were two separate duchies in a personal union with the kingdom of Denmark.4 Schleswig had originally been a Danish province and as such constituted the border between the kingdom of Denmark and the German Empire. In 1232 it had been made a duchy and after the death of King Valdemar Sejr in 1241 it had increasingly been separated from Denmark and come under growing Holsteinian influence. The duchy of Holstein was originally a county and after the demise of the count family in 1459, King Christian I of Denmark had become the duke of Schleswig and count of Holstein.5 Immediately after this occasion, in 1460, the king had had issued a proclamation, the so-called Privilege of Ribe (the name of the town where the meeting took place), to the nobility and clergy of Schleswig and Holstein which contained the famous wording in Lower German: ‘Dat se bliven ewich tosamende ungedelt’, meaning that the two duchies should forever remain together in an inseparable and indivisible union. In other words, the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein together constituted a dyad in personal union with the kingdom of Denmark. Holstein was

2 Bjørn, 1848. Borgerkrig og revolution, pp. 62–115 and 135–50; Stolz, Die schleswig-holsteinische Erhebung, pp. 38–55. 3 Bjørn, 1848. Borgerkrig og revolution, p. 226; Krech, Die schleswig-holsteinische Staatsgrundgesetz; Vosgerau, ‘Die parlamentarische Auseinandersetzungen’, p. 91 et passim; Stolz, Die schleswigholsteinische Erhebung, pp. 38–55. 4 Non-Danish language surveys of the history of Schleswig-Holstein: e.g. Bohn and Danker, SchleswigHolstein; Bregnsbo and Jensen, ‘Schleswig as a Contested Place’; Bregnsbo and Jensen, eds, SchleswigHolstein; Scharff, ‘Schleswig-Holstein’. 5 Gregersen, Slesvig og Holsten før 1830, pp. 76–184.

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raised to a duchy in 1474. It remained part of the German Empire and from 1815 was a member of the German Federation, whereas the duchy of Schleswig had emphatically never been part of the German Empire or a member state of the German Federation. Still, the two duchies were closely integrated and remained so incessantly since the before-mentioned Privilege of Ribe. This document and this wording were used and got great significance in the political and national struggles and were used as a slogan during the nineteenth century.6 During the first part of the nineteenth century Schleswig and Holstein were more economically developed than the kingdom of Denmark itself. Moreover, the aristocratic elite in this region, and most of the urban commercial and intellectual elites were German-speaking and oriented towards Germany rather than towards Denmark proper. In 1834 the German Zollverein (customs union) was established and, being a member of the German Federation, Holstein was a member of it, which Schleswig was not. The establishment of the German customs union led to desires for further integration within the German Federation. Consequent reasoning, based on the ‘eternal’ indivisibility, demanded that Schleswig should join the Zollverein alongside with Holstein. Furthermore, it was even suggested that Denmark proper should join the German Federation as its ‘admiral state’ as it was formulated. This suggestion caused much anger in Denmark proper and among Danish-minded people within Schleswig. Facing this alternative, the Danes and the Danish-minded Schleswigers would rather, even strongly, prefer that Holstein should sever itself from the Danish monarchy and that Schleswig on the other hand should be closer integrated in the kingdom of Denmark. And therefore, Danish liberals became national liberals. The idea of Schleswig joining Holstein was unacceptable in Denmark proper and among Danish-minded Schleswigers, since Schleswig — as mentioned — was not and never had been part of either the German Empire or of the later German Federation.7 Moreover they argued that Schleswig had an outstanding role in Danish national mythology. Thus, the Danewerk (in Danish: Dannevirke) — a system of walls and trenches connecting Hedeby near the Baltic Sea coast and the marshlands of the river-Treene-system in the west of the Jutland peninsula, and thus forming in impressive defence line — had according to national Danish mythology for thousand years been the border between the kingdom of Denmark and the German Empire.8 The German-minded Schleswigers, however, were in favour of Schleswig joining the German Federation and customs union and even in favour of closer integration in a new German state alongside with Holstein. Thus, the separatist ideology SchleswigHolsteinism (with a hyphen) was developed. Consequently, German-minded liberals within both duchies became national liberals, like their Danish counterparts, however, and this was indeed a crucial difference: German national liberals.9

6 Frandsen, Holsten i helstaten, pp. 317–28; Jahnke, ‘“dat se bliven”’; Riis, ‘“Up ewich ungedelt”’. 7 Fink, ‘Admiralstatsplanerne’; Fink, ‘Omkring Ejderpolitikkens’; Scharff, ‘Schleswig-Holstein’, pp. 29–33. 8 Cour, Danevirke. 9 Hemstad, Historie og nasjonal identitet; Hansen, Hjemmetyskheden.

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The problem was that Schleswig as a region was linguistically and ethnically mixed. Danish language was prevailing in the northern part of the duchy, German language dominated the southern part, the middle part was linguistically mixed but the German language was gaining ground northwards.10 Thus, Schleswig was the subject of a nationality conflict and a conflict of its belonging to either the Danish state or together with Holstein to an ever-more integrated German Federation. Add to this that the Danish monarchy during the 1830s and 1840s was facing many other problems that also greatly affected the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. Within the whole Danish monarchy there was a strong liberal desire that the absolutist form of government should be replaced by a free, constitutional one. Liberals both within Denmark proper and within Schleswig and Holstein longed for the abolition of absolutism, however, in spite of their common liberal ideology, their political preferences were strongly nationally coloured, making them Danish and German national liberals respectively and therefore strongly at odds with each other.11 The rural population, by far the greater part of the population of the monarchy was dissatisfied with the existing systems of taxation and military conscription feeling that the peasantry was sharing a disproportionately greater part of those burdens in comparison with other groups of society. And among the lowest part of the rural population, the small-holders and labourers, voices were beginning to be raised demanding improvements in the legal and social conditions of those groups. Political activities among the peasantry in that respect were evolving, but so far they had a peaceful character in the shape of meetings and petitioning.12 To make matters even more complicated, dynastical problems were causing tensions within the Danish monarchy. During the 1840s it was beginning to become clear to everyone that the male line of the royal house would probably die out with Christian VIII’s son, Crown Prince Frederick (VII). As for the kingdom of Denmark (Denmark proper) and the duchy of Lauenburg there was no doubt that the agnatic-cognatic order of succession applied here, i.e. that the throne could be inherited by male descendants of female members of the royal family, who as women themselves could not become ruling heads of state. Whether the same law of succession was in force in the duchy of Schleswig, as the Danish government maintained, was however a matter of dispute and in the duchy of Holstein this order of succession was certainly not applicable, here only the agnatic order of succession was in force, i.e. that the ducal title could only be inherited through male members of the family. This meant that among others the Russian emperor held rights of succession. Thus, a breaking up of the Danish state was a threatening prospect. The duke of Augustenburg, a distant branch of the Danish royal house, whose dukedom was only titular, was of the opinion that an Augustenburger should inherit those two duchies in case the male line of the Danish royal family should die out. Thus, an alliance between

10 Allen, Det danske Sprogs Historie; Bock, ‘Sprogforholdene’; Thorsen, ‘Det danske Folkesprog’; Rohweder, Sprache und Nationalität; Hansen, ‘Nationalitetskamp og modernisering’. 11 Skovgaard-Petersen, Tiden 1814–1864, pp. 181–84 and 190–203. 12 Jensen, ’Bondecirkulæret’; Simonsen, Husmandskår; Skrubbeltrang, Den danske Husmand.

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such weird bedfellows as the German-minded, liberal Schleswig-Holsteiners and the aristocratic, conservative, ducal Augustenburg family emerged. And since the Augustenburgers had good connections to various European princely courts, they were able to promote their own and the Schleswig-Holsteinian cause efficiently in this way.13 So we see here a very clear example of how history, historical claims, and the interpretations of historically based positions influenced the destiny of the region.

Short-Term Factors This was the development within and about Schleswig prior to 1848. When the news of the revolution in Paris in February 1848 reached the Danish monarchy, it had great impact both within Schleswig and within the other parts of the monarchy. However, in two respects things within the Danish monarchy were different in comparison with other European countries and both have significance for the ensuing development. Firstly, the old absolutist government had already realized itself that it was no longer possible to maintain the existing absolutist regime and had in principle decided to abolish absolutism and to introduce a free constitution for the whole monarchy. This had — remarkable enough — been decided before the news of the revolution in Paris and other places in Europe had reached the Danish monarchy. Facing the internal tensions in Denmark proper and the antagonisms between the different parts of the Danish monarchy and the inability of a person such as Crown Prince Frederick (VII) to be able to cope with these problems as an absolutist ruler, the government had decided to dismantle absolutism and replace it with a free, single constitution for all the territories of the monarchy without any direct pressure from below from revolutionary masses.14 Secondly, the monarch (king and duke) up till then, Christian VIII, had passed away after a short illness on 20 January 1848 amidst the endeavours to abolish absolutism and introduce a new constitution.15 Thus, an open political situation had originated; the person of the old monarch no longer stood in the way of the liberal opposition, old grudges could be put aside and a fresh start could be made with the new monarch, Frederick VII. So this was the situation in Schleswig as well as in the Danish monarchy in general when the news from Paris arrived: absolutism had in principle been abolished by the government, but the new political order had not been implemented yet. And all political parties in all parts of the Danish monarchy, both Denmark proper and the duchies, were trying to use the insecure and politically transient situation to their own ends.

13 Hjelholt, Arvefølgesag; Clausen and Paulsen, Augustenborgerne; Bjørn, ‘1814–1864’, pp. 63–139; Møller, ‘Depeche fra St Petersborg’. 14 Petersen, Betænkninger; Vammen, ‘Casino 1848’, pp. 254–56; Vammen, ‘Die “Casino-Revolution”’, pp. 56–62. 15 Vammen, ‘Casino 1848’, p. 255; Vammen, ‘Die “Casino Revolution”’, pp. 59–61.

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The Fall of Absolutism in Denmark in March 1848 and the Consequences for Schleswig In Germany in 1848, besides political and social revolutions, the national demands of a unified German state were voiced. This national unification should comprise not only the member states of the German Federation but also Germans living outside it, e.g. Schleswig. And in Schleswig-Holstein the developments in Germany were observed and led to growing political activities and fermentation, resulting in demands that both Holstein and Schleswig should join the new German state that seemed to be in the making. At the same time, the prospects of losing Schleswig caused great concern in Denmark proper. The government till then had had the upper hand and had been in control of things. But during the second half of March, the national liberal opposition in Copenhagen began to use the crisis of Schleswig as a political rallying point and lever for getting to power themselves. Thus, on 21 March a great demonstration went through the streets of Copenhagen to the royal palace demanding a free constitution and a new constitutional ministry and — no less important — demanding that the continued belonging of the duchy of Schleswig to the state should be safeguarded. Thus, the crisis in Schleswig was being combined with the desire for a new government in Denmark proper. The demonstration was peaceful, probably because the king declared to a deputation from the demonstrators that the old ministry had already been dissolved and that he from then on considered himself a constitutional monarch. The following day a new government was formed, it was a coalition of members of the old, absolutist government and outstanding members of the liberal and the radical-democratic opposition.16 In other words a coalition government as broadly based as its antagonists in the duchies. Thus, it would seem that the national liberal opposition in Copenhagen in March 1848 deliberately used Schleswig to enforce a political transition in Denmark proper. It has even been argued that they deliberately and in bad faith, in order to overthrow the old ministry, spread the rumour that a rebellion had indeed broken out in Schleswig-Holstein. Certainly, representatives of the assemblies of the Estates of Schleswig and Holstein respectively had a joint meeting in the Holsteinian town of Rendsborg on 18 March 1848. The purpose of that meeting was to discuss the constitutional proposal made by the Danish absolutist government in January, but the many revolutionary events in the German area and in Copenhagen came, of course, to dominate the agenda. Indeed, radical demands that Schleswig and Holstein should immediately declare themselves an independent state that should join the new German, central state that seemed to be in the making were being voiced at the meeting. And those who had hesitations fearing a Danish reaction were dismissed by the radical wing characterizing the Danes as a ‘lazy, sluggish and incoherent people’. Nevertheless, in spite of those radical demands and utterances, it was the moderate wing that carried the day and refused to take any such unilateral and revolutionary

16 Bjørn, 1848: Borgerkrig og revolution, pp. 70–85.

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Figure 9.2. The Danish ‘March Ministry’ 1848. This government was appointed immediately after the fall of the Danish absolutist regime in March 1848. It was a broadly based coalition composed of conservative aristocrats who had been serving the old regime, of the leaders of the liberal opposition and even of representatives of the more left-leaning opposition. Its main purpose was to prevent Schleswig from being separated from Denmark. In Schleswig-Holstein a similar, equally broadly-based coalition government was formed almost at the same time: its aim was to establish a Schleswig-Holsteinian state that should be integrated in the unified Germany that seemed to be on the drawing board. Composition of pictures by unknown photographer. Courtesy Arkivet ved Dansk Centralbibliotek for Sydslesvig.

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steps. Instead, it was decided to send a delegation to the king/duke in Copenhagen with the following requests: • A proposal for a constitution for the duchies should be presented to the assemblies of the Estates. • The duchy of Schleswig should join the German Federation. • A local militia with elected officers should be established. • Freedom of the press and freedom of assembly should be granted. • The royal governor of the duchies should be dismissed Such a procedure, petitioning to the monarch in Copenhagen had not only been fully legitimate and legal under an absolutist system of government, but was also downright loyal.17 In fact, the right of the subjects to turn to the king with desires and grievances was the only generally granted right in the absolutist run Danish monarchy. The right to petitioning either when being received in a royal audience or by sending in a petition was functioning as a way in which the monarch and his subjects would have the opportunity to perform their respective roles within the absolutist system. It emphasized the king’s role as a powerful but also kind and gracious father of the country, and it positioned the subjects as grateful, obedient, and loyal children.18 The news of the resolution of the meeting in Rendsborg reached Copenhagen on 20 March 1848 and in the evening of the same day the Danish national liberals arranged a mass meeting in Copenhagen where the impression was given that a rebellion had in fact broken out in the duchies. The demonstration to the royal palace the next day was which — as mentioned above — led to a change of government and the fall of absolutism was directly brought about from this mass meeting. Thus, the Danish historian Hans Vammen has argued that the Schleswig-Holsteiners had in fact not rebelled and indeed had no intentions of doing so. However, it was the news of the political transition and the new government in Copenhagen which was regarded as a coup within the duchies that provoked the rebellion.19 It may be so, but considering the fermentation within Schleswig-Holstein and the growing demands of Schleswig joining the new German state it seems hard to see how a conflict over Schleswig could have been avoided even if it might not have broken out yet. Especially the above-mentioned request no. 2 that Schleswig should become a member of the German Federation would seem most difficult to reach a compromise upon, that could satisfy both parties.

An Armed Conflict and Two Free Constitutions Anyway, in Schleswig-Holstein the change of the political system in Copenhagen was regarded as a coup and the new government was considered a sheer Danish

17 Vammen, ‘Casino 1848’, pp. 256–57 and 265–70; Vammen, ‘Die “Casino Revolution”’, pp. 66–78; Stolz, Die Schleswig-holsteinische Erhebung, pp. 38–51. 18 Bregnsbo, ‘Struensee and the Political Culture’. 19 Vammen, ‘Casino 1848’, pp. 256–59 and 265–70; Vammen, ‘Die “Casino Revolution”’, pp. 66–78.

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Figure 9.3. Gathering of the first single German parliament in the Paulskirche in Frankfurt am Main, 1848. This parliament was paying great attention to the ongoing conflict over Schleswig which it considered a German war of liberation from Denmark and thus a rallying point for an otherwise deeply politically divided German public. This parliament was dissolved by military power in 1849. When Germany was finally unified in 1871 it was on a conservative, authoritarian basis. Historisches Museum, Frankfurt am Main. Coloured drawing by Ludwig von Elliott, 1848.

and in fact anti-Schleswig-Holsteinian government, since the duchies were not represented here. Consequently, a separatist Schleswig-Holsteinian government was formed. In order to legitimize the opinion that this — all things considered — was an act of rebellion, it was argued that the duke (i.e. Frederick VII) had been taken prisoner by the insurgents in Copenhagen and that the Schleswig-Holsteiners were consequently forming a government ‘in the name of the unfree duke’.20 Soon things escalated, and at the end of March, the first military confrontations between Danish and Schleswig-Holsteinian forces took place. The latter would soon be receiving active military support from the members of the German Federation. In Germany itself, an all-German parliament was elected and convened in the Paulskirche in Frankfurt. This parliament was, however, weak and powerless and the various German princes had no intentions of giving up their powers in favour of this all-German parliament. 20 Rerup, Slesvig og Holsten, p. 121.

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Yet, the fate of Schleswig was of deep concern and interest to this parliament and it was one of the few aspects where the parliamentarians and the German princes had a common interest although stemming from different motives.21 Furthermore, the Dano-German conflict was internationalized by the interference of great powers such as Russia and Britain.22 The new Danish government that had come in office in Copenhagen in March 1848 called for elections for a constituent assembly that in 1849 passed a free constitution where the voting right was extremely extensive in international comparisons.23 In other words, while the armed conflict about Schleswig was still going on, both the Danish and the Schleswig-Holsteinian government and elected representatives from both Denmark proper and the duchies were deciding a free constitution for Denmark and for the duchies respectively and separately. In many respects, these constitutions had many similarities and were seen as extremely liberal and democratic according to the norms of the age. Nonetheless, the national antagonisms between the two parties were overshadowing those political and ideological resemblances.24 To make a long story short, the conflict ended in 1850 by the interference of the great powers that decided that the Danish monarchy from before 1848 should be restored. That meant that the Danish desire to sever Holstein and integrate Schleswig closer into the kingdom of Denmark as well as the Schleswig-Holsteinian desire for letting Schleswig join the German Federation were both denied. Instead all parties had to live together in the Danish monarchy even if none of them actually wanted to. The 1850s passed off trying to find a constitutional solution for the Danish states that would satisfy all parties: Danes, Schleswig-Holsteiners, and the German Federation, as well as the great powers that served as guarantors of the peace agreement that was the outcome of their interference. This proved impossible, the various interests were too different. The Danes were accused of behaving too high-handedly in trying to ‘danify’ the German-minded parts of Schleswig, whereas the Schleswig-Holsteiners from a Danish point of view were striking a negative attitude and by each admission they got they were demanding more admissions, and in all this they were being supported by the German Federation. This deadlock due to mutually incompatible interests led to the war of 1864 where Denmark was defeated by the German Federation and its leading members Prussia and Austria and had to cede both duchies. This war was used by Bismarck as a thread stone to suppress domestic opposition, and to weaken Austria in order to carry through the German unification in 1871.25 But this is another story.

