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Published by: Institute of History, Research Centre for the Humanities, Hungarian Academy of Sciences

2024_3_Kwiatkowski

Agricultural Productivity in the Western Borderlands of the Grand Duchy of pdf
Lithuania (Second Half of the Sixteenth Century)

Maciej Kwiatkowski

University of Bialystok

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ORCID: 0000–0001–8889–8086

Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 3 (2024): 431-445 DOI 10.38145/2024.3.431

The purpose of this article is to determine the grain yields in the royal manors of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in the 16th and 17th centuries. The manorial system in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania appeared with the land reform in the mid-16th century (Volok Reform), when the three-field system was introduced here. However, there were far fewer manor farms in Lithuania than in Poland, but they were very large. Most of them produced grain for export based on peasant labor force. The inventories of the royal estates give account on the seed demand and yields of the most important cereals: rye, oats and wheat. The analysis of more than a dozen manors showed varying yields in Lithuanian estates (Grodno Starosty, Brest Ekonomy and Kobrin Ekonomy), which were due to natural environmental conditions, as well as elemental disasters or human activity.

Keywords: grain yield, productivity, 16–17th-century Lithuania, volok reform, manors

Introduction: State of Research

Studies on crop yields in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth have a deep tradition. The most extensive analysis of the productivity of peasant and manorial farms was done by Alina Wawrzyńczyk1 and Leonid Żytkowicz2 over 50 years ago, focusing mainly on royal and church estates in early modern Poland. Other prominent scholars of the economy of early modern Poland have also paid attention to agricultural productivity, including Jerzy Topolski, Andrzej Wyczański, and Stefan Cackowski.3 Piotr Guzowski and Monika Kozłowska-Szyc are also currently pursuing research on the subject.4 The conditions of the agricultural economy in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania have also long remained at the center of research by historians. Most of the scholarship has been devoted to the period of the Volok Reform5 in the second half of the sixteenth century, in particular to the layout of manors and the lists of the duties of serfs.6 Several works also dealt with the efficiency of agriculture in medieval Lithuania. The economics of the Roch demesne (Novogrudok province) and the Trotsinski estate (Brest–Lithuanian province) were analyzed by Rożycka-Glassowa.7 Jozef Ochmanski wrote about the efficiency of the grand ducal economy in the Kobrin ducal estate.8 Also, Stanislaw Kosciałkowski examined the significance of Lithuanian yields, supported by yield estimates made by Antoni Żabko-Potopowicz in selected grand ducal estates in the eighteenth century.9 Thus, the scholarship on the agricultural economy of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and its efficiency are for the most part several decades old. A recent summary of the research was presented by Alina Czapiuk in the 1990s,10 but this research and the various works of secondary literature mentioned by Czapiuk are in need of an update, urging for some comparative focus on similar questions in other regions.

Case Studies: Selection of the Analyzed Area

Though numerous shorter works of secondary literature have been published on the subject, there is still a lack of a more complete work focused on the study of the functioning of the agricultural economy in the second half of the sixteenth century. I neither intend nor claim, in the discussion below, to discuss all aspects of the productivity of Lithuanian agriculture in the Renaissance. I present my findings primarily with the aim of furthering a more nuanced interpretation of the findings of research focusing on regions to the east of the (quite thoroughly studied) Kingdom of Poland. This will make it possible to include further areas in the analysis of the manorial system.

In order to discuss agricultural production in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania from the perspectives of total yield and quality, I focused on three estates as case studies: the Grodno royal estates (1578),11 the Brest royal estates(1588), and the Kobrin royal estates(1597). This selection was not random. In accordance with the 1588 Privilege of Counties on the Table of His Majesty the King, some of the Lithuanian royal (state) properties were transformed into ekonomias, or in other words, they put under the control of the monarch and generated a significant share of the income of the court treasury.12 The existence of Lithuanian ekonomias was confirmed in 1589, and in 1590, in accordance with legislation passed by the parliament the royal table estates in Poland were also separated.13 Ekonomias were usually large estates which included several towns, several manors, and dozens or even hundreds of villages. Sejm acts mention 11 ekonomias. Five of them (Tczew, Malbork, Rogozin, Sandomierz, and Sambor) belonged to Poland, as did the Cracow grand-government and a number of regalia. Another six ekonomias (Brest, Grodno, Kobrin, Mogilev, Olitsa, and Šiauliai) were within Lithuania. Our goal, therefore, was to select relatively extensive areas for the study of relationships on the landlords’ estates.

Map1.jpg

Map 1. Location of farms in the Grodno Starosty (1578), Brest ekonomia (1588),
and Kobrin 
ekonomia (1597)

Source: Own compilation based on, AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, pp. 23, 97, 127, 171, 194, 238, 266, 296–297; AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, k. 16, 21v, 24–24v, 28v, 32v–35v; AGAD,
The so-called Lithuanian Metryka, sign. 29, pp. 28, 34–36, 51–52, 71–73, 89–90, 101.

Characteristics of the Sources

Most of the court estates have well-preserved treasury sources from the second half of the sixteenth century. The documents which were drawn up during the period of the Volok Reform, are widely known among scholars.14 The documents offer detailed descriptions of the land, the boundaries of the manors, towns, and villages, and the duties of the serfs, but they reveal little concerning the extent of production on the grand ducal farms. Only inventories from the 1570s and 1590s make it possible to analyze the productivity of manorial farms, in addition to examining a number of duties of the populations living on the estates. The inventories of the Brest and Grodno estates were compiled after the deaths of the previous possessors.15 This is not true in the case of the source on Kobrin’s ekonomia, which was created at the express order of King Sigismund III Vasa, who did not give any specific reason for his command.16 The estates included in this study were found in the western stretches of Lithuania, in Grodno and Brest-Litovsk Counties.

The Crop Yields

There are two basic methods for examining a farmer’s harvest. The first method involves taking the number of threshed crops and dividing the harvest by the size of the previously sown crop (which gives the yield ratio). Thus, we talk about the ratio of one seed sown to one grain harvested. The methodology requires following rules:

1. The study of the proportion of seeds sown to grain harvested must be limited to individual crop species. Thus, we do not deal with the combined yields of rye and wheat unless, for example, we are interested in the yield of winter cereals, which, however, requires appropriate separation of the data.

2. Analysis must be based on standardized units of bulk measures. If a source only offers information concerning seeds sown counted in threescores17 and information about the harvest as measured in barrels, we are not able to give the yield of a particular crop. However, if we were to break this data down (for instance, to arrive at an approximation of the number of grains in a barrel), then the source might contain useful information concerning the yield per threescore.

The above method has been widely used in historical and contemporary scholarship on agriculture in the Polish and Lithuanian lands. Certainly, one of the great advantages of this methodology is its comparative simplicity, assuming we have reliable data in consistent units of measurement.

Another strategy is to indicate crop yields by presenting yield efficiencies in terms of the number of quintals per hectare. This method forces the historian to calculate older units of bulk and area measurements into modern ones. It is thus more time-consuming, as it requires knowledge of several conversion factors. Unfortunately, it is sometimes completely unreliable if the sources do not indicate the size of a given farm. The aforementioned method is used by scientists analyzing agriculture in Western Europe (for instance), but Polish researchers also do not shy away from using the method of estimating yields in quintals per single hectare.18 Due to the difficulty of determining the acreage of old manor farms, we chose the first method of analysis, showing the yields as a ration of seeds down to grains harvested.

For the analysis, we chose all the manors on each estate: ten on the Grodno Starosty, five on the Brest estate, and six on the Kobrin ekonomia. In the sources provided precise data on crops sown, harvests counted in threescores, and threescore efficiency rates. In accordance with the Volok Law regulating relations on the grand ducal estates, all estates used the system of a barrel of brine, equal to four Cracow bushels.19

Table 1. Average crop values on the Grodno Starosty, Brest and Kobrin ekonomias (1578–97) (yield measured to sown seed)

Property

Winter rye

Spring rye

Winter wheat

Spring wheat

Barley

Oats

Peas

Buckwheat

Grodno Starosty

2.7

1.2

2.5

4.6

2.8

1.9

2.6

2.0

Brest Ekonomia

3.9

2.6

4.6

2.9

2.8

2.5

3

1.8

Kobrin Ekonomia

2.5

1.6

1.2

0.3

2.7

2.1

2.6

2.5

Source: Own compilation based on, AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, pp. 23, 97, 127, 171, 194, 238, 266, 296–297; AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, k. 16, 21v, 24–24v, 28v, 32v–35v; AGAD,
The so-called Lithuanian Metryka, sign. 29, pp. 28, 34–36, 51–52, 71–73, 89–90, 101.

The Table 1 shows the arithmetic average yield on the Grodno Starosty and the manors on the Brest and Kobrin estates in the second half of the sixteenth century. The data suggests that spring wheat was one of the most successful crops on the Grodno estate. In practice, however, this crop was grown on only one grange of the Grodno estate, which in principle excludes the sense of including data on average yields. The data for winter wheat on the Brest estate were identical, although this crop was only grown the farms belonging to three landlords. Quite good values were generated by winter rye on the Brest ekonomia, which usually boasted the best indicators of manor management efficiency. The weakest yield parameters were obtained by spring rye and oats, the average figures for which, as a ratio of grains harvested to seeds sown, ranged from 1.2 to 2.6 and from 1.9 to 2.5, respectively. A comparison of average yield values on these estates to average yields shows that in most cases the Lithuanian estates were not nearly as productive or efficient as the estates in Poland, for example, where the corresponding figures were 3.2–5 for rye, 4.3–7.6 for wheat, 4.5–8 for barley and 1.8–7 for oat.. The averages for the harvests on the grand ducal estates better resemble the yields obtained in Ducal Prussia (rye: 3.5; wheat: 5; barley: 4; oats: 2.8). 20 In comparison with Poland and Prussia, wheat did not fare nearly as well, achieving a similar average only on the Brest economy. Yields were much lower on the other estates, reaching just over one to about 2.5 grains per seed sown.

 

Chart_1_Rye.jpgChart 1 WheatChart 1 BarleyChart 1 Oat

Figure 1. Variability of yields of winter rye, winter wheat, barley, and oats on the Grodno Starosty, Brest ekonomia and Kobrin ekonomia (1578–97)

Source: Own compilation based on, AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, pp. 23, 97, 127, 171, 194, 238, 266, 296–297; AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, k. 16, 21v, 24–24v, 28v, 32v–35v; AGAD,
The so-called Lithuanian Metryka, sign. 29, pp. 28, 34–36, 51–52, 71–73, 89–90, 101.

In addition to indicating the average yield, it would be worth considering the variety of parameters obtained. To this end, one could approach the issue from a comparative discussion of data concerning the yields of four of the most important crops: winter rye, winter wheat, barley, and oats. The focus on these four crops is dictated by two factors: they achieved the highest yields among grains and these regularly appeared in the farm accounts.