21 Wollstein, Das “Grossdeutschland”, pp. 34–59. 22 Bjørn, ‘1814–1864’, pp. 107–12. 23 Vammen, ‘Casino 1848’, pp. 261–66; Vammen, ‘Die ”Casino Revolution”’, pp. 86–88; Bjørn, Kampen om. 24 Bjørn, Kampen om; Krech, ‘Das schleswig-holsteinische’. 25 Bjørn, ‘Fra helstat’, pp. 112–263; Glenthøj, 1864; Scharff, ‘Schleswig-Holstein’, pp. 188–235.

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The Crisis of 1848 in Historiography and Conflicting Regionalisms Back to the conflict over Schleswig in 1848. In German historiography since then this conflict has traditionally been seen in connection with the German endeavours for unification and political liberty and has consequently been regarded as a war of national liberation against the Danes denying the Schleswigians the right to join their Holsteinian brothers and their German family in general.26 In Danish historiography the conflict has traditionally been seen as a victorious Dano-German war to protect and secure the old Danish land of Schleswig and its Danish-minded population from German aggression and as one of the finest hours in Danish national history.27 Schleswig-Holsteinian historiography has traditionally tended to join either the German or the Danish version depending on whether the historian in question was German-minded or Danish-minded. And the hidden agenda of much of the historiography of Schleswig-Holstein has been to prove which side was right in the national conflict. A few historians have seen it in a special Schleswigian perspective, and thus in a perspective that has recently also begun to gain a footing within Danish historiography. According to this perspective, the conflict should rightly be seen as an ethnic civil war within the Danish state.28 Civil war can be defined as ‘a war between two or more groups within the same state usually aiming at achieving governmental power in the country or form a new, independent state on parts of the territory of the country’.29 It is correct that the great powers interfered in the Schleswig conflict, but the same was the case in the Spanish Civil War 1936–1939 and this is still considered a civil war. This new interpretation of the Schleswig crisis in 1848 has probably been inspired by the ethnic civil wars in former Yugoslavia and similar cases. Schleswig was the apple of discord in this civil war. National antagonisms between Danish and German, the conflict of the future status of the duchy of Schleswig,

26 e.g. Wollstein, Das “Grossdeutschland”; Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, pp. 624–26. 27 Jørgensen, Anden Bog; Engelstoft, ‘Det danske Folk’, pp. 3–378; Fink, ‘Borgerne og Friheden’, pp. 87–162. 28 The interpretation of the conflict as a civil war in Danish historiography: Mørch, Den sidste danmarkshistorie, pp. 113–29; Bjørn, 1848: Borgerkrig og revolution; Bregnsbo, ‘Danmark 1848’; Bregnsbo, ‘Dänemark und 1848’; Bregnsbo, ‘Denmark 1848’; Frandsen, Holsten i helstaten, pp. 323–27 et passim; Vammen, Den tomme stat, p. 121 et passim. The term ‘civil war’ has also been used to characterize the conflict in some Danish language surveys of the history of Schleswig (or Southern Jutland as the area is also being called in Danish of not so recent date): Fabricius, ‘Tidsrummet 1805–1854’, pp. 341–96 and Rerup, Slesvig og Holsten, pp. 122–36. And indeed, in such a local or regional historical perspective on Schleswig, the notion of the conflict being a civil war would seem quite obvious. In Schleswig-Holsteinian and in a wider sense German historiography the term “Erhebung” (rising) has been the current term (cp. Stolz, Die Schleswig-Holsteinische Erhebung) which may sound less disobedient and revolutionary than “rebellion”. During the last decades, the term civil war (Bürgerkrieg) has begun to gain ground: Ahlers, Aufbruch und Bürgerkrieg; Ahlers and Schlürmann, Aufbruch und Bürgerkrieg. 29 Danmarks Nationalleksikon, www.denstoredanske.dk s.v. ’borgerkrig’ (accessed 7 July 2015).

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and the Schleswig-Holsteinian desire that Schleswig should not be separated from Holstein but on the contrary follow Holstein into the new unified German state under planning thus seemed to have overshadowed existing internal ideological, political and social tensions both within Denmark proper and within the duchies. Both parties were pursuing their own, respective national agendas, yet, in their argumentation for their respective causes they both turned to history. The Schleswig-Holsteiners were referring to the Privilege of Ribe from 1460 and hence the inseparability of the two duchies. From Danish side Schleswig was considered a primordially Danish border territory between Danish and German and the place of origin of the Danish nation. And furthermore, the fact that Schleswig was not and had never been part of neither the German Empire nor the German Federation was stressed. In that way, history was in different ways serving as an ulterior motive for both sides in their endeavours to make Schleswig a German or a Danish region respectively. The lines of conflict in 1848 on the one hand in the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein and on the other hand within the kingdom of Denmark passed off other lines of division than in most other European countries. Hereby it is not suggested that the national demands outdid the social grievances among the population, still less that they disappeared. Among other things, during the spring of 1848, strikes and demonstrations among the rural lower classes both in Denmark and in Schleswig-Holstein were taking place and both governments saw themselves compelled quickly to make legislative concessions to redress the grievances of the lower strata of rural society in order to avoid a revolutionary development.30 And during the campaigns prior to the elections of the constituent assemblies and during the negotiations of those assemblies both in Denmark proper and in the duchies, there were indeed clear ideological and political differences of opinion, e.g., as for how far the right to vote should be extended.31 So the ideological, political, and social tensions did not disappear but they were combined in a way where the national desires had the overriding importance. In this way, the civil war functioned as a power of political and social integration between protagonists of different political and social ideologies in the kingdom of Denmark and the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein respectively. One could argue that regionalism or at least regional interests did have the upper hand in Schleswig in 1848. But this needs further clarification. The problem was that there was not one, but two regionalisms in Schleswig, a Danish and a Schleswig-Holsteinian one respectively. The two regionalisms both had clear national attachments that were mutually incompatible as they were claiming the same area, Schleswig, for Denmark or for Germany, so we should speak about national regionalisms rather than regionalism of Schleswig still less for Schleswig itself. Both had their points of attachment outside Schleswig itself, namely on the one hand in Holstein and the German Federation and on the other hand in the kingdom of Denmark and were both places serving other political

30 Bjørn, Frygten fra 1848; Bjørn, 1848. Borgerkrig og revolution; Klussmann, ‘“Christus war Demokrat’”, pp. 149–79. 31 Bjørn, Kampen om; Krech, ‘Das schleswig-holsteinische’.

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interests and ends than purely Schleswigian ones. Recent research, being only in its making, suggests that there was a specific Schleswigian identity on both sides. The Danish-minded Schleswigers did, of course, support Denmark but did not want just to be Danes or that Schleswig simply should become a Danish province but wanted to preserve a particular Schleswigian identity of their own within a Danish state. And the same could be seen among German-minded Schleswigers whose interests were not in all respects identical with those of the Holsteiners even if they wanted to join the new German state. And furthermore, there were also Schleswigers (and Holsteiners too) who wanted to preserve the whole Danish monarchy (the kingdom of Denmark and the duchies of Schleswig, Holstein, and Lauenburg) as it had been prior to 1848 and thus were opposing both Danish and German nationalism and regionalism. However, as the conflict was strongly nationalized on both Danish and German side such particular Schleswigian interests could hardly make themselves felt.32 In order to achieve their respective aims, both parties were making use of history to drive home the point of Schleswig’s belonging to either Denmark or Holstein (and in a wider sense: Germany). Consequently, from then on, the history of Schleswig was written either in Danish or German and seen as either part of if not an appendix to either the history of Denmark or the history of Schleswig-Holstein and of Germany. The hidden agenda here was of course to prove the right of either the one party or the other.33 In German historiography in general, due to fact that Germany only became a single nation state in 1871, there has been a strong tradition of writing the historiography of former duchies, electorates and free imperial cities and regions, etc. Indeed, during the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries the German historiography on Schleswig had a strong German national tendency, nonetheless, the possibility and desirability of writing the history of Schleswig or Schleswig-Holstein themselves as such were no matter of discussion. In Danish historiography things have been different. Since a kingdom named Denmark (although with different geographical extensions from time to time and not always a nation state) has existed back to the ninth century, tendency has been to project the present-day nation state named Denmark back into former ages. Of course, the existence of Schleswig as a duchy separate from the kingdom of Denmark has not been ignored, yet, it has been considered an unfortunate, however long-lasting anomaly, and this tendency has of course been further fuelled especially after the cessation of Schleswig after the Danish defeat in the war of 1864. Thus, in German and especially in Danish historiography, Schleswig was first and foremost being described respectively as a German or Danish province or as an appendix to Danish and German history rather than a region of its own. Finally, the northern part of Schleswig, where the

32 Hansen, ‘Nationalitetskamp og modernising’, pp. 84 and 96–101. 33 Danish examples: Allen, Det danske Sprogs; Cour, ed., Sønderjyllands Historie; Hjelholt, Arvefølgesag; Jessen, ed., Haandbog; Kamphøvener, ed., Sydslesvig gennem Tiderne; Rosendal, Træk af Danskhedens. Schleswig-Holstein (German) examples: Brandt, Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins; Hoff, Schleswig-Holsteinische.

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majority of the population was Danish-minded, was transferred to Denmark after a plebiscite according to the Versailles Treaty in 1920. Thus, what happened was in fact that the region of Schleswig was being divided between Denmark and Germany. From then on, in the light of the growing Dano-German antagonisms until 1945, the study of the history of whole Schleswig as a region in its own right and not as a Danish province would have been considered a serious challenge to the border arrangement of 1920. Only from the late twentieth century onwards — owing to increased DanoGerman reconciliation and relaxation of old national antagonisms34 — this consistent connection between the nationality of the historians and their way of viewing the history of the region of Schleswig has tended to be dissolved in favour of historiography a regional perspective instead of a provincial one. In this new historiography the history of Schleswig can be written and is indeed being written in many ways: either as the history of Schleswig as a region of its own, or as a wider region together with Holstein, or as a region with strong historical, political and cultural ties with the kingdom of Denmark or ties with Germany or the German world in a wider sense, or in a European perspective or in a transnational one whatever seems relevant for the historian and his/her approach, question, and specific theme.35

Conclusion The events in Schleswig in 1848 were complex as a conflict, consisting of political, ideological, social, ethnical, national, separatist and dynastic factors where national, ethnic, and regional antagonisms seem to have overshadowed traditional political, ideological, and social ones. All positions taken were, more or less, based on historical argumentation, and appealed to rights and positions acquired over time. The events of the crisis were both influenced by and had themselves great impact on the political development in 1848 in on the one hand Holstein and the German Federation and on the other hand the kingdom of Denmark. To put it provocatively, the problem was not that both parties were nationalist but that they were not consistent enough in their nationalisms. Had they been that, they would have divided Schleswig along ethnic lines in the way in which this was finally done in 1920 when the present Dano-German border as part of the peace treaty of Versailles was decided and it was placed somewhere in the middle of Schleswig. In 1848 there were indeed voices on both sides as well as among 34 Bregnsbo and Jensen, ‘Schleswig as a Contested Place’pp. 172–78. 35 e.g. Ahlers, Aufbruch and Bürgerkrieg; Ahlers and Schlürmann, Aufbruch and Bürgerkrieg; Bjørn, 1848. Borgerkrig og revolution; Bregnsbo, ‘Danmark 1848’; Bregnsbo, ‘Dänemark und 1848’; Bregnsbo, ‘Denmark 1848’; Bregnsbo, ‘Schleswig(-)Holstein 1848’; Gregersen, Slesvig og Holsten; Hansen, Hjemmetyskheden; Hansen, ‘Nationalitetskamp og modernising’; Krieger and others, eds, 1200 Jahre; Rerup, Slesvig og Holsten; Stolz, Die schleswig-holsteinische Erhebung; Vosgerau, ‘Die parlamentarische Auseinandersetzungen’.

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the great powers speaking in favour of such a solution, but in vain. When the one part of the conflict was driven in the defensive, it tended to be more open for the possibility of a division of Schleswig along language and nationality lines, but then the other part being in the offensive would not hear of this and vice versa. And even if the new Danish government during the autumn of 1848 was open for the idea of such a division of Schleswig, King Frederick VII — thinking in a dynastic and historical-legitimistic way — categorically said no and the government resigned. And in this respect, he was fully in line with his antagonist the duke of Augustenburg who considered himself the rightful heir to the duchy of Schleswig could consequently never accept such a division of his hereditary land. But furthermore, there was one more essential impediment for the idea of a division of Schleswig: on both side public feeling that — as far as we can see — being strongly nationally agitated was definitely against. And this was something that both governments defining themselves as constitutional seriously had to take into account.36 And furthermore it should be remembered that a division along ethnic lines of an old, integrated, historical territory and thereby in fact dissolving an existing region was a very modern and almost unparalleled idea at the time. It would indeed have been a very radical step according to the norms of the age and maybe the time simply was not ripe yet. Instead of arguing by the people’s right of self-determination as far as Schleswig was concerned, both sides argued historically-legitimistically. On the SchleswigHolsteinian and on the German side references were made to the Privilege of Ribe from 1460 stating that Schleswig and Holstein should eternally remained together unseparated whereas from Danish side it was stressed that the duchy of Schleswig was an old Danish fief that was not and never had been part of either the German Empire before 1806 or the German Federation after 1815. And as these references were mutually exclusive, a nationality conflict broke out, overshadowing — at least for a while — the ‘usual’ ideological, political, and social differences of opinion on both sides. It became a clear example of regionalism in its politicized form. The story of Schleswig(-Holstein) in 1848 and the way history has been written about it through the ages clearly illustrate the fruitfulness and relevance of the above-mentioned tendency of replacing the traditional, respectively German and Danish national, historiographical predominance on the history of Schleswig with a regional perspective. Thus, as shown in this contribution, Schleswig should be seen as a region of its own, certainly not as an isolated unit, but in its own right and on its own terms rather than a Danish or German province.

36 Elberling, ‘Den slesvigske Delingstankes’; Vammen, Den tomme stat, pp. 120–22 and 294–95.

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Works Cited Secondary Studies Ahlers, Jens, Aufbruch and Bürgerkrieg. Schleswig-Holstein 1848–1851, 1 (Kiel: SchleswigHolsteinische Landesbibliothek, 2012) Ahlers, Jens, and Jan Schlürmann, Aufbruch and Bürgerkrieg. Schleswig-Holstein 1848–1851, 2 (Kiel: Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesbibliothek, 2012) Allen, Carl F., Det danske Sprogs Historie i Hertugdømmet Slesvig eller Sønderjylland, 1–2 (København: Reitzel, 1857–1858) Bjørn, Claus, Frygten fra 1848. Bonde- og husmandsuroen på Sjælland i foråret 1848 (Odense: Landbohistorisk Selskab, 1985) ———, 1848. Borgerkrig og revolution (København: Gyldendal, 1998) ———, Kampen om Grundloven (København: Fremad, 1999) ———, ‘1814–1864’, in Fra helstat til nationalstat. Dansk udenrigspolitiks historie, ed. by Carsten Due-Nielsen and others, 3 (København: Danmarks Nationalleksikon, 2003), pp. 10–263 Bock, Karl N., ‘Sprogforholdene i Sydslesvig’, in Sydslesvig gennem Tiderne, ed. by Morten Kamphøvener, vol. 2 (København: Fonnesbergs, 1946), pp. 603–49 Bohn, Robert, and Uwe Danker, Schleswig-Holstein: Geschichte auf den Punkt (Neumünster: Wachholz, 2008) Brandt, Otto, Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins (Kiel: Mühlau, 1925) Bregnsbo, Michael, ‘Danmark 1848 – systemskifte og borgerkrig’, Fortid og Nutid, 1998 (1998), 251–69 ———, ‘Dänemark und 1848: Systemwechsel, Bürgerkrieg und Konsensus-Tradition’, in ‘1848 Revolution in Europa. Verlauf, politische Programme, Folgen und Wirkungen’, Dokumente und Schriften der Europäischen Akademie Otzenhausen, ed. by Heiner Timmermann, 87 (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999), pp. 153–64 ———, ‘Denmark 1848: Political Transition and Civil War. Le Danemark en 1848: transition politique et guerre civil’, Revue d’histoire nordique. Nordic Historical Review, 10, (2010), 113–30 ———, ‘Struensee and the Political Culture of Absolutism’, in Scandinavia in the Age of Revolution: Nordic Political Cultures, 1740–1820, ed. by Pasi Ihalainen, Michael Bregnsbo, Karin Sennefelt, and Patrik Winton (London: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 55–65 ———, ‘Schleswig(-)Holstein 1848: Legitimism, Nationalism, Constitutionalism and Regionalism in Conflict’, in Schleswig-Holstein – Contested Region(s) through History, ed. by Michael Bregnsbo and Kurt Villads Jensen (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2016), pp. 177–92 Bregnsbo, Michael, and Kurt Villads Jensen, ‘Schleswig as a Contested Place’, in Contested Places, ed. by Anne Magnussen, Peter Seeberg, Kirstine Sinclair, and Nils Arne Sørensen (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2013), pp. 155–78 ———, eds, Schleswig-Holstein – Contested Region(s) through History (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2016) Clausen, Hans Peter, and Jørgen Paulsen, Augustenburgerne. Slægt – slotte – skæbne (Sønderborg: Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland, 1980)

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Cour, Vilhelm la, Danevirke og Kampene paa vor Sydgrænse (København: Schønberg, 1917) Cour, Vilhelm la, and others, eds, Sønderjyllands Historie fremstillet for det danske Folk, 1–5(København: Reitzel, 1930–1939) Elberling, Emil, ‘Den slesvigske Delingstankes Historie’, in Haandbog i det nordslesvigske Spørgsmaals Historie. Dokumenter, Aktstykker, Kort og statistiske Oplysninger vedrørende Sønderjylland, ed. by Franz von Jessen (København: Det nordiske Forlag, 1901), pp. 185–202 Engelstoft, Povl, ‘Det danske Folk 1848–1864’, in Det danske Folks Historie, ed. by Aage Friis and others, 7 (København: Chr. Erichsens Forlag, 1926–1927), pp. 1–178 Fabricius, Knud, ‘Tidsrummet 1805–1854’, in Sønderjyllands Historie fremstillet for det danske Folk, ed. by Vilhelm la Cour and others, 4 (København: Reitzel, 1937–1939) Fink, Troels, ‘Admiralstatsplanerne i 1840’erne’, in Festskrift til Erik Arup den 22. November 1946, ed. by Astrid Friis and Albert Olsen (København: Gyldendal, 1946), pp. 287–303. ———, ‘Omkring Ejderpolitikkens udformning. Danmarks forhold til Holsten og til det tyske forbund omkring 1840’, Jyske Samlinger, new series vol. 1 (1950–1952), 93–106 ———, ‘Borgerne og Friheden 1814–1852’, in Historikergruppens Danmarks historie, ed. by Johan Hvidtfelt and others, 2 (København: Det danske Forlag, 1951), pp. 87–162 Frandsen, Steen Bo, Holsten i helstaten. Hertugdømmet inden for og uden for det danske monarki i første halvdel af 1800-tallet (København: Museum Tusculanum, 2008) Glenthøj, Rasmus, 1864. Sønner af de Slagne (København: Gads, 2014) Gregersen, Hans V., Slesvig og Holsten før 1830 (København: Politiken, 1982) Hansen, Hans Schultz, Hjemmetyskheden i Nordslesvig – den slesvig-holstenske bevægelse, 1–2 (Aabenraa: Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland, 2005) ———, ‘Nationalitetskamp og modernisering 1815–1918’, in Sønderjyllands Historie, ed. by Hans Schultz Hansen, Lars N. Henningsen, and Carsten Porskrog Rasmussen, 2 (Aabenraa: Historisk Samfund for Sønderjylland, 2008), pp. 11–240 Hemstad, Ruth, Historie og nasjonal identitet. Kampen om fortiden i det dansk-tyskje grenseland 1815–1840 (Oslo: Det norske Forskningsråd, 1996) Hjelholt, Holger, Arvefølgesag og forfatningsforhold i det danske monarki ved midten af det 19. århundrede. Fr. v. Pechlins virksomhed for monarkiets opretholdelse ca. 1845–51 (København: Det kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab, 1973) Hoff, Hinrich Ewald, Schleswig-Holsteinische Heimatsgeschichte, I–II (Leipzig: Lipsius and Fischer, 1910–1912) Jahnke, Carsten, ‘“dat se bliven ewich tosamende ungedelt”. Neue Überlegungen zu einem alten Schlagwort’, Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für Schleswig-Holsteinische Geschichte, 128 (2003), 45–59 Jensen, Hans, ‘Bondecirkulæret af 8. November 1845. Et Bidrag til Kristian 8.s Historie’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 9 (1921–1923), 171–232 Jessen, Franz von, ed., Haandbog i det nordslesvigske Spørgsmaals Historie. Dokumenter, Aktstykker, Kort og statistiske Oplysninger vedrørende Sønderjylland (København: Det nordiske Forlag, 1901) Jørgensen, Adolph D., Anden Bog. 1832–1852, Danmarks Riges Historie, vol. 6. 1 (København: Nordisk Forlag, 1896–1897)

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Kamphøvener, Morten, ed., Sydslesvig gennem Tiderne, 1–3 (København: Fonnesbergs, 1948–1949) Klussmann, Jan, ‘“Christus war Demokrat und Proletarier dazu”. Ländliche Unterschichten und soziale Bewegung in Holstein 1848–1850’, Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für SchleswigHolsteinische Geschichte, 123 (1998), 149–79 Krech, Joachim, Das schleswig-holsteinische Staatsgrundgesetz vom 15. September 1848. Entstehung und verfassungsrechtliche Einordnung unter Berücksichtigung des monarchischen Prinzips und der Volkssouveränität. Europäische Hochschulschriften, II (Rechtswissenschaft), 454 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1985) Krieger, Martin, Frank Lubowitz, and Steen Bo Frandsen, eds, 1200 Jahre Deutsch-Dänische Grenze. Tagungsband (Neumünster: Wachholtz, 2013) Møller, Anders Monrad, ‘Depeche fra St Petersborg. Omkring det åbne brev af 9. juli 1846’, Historisk Tidsskrift 112. 2 (2012), 405–20 Mørch, Søren, Den sidste danmarkshistorie. 57 fortællinger af fædrelandets historie (København: Gyldendal, 1996) Nipperdey, Thomas, Deutsche Geschichte 1800–1866. Bürgerwelt und starker Staat (Munich: Beck, 1983) Petersen, Niels, ed., Betænkninger fra Christian VIII’s tid om styrelsen af det danske monarki (København: Selskabet for Udgivelse af Kilder for dansk Historie, 1969) Rerup, Lorenz, Slesvig og Holsten efter 1830 (København: Politikens, 1982) Riis, Thomas, ‘Up ewich ungedelt” – ein Schlagwort und sein Hintergrund’, in Geschichtsbilder. Festschrift für Michael Salewski zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Thomas Stamm-Kuhlmann and others (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2003), pp. 158–67 Rohweder, Jürgen, Sprache und Nationalität. Nordschleswig und die Anfänge der dänischen Sprachpolitik in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Glückstadt: Augstein, 1976) Rosendal, Hans, Træk af Danskhedens Historie i Sønderjylland, I–II, (København: Udvalget for Folkeoplysningens Fremme, 1911–1912) Scharff, Alexander, Schleswig-Holstein in der deutschen und nordeuropäischen Geschichte. Gesammelte Aufsätze. New edition prepared by Jessen-Klingenberg, Manfred, Horst Braunert, and others, Kieler Historische Studien, 6 (Stuttgart: Klett, 1969) Simonsen, Asger Th., Husmandskår og husmandspolitik i 1840erne (København: Landbohistorisk Selskab, 1977) Skovgaard-Petersen, Vagn, Tiden 1814–1864, Danmarks historie, 5, ed. by H. P. Clausen and Søren Mørch (København: Gyldendal, 1985) Skrubbeltrang, Fridlev, Den danske Husmand. Husmænd og husmandsbevægelser gennem tiderne, 1 (København: Det danske Forlag, 1952) Sperber, Jonathan, The European Revolutions, 1848–1851, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) Stolz, Gerd, Die Schleswig-holsteinische Erhebung. Die nationale Auseinandersetzungen in und um Schleswig-Holstein von 1848/51 (Husum: Idstedt Stiftung, 1996) Thorsen, Peder K., ‘Det danske Folkesprog i Sønderjylland’, in Haandborg i det nordslesvigske Spørgsmaals Historie. Dokumenter, Aktstykker, Kort og statistiske Oplysninger vedrørende Sønderjylland, ed. by Franz von Jessen (København: Det nordiske Forlag, 1901), pp. 119–66

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Vammen, Hans, ‘Casino 1848’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 88 (1988), 253–81 ———, ‘Die “Casino-Revolution” in Kopenhagen 1848’, Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für Schleswig-Holsteinische Geschichte, 123 (1998), 57–90 ———, Den tomme stat. Angst og ansvar i dansk politik 1848–1864 (København: Museum Tusculanum, 2011) Vosgerau, Heiko, ‘Die parlamentarische Auseinandersetzungen um inneren Reformen während der Schleswig-holsteinischen Erhebung’, Zeitschrift der Gesellschaftt für Schleswig-Holsteinische Geschichte, 123 (1998), 91–114 Wollstein, Günter, Das “Grossdeutschland” der Paulskirche. Nationale Ziele der bürgerlichen Revolution von 1848/49 (Düsseldorf: Droste, 1977)

Online Sources Danmarks Nationalleksikon, www.denstoredanske.dk (accessed 7 July 2015)

Flocel Sabaté

Constructing and Deconstructing the Medieval Origin of Catalonia

The Catalan nineteenth century looked to its medieval past. It established a specific model of the medieval history of Catalonia and boosted a standardized memory that has lasted for a long time. Undoing this historiographic view and rediscovering what really happened has taken longer than one might have expected.

Various Medieval Catalonias Claimed between 1800 and 1875 The institutions created in the late Middle Ages, that made up the formal structure of Catalonia within the Spanish monarchy, were repealed in 1715 and replaced by a state-wide institutional model that was homogenous for all Spain.1 Throughout the eighteenth century, the notion of Spanish national identity was reinforced.2 The use of Castilian was encouraged in the institutions3 and in the formal and cultured settings,4 relegating Catalan to popular literary uses,5 as if it were an old provincial language, now dead for the Republic of Letters and unknown to the rest of Europe, as Antoni de Capmany defined it.6 This situation spurred interest in the Catalan past, including the language, culture and institutions, and this naturally led towards the Middle Ages.

1 2 3 4 5 6

Juan Vidal, ‘Los reinados de Felipe V y Fernando VI’, pp. 124–25. García Cárcel, ‘El concepto de España en el siglo XVIII’, pp. 12–36. Moran, ‘Català i castellà als segles XVIII i XIX’, pp. 186–87. Prats, ‘La llengua catalana al segle XVIII: possibles pautes d’estudi’, pp. 15–74. Escartí, ‘La prosa en catalán durante el siglo XVIII’, pp. 141–45. ‘Un idioma antiguo provincial, muerto hoy para la República de las letras y desconocido para el resto de Europa’ (an ancient provincial language, at present dead among the republic of letters and not known by the rest of Europe), Capmany y de Monpalau, Memorias Históricas, vol. ii, p. 846. Flocel Sabaté  •  is professor of Medieval History at the University of Lleida and a former director of the Institute for Research into Identities and Society. He has served as an invited professor in universities and research centres such as Paris-I, Poitiers, Yale, UNAM (Mexico), Cambridge, ENS (Lyon) and JSPS (Tokyo). He is also doctor honoris causa of the Universidad Nacional de Cuyo (Argentina). Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 257–281 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121495

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Concerns about the archives from some of the abolished institutions, the need to rework the old documentation in many monasteries whose rights were being challenged, and the encouragement of the new enlightened bourgeoisie that was then on the rise all came together. The urge to regenerate the country and to stimulate its economy was mixed with the desire to learn about the medieval past, the epoch which was considered to have been the country’s best.7 Thus, Capmany understood that ‘las buenas costumbres, loables usos y gobierno público de los antiguos barceloneses’ (the good customs, praiseworthy usages and public government of the ancient Barcelonese) of that epoch should be taken as a model.8 With the twin aim of contributing to the future and knowing about the roots, the end of the eighteenth century saw benefits reaped from the studies encouraged by the Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona, the Junta de Comercio, the University of Cervera, the so-called historiographic School of Les Avellanes and the majority of the bishops. All of them invoked a rigour that incorporated Enlightenment traits9 and that led to a very dense legacy for the Catalan intellectuals of the early decades of the nineteenth century.10 When the first Spanish constitution was being discussed in 1812, Capmany invoked the participative (parliamentary) model of the Crown of Aragon, and especially Catalonia, as a model for the new order in Spain.11 Indeed, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the rights and institutions from medieval origins were used by the appointed representatives of Catalonia to demand more participative policies from the Spanish monarchy,12 in a European context of confrontation between the mixed and absolutist models.13 However, in the nineteenth century, a hundred years after the suppression of these rights, they could be seen as an example of participation. Thus, far from the simplistic view of liberal reformers and centralists opposed to conservatives favourable to the old plurality of the Ancien Regime,14 proposals arose in Catalonia for a formalistic liberalism,15 in which the recovery of the traditional rights could be presented as a valid reclamation after a century under the ignominious Bourbon yoke.16 In line with this, at the start of the liberal triennium in 1820, Ramon Muns proposed a liberal model for Spain based on the plurality and participation considered inherent to the traditional Catalan system.17 And when a new liberal

7 Caresmar, Carta al barón de La Linde, p. 61. 8 Capmany y de Monpalau, Memorias Históricas, vol. ii, p. 814. 9 Lluch, ‘La construcció de la imatge de Catalunya a la Il·lustració’, pp. 153–65. 10 Sabaté, ‘Reivindicació de Jaume Pasqual i el seu entorn en la història cultural de Catalunya’, pp. 11–13. 11 Grau, ‘La historiografia del romanticisme’, p. 145. 12 Simon, Els orígens ideològics de la revolució catalana de 1640; Simon, Construccions polítiques i identitats nacionals. 13 Gaille-Nikodimov, ed., Le Gouvernement mixte. 14 ¿Faltó el jacobinismo en España? ¿Era débil la burguesía y fue incapaz de llevar a cabo su ‘pretendida misión histórica’? (Was the Jacobinism missed in Spain? Was the bourgeoisie weak and unable to carry out its so-called historical mission?) Moliner, Revolución burguesa y movimiento juntero en España, p. 345. 15 Lluch, ‘El liberalisme foralista en el segle XIX’, pp. 14–20. 16 Marfany, ‘Catalunya i Espanya’, pp. 6–11. 17 Arnabat, La revolució de 1820 i el trienni liberal a Catalunya, pp. 84–85.

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structure was being sought in 1834, from a progressive posture, Ramon López Soler called explicitly for the resumption of the former Catalan law.18 The representative and participative system was part of Catalan identity from the outset, because the culture of pacts was central to the spirit of the Catalan nation, as Pella and Coroleu stated in their studies of the Catalan parliament (Corts).19 The custodians and promoters of this pactist identity were the people of the medieval towns and cities, always aware of their ‘amour de la liberté et l’amour de la patrie’ (love to the freedom and to the homeland).20 That is why the local magistrates, especially those from Barcelona, were so important21 with their leadership acting as ‘voz leal e independiente de los Senadores catalanes’ (loyal and independent voice of the Catalan Senators), in the words of Pi i Arimón, published posthumously in 1854.22 In fact, while wishing to influence Spanish political decisions, the bourgeoisie that drove nineteenth-century Catalan society, based their own ideals on their medieval ancestors, and regarded themselves as the inheritors of a tradition of identity.23 The same Pi i Arimón warned about the initial heroism, forged in the struggle against the Muslim invader: ‘el afán y esfuerzo con que se trabaja en la obra de la reconquista de Cataluña y los obstáculos y contratiempos que más de una vez embargaron y aún destruyeron los proyectos de tan grande y transcendental empresas’ (the desire and effort to deal with the work of the Reconquest of Catalonia and with the obstacles and setbacks that more than once seized and still destroyed the projects related to so great and transcendental challenges).24 Thus, glory lay in the beginning. This is what the young Antoni de Bofarull transmitted in Hazañas y recuerdos de los Catalanes published in 1846, and explicitly based on the German pre-Romantic literary models. Like him, other young authors, such as Jaume Tió or Víctor Balaguer, promoted a historicist theatre with an optimistic message which they aimed to transmit to the population.25 The first of the legends about Catalonia spread by Antoni de Bofarull was set ‘en una tierra de las más favorecidas por el cielo’ (in one of the lands most favoured by heaven) that laid claim to a glorious medieval origin even before Wilfred the Hairy became ‘el primer conde soberano de Barcelona’ (the first sovereign count of Barcelona) in 878.26 These ideas complemented a popular view in which the medieval references had, until then, been mainly hagiographic, still transmitted a political message, as in the popular theatre plays about Saint Vicenç Ferrer, who

18 Ribalta, ‘“Constitución catalana” y “Cortes de Cataluña”’, pp. 11–119. 19 Coroleu and Pella, Las cortes catalanas, p. 14. 20 Alart, Privilèges et titres relatifs aux franchises, institutions et propriétés communales de Roussillon et d Cerdagne depuis le xie siècle jusqu’à l’an 1600, p. 5. 21 Angelón, Juan Fivaller, p. 5. 22 Pi y Arimón, Barcelona antigua y moderna, vol. i, p. 7. 23 Sabaté, ‘Municipio y monarquia en la Cataluña bajomedieval’, pp. 255–61. 24 Pi y Arimón, Barcelona antigua y moderna, vol. i, p. 454. 25 Grau, ‘La historiografia del romanticisme’, p. 145. 26 Bofarull, ‘Hazañas y recuerdos de los catalanes’, pp. 9–18.

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highlighted the wickedness of the count of Urgell, the pretender to the Crown of Aragon in the fifteenth century defeated by a new Castilian dynasty.27 In reality, demand grew during the 1820s for knowledge about Catalonia’s own history. Collections of medieval documents like the Marca Hispanica were to be found in most libraries, while the editions of histories of the country by subscription were very successful.28 It is no surprise that the most recent general history of Catalonia, originally written by Gerónimo Pujades in the seventeenth century, was republished.29 In 1836, the director of the Royal Archive in Barcelona (the Archive of the Crown of Aragon), the renowned Pròsper de Bofarull, aimed to update this knowledge by publishing two volumes of a work with a very direct title Los condes de Barcelona vindicados y cronologia y genealogia de los reyes de España, considerados como soberanos independientes de su Marca (The Counts of Barcelona vindicated and chronology and genealogy of the kings of Spain considered as independent sovereigns of his March). He did not establish many links to the earlier eighteenth-century historiography, rather the opposite, he insisted on the need to fill the numerous gaps in the historiography, beginning by clarifying the birth of the nation, given that, depending on who one reads, this is placed at different points in a very wide range, between the eighth and the thirteenth centuries.30 Pròsper de Bofarull detected the existence of a society with its own identity, so that when the Franks arrived, they respected the existing Visigoth law; an official moment of recognition, when Wilfred the Hairy was granted the county of Barcelona in 878 by King Louis the Stammerer; a legitimation in the struggle against the Muslim invader; and, in short, a dynastic continuity from Wilfred to the actual legitimate monarchs through the genealogy of the sovereign counts of Barcelona: ‘una soberanía que de hecho tuvieron ya desde

27 Burguete, Milacre de Sent Visent Ferrer. 28 Anguera, ‘Españolismo y catalanidad en la historiografia catalana decimonónica’, pp. 908–10. 29 Pujades, Crónica Universal del Principado de Cataluña. 30 ‘Tantos escritores de primer orden no han podido apurar, después de diez siglos de investigaciones y tareas, el origen de la soberanía de los primitivos Condes de Barcelona, atribuyéndose unos a don Wifredo el Velloso o a su nieto Borrell, otros a D. Ramon Berenguer el Viejo, este al rey de Aragón D. Alfonso el Casto, y aquel finalmente a D. Jaime el Conquistador en fuerza del tratado de Carbolio o Corbeil de 1258 con Luis IX de Francia en que los dos Soberanos renunciaron mutuamente los derechos que cada cual pretendía tener en los estados del otro: cuando tantos sabios, repito, están aun discordes no solo sobre este punto fundamental de nuestra historia, si que también estienden sus dudas y cuestiones a la misma existencia de algunos de estos Condes y de sus esposas e hijos, sin haber podido determinar hasta ahora varias época de sus respectivos gobiernos’(Many outstanding writers, after ten centuries of research and works, have failed in their efforts looking for defining the origin of the sovereignty of the former counts of Barcelona. Someone stated that the starting point was with Wilfred the Hairy or his grandson Borrell, and other ones believed that it was with Ramon Berenguer the Oldest, but other ones thought that it was the king of Aragon Alfonso the Chaste or, finally, with James the Conqueror, because of the Corbeil Treaty signed in 1258 by him and Louis IX of France in order to renounce the pretended rights held for each one in the States of the other one. And, also, many wise people still disagree on this crucial point in our history, extending also their doubts and questions over the existence itself of some of these counts and their wives and children, being unable so far to determine the various periods of their respective governments). Bofarull, Los condes de Barcelona vindicados, vol. i, pp. i–ii.