Chart 2

Figure 2. Productivity of crops on the farms of Grodno Starosty and the Brest and Kobrin ekonomias (1578–97) in barrels/threescore. Average values are indicated by a solid line, and the standard deviation by a dashed line.

Source: Own compilation based on, AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, pp. 23, 97, 127, 171, 194, 238, 266, 296–297; AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, k. 16, 21v, 24–24v, 28v, 32v–35v; AGAD,
The so-called Lithuanian Metryka, sign. 29, pp. 28, 34–36, 51–52, 71–73, 89–90, 101.

Fluctuations in yields are evident throughout the study of any selected crops. Only some manors achieved similar yield values, which clearly escape us when focusing only on average grain yields. We see the greatest differences in yields in the case of the manors of Grodno Starosty, which could be due to the larger number of farms owned by lords and not the king. The condition of crops on some of the grand ducal farms presents a remarkably unfavorable picture. This is evident in the case of particularly poor yields of spring and winter wheat, where the yields sometimes approached the lower limit of profitability.

The reasons for the unevenness of the harvest are quite well explained by an analysis of the treasury sources. In 1578, the Grodno Starosty was plagued by hailstorms and fires in selected villages. It is likely that the recorded drought was indirectly responsible for the fires, such under such circumstances, a moment of carelessness with fire would have been enough for buildings to start burning quite quickly.21 The mention in the records of uprooted garden crops also suggest drought conditions (though it is not known whether these crops were uprooted as a result of human activity), but there are other direct references to the disastrous yields too. Usually, lower yields occurred on manors where the records also indicate unfavourable weather events (Horodnica, Mosty).22

Let us take a look at how the efficiency of a single, threshed threescore of crops presented itself. As with the first chart, the target of the analysis will be winter varieties of rye, wheat, barley, and oats.

As the survey of the west-Lithuanian estates indicates, the maximum results were obtained for winter rye and oat crops. If we look at the average yield of a single mound of individual crops, it becomes clear that the highest yields were obtained on the Grodno estate. Simultaneously, the Grodno estate had the most varied crop threshing parameters. The average threshing rates per threescore oscillated around one barrel of brine. The crop yields were smaller on the Brest and Kobrin ekonomias. Barley and oat yields were similar. On average, barley and oat yields were noticeably better ion the Grodno estates and worse on the other estates. The threescore yield on the Brest ekonomia showed variation only in the case of oats. The poor values of threescore of wheat are confirmed in the source dedicated to the Kobrin property, where a very bad wheat yield is mentioned.23 The accounts of the Kobrin ekonomia were also inaccurately kept, since in the case of the Horodec manor we have no data at all on the threshing or yields of rye or oats.24

The agricultural conditions on the estates under discussion were certainly also influenced by the number of livestock. Livestock breeding made it possible not only to obtain meat, hides, and dairy products. Livestock were also used in the fields, for instance in ploughing. In addition, livestock produced a certain amount of fertilizer, which made it possible to achieve higher yields of grain crops. As the sources do not always give a precise record of all the animals on a given manor, I consider only the presence of cows, as the records concerning cows on the estates are more precise.

Table 2. Number of milking cows and heifers on the farms of Grodno Starosty and the Brest and Kobrin ekonomias (1578–96)

Estate

Manor farm

Number of cows

Number of cows per
Lithuanian volok of the farm
25

Grodno Starosty

Horodnica

6

0.6

Nowy Dwór

12

0.3

Kotra

11

2.7

Odelsk

0

0.0

Skidel

0

0.0

Łabno

6

0.2

Jeziory

4

0.3

Sałaty

0

0.0

Mosty

5

0.3

Wiercieliszki

18

1.5

Milkowszczyzna

0

0.0

Krynki

0

0.0

Świsłocz

16

1.7

Brestekonomia

Woin (Wohyń)

0

026

Kodeniec

0

027

Połowce

–

–

Kijowiec

11

0.9

Rzeczyca

–

–

Kobrinekonomia

Kobryń

5

1.0

Czerwaczyce

13

2.3

Wieżece (Wieżki)

6

0.2

Prużany

16

0.5

Czachec

–

–

Horodec

5

1.6

Source: Own work on the basis of AGAD, AK, sygn. I/10, 22, 51, 94, 170, 193, 237, 264, 294, 297; AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, 16, 27; AGAD, Metryka Litewska, sign. 29, 28, 33–36, 50–53, 70, 73, 89–90, 101.

The recommendations of the Volok Law of 1557, which regulated relations on the estates surveyed, said that each manor should have at least 20 cows. If a lord’s farm did not have that many animals, he was ordered to obtain more by purchase.28 The sources indicate that already by the late 1570s the Grand Duke of Lithuania’s instructions were not being followed. A survey of estates with a certain number of cattle shows that the Grodno estate had an average of 8.5, the Brest ekonomia 3.6, and the Kobrin ekonomia 9 mature cows per farm (Table 2). We should approach the above data with a great deal of caution. The Milkovshchyna, Odelsk, and Skidel manors, which were on the Grodno estate and were leased by the widow of the late Grodno starost and the Vilna voivode, were not included in the survey.29 This certainly contributed to lower average numbers of livestock in the records. Similarly, we should not trust the information from the Brest ekonomia, where we know the number of livestock for only one lord’s farm. However, the number of livestock on the Lithuanian estates was much lower than, for example, on the estates in the neighboring Knyszyn Starosty (Podlasie), where there was an average of 41 cows (milking and barren) per single manor.30 Recalculation of the number of milking and barren cows per Lithuanian volok shows considerable diversity in cattle. Values varied the most on the Grodno Starosty, but because of the single census of the cowshed in the Brest ekonomia, we cannot make a full comparison of livestock on the estates under study.

Conclusion

The above observations call attention to the differences in the crop yields on the farms of the Grodno Starosty and the Brest and Kobrin ekonomias. The best yields were generated by the crops of the Brest property, which usually had better agricultural conditions. Typically, Kobrin’s ekonomia had the least productive harvests. This was probably related to the generally inferior conditions of the estate, as evidenced by the few mentions of wheat fertility or the poor condition of agriculture in 1597. The Grodno Starosty was also plagued by unfavorable natural events that reduced the quality of manor crops. However, there is no need to overestimate the negative effects of weather phenomena that periodically afflicted societies in modern Europe. In the case of some estates, it is likely that crop yields were only recorded in the wake of adverse weather events. However, the results of the study show primarily the inferior efficiency of the manor economy on the estates of Western Lithuania, which clearly differed from the situation in the neighboring Kingdom of Poland. The comparatively low crop yields on the estates discussed above were certainly affected by the low numbers of livestock, resulting not only from robberies suffered by the nobility during the interregnum, but probably also from real shortages in the number of livestock. It would certainly be worthwhile to undertake further research on the efficiency of agriculture on the Grodno Starosty and the Brest and Kobrin ekonomias, as this research would show (at least, the discussion above suggests so) that the farms owned by the landlords continued to produce comparatively poor crop yields.

Archival Sources

Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych w Warszawie [Central Archives of Historical Records in Warsaw] (AGAD)

Archiwum Kameralne [Chamber Archive] (AK)

Archiwum Skarbu Koronnego [Crown Treasury Archive] (ASK)

Inwentarze starostw [Starost inventories]

Metryka Litewska [Lithuanian Metryka]

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Łożyński, Krzysztof. “Stan gospodarczy włości wielkoksiążęcych w świetle Писковой книги Гродненской экономики” [The economic condition of the grand duke’s domains in light of the Писковой книги Гродненской экономики]. In Kintančios Lietuvos visuomenė: struktūros, veikėjai, idėjos, edited by Olga Mastianica, Virgilijus Pu­ga­čiauskas, and Vilma Žaltauskaitė, 96–117. Vilnius: Lietuvos istorijos institutas, 2015.

Ochmański, Jerzy. “Gospodarka folwarczna w dobrach hospodarskich na Kobryńsz­czyźnie” [Manor economy in the hospodar’s estates in the Kobrin region]. Kwartalnik Historii Kultury Materialnej 6, no. 3 (1958): 365–94.

Picheta, Uladzimer I. Belorussiia I Litva v 15–16 vv. Issledovana po istorii sotsialno-ekonomicheskaia politicheskaia I kulturnaia razvitiia = Пичета, Уладзімер I. Белоруссия и Литва 15–16 вв. Исследована по истории Социально-экономическая Политическая и культурная развития [Belorussia and Lithuania, 15–16th centuries: Studies on the social and economic history, political and cultural development]. Moscow: Издатилетво Академии наук ССР, 1961.

Rożycka-Glassowa, Maria. Gospodarka rolna wielkiej własności w Polsce XVIII wieku [Agricultural economy of large property in Poland of the 18th century]. Wroclaw: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich–Wydawnictwo Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1964.

Santiago-Caballero, Carlos. “Provincial grain yields in Spain, 1750–2009.” Working Papers in Economic History 12, no. 4 (2012): 1–36.

Topolski, Jerzy. Gospodarstwo wiejskie w dobrach arcybiskupstwa gnieźnieńskiego od XVI do XVIII wieku [Rural household in the estates of the Archbishopric of Gniezno from the 16th to the 18th century]. Poznan: Wydawnictwo Naukowe PWN, 1958.

Wawrzyńczyk, Alina. Gospodarstwo chłopskie w dobrach królewskich na Mazowszu w XVI i na początku XVII wieku [Peasant farm in the royal estates of Mazovia in the 16th and early 17th centuries]. Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1962.

Wawrzyńczyk, Alina. “Próba ustalenia wysokości plonu w królewszczyznach województwa sandomierskiego w drugiej połowie XVI i początkach XVII wieku” [An attempt to determine the amount of yield in the royal lands of Sandomierz Province in the second half of the 16th and early 17th centuries]. In Studia z Dziejów Gospodarstwa Wiejskiego, vol. 1, edited by Janina Leskiewicz, 94–178. Wroclaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1957.

Wawrzyńczyk, Alina. Studia nad wydajnością produkcji rolnej dóbr królewskich w drugiej połowie XVI wieku [Studies on the agricultural productivity of the royal estates in the second half of the 16th century]. Wrocław: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1974.

Wyczański, Andrzej. “O badaniu plonów zbóż w dawnej Polsce” [On the study of cereal yields in old Poland]. Kwartalnik Historii Kultury Materialnej 16, no 2 (1968): 251–71.

Wyczański, Andrzej. Studia nad gospodarką starostwa korczyńskiego 1500–1660 [Studies on the economy of Korczyna starosty 1500–1660]. Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1964.

Żabko-Potopowicz, Antoni. Praca i najemnik w rolnictwie w Wielkim Księstwie Litewskim w wieku osiemnastym na tle ewolucji stosunków w rolnictwie [Labor and mercenary in agriculture in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in the eighteenth century against the background of the evolution of relations in agriculture]. Warsaw: Dom Książki Polskiej, 1929.

Żytkowicz, Leonid. “Plony zbóż w Polsce, Czechach, Na Węgrzech i Słowacji w XI–XVIII w.” [Cereal yields in Poland, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia in the 11th–18th centuries]. Kwartalnik Historii Kultury Materialnej 18 (1970): 227–53.

Żytkowicz, Leonid. Studia nad wydajnością gospodarstwa wiejskiego na Mazowszu w XVII wieku [Studies on rural farm productivity in Mazovia in the 17th century]. Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1969.

  1. 1 Wawrzyńczyk, “Próba”; Wawrzyńczyk, Gospodarstwo chłopskie; Wawrzyńczyk, Studia nad wydajnością;

  2. 2 Żytkowicz, Studia; Żytkowicz, “Plony zbóż.”

  3. 3 Wyczański, Studia nad gospodarką; Wyczański, “O badaniu plonów”; Topolski, Gospodarstwo wiejskie; Cackowski, Gospodarstwo wiejskie.

  4. 4 Guzowski and Kozłowska, “Wysokość plonów”; Kozłowska-Szyc, “Wysokość.”

  5. 5 A 16th-century land reform in parts of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania (Lithuania proper, Duchy of Samogitia and parts of White Ruthenia). The private initiative was copied by other nobles and the Church, because the reform increased effectiveness of agriculture by establishing a strict three-field system for crop rotation. The land was measured, registered in a cadastre, and divided into voloks (21.38 hectares or 52.8 acres). Volok became the measurement of feudal services (like sessio in the Kingdom of Hungary). The reform was a success in terms of the annual state revenue that quadrupled. In social terms, the reform promoted development of manorialism and fully established serfdom in Lithuania, limiting social mobility. (Remark of the editor)

  6. 6 Daunar-Zapolski, Dzyastvennaya gazpadarka; Picheta, Belorussiya i Litva; Jurkiewicz, “Czynsz i pańszczyzna”; Łożyński, “Stan gospodarczy.”

  7. 7 Rożycka-Glassowa, Gospodarka rolna.

  8. 8 Ochmański, “Gospodarka folwarczna.”

  9. 9 Żabko-Potopowicz, Praca i najemnik; Kościałkowski, Antoni Tyzenhauz, vol. 2, 62–68. Primarily it concerns the fact that the sources referring to the grand ducal estates form the 1780s provide just lucrum ziaren do intraty, so only the crops that were sold and not all the crops that were harvested.

  10. 10 Czapiuk, “Uwagi,” 131–37; Czapiuk, “Reformy”; Czapiuk O plonach.”

  11. 11 The ambiguity of the Grodno estate’s name results from the differences in the printed and archival sources, where both names appear, as well as voloshci grodzieńskie. For the purposes of the discussion here, I use the name of Grodno Starosty, which I presume on the basis of several sources to have been in use in 1578. Golovatskiy et al., Pistsovaya kniga Grodnenskoy, vol. 1, III, 3; Golovatskiy et al., Pistsovaya kniga Grodnenskoy, vol. 2, 25–26; AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, p. 1–3.

  12. 12 AGAD, AK, sign. I/7, pp. 1–3.

  13. 13 Volumina Constitutionum, vol. 2,106, 116, 148.

  14. 14 Golovatskiy et al., Pistsovaya kniga byvshago Pinskago starostva; Golovatskiy et al., Pistsovaya kniga Grodnenskoy, vol. 1, III, 588; Golovatskiy et al., Pistsovaya kniga Grodnenskoy, vol. 2, 25–166.

  15. 15 AGAD, AK, sign. I/10; AGAD, ASK, LVI, sign. 11.

  16. 16 AGAD, Metryka Litewska, sign. 29.

  17. 17 A conversion unit of about 60 sheaves of a given crop.

  18. 18 Historia Polski w liczbach, 78, 215, 218; Santiago-Caballero, “Provincial grain yields in Spain”; Cerman, Villagers and lords, 101. There are other methods of presenting data on yields, e.g. in bushels per acre. Campbell and Overton, A New Perspective, 70.

  19. 19 Jaroszewicz, Ustawa na wołoki, 238–39; Encyklopedia Historii Gospodarczej, vol. 1, 344; Boroda, Pojemność miar nasypnych, 24.

  20. 20 Cerman, Villagers and lords, 96. Rye crop yields were also much lower than in the collations referring to the relatively close Knyszyn Starosty in Podlasie. Czapiuk, “Uwagi,” 135–36.

  21. 21 AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, p. 27, 28, 31, 97, 180, 239, 258, 299.

  22. 22 AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, p. 20, 97.

  23. 23 AGAD, Metryka Litewska, sign. 29, 72.

  24. 24 AGAD, Metryka Litewska, sign. 29, 101.

  25. 25 One Lithuanian volok is roughly 21.3 hectares, Ochmański, “Gospodarka folwarczna,” 372.

  26. 26 The cowshed was ravaged and probably emptied by Mielnik Chamberlain Kasper Dembinski during the 1588 interregnum, AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, 27.

  27. 27 This property was also ravaged by the Mielnik Chamberlain. AGAD, ASK LVI, sign. 11, 24

  28. 28 Jaroszewicz, Ustawa na wołoki, 243.

  29. 29 AGAD, AK, sign. I/10, 1.

  30. 30 Czapiuk, “Uwagi,” 136–37.

2024_3_Hegyi

The Share of Tithe Paid to Parish Priests in Sixteenth-Century Transylvania: pdfA Topographical Approach*

Géza Hegyi

Transylvanian Museum Society; HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 3 (2024): 403-430 DOI 10.38145/2024.3.403

The most important source of income for the medieval Latin Church, the tithes paid by lay people from their crops and livestock, was divided between several levels of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The set of beneficiaries varied from one country or diocese to another, while the proportions essentially from one locality to another. In the Transylvanian diocese, the bishop (or the chapter) got the substantial part of the tithe (half to three quarters), while the archdeacon, as regional magistrate, uniformly received a quarter. Despite the canon law standards, in many cases only a fraction of the quarta remained to supply the parish priest. On the other hand, the parish priests from the deaneries of royal Saxons (i. e. German settlers) could usually keep the full tithe.

The aim of my research is to reconstruct the share of tithe of the Transylvanian parish clergy by locality, to map it and to analyze the spatial inequalities thus revealed. Due to the unilateral source endowments, we have only a few direct data on this, so I calculated indirectly the size and proportion of the priestly share, based on the data of a list from 1589, which only gives the local rents of the bishops and the archdeacons’ share of tithe. According to my results, the inhabitants of 1239 localities paid tithes in mid-sixteenth century Transylvania. For 457 settlements (mostly in the Székely Land) we do not know the share of the priest. In the known cases, the three most common distributions were when the local priest received no tithe (35%), a quarter of the tithe (36%) or the whole tithe (25%). The spatial distribution of the parishes with quarta was not uniform, but rather concentrated in some small areas due to various historical reasons. The level of priestly share correlated with secular and ecclesiastical privileges, the ethnicity of the population that paid the tithe, and the person of the landlord.

These results can provide important aspects for the interpretation of sources based on priestly income, such as the papal tithe register of 1332–1336, fundamental to the history of medieval Transylvania.

Keywords: Transylvania, tithe, parish priest, distribution, quarta, Saxons

Introduction

As any historian of feudal institutions knows, the practice of tithing is rooted in the regulations of the Old Testament.1 Early Christianity was still averse to it, but in the fourth and fifth centuries the idea of tithing began to become increasingly accepted. In Latin-rite territories, from the Carolingian period onwards, the tithe became a compulsory ecclesiastical annuity paid by all members of the fold. This was, of course, achieved with the support of the reigning secular power.2 Theoretically, the tithe should have been paid on all kinds of income, but due to the socio-economic conditions of the Middle Ages and the early modern period, it was collected primarily from the annual wine and grain harvests and secondarily from the reproduction of certain domestic animals (for instance sheep and bees).3 For this reason, the tithe records (documents, accounts, receipts, etc.) are an important source for the study of the rural history of Western and Central Europe.4

According to the Church Fathers (and to the canon law that quotes them), one of the functions of (and thus justifications of) tithing is to acknowledge God’s rule (signum dominii) and one is to provide support for the poor and others in need (tributum egentium animarum). The argument for a fitting tribute to the clergy (as a spiritual elite) emerges rather rarely and relatively late.5 Whatever the reason for this, the Church had always been considered the administrator and thus the actual holder of the tithe. Its exclusive right to this income was confirmed by several papal decrees and synods of the eleventh–thirteenth centuries against secular bodies of power.6 Not without reason: the tithe was by far the most important source of revenues for the Church, accounting for up to three quarters of a bishop’s income.7

The income from the tithe was divided among different actors in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. As the bishoprics were the first rank to be established in the early church and in the newly Christianized areas, the bishops themselves usually received the greater part of the tithes. Over time, tithing rights were granted to the chapters and their members, monastic convents, altar foundations, etc.8 From the outset, however, it was clear that the local priests were also entitled to a share (pars condigna) of the tithe from their parishes. The most commonly used principle in this respect was laid down by Pope Gelasius I (492–496), whose provisions were applied to the matter of tithing from the eighth century onwards. According to him, church revenues were to be divided into four parts, one of which (a quarta) was to go to the diocesan bishop, another to the parish priest, a third to the maintenance of the church (fabrica), and a fourth to charity.9 In practice, however, the set of beneficiaries varied from one diocese to another, and the proportions differed essentially from one locality to another. For example, in the areas that converted to Christianity between the eighth and eleventh centuries, the bishops generally received a much larger slice, and the local clergy received little more than metaphorical crumbs.10 However, the higher magistrates, such as the archbishop or the pope, usually did not receive a share of the tithes of other bishops’ dioceses (only from their own dioceses). The so-called “papal tithe,” which was decreed by the Second Council of Lyon (1274) and then by the Council of Vienne (1311–1312), was a different kind of tax. It obliged all ecclesiastics to pay a tithe of their income to the papal court for six years.11

In order to interpret the sources regarding the tithing, it is essential to map the local distribution of this income among the different ecclesiastical actors, since individual tithe data usually refer only to the share of one of the beneficiaries. A demographic or economic-historical evaluation12 of the papal tithe registers of 1332–1337,13 crucial to any overview of the topography and incomes of the Hungarian Church, is only possible if we know the multipliers that can be applied to the amounts paid by a priest, as this information is essential if we seek to use these amounts to calculate the total production of his parish in a given year. I have recently completed this work on parishes in mid-sixteenth century Transylvania, and I present my findings below. Essentially, I seek to identify the external factors that shaped the observed regional differences.