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Figure 10.1. Posthumous portrait of Pròsper de Bofarull (1777–1839), chief of the Royal Archives of Barcelona and historian, by Claudi Lorenzale. Picture: Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó. Reproduced with permission.

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D. Wifredo el Velloso, no solo por la cesión de Carlos Calvo […] si que también por derecho de conquista y aclamación de sus Catalanes o Godos de la marca, que en aquellos siglos se gobernaban según sus leyes electivas del Fuero Juzgo, que regían en toda la península antes de la invasión de los Árabes’ (a sovereignty that in fact they had already from Wilfred the Hairy, not only throughout the rights ceeded Charles the Bald […] but also by right of conquest and acclaim of their Catalan or Goths inhabitants of the March, which in those centuries ruled by the elective law called ‘Fuero Juzgo’, as the Peninsula used to rule before the Arab invasion).31 This explanation emphasizes the weight of the dynasty. Víctor Balaguer preferred another explanation that accentuated the collective and the participative from the beginning. In fact, in the political disputes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the political freedoms were argued to have existed since the birth of the country, thus committing all successors to the sovereignty of Catalonia.32 The explanation was based on the interpretation given in the sixteenth century to the rediscovered agreement offered to Barcelona by Charles the Bald in 844, from which it is deduced that the origin lay in the agreement under which the population of Barcelona, after having freed itself from the Muslims, accepted Carolingian sovereignty. Balaguer argued that the need to force out the Muslim invader facilitated the creation of a new nation in which a participative spirit stands out: ‘una nación nueva, una generación virgen, una raza independiente y libre, esencialmente cristiana por su origen, esencialmente civilizadora por su misión’ (a new nation, a virgin generation, an independent and free race, essentially Christian from its origin, essentially civilizing in its mission).33 Thus, it could be said that the Catalans’ civil liberty and political freedom were born with them. England was the only possible parallel: ‘Cataluña e Inglaterra se parecen en eso. Ninguna otra nación como ella ha sido tan firme y tan celosa defensora de su régimen constitucional, de su sistema parlamentario’ (Catalonia and England are comparable at this point. No other nation like them has been equally firm and zealous in the defence of its constitutional regime and its parliamentary system).34 Thus, there are visions that are partly complementary but also partly contradictory, depending on whether emphasis is placed on the dynasty or the collective participative essence in the birth of the country. The implications nowadays are clear: Víctor Balaguer enjoyed a growing influence in the politics of Spain,35 in which he promoted a federal and constitutional model,36 based on the old Crown of Aragon guided by Catalonia, with a participative model since its beginnings.37

31 Bofarull, Los condes de Barcelona vindicados, vol. i, pp. 13–14. 32 Villanueva, Política y discurso histórico en la España del siglo XVII, pp. 53–71. 33 Balaguer, Bellezas de la historia de Cataluña, pp. 92–93. 34 Balaguer, La libertad constitucional, p. 20. 35 Comas, ed., Víctor Balaguer i el seu temps. 36 Ucelay-Da Cal, El imperialismo catalán, pp. 246–47. 37 Fradera, ‘Visibilitat i invisibilitat de Víctor Balaguer’, pp. 20–21.

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The Standardization of the Memory of the Medieval Origins of Catalonia In Catalan historiography throughout the twentieth century, it became commonplace to place the start of the positivist and rigorous history with the publication of the Historia crítica (civil y eclesiástica) de Cataluña by Antoni de Bofarull published in 1876 as a serious alternative to the previous contributions.38 A simple comparison with the romantic Historia de Cataluña y la Corona de Aragón published by Víctor Balaguer just a decade earlier shows the appearance of greater criteria of verification and historical foundation.39 Around the same dates, the Bourbon Restoration was eliminating the traces of the Democratic Sexennium and the first Spanish republic. There was even fear about this: the members of well-established cultural institutions, like the Ateneu Barceloní, argued with each other about whether or not to accept self-censorship and clear the library of books that could be interpreted as ideologically too closely related to the earlier revolutionary periods.40 At the same time, concern for recovering Catalan traditional folklore was consecrating a vision that mixed ruralism, tradition, and the Church,41 and the movement for Catalan cultural recovery (the Renaixença) moved towards the radicalization of the anti-progressive and medievalising message in an anti-Spanish key.42 In this context, the progressive and secular trend of Balaguer’s views did not fit in Catalonia, in the same way that his promotion of the participative Catalan roots made this seem too regionalist in the rest of Spain, which led to a secular contempt.43 Clearly, the historiographical detractors of Balaguer were new positivists, coming from a recent romantic past, which allows us to understand that the ideological controversy could be more important than the discussion for the historiographical method.44 Spanish society consolidated, during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, a conservative political model,45 which included a definitive stabilization of the historical narrative about the Spanish nation,46 centred on an idealized contribution of Castile.47 In this setting, the narrative of the origins of Catalonia stabilized as that of a country focused on itself, seriously disconnected from the Spain that was not part of the Crown of Aragon and made up from essential points that were now consolidated. This was no new explanation, but more the sum of previously existing elements now presented together under the invocation of the heuristic support. The

38 Anguera, ‘Españolismo y catalanidad en la historiografía catalana decimonónica’, pp. 923–24. 39 Sobrequés, ‘Les històries generals de Catalunya’, p. 25. 40 Pérez Nespereira, ‘La primera crisi positivista a l’Ateneu Barcelonès’, pp. 70–75. 41 Prats, El mite de la tradició popular, pp. 170–88. 42 Fradera, ‘Visibilitat i invisibilitat de Víctor Balaguer’, p. 24. 43 Palomas, ‘La persistència dels equívocs en les biografies d’alguns catalans del dinou’, pp. 229–30. 44 Grau, ‘El pensament històric de la dinastia Bofarull’, pp. 156–58. 45 López-Cordón, ‘La mentalidad conservadora durante la Restauración’, pp. 71–109. 46 Álvarez, Mater dolorosa, pp. 187–627. 47 Fox, La invención de España, pp. 111–74; Pérez Garzón, ‘La creación de la historia de España’, pp. 95–105.

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criticism expressed in the twentieth century of the precipitation or the insufficiency of this documentary analysis would not alter its long survival.48 In first place, the independent Catalonia was born with the feoffment of the county of Barcelona to Wilfred the Hairy in 878. El suceso de la reconquista (the success of the Reconquist) guided by Wilfred gave a complete confirmation: ‘al dilatar la vista por los nuevos espacios que antes hollara la planta infiel y entonces purificava ya el santo sacrificio de los cristianos, lleno de esperanza y de justo orgullo, no podia menos de exclamar: ¡ya tenemos patria! Origenes menos importantes lo han sido de vastas nacionalidades y acatando aquel principio de que Dios da los reinos y los quita, bien podemos creer que esta vez la Divina Providencia dispuso que así se fomentara la nacionalidad catalana’. (extending his view across the new spaces after being held by the infidel and then purified throughout the holy sacrifice gave by the Christian, and full of hope and just pride, he [i.e. Wilfred the Hairy] could not less than exclaim: we still have homeland! Large nationalities have origins less important and we can well believe, abiding the principle that God gives and remove kingdoms, that this time Divine Providence arranged that the Catalan nationality had been encouraged).49 This implies identifying the county of Barcelona with Catalonia. This identification was not yet consolidated enough in 1272, when James I designated his son Peter ‘heretem nostrum post dies nostros in regno Aragonis et in regno Valencie et in Rippacurcie et in Paylars et Valle de Aran et in comitatu Barchinone et in dominacione quam habemus in comitatu Urgelli et in aliis locis et terris Cathalonie’ (our heir after our days in the reign of Aragon, and in the reign of Valencia, and in Ribagorça, and in Pallars, and in the Valley of Aran, and in the county of Barcelona and in the lordship that we have in the county of Urgell and in other places and lands of Catalonia) in his will.50 However, in 1283, the then king, Peter the Great had to accept the Catalan parliament (Courts) imposing that, referring any place of Catalonia, the sovereign only use the title of the count of Barcelona: ‘tam in litteris quam cartis et sigillis nostris scribamus nos et successores nostri Comitem Barchinone’ (both in our letters and in our sealed charters we and our successors write as count of Barcelona).51 Thus it must be understood that, ‘tanquem comitis Barchinone’ (being count of Barcelona), he had to have the highest rights over all Catalonia, as James II demanded from the viscount of Castellbó in 1302, who did not at first accept this reasoning.52 Precisely to strengthen his power over all the country, in 1353, Peter the Ceremonious ordered that the document with the grant of that county to the first count of Barcelona be

48 Rovira i Virgili, Història nacional de Catalunya, vol. i, pp. 137–38. 49 Bofarull, Història crítica (civil y eclesiástica) de Cataluña, vol. ii, p. 187. 50 Udina, Els testaments dels comtes de Barcelona i dels reis de la Corona d’Aragó, p. 147. 51 Cortes de Cataluña, vol. i, p. 148. 52 Baudon de Mony, Rélations politiques des comtes de Foix, vol. ii, p. 281.

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found, to clarify the conditions that this donation contained.53 The consolidation of royal power required a justification with roots in the country’s origins. And the historiography of the late nineteenth century accepted that without dispute. At first, in reality, there was the crisis of the Carolingian empire, under which the counties in the north-eastern Iberian Peninsula were forced to seek their own path.54 However, the historiography consolidated at the end of the nineteenth century understood them to be subsidiaries to the house of Barcelona and immersed in a degree of confusion that quashed any attempt to establish their genealogies.55 The thread of all the narratives was still the county dynasty of Barcelona, the same that had to lead down to the contemporary monarchs.56 This did not prevent the dynasty of the County of Urgell from being well appreciated given that it was believed to be close to the dynasty of Barcelona. They were thought to have had important and tragic roles according to the accounts of the history of the country. This is the reason why in 1853 Pròsper de Bofarull promoted the publication of the book that Diego de Monfar devoted to the Urgell counts’ in the seventeenth century.57 Entering the twentieth century, some historians delved into documentary sources that enabled them to tackle specific monographic studies of the viscountcy of Castellbò,58 the counties of Besalú, Empúries or Rosselló and the viscountcy of Bas,59 without provoking any discrepancy with the unitary vision of the country from its origins. A joint denomination for this unit was thus needed. In the seventeenth century, after the representatives of the Catalans had dismissed the king of Spain in 1640 and granted the crown to that of France. In 1644, Pière de la Marca, as Louis XIV’s Inspector General and Superintendent, searched numerous Catalan archives for documents to show that the region had initially belonged to the Carolingian domains. Later, his secretary, Étienne Baluze, published this collection of documents under a very blunt title: Marca Hispanica sive limes hispanicus.60 Antoni de Bofarull explicitly accepted the identification when he displayed a unitary vision of the Marca Hispánica o sia de Catalunya (Hispanic March, that is of Catalonia) The fact that it retained its own, Visigoth, laws within the Frankish whole, would show the acceptance of an initial unity.61 Situating sovereignty on the concession of the county to Wilfred the Hairy in 878 generates a problem for interpreting why the counts paid homage to the Frankish sovereigns until the rise of the Capetians in 987, when the withdrawal of fidelity arrived, according to Pi i Arimón,62 because the Count Borrell II had received no royal 53 Rubió y Lluch, Documents per l’història de la Cultura Catalana Mig-eval, vol. i, p. 165. 54 Sabaté, ‘El nacimiento de Cataluña. Mito y realidad’, pp. 223–42. 55 Bofarull, Historia crítica (civil y eclesiástica) de Cataluña, vol. ii, pp. 200–02. 56 Sunyer, Els mites nacionals catalans, p. 90. 57 Monfar y Sors, Historia de los condes de Urgel, 2 vols. Recently some scholars have argued that the book could be written during the same nineteenth c.: Riera, ‘Jaume Villanueva i el comtat d’Urgell’, pp. 63–83. 58 Miret i Sans, Investigación histórica sobre el vizcondado de Castellbó. 59 Monsalvatje y Fossas, Noticias históricas. 60 Marca, Marca Hispanica sive limes hispanicus. 61 Bofarull, Història crítica civil y esglesiàstica de Catalunya, vol. iii, p. 166. 62 Pi y Arimón, Barcelona antigua y moderna, vol. i, p. 48.

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Figure 10.2. Wilfred the Hairy, who was seen by nineteenth-century historians as the founder of the independent dynasty of counts of Barcelona, establishing the coat of arms of the county according to a legend from the sixteenth century. Painting (1843–1844) by Claudi Lorenzale. Picture: Reial Academia Catalana de Belles Arts de Sant Jordi, inv. No. 277. Reproduced with permission.

support when Barcelona was assaulted by Al-Mansur in 985.63 The different authors made appropriate combinations and circumlocutions in order to explain that in the eighth century ‘la formació nacional’ (the formation of the nation) took place,64 because then was prepared ‘el terrer per a la formació de la Nacionalitat Catalana’ (the land through the formation of the Catalan nationality), and one century after ‘quedà de fet establerta la independència de la Marca’ (remained the fact of the establishing of the independence of the March),65 appreciating an evolution that allowed to maintain for Wilfred the Hairy the honour of being the ‘primer comte independent’ (first independent count), although the ‘independència consagrada’ (consecrated independence)66 just was got under Borrell II.

63 Carreras Candi, Lo Montjuich de Barcelona, p. 113. 64 Ricart, Història de Catalunya, pp. 35–38. 65 Font i Sagué, Història de Catalunya, pp. 47, 44. 66 Torroja, Història de Catalunya, pp. 32–35.

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Having expelled the invaders himself, Count Borrell II would have had to make large concessions to the nobles, with consequences for the feudalization of the country, as Bori Fontestà explains: ‘asegurada así la reconquista se dedicó el conde a dar derechos sobre tierras a cuantos caballeros le auxiliaron en la campaña, alcanzando el régimen feudal su más decidido apogeo, tanto, que necesitaba de una legislación vigorosa que pusiera a raya sus despotismos y desafueros’ (the count, after having secured the Reconquest, was devoted to give land rights to those knights who had assisted him in the campaign, reason why the feudalism reached its highest peak and, therefore, a vigorous legislation was needed to keep at bay the feudal despotisms and outrages).67 This very negative view of the nobility also became a standard feature of the historiography promoted by the bourgeoisie in the second half of the nineteenth century. The count of Barcelona legislated against the excesses of the nobles, and the culmination of this legislation and, thus, also the definitive submission of the violence to the law and the full consolidation of the supreme power of the count of Barcelona would be reached shortly after the middle of the eleventh century, when it is believed that Ramon Berenguer I granted the Usatges de Barcelona.68 This was a crucial step in the consolidation of the country, as Norbert Font i Sagué explained in 1899: La Nacionalitat Catalana, que havia entrat de ple en el camí del progrés, en aquesta època avança ràpidament en mig dels defectes del feudalisme i de la corrupció de costums dels nobles; les fronteres de la Pàtria comencen a definir-se i la societat pren forma i es vigoritza per mitjà de codis i lleis com els ‘Usatges’ i les promulgacions de ‘pau i treva’, que vénen a ésser la base del futur Estat. (The Catalan nationality, which had fully entered the path of progress, this time forward quickly in the midst of the defects of feudalism and the corruption of noble customs. At the same time, the borders of the Homeland begin to define themselves and society takes shape and gains strength through codes and laws as the ‘Usatges’ and the promulgations of ‘Peace and Truce’, which come to be the basis of the future state).69 Thus, feudalism was regulated. However, this regulation consolidated the ongoing oppression of the main victims of the voracity of nobles: the peasantry. The latter saw their condition harmed from the origins of the country. Feudalism and submission of the peasantry would be two sides of the same coin, as Coroleu interpreted in 1878 on seeing that, in the feudalism, ‘el rasgo característico es la confusión del principio de soberanía con el de la propiedad territorial, confusión que engendró el singular fenómeno de que pudiese sufrir el más duro despotismo una clase postergada’ (the characteristic feature is the confusion between the principle of sovereignty and the territorial property, which spawned the singular phenomenon that a backward class suffered the hardest despotism). The improvement introduced by the Usatges would be not very flattering: ‘en algo se había de diferenciar el rústico, en tierra de cristianos, 67 Bori y Fontestá, Historia de Cataluña, p. 50. 68 Fita, ‘Corte y Usajes de Barcelona en 1064’, pp. 389–93; Fita, ‘El obispo Guisliberto’, pp. 228–46. 69 Font i Sagué, Història de Catalunya, p. 48.

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de los caballos y los palomos, de los cuales se trata en los usajes’ (something had to differentiate the peasant, in the land of Christians, from the horses and pigeons, which deserved the attention of the Usatges).70 One can imagine a permanently offensive situation until the outbursts of violence at the end of the Middle Ages.71 The Church, that already fulfilled a cultural task,72 would stand out as the institution that would take a firm stance against the feudal violence. The Bishop Torras i Bages expressed this forcefully in 1892: ‘la lenitat eclesiàstica va imposant-se al poble; l’esperit democràtic de l’Evangeli va triomfant de l’esperit aristocràtic que, naturalment, engendra una època guerrera’ (the ecclesiastical lenity was imposing itself to the people; the democratic spirit of the Gospel was triumphing over the aristocratic spirit, which naturally engendered a warrior epoch). The Peace and Truce were the Church’s great contribution, and their promoters became very famous, especially the bishop-abbot Oliva. Josep Torras i Bages added: ‘el cèlebre bisbe Abat és, sens dubte, un dels més benèfics restauradors de la civilització al nostre país’ (the famous bishop-abbot is, without doubt, one of the most beneficial restorers of civilisation in our country).73 These social benefices achieved by the Church in the Middle Ages were displayed with pride and promoted as a kind of antidote to the contemporary dangers of liberal and revolutionary ideas.74 In reality, religion had become incrusted into the identity of the country from the earliest moments. Charlemagne and Louis the Pious promoted it, without even having to show it, as Antoni de Bofarull warned: ‘no dubteriem ancque no hi haguessen documents per provarho, per creure natural y regular que un conqueridor o patronador, diguis com se vulgui, de un pahís que ha d’entrar davall del seu cristià domini, eixint de la servitut mafumètica, tingui com principal esment afavorir l’església i fomentar lo culte cristià’ (we would never doubt, even if there are no documents to prove it, to believe it to be natural and regular that a conqueror or patron, however you want to call him, of a country that must enter under its Christian rule, leaving Muslim servitude, always as his main objective has to favor the church and to promote the Christian faith).75 And all the successive counts would persevere in the same line, as Ramon Torroja revealed: ‘són quasi 300 anys de lluites rudes, unes vegades contra els àrabs, enemics de fora, i altres contra enemics i les dificultats de dins per a estructurar i agermenar el creixement del nou Estat. Dos sentiments dominen: la religió i la pàtria. Ells sostenien el caliu de la Guerra’ (there are almost 300 years of tough fights, sometimes against Arabs, which were enemies from outside, and in other cases against the enemies and the difficulties within for structuring and fraternizing the growth of the new state. Two feelings dominate: religion and homeland. Both maintained

70 Coroleu, El feudalismo y la servidumbre en la gleba de Cataluña, pp. 8, 16. 71 Chia, Bandos y bandoleros en Gerona, vol. i, p. 13. 72 ‘la ciència s’arrecera a les mans curoses i paciens dels monjos’ (the science was protected by the caring and patient hands of the monks) Torroja, Història de Catalunya, pp. 35–36. 73 Torras i Bages, La tradició catalana, p. 140. 74 Bonet and Martí, L’integrisme a Catalunya, p. 607. 75 Bofarull, Historia crítica (civil y eclesiástica) de Cataluña, vol. ii, p. 114.