The Structural Framework of Tithing in Transylvania

Historical Transylvania was the eastern province of the Hungarian Kingdom in the Middle Ages, but in the mid-sixteenth century, it became the core territory of an independent principality. In terms of secular administration, it was divided into three major parts. First, there were the seven counties covering the western, northern, and central areas, which were inhabited by serfs and nobles. The feudal system in these regions differed from the average Hungarian system only in minor details. The so-called King’s Land (Königs­boden, Fundus Regius), which was inhabited by privileged Saxons (i.e. German settlers), was the second area, and the Székely Land in the east was the third. The Saxons formed a comparatively urban, literate society, while the Székelys were a closed ethnic group governed by oral tradition. The Romanian population, which for the most part followed the Orthodox rite, did not have its own administrative units and lived largely in the mountainous parts of the counties and the Saxon territories.14

From the ecclesiastical point of view, most of Transylvania fell under the jurisdiction of the bishop of Transylvania, who had his seat in Gyulafehérvár (Alba Iulia/Weissenburg)15 and whose authority extended north-westwards beyond the Meszes (Meseş) Mountains, and up to the Tisza River.16 The southern part of the King’s Land (the area around Szeben [Sibiu/Her­mannstadt] and Brassó [Braşov/Kronstadt]) was under the direct jurisdiction of the archbishop of Esztergom. A small region, the so-called Kalotaszeg, which is roughly the area surrounding the headwaters of the Sebes-Körös [Crişul Repede] River), belonged to the diocese of Várad (Oradea), while the region of the Lápos Basin (Ţara Lăpuşului) formed a part of the diocese of Eger.17

 Hegyi_1_FF.jpg

Figure 1. The old (Veszprém) and the new (Transylvania) model of distribution of the tithe.

On the question of the distribution of the tithes among the holders in Hungary, the secondary literature is unanimous in stating that three quarters of the tithe went to the diocesan bishop in each settlement, while the remaining quarter (quarta) was shared in various proportions between the cathedral chapter and the local parish priest. The latter’s share is usually estimated at a quarter of a quarta, i.e. one sixteenth of the tithe.18

The model above (see Fig. 1), however, is based solely on a few thirteenth-century papal and royal documents concerning the distribution of the tithe, as well as on a detailed examination of the tithing system of the diocese of Veszprém.19 Although it does seem to be valid for some other dioceses, too (e.g. Győr, and Várad), I believe that the general application of this model to the whole kingdom was done rather hastily in the earlier secondary literature. Based on my study of primary sources, a different system seems to have prevailed in Transylvania and in the dioceses of Eger and Zágráb. In these territories, the bishop (or the chapter) was entitled to the major share of the local tithe, which varied between half and three quarters, depending on the parish priest’s share. The archdeacon, as regional magistrate, uniformly received one quarter in his own district.20 In conclusion, the crucial difference between the previous model and the present one is that here the parish priest did not share a quarter of the tithe with the canons. Rather, he shared three quarters of the tithe with the bishop or with the chapter or, sometimes, with other beneficiaries (such as the abbot of the Kolozsmonostor Convent, altar directors, etc.).21 On the other hand, the parish priests of Saxon deaneries on the so-called King’s Land could usually keep the full tithe (libera decima).22

Sources and Methods

The 447 surviving sources of which I am currently aware on the medieval history of the tithe in Transylvania (up to 1556)23 relate mostly to the tithing affairs of the bishop and the chapter, as well as of the Saxon clergy. There is, at the same time, disappointingly little data on the tithing income of Hungarian priests in the counties.24 With these data alone, it would be impossible to reconstruct the topography of the clergy’s tithe share.

hegyi_jav.jpg

Figure 2. Transylvanian dioceses with the share of priests

However, a somewhat later but comprehensive document allows us to arrive at this reconstruction through an indirect procedure. An inventory from 1589 shows the price for which the episcopal (E) and the archdeaconal (A) tithes were rented out to local landlords in each tithe-paying settlement of the seven counties.25 These parts of the tithes were secularized in 1556, that is, confiscated to provide the material basis for the nascent principality, and from then on, they were administered by the princely treasury.26 We are not so much interested in the specific amounts as in their relative proportions, which remained largely unchanged for decades (if not centuries). A fragment of a similarly structured list from 1563 covering some parts of Küküllő and Fehér Counties, can be used as a reference, and its data are in most cases identical to those from 1589.27

As mentioned above, these two lists do not include the precise wages corresponding to the tithe of the priest (P). We have seen, however, that in most places the archdeacon’s share (A) was a quarter of the total tithe (T), so we can calculate the priest’s share, too, as follows:

T = 4A

P = T–E–A = 4A–E–A = 3A–E

And the share itself is: p = P/T

It is true that, in some cases, this method does not lead to meaningful results, for example because the share of the archdeaconry is missing28 or its quadruple does not reach the sum of the rents.29 But we cannot expect structural regularities to be applied mechanically, especially not in the medieval world. In such cases, other, individual approaches or estimates yield results. Nevertheless, the method outlined above produces acceptable proportions in the vast majority of cases, and this indirectly supports its validity. When the value of the quarta30 is also explicitly referred to in any of the registers of 1563 and 1589 (for 104 localities), there is a direct way of checking the correctness of our calculations, and the result is generally reassuring (see Table 1).

Where possible, I have also used early modern urbaria and ecclesiastical sources, which usually confirm the data of the 1589 register.31

Evaluation of the Findings

I have identified a total of 1239 tithe-paying settlements in the territory of historical Transylvania, where a total of approximately 2150 settlements existed in the mid-sixteenth century. It can therefore be concluded that about 900 settlements did not pay tithes. Typically, these were settlements where the population for a long time (often from the moment they had been founded) had been predominantly Orthodox Romanians. Tithing as a compulsory ecclesiastical tax did not exist in Eastern Christianity, and this custom was respected by the Hungarian ecclesiastical and secular authorities.32 Settlements which had been inhabited by Catholics who were later replaced by Romanians were, in principle, treated differently. In 1408, a decree stipulated that these settlements were still obliged to pay the tithe to the Catholic Church.33 However, despite its repeated renewal, in many cases the decree was not enforced,34 which explains why among the 900 villages without tithe there were several, especially in the Székás area (Podişul Secaş) of Fehér County, that lost their former Catholic Saxon population only after the Turkish invasions of the fifteenth century35 and later became Romanian.36

In addition to the Romanian villages, a few other localities were exempted from tithing. Three of these localities were mining towns in the mountains, which had predominantly Saxon (and partly Hungarian) populations,37 presumably with infertile lands, where grains and grapes, the main base for tithes, were not grown. Some Hungarian villages with Catholic parishes in Hunyad County38 also did not pay the tithe, presumably because their inhabitants were all minor nobles and were not obliged to pay taxes.

For more than a third (457) of the 1239 settlements that did pay the tithe it is not possible to determine (or even to estimate) the amount of the priestly tithe. The vast majority of these settlements (417) were found in the Székely Land, because for this territory (except for the Aranyos Seat), as a consequence of low literacy rates, we have no usable medieval or early modern data on the tithe incomes of the clergy, not only from the Middle Ages but also from the early modern period. There is only some general evidence that this privileged but poor, partly mountain dwelling population did pay the tithe.39 In the case of Kalotaszeg and the Maros (Mureş) Valley between Nagyenyed (Aiud/Engeten) and Gyulafehérvár, the scarcity or even complete lack of sources is also to blame for the holes in our knowledge.40

However, the 771 known cases are still representative of the situation in the counties and the Fundus Regius. The three most common types of distribution were when the local parish priest received no tithe (269.541); a quarter of the tithe (278.5), or the whole tithe (189).

As I have already mentioned, the latter option, which accounts for almost a quarter of all known cases, was almost exclusively linked to the Saxon parishes. However, it was not specific to all Saxon settlements, but only, with a few exceptions, to privileged areas on royal land.42 It was therefore determined primarily (though only in broad terms) by the existence of secular self-government and only secondarily, in the details, by the ecclesiastical administration. The priests of the deaneries of Szeben and Brassó, which were directly under Esztergom’s jurisdiction, enjoyed the same rights in this regard as the free Saxon deaneries under the jurisdiction of the bishop of Transylvania. The main reason for this was that the cornerstone of the Saxon privileges, the Andreanum of 1224, had already guaranteed the priestly libera decima.43 However, this happened at the expense of the former tithe-holders (the bishop and the chapter of Transylvania), and it was necessary to obtain their consent, which always involved the payment of a symbolic annuity (census). Only some of these agreements have survived: those of the Transylvanian chapter with the deaneries of Medgyes (1283, 1289) and Sebes (1303, 1330), and that of the bishop with the deanery of Kozd (c. 1330).44 However, similar arrangements must have been made for all of the deaneries established on the territory of the free (royal) Saxons, i.e. Szászváros (Broos), Kézd, Királya, and Beszterce.

Those parishes of the aforementioned deaneries, which were located on the territory of the counties, also enjoyed the right of “free tithing,” at least until around 1580.45 This was probably because they were originally royal estates, too, and their situation was little different from that of their fellows who later moved on to self-government. Exceptionally, the Saxon parishes of the deanery of Régen, which were entirely on the territory of the counties, were also in possession of the full tithe46 for reasons that are not yet known. Another special case in the western part of the King’s Land were the Romanian villages which were settled in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the neighborhood of certain Saxon villages 47 and paid the full tithe to the parish priests.48 However, two Saxon villages (Petres [Petriş/Petersdorf] from the deanery of Királya and Buzd [Buzd/Bussd] from the deanery of Medgyes) as well as the entire deanery of Selyk (Şeica/Schelk), which also belonged to the King’s Land but probably joined it with a delay, were excluded from the circle of those who kept the whole tithe. I touch on them in the discussion below.

In terms of the distribution of tithes, we find a particular diversity in the ten Hungarian serf villages under the jurisdiction of the deanery of Brassó at the end of the Middle Ages. Those which had previously been in royal hands for a long time as part of the domains of Höltövény (Hălchiu/Heltesdorf) and Törcsvár (Bran/Törzburg) castles, were allowed to retain the full tithe in the fifteenth century (or at least claimed it, as the Saxon clergy did), but later most of them were forced to cede half of it to the castellans for the maintenance of the castle.49 Only Újfalu (Satu Nou/Neudorf), which seceded from the royal estates in 1404 and later became the property of the city of Brassó (1462), was able to preserve successfully the libera decima.50 In contrast, the priests of villages permanently owned by private landlords did not receive any tithe at all.51 This state of affairs was not changed by the fact that they all ended up in the same position in secular terms, becoming parts of the domain of Törcsvár pledged to the city of Brassó in 1498.52

Compared to the three large groups referred to above, the number of parishes where the parish priest received half the tithe is small but significant (23). These parishes were also located in the King’s Land. Apart from Buzd and the abovementioned villages around Brassó, the 13 parishes of the deanery of Selyk belonged here, the Saxon population of which must have arrived sometime around 1300 and which only belatedly became part of the King’s Land, being formerly a noble estate.53 Although between 1322 and 1504 they had continued a lawsuit against the bishop for the same privileges as the other free Saxons, they did not succeed in obtaining the full tithe. They were granted only half of it by acquiring after 1357, in addition to their original quarta, the archdeaconal share of tithe.54 Three villages from the deanery of Sebes55 took a different path. During the Turkish invasions from 1438 and 1442, their populations had shrunk dramatically, and the Transylvanian chapter had gotten its hands on their tithes. When these localities were repopulated by Saxons, the chapter returned only half of the tithes to the parish priests.56

There were only two settlements in which the priest received between half and a quarter of the tithe: in Küküllővár, he received three eighths of the tithe and in Gyalu he received a third.57 None of this was merely a matter of chance. Küküllővár was in royal hands for a long time and functioned as a sub-residence of the voivodes and vice-voivodes, and Gyalu was a sub-residence of bishops.58

The set of localities with a priestly quarta was the most numerous and also the most heterogeneous. Their most significant subgroup (114) was that of Saxon deaneries falling wholly or largely within the territory of the counties, i.e. Sajó, Teke, Székás, Négyfalu (Vierdörfer), Hidegvíz, Lower and Upper Küküllő, and Szentlászló. These deaneries, which had attained only a lower degree of ecclesiastical self-government, also secured a quarter of the tithe from their ecclesiastical and secular superiors.59 Here we have to take into account the aforementioned Saxon village of Petres too, which became a member of the deanery and of the seat of Beszterce after having been a noble estate at the beginning of the fourteenth century.60

The ecclesiastical landowners (the bishop and chapter of Transylvania and the abbot of Kolozsmonostor) also consistently gave the local parish priests the canonically prescribed quarta of their own estates (for the domains of Gyalu, Enyed, and Gyulafehérvár),61 except when the identity of the ecclesiastical landlord and the tithe-holder differed.62 The monarch also set an example by granting a quarter of the tithe to the parish priests of the royal cities, salt-mining towns, and domains.63 He or the later baronial owners were responsible for the priestly quarta of the Hungarian parishes of other domains (Bálványos [Unguraş], and Csicsó [Ciceu]) and estates (Bonchida [Bonţida], and Búza [Buza], as well as the villages of the Bánfi and Dezsőfi families in Upper Valley of the Maros River).64 Some families of the middle nobility (Apafi, Bethleni, Erdélyi de Somkerék) also granted the quarter of the tithe to the priests of their Catholic estates, others only to the parish priest of the central settlement of their estate.65 The remaining dozen or so villages could receive the quarta by occasional donations, for which some documents have survived.66

Contrary to what is widely stated in the secondary literature, the number of clerical benefices, which represented a fraction of a quarter of a tithe, was extremely small in Transylvania. It is even possible that some of them are in fact the result of a calculation error, because the contemporaries rounded off the numbers for the sake of simplicity, and thus these numbers do not accurately reflect the smaller ratios. Mostly, the centers of some manors or estates can be included here (with one sixth or one eighth as the priestly share),67 as well as the Hungarian villages of the Zsuki family, where the priests uniformly received half of the quarta (i.e. one eighth of the tithe).68 The one-sixteenth share, which is considered common in the literature, occurs marginally, only five times, and exclusively in the northern part of the province.69

Almost as numerous as the places with quarta were the tithing villages where the parish priest received nothing from the tithe (more than a third of the known cases). For the most part, these settlements were the Hungarian villages of the small and middle nobles from the western bank of the Kis-Szamos (Şomeşul Mic) River, the Mezőség (Câmpia Transilvaniei), and between the Maros and Kis-Küküllő (Târnava Mică) Rivers, as well as the settlements of the Aranyos Seat (with the exception of Felvinc [Unirea]).70 Their landlords may not have had sufficient lobbying power, or more likely, they would not have looked kindly on the local priest having an income that exceeded their own.

In the late Middle Ages, demographic changes often led to changes in the structure of the local tithe. Exceptions were those villages of the Szászváros Seat, which were formerly inhabited by Saxons and then by Romanians. These villages continued to pay tithes to the parish priest of Szászváros.71 Usually, when a Catholic community in the King’s Land died out and the village was left deserted72 or was repopulated by Romanians,73 the priest’s share ceased to exist, and the full tithe was collected by the secular Saxon authorities or (in the deanery of Sebes) the chapter of Transylvania. The same processes led to similar results on Church estates, too.74 On the other hand, if the Catholic population disappeared in one of the villages lying on the territory of nobles, the result was ambiguous, depending on the attitude of the landlord and the time of the change. In some cases, the tithe continued to be paid (without the priestly part, of course),75 but in most cases, the tithe was completely abolished.76

As a result of the Reformation and the secularization of Church estates and revenues, the medieval ecclesiastical framework was shaken and ecclesiastical immunity and privileges were weakened. Under these circumstances, many communities were not able to resist the increasing pressure of secular elites to expropriate more and more of the tithes, even if their populations remained adherents of Western denominations. From 1580 onwards, the parish priests in the King’s Land had to be content with three-quarters of the tithe, as the princely power expropriated a quarta for the benefit of the treasury, first for a fee, and then from 1612 on, without payment.77 Encouraged by this, the Diet passed a resolution in 1588 stating that if there were places in the counties where the libera decima existed, the priestly share should be reduced to quarta.78 The primary victims of this provision were the parishes of the deanery of Régen, which lost a significant part (even if not always three quarters) of their tithe income from the following year onwards.79 Even more vulnerable were the settlements in which the Saxons had been replaced by Hungarians, and the parish was therefore cut off from the protective framework of the Saxon deaneries.80 Some settlements fared even worse. Some Hungarian villages between the two Küküllő Rivers81 lost the priestly quarta altogether sometime between 1563 and 1589.82

Conclusions

In conclusion, parishes which had the same share of the tithe as their incomes were geographically concentrated. The settlements which retained all or half of the tithe for their priests covered roughly the large southern and small northeastern blocs of the King’s Land. These areas were surrounded to the north, respectively to the west, and south by a wide band of settlements in which the parish had a quarter of the tithe, with addition of the wider area around Kolozsvár and, presumably, the Fehér County section of the right bank of the Maros River. In most of the rest of Catholic villages, the local priest received none of the tithes.

Another important observation is that the level of tithe sharing correlated with secular and ecclesiastical privileges, the ethnicity of the population that paid the tithe, and the person of the landlord. A high level of self-government, the existence of a deanery, the presence of a Saxon population, and ecclesiastical or royal possession were all advantages for the local priest in terms of the degree of his share from the tithe, while Hungarian villages with serf populations, owned by the petty nobility, and in particular villages which had been deserted and then repopulated by Romanian serfs were the least likely for him to enjoy any revenue from this ecclesiastical tax.

Table 1. The priest’s share of tithe in the settlements where the value of the quarta is known83

Name of settlement

Page

E

A

q

T

P

p

Fehér County

Nagylak (Noşlac) and Káp­talan (Căptălan)

21

[60]

20

20

80

0

0

Szentkirály (Sâncrai)

(f. 1r)

21

(36)

40.50

(14)

13.50

13.50

54

0

0

Bagó (Băgău)

21

20

8

7

28

0

0

Lapád (Lopadea Nouă)

(f. 1r)

21

(36)

[40]

(12)

8

12

48

0

0

Háporton (Hopârta) and Ispánlaka (Şpălnaca)

(f. 1r)

21–22

8

(4)

[4]

(4)

[3]

(16)

12

(4)

0

(1/4)

0

Ózd (Ozd)

(f. 1r)

22

30

10

(10)

40

0

0

Herepe (Herepea)

(f. 1r)

22

36

12

12

48

0

0

Csekelaka (Cecălaca)

22

16

6

6

24

2

1/12

Lőrincréve (Leorinţ)

23

4

2

[2]

[8]

q

1/4

Forró (Fărău)

(f. 1v)

23

36

12

12

48

0

0

Szentbenedek (Sânbenedic)

(f. 1v)

23

36

12

12

48

0

0

Hunyad County

Rápolt (Rapoltu Mare)

24

40

10

12.[50]

50

0

0

Arany (Uroi)

26

6

3

2.25

9

0

0

Küküllő County

Hosszúaszó (Valea Lungă)

(f. 2v)

27

50

25

(25)

100

25

1/4

Nagyekemező (Târnava) and Kisekemező (Târnăvioara)

27

120

60

60

240

60

1/4

Bogács (Băgaciu)

27

124

62

62

248

62

1/4

Nagykőrös (Curciu)

27

72

36

36

144

36

1/4

Felsőbajom (Bazna)

27

100

50

50

200

50

1/4

Szénaverős (Senereuş)

(f. 2v)

28

64

32

32

128

32

1/4

Szentiván (Sântioana)

29

32

16

16

64

16

1/4

Balázstelke (Blăjel)

(f. 2v)

30

44

22

22

88

22

1/4

Ádámos (Adămuş)

(f. 3r)

30

18

9

(9)

36

9

1/4

Dombó (Dâmbău)

(f. 3r)

30–31

16

8

8

32

8

1/4

Fületelke (Filitelnic)

(f. 3r)

31

28

14

14

56

14

1/4

Domáld (Viişoara)

(f. 3r)

31

16

8

8

32

8

1/4

Királyfalva (Crăieşti)

(f. 3r)

31

32

16

(16)

64

16

1/4

Ernye (Ernea)

(f. 3v)

32

14

7

(7)

28

7

1/4

Mikeszásza (Micăsasa)

(f. 3v)

32

(13.33)

12

(6.67)

8*

6.67

26.67

6.67

1/4

Désfalva (Deaj)

(f. 4r)

33

14

7

7

28

7

1/4

Sárd (Şoard)

34

2

1

1

4

1

1/4

Gálfalva (Găneşti)

(f. 4r)

34

(20)

30

10

10

40

(10)

0

(1/4)

0

Kissáros (Delenii)

34

36

12

12

48

0

0

Péterfalva (Petrisat) and Pettend (deserted)

35

28

8

9

36

0

0

Kóródszentmárton (Coroi­sân­martin)

(f. 4r)

35

(10)

15

5

(5*)

20

(5)

0

(1/4)

0

Besenyő (Valea Izvoarelor)

(f. 4r)

35

(16)

24

8

8

32

(8)

0

(1/4)

0

Harangláb (Hărănglab)

(f. 4v)

35

(24)

36

12

12

48

(12)

0

(1/4)

0

Csapó (Cipău) and Kisfalud (deserted)

35

18

6

6

24

0

0

Kisszőllős (Seleuş)

(f. 4v)

36

(–)

36

18

(18*)

18

72

18

1/4

Kiskend (Chendu Mic), Nagykend (Chendu Mare) and Balavásár (Bălăuşeri)

36

10

5

5

20

5

1/4

Szancsal (Sâncel)

36

16

8

6

24

0

0

Doboka County

Bádok (Bădeşti)

37

6

2

2

8

0

0

Magyarújfalu (Vultureni)