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the warmth of War).76 The fundamental link with the faith was well appreciated by such figures as the Catholic fundamentalist Fèlix Sardà, satisfied that from Wilfred the Hairy, ‘se emprendía por los catalanes la Reconquista de su profanado suelo’ (the Reconquest of its profaned soil was undertaken by the Catalans).77 The best antidote to the nobility’s abuses of the peasantry and the Church came from urban society. It was the path of late medieval progress, as Joan Segura summarized: ‘axís la estrella dels barons s’anava eclipsant, mentres la dels Reys y dels municipis reyals crexía en esplendor’ (according as the barons’ star was eclipsing, the one belonging to the Kings and royal municipalities grew in splendour).78 Right from the start, Barcelona was the capital of the Hispanic March, and that is why it made its ruling weight felt from the beginning: ‘no s’ha arribat a la Nació més que passant per la Ciutat’ (the Nation is not reached more than through the City), as Joan Vallès claimed in 1928.79 The bourgeoisie oriented the king, and thus the country’s capital enjoyed a specific status, which Coroleu had defined in 1878, when he stated that Barcelona was ‘una especie de república democrática dentro de la monarquía’ (some kind of democratic republic within the monarchy).80 In fact, this was in line with the aims of the Catalan bourgeoisie at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries, to which the writers of these histories of Catalonia belonged. In short, the historiography of the last twenty-five years of the nineteenth century, that based itself on consulting documents and reiterated a distancing from the earlier phases, achieved a renown and confidence that have perpetuated its view of the country’s origins. Thus, a narrative of history has been perpetuated about the cohesion and identity of Catalonia that starts from a unitary treatment, as a sovereign entity with the enfeoffment of Wilfred the Hairy by the Frankish monarch in 878. This inaugurated the county dynasty of Barcelona, which would remain loyal in the preservation of order, receiving the assistance of the Church and later an alliance with the municipalities, to contain the aggressive nobles, responsible for the servile condition of the peasantry, under parameters established at the country’s founding moments, and extended secularly. These are approaches that, in general, do not suppose an alternative criticism of the conditioning factors of the earlier official discourses, as one would like to think if progress had been made in the heuristic exploration.81

The Difficult Rediscovery of the Origins of the Country The renowned French historian Joseph Calmette dedicated great efforts to reviewing documents. Thanks to his work, he interpreted that the Hispanic March was born in 865, within the Carolingian empire, when the Septimanian lands were separated 76 Torroja, Història de Catalunya, pp. 35–36. 77 Sardá y Salvany, Propaganda católica, vol. iv, p. 20. 78 Segura, Història d’Igualada, vol. i, p. 130. 79 Vallès, Elogi de Catalunya, pp. 281–89. 80 Coroleu, El feudalismo y la servidumbre en la gleba de Cataluña, p. 10. 81 Sabaté, ‘La construcción ideológica del nacimiento unitario de Cataluña’, pp. 95–109.

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administratively from the southern lands, the later becoming Hispanic March. Here however, the Franks came up against problems of acceptance faced with the sentiment local (local feeling). Thus, ‘la montée du sentiment national dans la marche d’Espagne coincident avec la poussée féodale qui prend d’autre part son allure accélére dans la seconde moitié du xie siècle’ (the growth of a national feeling in the Hispanic March coincides with the feudal pressure that after all gets an accelerated importance during the second half of the eleventh century). The designation of Count Wilfred in 878 was intended to establish recognition of this reality, which is why, ‘tout s’est passé comme si l’Etat catalan se constituait librement aux flancs de la France royale’ (all has happened as if the Catalan state constituted itself at the flanks of the French kingdom). The political concession would be a recognition of a social reality: ‘l’élément matériel, le territoire n’est pas tout, ce n’est qu’un corps; un element moral doit s’y ajouter, autant dire une âme’ (the material element, the territory, is not all, it is only a body; a moral element has to be added, or better speaking, a soul).82 However, the cohesion of the society is seen when it enjoys an adequate legal framework. Thus, Ferran Valls i Taberner goes back to the supposed concession of the Usatges de Barcelona in 1068 as a kind of constitutional charter for Catalonia,83 granted just when the shaping of the country was culminating: Havent pacificat el comtat un cop dominades les revoltes interiors; promulgades per ell, en funció de legislador i assistit dels seus magnats, les normes judicials i feudals dels ‘Usualia’; posats sota la seva senyoria o en estreta relació d’aliança altres comtes catalans; vencedor de diversos reis sarraïns i estimada en molt la seva amistat, particularment pel de Dènia, Ramon Berenguer I havia arribat a l’apogeu del seu poder i del seu prestigi i estava en el millor moment per donar una consagració legal a l’enaltiment de l’autoritat pública. (Ramon Berenguer I, having pacified the county once dominated internal revolts; promulgated by him as legislator and attended by the magnates the judicial and feudal rules of the ‘Usualia’; put the other Catalan counts under his lordship or under close relationship of alliance; victor over several Saracens kings and appreciating their friendship, particularly for this one of Denia, had reached the highest of its power and its prestige and he was on the best moment for awarding the exaltation of the public authority throughout a legal consecration.)84 The historian Pierre Bonnassie focused his research for a French state doctorate on the feudalization of Catalonia, with a marked materialist hermeneutic and incorporating a Hegelian explanation, according to which the pre-feudal society was shaken by a period of two or three decades of turbulence — ‘vingt ou trente ans

82 Calmette, L’effondrement d’un Empire et la naissance d’une Europe, pp. 143, 145; Calmette, La question des Pyrénées et la Marche d’Espagne, pp. 21, 24. 83 Valls i Taberner, ‘Carta constitucional de Ramon Berenguer I de Barcelona (vers 1060)’, pp. 252–59. 84 Valls i Taberner, Estudis d’història jurídica Catalana, p. 60.

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Figure 10.3. Beginning of the legal code Usatges de Barcelona in a copy of 1334–1341. The miniature above the historiated initial depicts the counts of Barcelona approving the legal text in the eleventh century. Arxiu Municipal de Lleida, Manuscrit 1375, fol. 1r. Reproduced with permission.

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(entre 1030/1040 et 1060)’ (twenty or thirty years, between 1030/1040 and 1060) —, a kind of feudal revolution — ‘on a l’impression d’assister à un séisme’ (one gets the impression to witness an earthquake) —,85 leading to a feudal society as a synthesis of the earlier thesis and antithesis and that supposed the establishment of a feudal society throughout the counties ruled by the title holder of Barcelona. The result arrived in the same chronology as the concession of the usages and with the same protagonists, the counts of Barcelona: C’est la famille comtale de Barcelone qui mène à bien l’œuvre de reconstruction et elle le fait à son seul profit. Désormais, tout et tous, en Catalogne, lui sont directement ou indirectement soumis. Le nouveau régime politico-social ne retient guère du passé que la vieille notion de ‘Potestas’ qui maintenant s’incarne entièrement dans la personne du prince barcelonais et en fait un être hors du commun. Au-dessous de lui, les pouvoirs s’organisent sur la seule base des liens de dépendence. L’Etat féodal est né. (It is the family of counts of Barcelona that leads the way during the reconstruction-works and they do it only to its profit. Nevertheless, everything and all in Catalonia are directly or indirectly submitted to him. The new political and social regime preserves hardly anything from the past, but the old notion of ‘Potestats’ that embodies itself now in the person of the prince of Barcelona, who is turned into an extraordinary being. Below him the powerful organise themselves only based upon ties of dependency. The feudal state is born.)86 However, a detailed analysis of the documents enables us to appreciate that the cohesion of the country, with the corresponding political and cultural contributions, does not appear until the twelfth century. This is what Michel Zimmermann warns while moving the moment of the birth of Catalonia chronologically: 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 constituée de bas en haut: la conscience d’une identité y accompagne, y précède sans doute le regroupement territorial. (It is halfway the twelfth century that the Catalan principality really establishes itself; the political liturgy crystallizes as a national sentiment; different from the other principalities that during the tenth century were born out of the dismemberment of the French kingdom, the Catalan principality is constituted bottom-up: there, the awareness of an identity accompanies, undoubtedly even precedes the territorial regrouping.)87

85 Bonnassie, ‘Sur la formation du féodalisme catalan et sa première expansión’, p. 16. 86 Bonnassie, La Catalogne du milieu du xe à la fin du xie siècle, vol. ii, p. 732. 87 Zimmermann, ‘Des pays catalans à la Catalogne’, p. 80.

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For his part, Thomas Bisson accepted the existence of the Catalan nation because of its cultural identity, ‘La Catalogne appartient à ces pays pour lesquels le concept de nation précéde celui d’Etat. Il n’y pas de doute que la ‘nation’ catalane a existé dès avant le xiie siècle’, (Catalonia belongs to those countries where the concept of nation precedes the State. There is no doubt that the Catalan ‘nation’ has existed even before the twelfth century) but added that the political cohesion did not come about until later: ‘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 elan and progress of the Catalan awareness, far from being ‘achieved’ in 1100 or in 1137, knew a very first, sketchy expression; they got profoundly shaken and accelerated by the conquests and foundations of the first count-kings (c. 1148–1213)).88 Surprisingly, the historiographical path through the twentieth century has placed the birth of Catalonia at different moments between the ninth and the thirteenth centuries, almost repeating the terms with which, as we have seen, Pròsper de Bofarull considered it urgent to go back to seek the origins of the country given the disparity between the authors, and this in 1836.89 In a similar way, Pierre Bonnassie’s solidly Marxist renovation has sought the cohesion of Catalonia in social change, which would be set with the establishment of the feudal order, with peasants who would be subject to bondage from the second half of the eleventh century, so coinciding with the chronological scheme proposed in the nineteenth century.90 This new order that would give cohesion to Catalonia would be the result of the feudal revolution caused by the nobility reacting against the old order defined by the counts and the Church. Ironically, this again coincides with the approaches presented in the nineteenth century, which aligned the power of the counts and the church on one side and, on the other, the nobles who played the role of aggressive predators, an approach that can still be seen in recent works, still based on Bonnassie’s explanatory axes.91 At the same time, the agreements with which the count of Barcelona could display his pre-eminence over the other counts in the eleventh century92 has been interpreted as a reflex of this alleged Catalan cohesion under the count of Barcelona. The conviction lasted until very recently that ‘a través de estos pactos realizados entre 1060 and 1070 la totalidad de la Cataluña Cristiana se encontraba por primera vez reunido bajo la autoridad de los condes de Barcelona y que éstos no eran vasallos de nadie’ (through these agreements made between 1060 and 1070 the entire Christian Catalonia was for first time joined under the authority of the counts of Barcelona and they were not vassals of anyone).93 This imagined Ramon Berenguer I as the true

88 Bisson, ‘L’éssor de la Catalogne’, p. 455. 89 Bofarull, Los condes de Barcelona vindicados, pp. i–ii. 90 Sabaté, ‘The Catalonia of the 10th–12th Centuries’, pp. 38–39. 91 Salrach, Justícia i poder a Catalunya abans de l’any mil. 92 Kosto, Making Agreements in Medieval Catalonia, pp. 158–77. 93 Ortí, ‘La primera articulación del estado feudal en Cataluña’, p. 973.

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creator of the principality of Catalonia as a real feudal state.94 Precisely, as we have seen, despite having a very recent historiographical origin, the myth of territorial unity under the Hispanic March, has also lasted. It required the warnings by Antonio de la Torre in 1947,95 the denial by José Antonio Maravall in 195496 and the definitive criticism by Michel Zimmermann at the end of the century.97 There is no doubt that Catalan historiography enjoyed good health in the twentieth century, being fully absorbed into the structures of the universities over the last third of the century.98 That is why great steps have been made in the research. However, that has not managed to shake off the deadweight of the model inherited from the past, which is undoubtedly greater than anyone imagined, both in research and, even more so, in the popular conception.99

Conclusion Instead of installing ourselves comfortably in the historiographical continuity, we must make an effort to deconstruct the historiographical path, and put it through the corresponding processes of legitimation, validation, and hierarchization of all the information received, either as a historiographical legacy or through innovation in the heuristic contributions. It has become commonplace to emphasize the unusually large amount of documentary sources available for Catalonia from the early medieval period, much superior to that found for any other region of Europe100 and fortunately a high proportion of these have been published over recent years.101 It is precisely over recent decades that the search through, and analysis of, documents has allowed the rise of the peasant servitude to be detailed in very late dates,102 the result of the social context of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries more than as a result of the process of cohesion of the country.103 Similarly, the efforts to view early medieval history from different documentary perspectives have enabled the initial plurality of counties in

94 González, ‘La multiplicación de los reinos (1035–1072)’, p. 204. 95 Torre, ‘La reconquista en el Pirineo’, pp. 24–58. 96 Maravall, El concepto de España en la Edad Media, p. 154. 97 Zimmermann, ‘Le concept de Marca Hispanica’, pp. 30–42; Zimmermann, ‘Le rôle de la frontière’, pp. 7–29; Zimmermann, ‘Des pays catalans à la Catalogne’, pp. 71–85. 98 Batlle and Ferrer, ‘Balanç de les activitats historiogràfiques’, pp. 321–30; Salrach, ‘Noves recerques i interpretacions sobre historia medieval’, pp. 83–95; Riera, ‘La Historia Medieval en Cataluña’, pp. 501–67; Riera, ‘Història Medieval’, pp. 1205–13. 99 School texts from the end of the twentieth century coincide fully with the traditional scheme consolidated at the end of the nineteenth century: Hernández, Ensenyar Història de Catalunya, pp. 116–17. 100 Abadal, Catalunya Carolíngia. Els diplomes carolingis a Catalunya, p. iv; Bonnassie, Catalunya mil anys enrere, vol. i, p. 17. 101 Sabaté, La feudalización de la sociedad catalana, pp. 21–24. 102 Sabaté, ‘Il mito e la realtà della servitú in Catalogna nel Medioevo’, pp. 399–417. 103 Freedman, Els orígens de la servitud pagesa a la Catalunya Medieval.

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the territory to be considered again.104 These large volumes of documents are thus like invitations, to be accepted and analysed. However, the heuristic has to be accompanied by an adequate hermeneutic. The interpretative difficulties over such a long time despite so much documentation being available show the need to modify the interpretative system. Ramon d’Abadal warned about this when asked in 1958 about the origin of Catalonia, stating that the processes of social cohesion were based less on points of identity as on evolutionary processes: la formació de Catalunya, la seva gestació, fou molt llarga i ningú no podrà dir mai quan n’esdevingué el naixement, perquè les nacions no neixen com els homes en uns minuts, sinó en parts perllongats i indefinits. Només cal observar com és de llarg el procés de formació d’una llengua i pensar que precisament la llengua pròpia i distinta és un dels caràcters més bàsics i definidors d’una personalitat nacional. (The formation of Catalonia, its gestation, was very long and no-one will ever be able to say when the birth took place, because nations are not born like men in a few minutes, but in long and indefinite birth. We should only observe how long it takes to form a language and remember that its own and specific language is one of the most basic and defining characters of a national personality.)105 In truth, we must go beyond the state of national histories, which seek the moment of regional cohesion to equate with the birth of the nation to develop a teleological route to the present. In contrast, one must add new interpretative instruments, not so much from ideologies that aim to supply a great understanding of the future of humanity, but rather tools from related branches of knowledge, like anthropology and human geography, equally concerned with discerning human behaviour. Presented this way, the origin of Catalonia can be understood as the counties in the north-eastern Iberian Peninsula, progressively uncoupled from the Carolingian crisis, beginning an evolution that drew them closer to each other between the ninth and twelfth centuries, the moment when there is evidence of this perception of this proximity both externally and internally. It makes sense that this was the moment when a common name for the region appears106 — Catalonia — as well as the legal code of the Usatges of the county of Barcelona.107 The difficulty of the cohesion achieved was transmitted to the late medieval centuries when the Estates claimed to represent the country against the monarch, giving rise to discourses of cohesion that have conditioned the memory that has been passed down to us. Thus, social evolution, perception, representation, and development of discourses of power and their institutions become interpretative vectors108 that, adequately contextualized,

104 Sabaté, ed., El Comtat d’Urgell. 105 Abadal, Els Primers Comtes Catalans, p. 5. 106 Sabaté, Percepció i identificació dels catalans, pp. 26–36. 107 Iglesia, ‘The Birth of the “Usatici”’, pp. 119–24. 108 Sabaté, ‘The Medieval Roots of Catalan Identity’, pp. 29–104.

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can supply a more accurate understanding of the past in itself and one freer from the furrow left by the historiographic route.