37

16

8

8

32

8

1/4

Csomafája (Ciumăfaia)

37

6

2

2

8

0

0

Báboc (Băbuţiu)

38

6

2

2

8

0

0

Fodorháza (Fodora)

38

6

2

2

8

0

0

Vajdaháza (Voivodeni)

39

25

8.33

8.33

33.33

0

0

Hídalmás (Hida)

39

20

4

6

24

0

0

Récsekeresztúr (Recea-Cris­tur)

39

13

4.34

4.34

17.34

0

0

Páncélcseh (Panticeu)

40

12

4

4

16

0

0

Köblös (Cubleşu Someşan)

40

18

5.50

6

24

0.50

0

Derzse (Dârja)

40

13

4.33

4.33

17.33

0

0

Felsőtők (Tiocu de Sus)

40

20

6

6.50

26

0

0

Alsótők (Tiocu de Jos)

40

6

2

2

8

0

0

Kecsetszilvás (Pruneni)

40

14

4.66

4.67

18.66

0

0

Szava (Sava)

42

16

5

5.25

21

0

0

Cegőtelke (Ţigău)

42

16

8

8

32

8

1/4

Nagydevecser (Diviciorii Mari), Kisdevecser (Divi­ciorii Mici)

42–43

26

13

13

52

13

1/4

Veresegyház (Strugureni)

43

10

5

5

20

5

1/4

Szentandrás (Şieu-Sfântu) and Kajla (Caila)

44

18

9

9

36

9

1/4

Kisbudak (Buduş)

45

15

–

5

20

5

1/4

Várhely (Orheiu Bistriţei)

45

6

–

1.50

6

0

0

Móric (Moruţ)

46

40

20

20

80

20

1/4

Inner Szolnok County

Dés (Dej)

47

12

6

6

24

6

1/4

Szentmargita (Sânmărghita)

47

20

10

7.50

30

0

0

Somkerék (Şintereag)

48

6

–

[2]

8

q

1/4

Dengeleg (Livada)

49

33

11

11

44

0

0

Iklódszentivány (deserted)

50

6

2

2

8

0

0

Zápróc (Băbdiu)

50

3

1

1

4

0

0

Kozárvár (Cuzdrioara)

51

15

5

5*

20

0

0

Péntek (Pintic)

51

12

4

4

16

0

0

Girolt (Ghirolt)

52

17

5.75

6.08

24.32

1.57

1/16

Kolozs County

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca)

53

500

250

250

1000

250

1/4

Gyeke (Geaca)

53

12

4

4

16

0

0

Novaj (Năoiu)

53

3

1

1

4

0

0

Légen (Legii)

54

8

4

3

12

0

0

Zutor (Sutoru)

54

6

2

2.67

10.67

2.67

1/4

Vásárhely (Dumbrava), Inak­telke (Inucu), Sztána (Stana) and Kiskapus (Căpuşu Mic)

55

18

6

6

24

0

0

Tamásfalva (Tămaşa)

55

13

5

4.50

18

0

0

Mócs (Mociu)

55

10

3.34

3.34

13.34

0

0

Palatka (Pălatca)

56

25

9

8.50

34

0

0

Fejérd (Feiurdeni)

57

40

20

20

80

20

1/4

Méhes (Miheşu de Câmpie)

58

16

6

5.50

22

0

0

Középlak (Cuzăplac)

59

20

–

5

20

0

0

Fűzkút (Sălcuţa)

59

16

8

8

32

8

1/4

Vajola (Uila)

60

12

6

6

24

6

1/4

Torda County

Szind (Sănduleşti)

65

22

7.34

7.34

29.34

0

0

Boldoc (Bolduţ)

65

8.50

2.48

2.75

11

0

0

Egerbegy (Viişoara)

65

18.50

6.68

6.68

25.18

0

0

Gerend (Luncani) and
Szent­márton (Gligoreşti)

66

26

8.68

8.68

34.68

0

0

Csanád (Pădureni)

67

12

4

4

16

0

0

Jára (Iara de Mureş)

69

12

4

4

16

0

0

Archival Sources

Archivio Apostolico Vaticano, Vatican City (AAV)

Registra Lateranensia (RegLat)

Registra Supplicationum (RegSuppl)

Registra Vaticana (RegVat)

Arhivele Naţionale ale României, Serviciul Judeţean Cluj [Romanian National Archives, Cluj County Branch], Cluj-Napoca (SJAN-CJ)

Fond familial Kornis (Fond 378) [Archive of the Kornis Family, in the Archives of the Transylvanian National Museum] (F 378)

Arhivele Naţionale ale României, Serviciul Judeţean Covasna [Romanian National Archives, Covasna County Branch], Sfântu Gheorghe (SJAN-CV)

Fond familial Gyulay [Archive of the Gyulay Family, in the Collection of the Székely National Muzeum] (F 65, 2-4)

Arhivele Naţionale ale României, Serviciul Judeţean Sibiu [Romanian National Archives, Sibiu County Branch], Sibiu (SJAN-SB)

Episcopia Bisericii Evanghelice C. A. din Transilvania (Fond 3) [Archive of the Saxon Lutheran Bishopric of Transylvania] (F 3)

Magistratul oraşului şi scanului Sibiu (Fond 1) [Archive of Saxon Nation and of City of Sibiu] (F 1)

Biblioteca Naţională a României, Biblioteca Batthyaneum [Romanian National Library, Batthyaneum Library], Alba Iulia (Batthyaneum)

Arhiva Capitlului din Transilvania [Private Archives of the Chapter of Transylvania] (ACT)

Erdélyi Református Egyházkerület Levéltára, Kolozsvári Gyűjtőlevéltár [Archives of the Reformed Church of Transylvania, Cluj Branch] (EREK, KvGylt)

Széki Egyházmegye Levéltára [Archives of the Deanery of Sic] (B 2)

Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Országos Levéltára [National Archives of Hungary], Budapest (MNL OL)

Diplomatikai Fényképgyűjtemény [Diplomatic Photograph Collection] (DF)

Diplomatikai Levéltár [Diplomatic Archive] (DL)

Erdélyi Fejedelmi Kancellária [Chancellery of the Transylvanian Princes] (F 1)

Gyulafehérvári Káptalan Országos Levéltára [Public Archives of the Chapter of Transylvania], Cista comitatuum (F 4)

Hunyad megyei gyűjtemény [Collection from Hunyad County] (R 391)

Sombory család levéltára [Archive of the Sombory Family] (P 1912)

Udvarhelyi Református Egyházmegye Levéltára [Archives of the Reformed Deanery of Odorheiu Secuiesc] (UhEmLt)

Héjjasfalvi egyházközség iratai [Documents of the Parish of Vânători] (B 10)

Mohai egyházközség iratai [Documents of the Parish of Grânari] (B 15)

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KmJkv = Jakó, Zsigmond, ed. A kolozsmonostori konvent jegyzőkönyvei (1289–1556) [Record books of the Kolozsmonostor Convent]. 2 vols. Publicationes Archivi Hungariae Nationalis 2: Fontes 17. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1990.

KvOkl = Jakab, Elek, ed. Oklevéltár Kolozsvár történetéhez [Document archive for the fistory of Kolozsvár]. 2 vols. Buda–Budapest, 1870–1888.

MonAntHung = Lukács, Ladislaus, ed. Monumenta Antiquae Hungariae. 4 vols. Monumenta Historica Socetatis Iesu 101, 112, 121, 131. Romae: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 1969–1987.

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SzOkl = Szabó, Károly, Lajos Szádeczky, and Samu Barabás, eds. Székely oklevéltár [Document archive of the Székelys]. 8 vols. Kolozsvár–Budapest: Székely Tör­té­nel­mi Pályadíj-alap–MTA, 1872–1934.

Ub = Zimmermann, Franz, Carl Werner, Georg Müller, Gustav Gündisch, Herta Gündisch, Konrad G. Gündisch, and Gernot Nussbächer, eds. Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen. 7 vols. Hermannstadt–Bucharest: Verein für Sieben­bürgische Landeskunde–Editura Academiei, 1892–1991.

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ZsOkl = Mályusz, Elemér, Iván Borsa, Norbert C. Tóth, Tibor Neumann, Bálint Lakatos, and Gábor Mikó, eds. Zsigmondkori oklevéltár [Document archive from the era of King Sigismund]. 16 vols. Publicationes Archivi Hungariae Nationalis 2: Fontes 1, 3–4, 22, 25, 27, 32, 37, 39, 41, 43, 49, 52, 55, 59, 61. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó–MNL OL, 1951–2022.

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  1. 1 Körting, “Zehnt”; Jagersma, “Tithes in OT”; Eissfeldt et al., “Zehnten,” 1878–79. Cf. Gen. 14:20, 28:22; Lev. 27:30–33; Num. 18:21.24–28; Deut. 12:6.11.17, 14:22–29, 26:12–26; 2 Chron. 31:5–12; Neh. 10:38–40, 12:44, 13:5.12–13; Mal. 3:8–10; Tob. 1:6–8; Matt. 23:23; Luke 11:42.

  2. 2 Zimmermann, “Zehnt,” 495–98; Puza, “Zehnt,” 499–500; Constable, Monastic Tithes, 13–56; Eissfeldt et al., “Zehnten,” 1879; Vischer, “Zehntforderung”; Boyd, Tithes and Parishes, 26–46; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1231–32; Viard, Dîme, 17–148.

  3. 3 Zimmermann, “Zehnt,” 499–500; Puza, “Zehnt,” 500–501; Constable, Monastic Tithes, 16–19, 34–35; Eissfeldt et al., “Zehnten,” 1879; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1232–33; Viard, Dîme, 101–5, 150–60.

  4. 4 Dodds, Peasants and Production; Le Roy Ladurie and Goy, Tithe and Agrarian History.

  5. 5 CIC, vol. 1, 784 (C. 16, q. 1, c. 66); ibid., vol. 2, 563–65, 568 (X 3.30, c. 22, 26, 33). Cf. Constable, Monastic Tithes, 10–13, 36, 43–44, 47–52; Vischer, “Zehntforderung,” 210–11, 214–16; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1236–39; Viard, Dîme, 89–91.

  6. 6 CIC, vol. 1, 417–18 (C. 1, q. 3, c. 13–14), 801 (C. 16, q. 7, c. 3.); ibid., vol. 2, 561–62 (X 3.30, c. 15, 17, 19.), 1048–50 (VI 3.13, c. 2), 1062–64 (VI 3.23, c. 13). Cf. Zimmermann, “Zehnt,” 497, 498; Puza, “Zehnt,” 500; Eissfeldt et al., “Zehnten,” 1879; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1234–35; Viard, Dîme, 205–17.

  7. 7 Puza, “Zehnt,” 501; Fügedi, “Wirtschaft des Erzbistums,” 258.