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Gaille-Nikodimov, Marie, ed., Le Gouvernement mixte. De l’idéal politique au monstre constitutionnel en Europe (xiiie-xviie siècle) (Saint-Étienne: Publications de l’Université de Saint Étienne-Jean Monnet, 2005) García Cárcel, Ricardo, ‘El concepto de España en el siglo XVIII’, introduction to Roberto Fernández, Manual de Historia de España. Siglo XVIII (Madrid: Historia16, 1993), pp. 7–37 González, César, ‘La multiplicación de los reinos (1035–1072)’, in Historia de España de la Edad Media, ed. by Vicente Ángel Álvarez Palenzuela (Barcelona: Ariel, 2002), pp. 257–76 Grau, Ramon, ‘El pensament històric de la dinastia Bofarull’, Barcelona. Quaderns d’Història, 6 (2002), 121–38 ———, ‘La historiografia del romanticisme (de Pròsper de Bofarull a Víctor Balaguer)’, in Història de la historiografia catalana, ed. by Albert Balcells (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2004), pp. 143–59 Hernández, Xavier, Ensenyar Història de Catalunya (Barcelona: Editorial Graó, 1990) Iglesia, Aquilino, ‘The Birth of the “Usatici”’, Imago Temporis. Medium Aevum, 5 (2011), 119–34 Juan Vidal, Josep, ‘Los reinados de Felipe V y Fernando VI’, in Política interior y exterior de los Borbones (Tres Cantos: Istmo, 2001), pp. 13–244 Junta de Comerç de Barcelona, Discurso sobre la agricultura, comercio e industria del Principado de Cataluña (1780) (Barcelona: Editorial Alta Fulla, 1997) Kosto, Adam J., Making Agreements in Medieval Catalonia: Power, Order, and the Written Word, 1000–1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) Lluch, Ernest, ‘El liberalisme foralista en el segle XIX: Corona d’Aragó i País Basc’, L’Avenç, 230 (1998), 14–20 ———, ‘La construcció de la imatge de Catalunya a la Il·lustració. L’aportació de l’escola de les Avellanes’, in Creences i ètnies en una societat plural, ed. by Flocel Sabaté (Lleida: Pagès editors, 2002), pp. 153–65 López-Cordón, Maria Victoria, ‘La mentalidad conservadora durante la Restauración’, in La España de la Restauración Política, economía, legislación y cultura, ed. by José Luis García Delgado (Madrid: Siglo XXI de España Editores, 1985), pp. 71–109 Maravall, José Antonio, El concepto de España en la Edad Media (Madrid: Instituto de Estudios Políticos, 1954) Marca, Petro de, Marca Hispanica, sive limes hispanicus (Barcelona: Editorial Base, 1998) Marfany, Joan-Lluis, ‘Catalunya i Espanya’, L’Avenç, 216 (1997), 6–11 Miret i Sans, Joaquín, Investigación histórica sobre el vizcondado de Castellbó con datos indéditos de los condes de Urgel y los vizcondes de Áger (Barcelona: Imprenta ‘La Catalana’ de J. Puigventós, 1900) Moliner, Antonio, Revolución burguesa y movimiento juntero en España (La acción de las juntas a través de la correspondencia diplomática y consular francesa, 1808–1868) (Lleida: Editorial Milenio, 1997) Monfar y Sors, Diego, Historia de los condes de Urgel, 2 vols (Barcelona: Establecimiento litográfico y tipográfico de D. José Eusebio Monfort, 1853)

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Monsalvatje y Fossas, Francisco, Noticias históricas, 36 vols (Olot – Girona: Imprenta y librería de Juan Bonet – Imprenta y librería de Sucesores de Juan Bonet – Imprenta de Eusebio Simó – Imprenta de Dalmau Carles – Imprenta y librería de Ramon Bonet, 1889–1919) Moran, Josep, ‘Català i castellà als segles XVIII i XIX’, in La multiculturalitat i les llengües (Actes del seminari del CUIMPB-CEL 2006), ed. by Joan Martí and Josep Maria Mestres (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2007), pp. 185–95 Ortí, Pere, ‘La primera articulación del estado feudal en Cataluña a través de un impuesto: el bovaje (ss. XII–XIII)’, Hispania, LXI/209 (2001), 967–98 Palomas, Joan, ‘La persistència dels equívocs en les biografies d’alguns catalans del dinou: el cas de Víctor Balaguer’, Cercles. Revista d’Història Cultural, 10 (2007), 221–34 Pérez Garzón, Juan Sisinio, ‘La creación de la historia de España’, in La gestión de la memoria. La historia de España al servicio del poder, ed. by Juan Sisinio Pérez Garzón (Barcelona: Crítica, 2000), pp. 63–110 Pérez Nespereira, Manuel, ‘La primera crisi positivista a l’Ateneu Barcelonès (1877–1878)’, Cercles. Revista d’Història Cultural, 2 (1999), 70–75 Pi y Arimón, Andrés Avelino, Barcelona Antigua y moderna. Descripción e historia de esta Ciudad desde su fundación hasta nuestros días, 2 vols (Barcelona: Imprenta y librería Politécnica de Tomás Gorchs, 1854) Prats, Llorenç, El mite de la tradició popular (Barcelona: edicions 62, 1988) Prats, Modest, ‘La llengua catalana al segle XVIII: possibles pautes d’estudi’, in La llengua catalana al segle XVIII, ed. by Pep Balsalobre, Joan Gratacós (Barcelona: Quaderns Crema, 1995), pp. 15–74 Pujades, Gerónimo, Crónica Universal del Principado de Cataluña, 2 vols (Barcelona: Imprenta de José Torner, 1832) Ribalta, Jaume, ‘“Constitución catalana” y “Cortes de Cataluña”. “Excerpta” vuitcentista de Peguera, a càrrec de Ramon López Soler’, Revista de Dret Històric Català, 2 (2002), 11–119 Ricart, Damià, Història de Catalunya (Barcelona: Miquel A. Salvatella editor, 1935) Riera, Antoni, ‘La Historia Medieval en Cataluña (1990–1995). Un balance breve de las últimas investigaciones’, Anuario de Estudios Medievales, 27.1 (1997), 501–67 ———, ‘Història Medieval’, in Reports de la recerca a Catalunya. Història, 1996–2002, ed. by Albert Balcells, dir. (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2005), pp. 1205–13 Riera, Jaume, ‘Jaume Villanueva i el comtat d’Urgell’, in Els grans espais baronials a l’edat mitjana. Desenvolupament socioeconòmic, ed. by Flocel Sabaté (Barcelona: Pagès editors, 2002), pp. 61–82 Rovira i Virgili, Antoni, Història nacional de Catalunya, 6 vols (Barcelona: Pàtria, 1922–1931) Rubió y Lluch, Antoni, Documents per l’història de la Cultura Catalana Mig-eval, 2 vols (Barcelona: Institut d’Estudis Catalans, Barcelona, 1908–21) Sabaté, Flocel, ed., El Comtat d’Urgell (Lleida: Edicions de la Universitat de Lleida – Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs, 1995) Sabaté, Flocel, ‘Municipio y monarquia en la Cataluña bajomedieval’, Anales de la Universidad de Alicante, Historia Medieval, 13 (2000–2003), 21–62 ———, ‘El nacimiento de Cataluña. Mito y realidad’, in Fundamentos medievales de los particularismes hispánicos. IX Congreso de Estudios Medievales (2003) (Ávila: Fundación Sánchez-Albornoz, 2005), pp. 221–76

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———, La feudalización de la sociedad catalana (Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada, 2007) ———, ‘La construcción ideológica del nacimiento unitario de Cataluña’, in Castilla y el mundo feudal. Homenaje al profesor Julio Valdeón, ed. by María Isabel del Val Valdivieso and Pascual Martínez Sopena (Valladolid: Junta de Castilla y León – Universidad de Valladolid, 2009), pp. 95–109 ———, ‘The Catalonia of the 10th–12th Centuries and the Historiographic Definition of Feudalism’, Catalan Historical Review, 3 (2010), 31–53 ———, ‘Reivindicació de Jaume Pasqual i el seu entorn en la història cultural de Catalunya’, introduction to Alberto Velasco, Jaume Pasqual, antiquari i col.·leccionista a la Catalunya de la Il·lustració (Lleida: Edicions de la Universitat de Lleida, 2011), pp. 11–22 ———, ‘Il mito e la realtà della servitú in Catalogna nel Medioevo’, in Migrazioni interne e forme di dipendenza libera e servile nelle campagne bassomedievali dall’Italia nordoccidentale alla Catalogna, ed. by Rosa Lluch Bramon, Pere Ortí Gost, Francesco Panero, and Lluis To Figueras (Cherasco: Centro Internazionale di Studi sugli Insediamenti Medievali, 2015), pp. 399–417 ———, ‘The Medieval Roots of Catalan Identity’, in Historical Analysis of the Catalan Identity, ed. by Flocel Sabaté (Bern: Peter Lang, 2015), pp. 29–104 Salrach, Josep Maria, ‘Noves recerques i interpretacions sobre historia medieval en general i de Catalunya en particular’, Balma, 2 (1995), 83–95 ———, Justícia i poder a Catalunya abans de l’any mil (Vic: Eumo Editorial, 2013) Sardá y Salvany, Félix, Propaganda católica, 12 vols (Barcelona: Librería y Tipografía Católica: 1883–1914) Segura, Joan, Història d’Igualada, 2 vols (Igualada: Estampa d’Eugeni Subirana, 1907–1908) Simon, Antoni, Els orígens ideològics de la revolució catalana de 1640 (Barcelona: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 1999) ———, Construccions polítiques i identitats nacionals. Catalunya i els orígens de l’estat modern espanyol (Barcelona : Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 2005) Sobrequès, Jaume, ‘Les històries generals de Catalunya en el període històric de la Renaixença i el Romanticisme (segle XIX)’, in La historiografia catalana (Girona: Cercle d’Estudis Històrics i Socials, 1990), pp. 19–35 Sunyer, Magí, Els mites nacionals catalans (Vic: Eumo Editorial, Vic, 2006) Torras i Bages, Josep, La tradició catalana (Barcelona: Editorial Selecta, 1966) Torre, Antonio de la, ‘La reconquista en el Pirineo’, in La reconquista española y la repoblación del país (Conferencias del curso celebrado en Jaca en 1947) (Saragossa: Instituto de Estudios Pirenaicos, 1951), pp. 24–58 Torroja, Ramon, Història de Catalunya (Barcelona: Impremta Elzevira i llibreria Camí, 1933) Ucelay-Da Cal, Enric, El imperialismo catalán. Prat de la Riba, Cambó, D’Ors y la conquista moral de España, (Barcelona: Edhasa, 2003) Udina, Antoni, Els testaments dels comtes de Barcelona i dels reis de la Corona d’Aragó. De Guifré Borrell a Joan II (Barcelona: Fundació Noguera, 2001) Vallès, Joan, Elogi de Catalunya (Barcelona: Llibreria Catalonia, 1928) Valls i Taberner, Ferran, ‘Carta constitucional de Ramon Berenguer I de Barcelona (vers 1060)’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español, 6 (1929), 252–59

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———, Estudis d’Història Jurídica Catalana (Málaga: Arxiu de la Biblioteca Ferran Valls i Taberner and others publishers, 1989) Villanueva, Jesús, Política y discurso histórico en la España del siglo XVII. Las polémicas sobre los orígenes medievales de Cataluña (Alicante: Publicaciones de la Universidad de Alicante, 2004) Zimmermann, Michel, ‘Le concept de “Marca hispánica” et l’importance de la frontière dans la formation de la Catalogne’, in La Marche Supérieure d’Al-Andalus et l’Occident Chrétien, ed. by Philippe Sénac (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez – Universidad de Zaragoza, 1991), pp. 29–48 ———, ‘Le rôle de la frontière dans la formation de la Catalogne (IX-XIIème siècle)’, Las sociedades de frontera en la España medieval (Saragossa: Universidad de Zaragoza, 1993), pp. 7–29 ———, ‘Des pays catalans à la Catalogne: genèse d’une représentation’, in Histoire et archéologie des terres catalanes au Moyen Âge, ed. by Philippe Sénac (Perpignan: Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 1995), pp. 71–85

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Inventing Limburg (the Netherlands) Territory, History, and Identity

(Dutch) Limburg is a province of the Netherlands in the southeast of the country. At one side it is situated at the German border, at the other it stretches into Belgium along the river Meuse in a strange, elongated form. Most of its borders are with Germany and Belgium (212 and 139 kilometres respectively), while its borders with other Dutch provinces (North-Brabant and Guelders) are only 113 kilometres. Maastricht, in the ‘deep south’, is its capital. In the Dutch context, Limburg is (or used to be) peculiar for being homogeneously Catholic. In 2011 the province counted some 1,200,000 inhabitants in an area of 2200 square kilometres. Limburg in its present territorial form has only existed since 1839. It had never been a territorial unit before. Between 1815 and 1839 it was part of a larger territorial entity with the same name, which was divided in a western Belgian and an eastern Dutch part after the Belgian Revolt (1830–1839), separating the United Kingdom of the Netherlands (since 1815) into Belgium and the Netherlands. Since then there are two provinces called Limburg, one in Belgium and one in the Netherlands. This contribution only concerns Dutch Limburg. Looking at the territorial history of the area it would be very hard to argue that there was a special ‘Limburg’ regional character, culture, or even ethnos, originating in the past before there was a province of that name, so before 1839 or 1815. Nevertheless, before the Second World War serious ethnologists thought so, or were looking for it. Many Limburgers still believe in it. A strong sense of regional identity, attached to this territory, is expressed by its inhabitants day by day, and is reflected in the media and culture. How can we explain this extraordinary feeling of otherness? And how did regional historians cope with the problem of writing a regional history of Limburg before a territory of that name even existed? In this contribution I argue that the idea and the expression of a regional identity, attached to the province, was

Ad Knotter  •  is professor emeritus of comparative regional history at Maastricht University, the Netherlands, and a former director of the Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg (Centre for the Social History of Limburg) at that university. Historiography and the Shaping of Regional Identity in Europe, ed. by Dick E. H. de Boer and Luis Adao da Fonseca, EER 16 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), pp. 283–300 FHG10.1484/M.EER-EB.5.121496

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produced by the progressive integration of Limburg into the Dutch nation state during the nineteenth and twentieth century.1 In this process the Limburgers became aware of certain commonalities as deviations from the national norm, and started to look for its origins in the past. Ethnologists developed ideas about a specific ‘Limburg’ regional character as a cultural reflection of the (supposed) ethnic composition of its population; regional historians constructed a common cultural past of the region in spite of its territorial fragmentation. Only gradually did they become aware that its history had to be written without reference to both the history of the Dutch nation state and the present provincial territory.

Regions and Regional Identity When we try to define regional identity, space is of course a crucial aspect. Surprisingly, in many studies of regional identity the regional aspect is considered self-evident, and not many words are spent on a definition of this part of the phrase, in contrast to the identity part. However, defining the concept of region is as essential as that of identity. Apart from territorial or administrative criteria to define regions, spatial delimitations may be found in cultural, social, and psychological spheres. Regions can be defined by cultural behaviour, social interaction, and discursive practice, which are to be found in various spaces:2 – cultural space is formed by recognizable social habits and commonalities of daily life; – action or social space is determined by the spatial range of personal (inter)actions; – cognition space is based on the lived experience of a certain spatial domain, coming along with; – affection space, that refers to the identification with the spatial environment, and comes close to regional identity. These spaces mutually impinge on each other; their nature and components determine the character and the coherence of a region. These forms of spatiality (based on culture, interaction, cognition, and affection) should not be confused with territoriality, which is the outcome and expression of power structures, and result in administrative, institutional borders to define the place where territorial power ends. As the historian Charles Maier remarks: ‘Territory is space with a border that allows effective control of public and political life’.3 Territories are not identical with the spatial forms mentioned above, of which the borders are less clear. One of the important issues in the study of regional identities, in general, but especially in the case of Dutch Limburg, is how social, cultural, and cognition/



1 See also, Knotter, ‘Limburg bestaat niet’. 2 This insight is derived from the work of the German geographer Blotevogel. See, among others: ‘Auf dem Wege zu einer “Theorie der Regionalität”’. 3 Maier, ‘Transformations of Territoriality’, p. 34. On the opposition between ‘social space’ and ‘territorial space’ also: Pries, Die Transnationalisierung der sozialen Welt.

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affection spaces relate to territorial spaces, and how territorial borders become borders of social and cultural behaviour and of cognition and affection as well. To understand regional identity, we have to relate it to the territorial, social, and cognition/affection spaces of the region concerned. When it comes to a definition of identity in the regional context, we suppose that personal experiences are shared with others living in or coming from a certain area, and that these shared experiences are interpreted collectively. A person recognizes certain characteristics of fellows from a region, ascribes these to the community or provenance of the regional group, and this way identifies this group as his or her own. For a long time, historians and ethnologists have been searching for common, inborn characteristics of people who live in the same area in order to define their regional character.4 Today, this idea of equating regional identity with regional character is no longer accepted in historical, sociological, and anthropological thinking. It is disqualified as ‘essentialist’. Common characteristics are not objectively ‘given’, but can only become markers of identity if they are ascribed as such to the group concerned, both by the group themselves and by outsiders.5 These ascriptions are often based on, or developing into stereotypes, be it by ‘auto-stereotyping’ (by the inhabitants themselves), or ‘hetero-stereotyping’ (by outsiders).6 Identities are not inherited and passed on; they are collectively constructed as a result of social interaction and communication. This way of thinking is called ‘constructivist’, and is now dominant in identity discourse. Collective identities are constructions in which people believe, simultaneously based on the recognition of those to which they feel connected and of those who they consider strangers. Identity always implies a contrast: it is about ‘us’ and ‘them’.7 As far as this contrast, in daily experiences and subjective feelings, is interwoven with the space people are living in, or coming from, identity can take a spatial form. A negative sentiment, or a at least a feeling of difference with people from other areas, is always part of a regional identity.

A Territory Constructed out of the Blue The area of today’s Limburg has been a border area since Carolingian times.8 In the Middle Ages rival territories of the German Empire collided here, like the



4 A characteristic Dutch example: Meertens and De Vries, eds, De Nederlandse volkskarakters. See also: Eickhoff, Henkes, and van Vree, eds, Volkseigen. 5 See (among many others): Allen, Massey, and Cochrane, Rethinking the Region; Herb, ‘National Identity and Territory’. 6 On the concept of ‘auto-’ and ‘hetero-stereotyping’: Duijker and Frijda, National Character and National Stereotypes. 7 This idea originates from the work of the Norwegian anthropologist Barth, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. 8 The Limburg region was in fact part of a much larger contested border area at the western frontier of the German Empire, stretching from Münster to Mulhouse. See in a different context: Loriaux, European Union.

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Figure 11.1. The tiny duchy of Limburg in 1543, with the town of Limbourg as its centre, situated to the south of the patchwork of principalities that later on would be joined together to form the nineteenth-century Belgium province of Limburg and the similarly named modern duchy, and Dutch province. Source: Venner, Canon van Limburg.

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prince-bishopric of Liège, and the duchies of Brabant, Guelders, and Jülich, to name the most powerful. After the Westphalian Treaty of 1648, when the territorial state system of early modern Europe was more or less put on the map until the period of the French Revolution, the area continued to be a typical border area, fragmented into an array of small territories and enclaves, governed by the States General of the Dutch Republic in The Hague, by the Spanish, and later Austrian governments in Brussels, by German princes or prelates, and many others.9 Maastricht was administered in a curious bipartite construction by the Dutch Republic and the prince-bishop of Liège together. There was a duchy of Limburg, but its territory had no relationship with today’s provinces of that name in Belgium and the Netherlands. It was situated between Verviers and Aachen, south of today’s Dutch Limburg. Since 1288 it was part of the duchy of Brabant, which, during the Dutch Revolt in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, became part of the Spanish, later the Austrian Netherlands. The French revolutionary occupation of these territories in 1794 abolished all remnants of feudal territorial fragmentation, and imposed a uniform set of départments, like in France itself named after rivers: the Meuse, the Rur, and the Ourthe. Most of present-day Belgian and Dutch Limburg were united in the département de la Meuse inférieure, with Maastricht as its capital, while some smaller areas in the north and middle of today’s Dutch Limburg became part of the département de la Rur. After the French had left in 1813, a United Kingdom was formed under King William of Orange, combining the territories of the former Dutch Republic, the former Austrian Netherlands, and the prince-bishopric of Liège. William, although keen on restoration, based the formation of the new province of Limburg on the French administrative territory département de la Meuse Inférieure with some additions. He decided to name this province after the old duchy of Limburg, which, as we have seen above, had been situated south of present-day Limburg, and bore no relationship whatsoever with this newly formed territory.10 After the Belgian Revolt of 1830, the whole of Limburg, except the fortress of Maastricht, became part of the new state of Belgium, until 1839, when the European powers, at a conference in London, decided to split up the province in a Belgian western and a Dutch eastern part, roughly divided along the river Meuse. This was intended to compensate King William (who was grand duke of Luxembourg as well), and also the German League, for the loss of the western part of Luxembourg, which became a province of Belgium. Part of the deal was that Dutch Limburg (now being called a ‘duchy’) became a member of the German League, while simultaneously belonging to the Netherlands. This lasted until 1867, when for the first time Dutch Limburg became a regular province of the Netherlands (the eleventh). The other



9 The historical fragmentation of today’s Limburg is a common theme in the various handbooks on the region’s history; for instance: Alberts, De geschiedenis van de beide Limburgen; Ubachs, Handboek voor de geschiedenis van Limburg. 10 Alberts, De geschiedenis van de beide Limburgen, II, p. 155; Lemmens, ‘Aan Vorst en Vaderland gehecht’, p. 40.

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Figure 11.2. Map showing the creation of Belgian and Dutch Limburg in the nineteenth century. The two medieval principalities which served as points of reference are outlined in bold. After Leersen, ‘Een beetje buitenland’.

provinces of the Netherlands, established in 1815, had been more or less territorial continuations of the old provinces of the Dutch Republic before 1795. As becomes clear from this overview, Limburg was definitely not. It was a purely artificial territorial construction, based on arbitrary considerations of the great European powers, and the dynastic interests of the House of Orange.

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Being simultaneously part of the Netherlands and a member of the German League (until 1867), in today’s terminology Limburg can be considered a kind of geopolitical anomaly.11 Because of its status aparte and its peculiar history, there were many doubts if Limburg really belonged to the Dutch nation state. These doubts were both expressed by opinion leaders in Holland and in Limburg itself. On several occasions secessionism became a force to be reckoned with, for instance in 1848, when Dutch Limburg was represented in the abortive German Parliament in Frankfurt, and its representatives advocated joining Germany. The idea even met with some approval in the Dutch government, who wanted a trade-off between Limburg and privileges for Dutch traffic on the river Rhine.12 In the end nothing came of it, and Limburg and Holland were forced to live together politically, more or less against their will. After the dissolution of the German League in 1867, however, national integration became accepted more and more.13 In the nineteenth and twentieth century integration progressed, as the Netherlands (including Limburg) became more united politically, economically, and culturally. When the Belgians started a movement to annex Dutch Limburg after the First World War, they met with fierce resistance in the province itself, especially among church-related organizations. In the first national election in the Netherlands under universal male suffrage in 1918, the Catholic party had gained substantially and had entered into government as the leading party, not the least because of massive electoral support in Catholic Limburg. It had no interest in losing these votes by a cession of Limburg to Belgium.14

Social Spaces and the North-South Divide It would be a big mistake to suppose that the inhabitants of this geopolitical anomaly were, or are, interacting and communicating with each other on a regular basis, thus constructing Limburg as a ‘social space’, in spite of its artificial nature as a territory. In the agrarian society of the nineteenth century common people were oriented towards the local environment, around the daily and seasonal routine of farm work. In Limburg, localism is, for instance reflected in marital practices: in the nineteenth century most partners were found in localities nearby.15 As far as Limburg was industrialized, industries were dispersed in isolated outposts and based on local labour. As a consequence, identities were expressed only locally. Then and now, the elongated form of Dutch Limburg — the distance from north to south is about 140 kilometres — hampers regular social interaction between the

11 The concept of ‘geopolitical anomalies’ to describe ambivalent sovereignties is derived from international relations theory. See: McConnell, ‘The Fallacy and the Promise’. 12 Knotter, ‘Limburg en andere buitenprovincies’. See alo: Lemmens, ‘Aan Vorst en Vaderland gehecht’, pp. 119–79. 13 Op den Camp, ‘Towards One Nation’; Knippenberg, ‘The Incorporation of Limburg’; Orbons and Spronck, ‘Limburgers worden Nederlanders’. 14 Gulpers, ‘Elfde kind of Assepoester?’. 15 Ekamper and van Poppel, ‘Liefde met en zonder grenzen’.

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inhabitants in the northern and southern parts of the province. Even today, it is hard to imagine the emergence of an integrated economic space in the whole of Limburg. In fact, regional economic developments in the nineteenth and twentieth century, both in agriculture and industry, were completely different in the north and the south. As the distance prohibits daily commuting from north to south, labour markets were (and are) segregated in space as well. On the other hand, interregional exchanges were not confined within national boundaries. Until 1914 the labour markets in mining and textiles in the south-east of the province, for instance, were fully integrated with their German counterparts in the Aachen region.16 The intensive interaction across the border is testified by the fact that until the beginning of the twentieth century German currency was dominant in the eastern parts of South Limburg. Between 1907 and the early 1920s miners in the South Limburg mining district were members of the German Christian Miners’ Union. Newspapers appeared in the German language. Before the outbreak of the First World War in 1914, a seasonal workforce went to work in industrializing Germany in large numbers every year. These migratory flows were directed in an east-west direction to the adjacent areas in Germany, and in this respect north and south in Limburg were also spatially separated, while connecting people across the border. After 1914 it became harder to cross the border to work; labour markets became much more confined within the national borders, but the occasional growth of cross-border commuter flows in the twentieth century after WW I were connecting cross-border spaces on a sub-regional basis as well. The east-west orientation of cross-border labour markets reflect a structural dichotomy in Limburg’s social and cultural space: the north-south divide. In the perception of its inhabitants the northern and southern parts of Limburg are not only divided socially because of the distance, but also culturally. North and south are perceived as differing in language, mentality, and attitudes. The northerners are considered thrifty, stubborn, serious; the southerners as whimsical, impulsive, changeable. From the bipolar definitions of these contrasting identities we may suspect that these are constructed stereotypes; in regionalist discourse, however, these are related to different agricultural systems, based on the soil (sandy in the north; fertile in the south), and — for what it is worth — even different tribal origins (Saxons origins in the north; Franks mixed with Alpine origins in the south, see also below).17

The Catholic Church as a Regional Unifier There was one institution, however, which overcame all these differences by organizing social interaction within the territorial confines of Limburg: the Roman Catholic Church.18 The diocese of Roermond in Limburg is the only one in the Netherlands

16 Cf. Knotter, ‘Changing Border Regimes’. 17 Roukens, ‘De Limburgers’. See also: Knotter, ‘Limburg bestaat niet’, pp. 269–70. 18 On this issue: Nissen, ‘Constructie en deconstructie van het katholieke Limburg’.

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that coincides with a provincial territory. The social and institutional effects were really important for the identity formation of its inhabitants, because the great majority are, or at least were, Catholics (98% even in 1900). Social interaction in the Limburg diocese was first of all established by the clergy itself: there was a large supply of clergymen originating from the province, who were distributed among the parishes along Limburg, holding meetings, and exchanging experiences. They acted as a kind of mediators to ‘implant’ the feeling of belonging into the Limburg population. Church life and all kinds of events to meet one another were organized on a provincial basis. Even more important was the formation of an array of Catholic social organizations in Limburg from the beginning of the twentieth century onwards: trade unions, employers, farmers, and other professional organizations, youth clubs, and many others. All were organized and controlled by the diocese, with full participation of the Limburg clergy. In this way spatial interaction within the Limburg diocese, casu quo province, was based on the institutional format of the church and of ecclesiastical or Church led organizations. The role of the Catholic Church and the clergy was not confined to institutionalizing the social space of the Limburg population, however. They also stressed the need to combine ideologically against the threats of modern thinking and modern life, both as Catholics and Limburgers. In this way, a regional Catholic identity was constructed in Limburg in a defensive stand against anything modern.19 Limburg identity was very much based on the idea that the Limburg ‘traditions’ in (religious) culture and folklore were under threat of all kinds of outside dangers, against which the ‘Limburg’ way of life had to be defended. Most of these encroaching ‘dangers’ were considered to come from ‘Holland’, meaning the rest of the Netherlands. Today, while even in Limburg Catholicism has become less dominant, a kind of cultural Catholicism remains a sustainable part of provincial particularism. Taking part in Catholic rites de passage (baptism, first communion, marriage, burial), processions, and associated festivities, celebrating carnival, and the like, all are presented as typical manifestations of regional identity.20 However, while defending a specific Limburg Catholicism, the opinion leaders in the Church and in confessional organizations also regarded themselves as being a part of a broader Dutch movement of Catholic social and political emancipation, thereby contributing to the integration of Limburg into the Dutch state.

The Origins and Rise of a Militant Regionalism On different occasions in the nineteenth century the Limburg landed and industrial elites identified their specific interests in economic policy and taxation with the

19 Cf. Nissen, ‘Confessionele identiteit en regionale eigenheid’. 20 On the construction of a ‘secularized’ carnival as a marker of regional identity: Wijers, ‘“In één hand de rozenkrans, in de andere hand een glas bier”’.

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province of Limburg as a territorial unity. These elite groups easily mixed class interests with provincial interests, while expecting the Dutch state to act on their behalf. Nineteenth-century politics in Limburg were dominated by the nobility, who, as large landowners, opposed the instalment of a national Dutch land tax in Limburg, which, in their opinion, favoured the financial interests of Holland.21 In this way they combined as Limburgers against ‘Holland’. In the same manner the Maastricht industrialists equated their opposition against Dutch free trade policies, demanding protective measures for their industries, with specific Limburg interests. In the beginning of the twentieth century they also accused the Dutch government of neglecting ‘Limburg’ interests by postponing the canalization of the Meuse river, and tried to mobilize the population in the province as a whole against this supposed neglect of ‘Limburg’ interests.22 The movement in favour of canalization of the Meuse in the first years of the twentieth century can be considered one of the first manifestations of a militant Limburg regionalism, which developed in the beginning of the twentieth century and in the interwar years. Its rise paralleled the growing economic integration of Limburg into the Dutch state, especially after the development of a state-owned coal industry in the south of the province. The Dutch state invested heavily in industrial and infrastructural development, and migrants from other parts of the country poured in, especially in the higher echelons of industry and public administration. Militant regionalists considered them a colonizing force, denying chances to the rise of an autochthonous Limburg middle class, and endangering the ‘Limburg’ way of life. In the 1920s militant regionalism found an institutional expression in the so-called Limburgsche Liga (‘Limburg League’, established in 1925). One of its main protagonists had also been a leading figure in the campaign for canalization of the Meuse, J. Schaepkens van Riemst from Maastricht. In his opinion the Catholic religion, traditions, manners, habits, and tongue of the Limburgers were under threat from the growing Dutch influence in Limburg. The Limburg League would work ‘to defend all the good things of Limburg and fight for a new future for the children of its own country’.23 It is hard to assess how strongly the Limburgsche Liga influenced public opinion in the 1920s, but it is perhaps a sign of the times that Catholic opinion leaders in Limburg’s confessional organizations, while opposed to the radicalism of its ideas, expressed an analogous regionalism. They had to balance Catholic regionalism with national Catholicism. After the Second World War in periods of serious social unrest in coal mining (1945 and in 1957), the Catholic unions of miners and mine employees demanded the removal of Protestant managers and overseers from the north of the country.24

21 22 23 24

Cf. Lemmens, ‘Aan Vorst en Vaderland gehecht’, ch. 5. Bosch, ‘“Kanaliseert de Maos”’. Cited in: Goltstein, Het ontstaan van het Limburgs chauvinisme’, p. 59. Knotter, ‘Grenzen aan de loonpolitiek’.

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Looking for a Regional Character From the beginning of the twentieth century, the idea of a specific ‘Limburg’ regional character was developed by ethnologists, inside and outside academic discourse. It is highly significant that in their observations the characteristics of the ‘Limburgers’ were defined in opposition to those of the Dutch in the north of the country. Read, for instance, how in 1913 one of the founders of Dutch ethnology, the Jesuit Van Ginniken, used ‘Holland’ as a point of reference: ‘The Limburgers are the Italians of our country […]. They are more light-hearted and cheerful, more volatile, more variable, but also more spiritual than the Hollanders […] They usually are much more acute and humorous than their northern brothers of the same language …’.25 As an academic Van Ginniken had an enormous influence in journalism and public writing in Limburg. His metaphor of Limburgers as the Dutch ‘Italians’ was — and is — repeated over and over again.26 In the 1920s and 1930s regionalists even discovered a Limburg ‘soul’, built from a mix of tribal descent (both Celtic and German) and Catholicism.27 Again, this ‘soul’ was defined in contrast to Holland, for instance by the regionalist writer Matthias Kemp: ‘The noisy, lively, festive and satirical character of the Limburger is in stark contrast to the average character in the north…’.28 The search for a ‘Limburg’ regional character found an intellectual climax in the work of Dr Winand Roukens, whose publications in the 1930s and 1940s were based on current German ethnology. He defined a separate Limburg regional ‘psyche’, formed by a mixture of the German (Frankish) and an older so-called Alpine race, in contrast to the Hollanders, whose character was formed by their supposedly Saxon and Frisian racial background. Alpine racial influences counted for the ‘impulsivity’, the ‘rich fantasy and imagination’, the ‘lively temperament’, and ‘dynamic spirit’, which distinguished the Limburgers from the inhabitants of the rest of the Netherlands, and were also reflected in their artistry, their musicality, and … their tuneful language.29 So, finally, a specific ethnicity was defined for the population of a region, which had started as nothing more than an accidental territory and a geopolitical anomaly.

25 Van Ginneken, Handboek der Nederlandsche Taal, p. 170, cited in: Perry, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”’, p. 197. 26 Perry, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”’, pp. 198, 200, 202. 27 Perry, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”’, pp. 202–03. 28 Cited in: Perry, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”’, p. 216. 29 Perry, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”’, pp. 204–208; Knotter, ‘Inleiding’, pp. 12–14; Knotter, ‘Limburg bestaat niet’, pp. 268–70. The idea that so-called Alpine racial influences determined individual psychology and that a mix of ‘Nordic’ and ‘Alpine’ races favoured creativity and artistry were derived from contemporary German racial theorists like W. F. Günther and W. Rausschenberger. Cf. Mok, ‘Een beladen erfenis’.

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Looking for Historical Continuities Local initiatives to study history and raise historical consciousness in a regional context sprang up everywhere in Limburg from the 1850s.30 The interest in regional culture and history, as expressed in these elite initiatives, reflected a growing awareness of being different vis-à-vis the Dutch norm. Nevertheless, in the nineteenth century regional history was deliberately placed in a Dutch national historical context, in spite of the absence of any substantial relationship of the larger parts of the region with the Dutch Republic before becoming part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands in 1815. In 1863 a provincial historical society was established, Limburgs Geschied- en Oudheidkundig Genootschap (LGOG), which formulated as its first aim: ‘to promote [the study of] national history, but primarily that of Limburg’. It aspired ‘to acquire for Limburg an honourable place among the other provinces of the Netherlands’, as a ‘work of intelligence and patriotism’.31 The founding father of regional history in Limburg, also the first state archivist in the province, the Catholic priest Jos. Habets (1829–1893), likewise thought that the writing of history in Limburg had to be useful for ‘the beloved fatherland’. He wrote a four volume history of the diocese of Roermond (published in 1875, 1890, 1892, and posthumously in 1927), but projected its nineteenth-century territory backwards into time, although its earlier territorial shape had been quite different.32 In this way, he was the first to write a history of the province as if its territory had existed before 1839. The teaching of history in nineteenth century Limburg schools was aimed at the reconciliation of regional and national history as well, for instance in the elite academy of Rolduc, housed in a former medieval abbey in the southeast of the province, where the last duke of Limburg, Walram, was buried in 1226. In the teaching of history at Rolduc he was venerated as a faraway ancestor of the Orange family, the royal family of the Netherlands. In this way a relationship was constructed between the old medieval duchy of Limburg (which, as noted before, actually had been situated south of the province), the nineteenth-century province of Limburg, and the Kingdom of the Netherlands.33 Apparently, in this period, when the region had only recently become part of the Netherlands as its eleventh province, it was deemed necessary to stress the historical roots of its national belonging, however feeble. Paradoxically, only when integration had progressed, did it become feasible to write a regional history of the province without reference to the Dutch national state. But now a new problem emerged: to what extent had there been a specific ‘Limburg’ history before a province of that name had been formed? When in the early 1960s a comprehensive provincial history, called Limburg’s Past, saw the light on the period before 1815, written by professional historians, the editors raised the 30 Cf. Leerssen, ‘Een beetje buitenland’, pp. 239–40. 31 Cited by Geurts and Janssen, ‘Ruim een eeuw geschiedschrijving’, pp. 50 and 52–53. See also: Venner, ‘De stichting en eerste jaren’. 32 This approach has been rightly criticized by later historians: Boeren, ‘Kritische beschouwingen’, pp. 36–38 and 50. 33 Schutgens, ‘Vaderlandse geschiedenis op Rolduc’.