  8. 8 Constable, Monastic Tithes, 57–197; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1234; Kuujo, “Zehentwesen in Hamburg–Bremen,” 218–41; Plöchl, “Zehentwesen in Niederösterreich,” 49–54, 89–92; Viard, Dîme, 173–75, 181–204; Loy, “Zehnt im Bistum Lübeck,” 5–9, 52–54.

  9. 9 Zimmermann, “Zehnt,” 497; Puza, “Zehnt,” 500; Constable, Monastic Tithes, 27–28, 35–42, 49–56; Eissfeldt et al., “Zehnten,” 1879; Boyd, Tithes and Parishes, 75–79; Lepointe, “Dîme,” 1234; Viard, Dîme, 112–24, 175–80.

  10. 10 Zimmermann, “Zehnt,” 497–98; Lindner, “Zehntwesen in Salzburg”; Boyd, Tithes and Parishes, 79–153, 233–34; Kuujo, “Zehentwesen in Hamburg–Bremen,” 168–91; Plöchl, “Zehentwesen in Niederösterreich,” 55–56, 84–89.

  11. 11 Hegyi, “Egyházigazgatási határok,” 9–17; Dudziak, Dziesięcina papieska, 56–100, 180–203; Hennig, Päpstliche Zehnten, 7–26; Samaran and Mollat, Fiscalité pontificale, 12–22; Fejérpataky, “Prolegomena,” xx–xxii, xxv–xlvii.

  12. 12 Cf. F. Romhányi et al., “Regionális különbségek”; F. Romhányi, “Plébániák és adóporták,” 916–27; F. Romhányi,“Középkori magyar plébániák,” 348–51; Engel, “Probleme,” 57–63; Fügedi, “Történeti demográfia,” 25–28; Györffy, “Päpstliche Zehntlisten”; Györffy, Einwohnerzahl, 29–30.

  13. 13 Edited in RatColl, 41–409.

  14. 14 Cf. Chaline and Saudraix-Vajda, “Introduction”; Hegyi, “Transylvanie”; Roth, Kleine Geschichte.

  15. 15 The names of the Transylvanian localities are used in their Hungarian form, as these are the names that appear in the sources. However, in the first occurrence of the place name, the current, official (Romanian) form, and, where appropriate, the historical German variants of the name are given, too, in brackets.

  16. 16 In the discussion below, I ignore this part of the diocese due to the lack of sources and limit my investigation to Transylvania in the secular sense.

  17. 17 Hegyi, “Esperességek,” 359–63; Hegyi, “Relation of Sălaj,” 62–65; Kristó, Early Transylvania, 79–84; Kristó, Vármegyék kialakulása, 426–27, 478, 482–512. Cf. RelColl 49–50, 54, 70, 76, 84, 89, 91–144, 327, 330, 355–56.

  18. 18 F. Romhányi, “Plébániák és adóporták,” 918 (see note 27, too); Solymosi, “Tized,” 66; Rácz, “Magisztrátus-jog,” 151, 159–60; Györffy, “Päpstliche Zehntlisten,” 64; Csizmadia, “Rechtliche Ent­wicklung,” 230–31; Mályusz, “Tizedkizsákmányolás,” 322.

  19. 19 Solymosi, “Kirchliche Mortuarium,” 52–54; Holub, Zala, vol. 1, 383–404.

  20. 20 1298: Ub, vol. 1, 210; 1334: ibid., vol. 1, 465; 1357: ibid., vol. 2, 146–47; 1367: DocRomHist C, vol. 13: 332; 1380: Ub, vol. 2, 528; 1394: ibid., vol. 3, 75; 1428: ibid., vol. 4, 327; 1439: AAV, RegSuppl, 357: 26r and RegLat, 367: 142v; 1451: DL 39579; 1505: DL 65194; 1509: DF 253542; 1510: SJAN-SB, F 1, 1-U5-1226; 1517: DL 82485; 1518: DF 277755; 1526: DF 253624; 1536: EgyhtEml, vol. 3, 75; 1538: ibid., vol. 3, 313; 1541: Batthyaneum, ACT, 5-41; 1550: MNL OL, P 1912, 36-1; 1552: SJAN-CJ, F 378, 1-64; 1554: Batthyaneum, ACT, 5-98.

  21. 21 Hegyi, “Tized intézményrendszere,” 189–94, 197–200.

  22. 22 Ibid., 195–97; Hegyi, “Plébánia fogalma,” 16–19; Müller, Landkapitel, 122–83; Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 18–47.

  23. 23 Cf. Hegyi, “Tized intézményrendszere,” 185–87.

  24. 24 1322: Ub, vol. 1, 368; 1398: DF 257485; 1414: ZsOkl, vol. 4, no. 1632; 1444: KmJkv, 1: no. 522; 1521: KvOkl, vol. 1, 353; 1541: Batthyaneum, ACT, 5-41. Cf. Hegyi, “Tized intézményrendszere,” 194–95; Hegyi, “Plébánia fogalma,” 14.

  25. 25 Edited in Jakó, Dézsma, 20–75.

  26. 26 EOE, vol. 2, 64–65, 74–75, 82, 97; ErdKirKv, vol. 1/1, no. 79, 138; ibid., vol. ½, no. 24, 72; ibid., vol. 1/3, no. 363, 1137. Cf. Vekov, “Hiteleshely és szekularizáció,” 135–37.

  27. 27 SJAN-SB, F 3, 1-173. (I am grateful to Emőke Gálfi for drawing my attention to the document.) The dating of the source is justified by the fact that it mentions the widow of Nikola Cherepovich (who died in June 1562) and notes that Gergely Apafi (who died before September 1563) was still paying the rent for the tithe in person.

  28. 28 FH: Bece (Beţa), Feldiód (Stremţ); KÜ: Boldogfalva (Sântămărie); DO: Kisbudak (Buduş/Budesdorf), Várhely (Orheiu Bistriţei/Burghalle); BSZ: Somkerék (Şintereag); KL: Gyalu (Gilău), Gesztrágy (Straja), Középlak (Cuzăplac). Cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 23, 29, 45, 48, 53, 58, 59. For ease of identification, I have also included the county code before each group of settlements (BSZ = Belső-Szolnok, DO = Doboka, FH = Fehér, HD = Hunyad, KL = Kolozs, KÜ = Küküllő, TD = Torda).

  29. 29 FH: Lapád (Lopadea Nouă); HD: Rápolt (Rapoltu Mare); KÜ: Küküllővár (Cetatea de Baltă/Kokelburg); DO: Kisesküllő (Aşchileu Mic), Mikó (disappeared), Hídalmás (Hida), Esztény (Stoiana), Olnok (Bârlea); BSZ: Monostorszeg (Mănăşturel); TD: Décse (Decea), Szengyel (Sângeru de Pădure). Cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 21, 24, 29, 38–41, 49, 67, 68.

  30. 30 In the register of 1589, the term quarta is always used in the absolute sense, i.e. it refers to a quarter of the total tithe. By contrast, the adjectives integra or medium referred to the portion rented (E+A).

  31. 31 Prodan, Iobăgia, vol. 1, 255–56, vol. 2, 568, 630; Jakó, Gyalui urbárium, 52, 53, 57, 69, 97, 100, 109, 127, 143, etc.; Ursuţiu, Gurghiu, 39, 63, 66, 76, 82–83, 103, etc. – MonAntHung, vol. 2: 99, 101, 249; 4: 284, 290; EREK, KvGylt, B 2, Prot. 1/1, p. 1–14, 519–664; Buzogány et al., Küküllői Egyházmegye, passim; Gudor, Gyulafehérvári Egyházmegye, 369–425.

  32. 32 Hegyi, “Did Romanians,” 694–97, 707–10.

  33. 33 Hegyi, “Terrae Christianorum.”

  34. 34 Hegyi, “Románok tizedfizetése,” 25–29, 31–32, 35–36.

  35. 35 Cf. Gündisch, “Türkenabwehr.”

  36. 36 E.g. Drassó (Draşov/Troschen), Birbó (Ghirbom/Birnbaum), Alamor (Alămor/Mildenburg). Cf. Hegyi, “Románok tizedfizetése,” 26–27, 30–31, 35.

  37. 37 FH: Abrudbánya (Abrud/Grossschlatten); TD: Offenbánya (Baia de Arieş/Offenberg); BSZ: Radna (Rodna/Rodenau).

  38. 38 Hosdát (Hăşdat), Rákosd (Răcăştia), Lozsád (Jeledinţi). For their Catholic parishes, see: 1503: DL 46764; 1524: DL 47548; 1533: MNL OL, R 391, 1-8-4.

  39. 39 1462: SzOkl, vol. 1,192; 1466: ibid., vol. 8, 115; 1496: Barabás, “Tizedlajstromok,” 427; 1503: SzOkl, vol. 3, 155; 1522: ibid., vol. 2, 10; 1535: SJAN-CV, F 65, 2-4-1(6).

  40. 40 The villages of Kalotaszeg district are listed in the tithe register of 1589, but since they were previously part of the bishopric of Várad, the distribution of the tithe was different from that of Transylvania, and therefore the share of the priests cannot be calculated in the same way as described above (cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 61–64). On the tithe-paying settlements from the valley of the Maros River: 1477: Barabás, “Tizedlajstro­mok,” 417; 1496: ibid., 421, 428–29; 1504: DF 277689, fol. 2v–3r, 7v–8r.

  41. 41 The fractional numbers appear due to the fact that the territory of some settlements was divided between two ecclesiastical units, and this might result in differences regarding the distribution of the tithe. The settlements in question are Balázsfalva (Blaj), Medgyes (Mediaş/Medwisch), Segesvár (Sighişoara/Schässburg), Kecset (Aluniş), Gyeke (Geaca), Gyerővásárhely (Dumbrava), Sztána (Stana), Almás (Almaşu), Kispetri (Petrinzel), and Bábony (Băbiu).

  42. 42 Hegyi, “Tized intézményrendszere,” 195–96; Hegyi, “Plébánia fogalma,” 19; Müller, Landkapitel, 123–127.

  43. 43 Ub, vol. 1, 34 = CDTrans, vol. 1, no. 132.

  44. 44 1283: Ub, vol. 1, 145 = CDTrans, vol. 1, no. 399; 1289: Ub, vol. 1, 160 = CDTrans, vol. 1, no. 445; 1303: Ub, vol. 1, 226–27 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 21; 1330: Ub, vol. 1, 421–26, 433–36 = CDTrans, vol. 2, nos. 618, 676–77; [c. 1330]: Ub, vol. 1, 440 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 688.