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fundamental question: ‘Is it possible to write a history of Limburg? More than that: does Limburg really have a past of its own?’ Before 1815 it would after all concern a history ‘of an incoherent and arbitrarily assembled area, so, of a Limburg that in reality had never existed …’. The editors were nonetheless convinced that a history of Limburg before 1815 was feasible, ‘because of the existence of similar, coherent and connecting elements in the past of this area as a whole’. Although Limburg had not been a territorial unity, it was necessary to postulate a ‘real conformity in social, cultural and religious life of the “Limburg” people of earlier times …’.34 In other words, the identity (to use a modern concept) of the Limburgers presupposed the existence of a ‘Limburg’ people through the ages, and justified a separate history of (Dutch) Limburg, also in the centuries before its formation as a Dutch province. Not all contributing historians agreed. A certain R. Jans wrote: For every Limburger the idea of Limburg is loaded with emotions, so it is a perilous undertaking to attack it. Therefore, before anything else, it has to be stressed that today, when more than four generations have been accustomed to its existence, Limburg has become a reality. And yet, this reality, that is alive in all of us, is a myth. […] And so is the belief in the unity of Belgian and Dutch Limburg.35 For the time being, it was a voice in the wilderness. In 1972 and 1974, W. Jappe Alberts, an Utrecht professor of regional history, published a history of Belgian and Dutch Limburg in two volumes, arguing that ‘through the ages the areas at both sides of the middle course of the river Meuse show so many common characteristics and ups and downs, that an overview of their common history is fully justified’.36 The argument was part of his much broader view of Limburg’s history as a part of the history of the area between the Meuse and the Rhine as a whole. It is typical of his approach that in his regional historical work Alberts replaced the idea of a historical continuity of the ‘Limburg’ region, as postulated in Limburg’s Past, by a concept of continuity of the Meuse-Rhine area. In his opinion, the foundations were already laid in Roman times for a cultural unity of this area, stretching through Carolingian times, when it had been the core area of the Frankish empire; it had been kept intact through later ages, and was still alive in the twentieth century.37 In my view, such a continuity is as unhistorical as the supposed continuity in the existence of a ‘Limburg’ people in Limburg’s Past. Alberts ignores the manifold and far-reaching changes in the territorial history of this area after Carolingian times, and the impact of the rise of the nation states since the nineteenth century. It would be more appropriate to study the area as a border region that underwent ever changing influences of external powers in politics, economics, and culture.38 The Meuse-Rhine area was not a pays 34 Munsters, ‘Ter verantwoording’, p. ix. 35 Jans, ‘Letterkunde in Limburg’, p. 373. 36 Alberts, De geschiedenis van de beide Limburgen, deel I, p. ix. 37 Alberts, ‘De betekenis’; Alberts, ‘Historische Grenzlandbeziehungen’; Alberts, ‘Schets van de economische geschiedenis’. 38 Cf. Knotter, ‘Na de Kulturraumforschung’. Translations: Knotter. ‘Jenseits einer Kulturraumforschung’; Knotter, ‘A Borderless Region?’.

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sans frontier, as a much cited phrase of the Liège historian Jean Lejeune goes, but the opposite: a land full of (changing) borders.39 At last, such a non-essentialist view of the region became the leading one in the last general history of Limburg, published in 2000 by the Maastricht historian P. J. Ubachs: A conception of ‘Limburg’ before the end of the Ancien Régime must burst like a bubble. It is silly to look for a Limburg in former times, for a unity that would correspond with that of today. Any suggestion of a political, religious, or cultural unity before 1795 [the year when the French established the department of the Meuse inférieure, which is more or less continued in today’s Belgian and Dutch Limburg] is a folly.40 Ubachs considered the ‘Limburg’ area as only a geographical space, just a convenient framework for his history of the region.

Conclusion: Reading History Backwards If we follow the Dutch philosopher of history Piet Blaas, the writing of history implies looking forward from a past position.41 Until quite recently, most regional historians in Limburg did not keep up to this principle, but instead projected cultural and other characteristics, ascribed to the province, backwards in time, be it in the context of the nation, the Meuse-Rhine area, or Limburg itself. In this way they constructed an unchanging identity based on history and heritage. They could not imagine a specific Limburg identity unless it was rooted in the past. If the famous phrase by Eric Hobsbawm about ‘the invention of tradition’ can be applied anywhere, it is on this unhistorical conception and perception of Dutch Limburg. According to Hobsbawm the ‘invention’ of traditions is an ‘attempt to establish continuity with a suitable historic past’ and ‘to structure […] parts of social life […] as unchanging’, in contrast to ‘the constant change and innovation of the modern world’.42 Constant change is not a privilege of modern times, however; it is the very foundation of history, even under the guise of continuity. A telling example is the way how Catholicism in Limburg, while invoking its age-old traditions, was in fact moulded into a regionalist discourse. If a regional identity of Limburg cannot be based on history and heritage, how can we explain the strong identification of its inhabitants with their province? Originally a geopolitical anomaly without a common history, Limburg became a province with a strong regional identity by recognizing itself as a deviation from the national norm.

39 Lejeune, Pays sans frontière; cf. for the economic importance of borders in this region, cf. Knotter, ‘Land der vielen Grenzen’. 40 Ubachs, Handboek voor de geschiedenis van Limburg, p. 19. 41 Cf. Blaas, ‘Vorm geven aan de tijd’. 42 Hobsbawm, ‘Introduction’, pp. 1–2.

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During the nineteenth and twentieth century Limburg defined common economic interests, religion, habits, character, and culture in opposition to a perceived outsider, generally designated as ‘Holland’. National integration and regional identification were two sides of the same coin. In this dialectical process the Limburgers became aware of certain commonalities, and started to think and behave in this way. The construction of a regional identity in Limburg can be considered a case of negative integration: as a regional Limburg identity was constructed in opposition to ‘Holland’ (= the rest of the Netherlands), it could only develop because Limburg became part of that country. From the viewpoint of the historical participants this may appear as a matter of differentiation, but from the viewpoint of the observer it can be recognized as a form of integration. While becoming Dutchmen, the Limburgers simultaneously discovered that they were a group of people with a character of their own.

Works Cited Secondary Studies Alberts, W. Jappe, ‘De betekenis en beoefening van regionale en interregionale geschiedenis’, De Maasgouw, 82 (1963), 67–82 ———, ‘Historische Grenzlandbeziehungen am Niederrhein’, in Landschaft und Geschichte. Festschrift für Franz Petri zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 22. Februar 1968, ed. by G. Droege, Peter Schöller, Rudolf Schützeichel, and Matthias Zender (Bonn: Ludwig Röhrscheid, 1970), pp. 34–43 ———, ‘Schets van de economische geschiedenis van Nederlands Limburg in de Middeleeuwen’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg/Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 15 (1970), 1–28 ———, De geschiedenis van de beide Limburgen. Beknopte geschiedenis van het gebied omvattende de tegenwoordige Nederlandse en Belgische provincies Limburg, 2 vols (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1972/1974) Allen, John, Doreen Massey, and Allan Cochrane, Rethinking the Region (London: Routledge, 1998) Barth, Fredrik, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural Difference (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1969) Blaas, Piet, ‘Vorm geven aan de tijd. Over periodiseren’, in De ongrijpbare tijd. Temporaliteit en de constructie van het verleden, ed. by Maria Grever and Harry Jansen (Hilversum: Verloren, 2001) pp. 35–47 Blotevogel, Hans Heinrich, ‘Auf dem Wege zu einer “Theorie der Regionalität”: die Region als Forschungsobjekt der Geographie’, in Region und Regionsbildung in Europa. Konzeptionen der Forschung und empirische Befunde [Wissenschaftliche Konferenz, Siegen, 10.-11. Oktober 1995], ed. by Gerhard Brunn (Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft, 1996), pp. 44–68 Boeren, Petrus C., ‘Kritische beschouwingen bij het werk van enige Limburgse geschiedschrijvers der laatste honderd jaar’, Publications de la Société Historique et Archéologique de Limbourg, 100 (1964), 17–69

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Bosch, Toon, ‘“Kanaliseert de Maos. Doot et. Noe of noets”. Acties voor de bevaarmaking van de Maas in de provincie Limburg (1839–1925)’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 53 (2008), 31–56 Camp, Rico op den, ‘Towards One Nation: The Province of Limburg and the Dutch Nation during the Eighteen-Seventies’, in Images of the Nation: Different Meanings of Dutchness 1870–1940, ed. by Annemieke Galema, Barbara Henkes, and Henk te Velde (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1993), pp. 81–104 Chorus, Alfons, De Nederlander uiterlijk en innerlijk. Een karakteristiek (Leiden: Sijthoff, 1964) Duijker, Bert (H.) C. J., and Nico H. Frijda, National Character and National Stereotypes: A Trend Report Prepared for the International Union of Scientific Psychology (Amsterdam: North Holland, 1960) Eickhoff, Martijn, Barbara Henkes, and Frank van Vree, Volkseigen. Ras, cultuur en wetenschap in Nederland 1900–1950 [Elfde Jaarboek van het Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie] (Zutphen: Waanders, 2000) Ekamper, Peter, and Frans van Poppel, ‘Liefde met en zonder grenzen: de geografische horizon van huwelijkspartners in Limburg in de negentiende en vroege twintigste eeuw’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 57 (2012), 79–103 Geurts, Peter A. M., and Antoon E. M. Janssen, ‘Ruim een eeuw geschiedschrijving met betrekking tot de Nederlandse provincie Limburg. Enige historiografische aspecten’, Publications de la Société Historique et Archéologique de Limbourg, 125 (1989), 47–99 Ginneken, Jac J. A. van, Handboek der Nederlandsche Taal (Nijmegen: Malmberg, 1913) Goltstein, Jos, ‘Het ontstaan van het Limburgs chauvinisme in Sittard’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 31 (1986), 1–77 Gulpers, Judith, ‘Elfde kind of Assepoester? Argumenten pro en contra het Belgische annexionisme in de Limburgse pers (1918–1919)’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 55 (2010), 102–26 Herb, Guntram H., ‘National Identity and Territory’, in Nested Identities: Nationalism, Territory, and Scale, ed. by Guntram H. Herb and David H. Kaplan (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999), pp. 9–30 Hobsbawm, Eric, ‘Introduction: Inventing Traditions’, in The Invention of Tradition, ed. by Eric Hobsbawn and Terence Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 1–14 Jans, Ruud, ‘Letterkunde in Limburg van de Frankische tot de Franse tijd’, in Limburg’s Verleden. Geschiedenis van Nederlands Limburg tot 1815, ed. by Emile C. M. A. Batta and others, deel II (Maastricht: Limburgs Geschied- en Oudheidkundig Genootschap, [1967]), pp. 373–416 Knippenberg, Hans, ‘The Incorporation of Limburg in the Dutch State’, in Nationalising and Denationalising European Border Regions, 1800–2000: Views from Geography and History, ed by Hans Knippenberg and Jan Markusse (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1999), pp. 39–60

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Knotter, Ad, ‘Na de Kulturraumforschung. Oude en nieuwe concepten in de grensoverschrijdende regionale geschiedschrijving’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 118 (2005), 227–46 ———, ‘Jenseits einer Kulturraumforschung. Konzepte für eine grenzüberschreitende Geschichtsschreibung in Europa’, in Europäische Geschichtsschreibung und europäische Regionen. Historiographische Konzepte diesseits und jenseits der niederländisch-deutschen/ nordrhein-westfälischen Grenze, ed. by Hein Hoebink (Münster: Waxxmann, 2008), pp. 25–53 ———, ‘A Borderless Region? (Nazi‐)German Westforschung and the German‐Dutch‐ Belgian Borderland’, Journal of Borderlands Studies, 23. 1 (2008), 69–84 ———, ‘Grenzen aan de loonpolitiek. De langzaamaanactie van de Nederlandse Katholieke Mijnwerkers Bond (1957) tussen nationale integratie, grensligging en katholiek regionalisme’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 53 (2008), 117–57 ———, ed., Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identiteit (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009) ———, ‘Inleiding’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 9–20. ———, ‘Limburg bestaat niet. Paradoxen van een sterke identiteit’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 263–77 ———, ‘Limburg en andere buitenprovincies: perifere oppositie en Nederlandse staatsvorming in de jaren 1840’, Studies over de sociaal-economische geschiedenis van Limburg / Jaarboek van het Sociaal Historisch Centrum voor Limburg, 57 (2012), 3–12 ———, ‘Land der vielen Grenzen. Territorialität und Textilindustrie zwischen Maas und Rhein im 18. und Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts’, Rhein-Maas Studien zur Geschichte, Sprache und Kultur, 4 (2013), 112–40 ———, ‘Changing Border Regimes, Mining, and Cross-border Labour in the DutchBelgian-German Borderlands, 1900–1973’, Journal of Borderland Studies, 29 (2014), 375–84 Leerssen, Joep, ‘Een beetje buitenland: Nederlandse natievorming en Limburgs regionalisme’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 229–50 Lejeune, Jean, Pays sans frontière. Aix-la-Chapelle. Liège, Maastricht (Brussels: Charles Dessaert, 1958) Lemmens, Eric, ‘Aan Vorst en Vaderland gehecht, doch tevreden zijn zij niet’. Limburgse politici in Den Haag 1839–1918 (Amsterdam: Wereldbibliotheek, 2004) Loriaux, Michael, European Union and the Deconstruction of the Rhineland Frontier (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) Maier, Charles S., ‘Transformations of Territoriality 1600–2000’, in Transnationale Geschichte. Themen, Tendenzen und Theorien. Jürgen Kocka zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Gunilla Budde and others (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), pp. 32–55 McConnell, Fiona, ‘The Fallacy and the Promise of the Territorial Trap: Sovereign Articulations of Geopolitical Anomalies’, Geopolitics, 15 (2010), 762–68 Meertens, Piet J., and Anne de Vries, eds, De Nederlandse volkskarakters (Kampen: Kok, 1938)

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Mok, Ineke, ‘Een beladen erfenis. Het raciale vertoog in de sociale wetenschap in Nederland 1930–1950’, in Volkseigen. Ras, cultuur en wetenschap in Nederland 1900–1950, ed. by Martijn Eickhoff, Barbara Henkes, and Frank van Vree [Elfde Jaarboek van het Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie] (Zutphen: Waanders, 2000), pp. 129–55 Munsters, Antoon J., ‘Ter verantwoording’, in Limburg’s verleden. Geschiedenis van Nederlands Limburg tot 1815, ed. by Emile C. M. A. Batta, deel I (Maastricht: Limburgs Geschied- en Oudheidkundig Genootschap, [1960]), pp. vii–xi Nissen, Peter, ‘Confessionele identiteit en regionale eigenheid. De pastorale instrumentalisering van regionale tradities in de vormgeving van de religieuze beleving’, in Constructie van het eigene. Culturele vormen van regionale identiteit, ed. by Carlo van der Bogt, Amanda Hermans, and Hugo Jacobs (Amsterdam: P. J. MeertensInstituut, 1996), pp. 155–72 ———, ‘Constructie en deconstructie van het katholieke Limburg’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 99–114 Orbons Piet and Lou Spronck, ‘Limburgers worden Nederlanders. Een moeizaam integratrieproces’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 33–60 Perry, Jos, ‘“’t Nachtegaaltje zingt”. Regionalisme in Nederlands-Limburg 1900–1950’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 187–227 Pries, Ludger, Die Transnationalisierung der sozialen Welt. Sozialräume jenseits von Nationalgesellschaften (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2008) Roukens, Win., ‘De Limburgers’, in De Nederlandse volkskarakters, ed. by Piet Meertens and Anne de Vries (Kampen: Kok, 1938), pp. 293–317 Schutgens, Kees, ‘Vaderlandse geschiedenis op Rolduc in de tweede helft van de negentiende eeuw’, Publications de la Société Historique et Archéologique de Limbourg, 140 (2004), 267–331 Ubachs, Petrus H. J., Handboek voor de geschiedenis van Limburg (Hilversum: Verloren, 2000) Venner, Gerard H. A., ‘De stichting en eerste jaren van het Oudheidkundig Genootschap in het hertogdom Limburg’, Publications de la Société Historique et Archéologique de Limbourg, 139 (2003), 143–201 Venner, Jos, ed., Canon van Limburg. Een historisch overzicht (Maastricht: Media Group Limburg, 2009) Wijers, Carla, ‘“In één hand de rozenkrans, in de andere hand een glas bier”. De Limburgse identiteit onder de loep’, in Dit is Limburg! Opstellen over de Limburgse identite, ed. by Ad Knotter (Zwolle: Waanders, 2009), pp. 127–49

Index of Keywords

Since this volume is entirely devoted to the historiography of regions, keywords like historiography, nation/state, and region/regional are insufficiently distinguishing, while the case studies treated in the separate chapters are too thematically and geographically specific for an index. This brief index of keywords is thus intended to indicate the main themes that recur across the different chapters. chronicles: 26, 53, 56, 70–85, 92–94, 99–110, 148–57, 178, 195, 209, 214–18, 222, 224 cohesion: 17–29, 34, 42, 46–7, 53, 57, 86, 91, 128, 149, 155, 269–75 consciousness: 34, 40, 45, 48–51, 57, 154, 166, 173–76, 195–96, 294 construction (of regions, etc): 25–26, 29, 34, 43, 49–50, 57, 91, 96, 111, 156, 191, 210–12, 214, 217, 219, 222, 285, 288, 297 dynasties: 21, 25, 27, 34–35, 39, 46, 51–57, 70, 73, 84, 86, 91–2, 99, 101–04, 108, 117, 126–31, 138, 145–62, 241, 251–52, 260–69, 288 ethnicity: 19–23, 29, 34, 41–3, 46–8, 53, 57, 69, 78–9, 83, 85, 166–7, 170, 181–82, 210–29, 238, 241, 248, 251–52, 283–85, 293

humanism/humanist: 27, 54, 57, 122, 124, 126, 130, 133, 155–66, 176, 184, 213, 215 identity (regional): 16–32, 33–67, 69–70, 91, 165, 174, 190, 210–12, 217, 225, 230, 237–39, 283–85, 291, 296–97 memory (collective/cultural): 15, 19, 22, 25–28, 48–49, 53, 70, 74, 96–8, 103, 108, 135, 154, 190–91, 195, 211, 224, 275 myth: 35, 46, 48, 72, 76, 81, 126, 129–33, 152–55, 167, 198, 199, 214, 218–19, 226–30, 240, 274, 295 principalities (county/duchy): 38–39, 49, 53, 91–104, 121, 145–62, 166, 169, 178, 182, 237–56, 260–75, 286–87, 294. saints: 22–28, 54, 57, 76–91, 101, 189–207, 259 stakeholders: 21, 25–28, 33, 46, 57, 134

Early European Research

All volumes in this series are evaluated by an Editorial Board, strictly on academic grounds, based on reports prepared by referees who have been commissioned by virtue of their specialism in the appropriate field. The Board ensures that the screening is done independently and without conflicts of interest. The definitive texts supplied by authors are also subject to review by the Board before being approved for publication. Further, the volumes are copyedited to conform to the publisher’s stylebook and to the best international academic standards in the field.

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