  45. 45 1543: Batthyaneum, ACT, 5-59 (Igen [Ighiu/Krapundorf]); 1560: MNL OL, F 4, Alba, 1-5-13 (Kisenyed [Sângătin/Klein-Enyed]); 1614: MNL OL, F 1, 10, p. 154 (Fogaras [Făgăraş]. I am grateful to Tamás Fejér for sending me the transcription of the source.); 1622: Kemény, “Bruchstück,” 394 (Kövesd [Coveş/Käbisch]); 1627, 1637: UhEmLt, 2/15 (Moha [Grânari/Muckendorf]); 1640: ibid., B 10, 10 (Héjjasfalva [Vânători/Diewaldsdorf]); 1642: Bod, Historia ecclesiastica, vol. 1, 280 (Bürkös [Bârghiş/Bürgisch]);1648: Kemény, “Bruchstück,” 396–97 (Réten [Retiş/Rittersdorf]). Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 125–26, 174–75.

  46. 46 Jakó, Dézsma, 71–72; Müller, Landkapitel, 165–67.

  47. 47 Vajdej (Vaidei), Dál (Deal), Kerpenyes (Cărpiniş), Poján (Poiana Sibiului), Ród (Rod/Rodt), Guraró (Gura Râului/Auendorf).

  48. 48 Müller, “Rechtslage der Rumänen,” 110, 154, 156, 167–68.

  49. 49 Apáca (Apaţa), Krizba (Crizbav), Csernátfalu (Cernatu), perhaps even Bácsfalu (Baciu) and Türkös (Turcheş). See: 1456: Ub, vol. 5, 527, 529–30; 1506: RechnKrsdt, vol. 1, 104; 1544: Brandsch, “Dorfschulen,” 503; 1554: RechnKrsdt, vol. 3, 469. Cf. Barcsay, “Bárcai magyarság,” 1310, 1337. – Previous attempts by the castellans to expropriate a part of the tithe: 1351: CDTrans, vol. 3, nos. 618–620; 1352: ibid., vol. 3, no. 660; 1354: ibid., vol. 3, no. 772; 1355: ibid., vol. 3, no. 800; 1361: ibid., vol. 4, no. 95–96. – On the history of land tenure: 1366: DocRomHist C, vol. 13, 101–2; 1444: DL 29252; 1460: Ub, vol. 6, 85; 1476: Ub, vol. 7, 115–16; 1484: Ub, vol. 7, 369–70.

  50. 50 1404: Ub, vol. 3, 333; 1456: Ub, vol. 5, 528; 1462: Ub, vol. 6, 127–29, 142–43; 1471: Ub, vol. 6, 489, 493–94. Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 137–38; Barcsay, “Bárcai magyarság,” 1341.

  51. 51 Hosszúfalu (Satulung), Tatrang (Tărlungeni), Zajzon (Zizin), Pürkerec (Purcăreni). See: 1367: DocRomHist C, vol. 13, 299–301; 1373: ibid., vol. 14, 398–401; 1544: Brandsch, “Dorfschulen,” 503–4. Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 137–38; Barcsay, “Bárcai magyarság,” 1335, 1337–38.

  52. 52 1500: DF 247090; 1548–1555: RechnKrsdt, vol. 3, 469. Cf. W. Kovács, “Participation of the Counties,” 685–86.

  53. 53 In 1305, some of the villages here (Baromlak [Valea Viilor/Wurmloch], Ivánfalva [Ighişu Nou/Eibesdorf]) were still in the hands of private landlords (Ub, vol. 1, 229–30 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 44), and in 1322 the area is described as a “novella plantatio” (Ub, vol. 1, 369).

  54. 54 1322: Ub, vol. 1, 369 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 444; 1323: Ub, vol. 1, 376 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 465; 1357: Ub, vol. 2, 146–47 = CDTrans, vol. 3, no. 959; 1364: AAV, RegVat, 251: 347r-v; 1369: Ub, vol. 2, 323 = CDTrans, 4: no. 732; 1414: Ub, vol. 3, 591–92, 596–97, 600–1; 1415: Ub, vol. 3, 644–51, 662–63; 1416: ZsOkl, vol. 5, no. 1618; 1454: KmJkv, vol. 1, no. 1147; 1504: Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 132–36, DF 246275, SJAN-SB, F 1, 1-U5-1882. Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 168–70; Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 35–38.

  55. 55 Szászpián (Pianu de Jos/Deutschpien) with Oláhpián (Pianu de Sus/Walachischpien), Lámkerék (Lancrăm/Langendorf), Rehó (Răhău/Reichenau).

  56. 56 1494: DF 245206; 1477: Barabás, “Tizedlajstromok,” 418; 1496: ibid., 420–21, 433; 1504: DF 277689, fol. 2v, 10v; 1513: DF 277731/b, fol. 1v. Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 160–61.

  57. 57 1589: Jakó, Dézsma, 29 (Küküllővár); 1640: Jakó, Gyalui urbáriumok, 57; 1666: ibid., 148; 1679: ibid., 205 (Gyalu).

  58. 58 The bishops also provided generously for the local priests of their estates beyond Meszes Mountain: they received half the tithe in Zilah (Zalău) and a third in Tasnád (Tăşnad) (Diaconescu, Izvoare, 37, 117). In contrast, the cathedral city of Gyulafehérvár had only a parish with quarta (1754: Gudor, Gyulafehérvári Egyházmegye, 399).

  59. 59 Hegyi, “Plébánia fogalma,” 19; Müller, Landkapitel, 131–32, 134, 145, 151–52, 178–80; Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 32–34.

  60. 60 Cf. [1314?]: Ub, vol. 1, 300 = CDTrans, vol. 2, no. 218.

  61. 61 1414: ZsOkl, vol. 4, no. 1632; 1444: KmJkv, vol. 1, no. 522; 1580: MonAntHung, vol. 2, 99, 101 (estates of the Kolozsmonostor Convent); 1589: Jakó, Dézsma, 52–53 (bishop’s domain of Gyalu). On the chapter estates, the priests’ share of tithes can be more or less deduced from the quartas of the provost and the canons (1477: Barabás, “Tizedlajstromok,” 417–18).

  62. 62 E.g. FH: Kutyfalva (Cuci), Koppánd (Copand), and Nagylak (Noşlac) (cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 21–23). They were the estates of the chapter, but their tithe belonged to the bishop.

  63. 63 Royal city: Kolozsvár (Cluj/Klausenburg). Salt-mining towns: Dés (Dej), Désakna (Ocna Dejului), Szék (Sic), Kolozsakna (Cojocna). Torda (Turda) seems to be an exception in this respect, as the priest here received little or no tithe (cf. Hegyi, “Plébánia fogalma,” 15–16). Royal castles with their domains: Déva (Deva), Küküllővár, Görgény (Gurghiu).

  64. 64 On estates and their landlords see Pál Engel’s digital map of medieval Hungary (available for download here: https://abtk.hu/hirek/1713-megujult-engel-pal-adatbazisa-a-kozepkori-magyarorszag-digitalis-atlasza).

  65. 65 FH: Tövis (Teiuş); TD: Felvinc (Unirea), Gyéres (Câmpia Turzii), Vajdaszentivány (Voivodeni); KL: Szamosfalva (Someşeni), Fejérd (Feiurdeni); DO: Drág (Dragu), Doboka (Dăbâca).

  66. 66 1398: DF 257485 (Szengyel [Sângeru de Pădure, TD]); 1541: Batthyaneum, ACT, 5-41 (Solymos [Şoimuş, HD]).

  67. 67 One sixth: Apanagyfalu (Nuşeni, BSZ). One eighth: Léta (Liteni, KL); Magyaregregy (Românaşi, DO).

  68. 68 KL: Alsózsuk (Jucu de Jos), Felsőzsuk (Jucu de Sus), Kályán (Căianu).

  69. 69 DO: Kisesküllő (Aşchileu Mic), Esztény (Stoiana),Szentegyed (Sântejude); BSZ: Girolt (Ghirolt), Monostorszeg (Mănăşturel). In contrast, it appears that beyond the Meszes the p = 1/16 share was much more common (Diaconescu, Izvoare, 13, 15, 17, 19, 106, 189, 191).

  70. 70 If it were more documentable, we would probably find it in most parts of the Székely Land, too.

  71. 71 Szarkad (Sereca), Berény (Beriu), Kasztó (Căstău), Perkász (Pricaz). Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 133; Müller, “Rechtslage der Rumänen,” 195, 235.

  72. 72 Szászárkos (near Balomir), Giesshübel (near Szászsebes [Sebeş/Mühlbach]), Fehéregyháza (near Szerdahely [Miercurea Sibiului/Reussmarkt]), Underten (between Alcina [Alţina/Alzen] and Kürpöd [Chirpăr/Kirchberg]). Cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 25; Müller, Landkapitel, 161.

  73. 73 Alkenyér (Şibot/Unterbrotsdorf), Felkenyér (Vinerea/Oberbrotsdorf), Cikendál (Ţichindeal/Ziegenthal), Glimboka (Glâmboaca/Hühnerbach), Hóföld (Fofeldea/Hochfeld), Illenbák (Ilimbav/Eulen­bach), Szászaház (Săsăuş/Sachsenhausen), Kálbor (Calbor/Kaltbrunnen), Boholc (Boholţ/Buchholz), Sona (Şona/Schönau). Cf. Müller, “Rechtslage der Rumänen,” 192, 212, 217, 224–25, 234–37, 240.

  74. 74 FH: Poklos (Pâclişa), Sóspatak (Şeuşa), Táté (Totoi). Cf. Hegyi, “Románok tizedfizetése,” 28, 30–31; Hegyi, “Did Romanians,” 710 (note 73).

  75. 75 E.g. FH: Veresegyháza (Roşia de Secaş/Rothkirch), Meggykerék (Meşcreac); DO: Sajósebes (Ruştior/Nieder­schebesch), Solymos (Şoimuş/Almesch), Radla (Ragla/Radelsdorf), Alsóbalázsfalva (Blăjenii de Jos/Unterblasendorf), Fata (near Nagydemeter [Dumitra/Mettersdorf]). Cf. Jakó, Dézsma, 20, 23, 45, 47.

  76. 76 FH: Váralja (Orlat/Winsberg), Feketevíz (Săcel/Schwarzwasser), Alamor, Hosszútelke (Doştat/Thorstadt), Drassó, Dálya, Kútfalva, Birbó, Henningfalva (Henig). Cf. Hegyi, “Románok tizedfizetése,” 26–28, 30, 34.

  77. 77 1580: EOE, vol. 3, 149–51; Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 164–68; 1612: EOE, vol. 6, 254–55; Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 191–95. Cf. ibid., 55–67.

  78. 78 EOE, vol. 3, 244.

  79. 79 Teutsch, Zehntrecht, 185–86, 188–89. Cf. Müller, Landkapitel, 166.

  80. 80 E.g. 1664: Gudor, Gyulafehérvári Egyházmegye, 378 (Krakkó [Cricău/Krakau], FH), 406–7 (Alvinc [Vinţu de Jos/Winz], FH).

  81. 81 KÜ: Gálfalva (Găneşti), Pócsfalva (Păucişoara), Kissáros (Delenii), Kóródszentmárton (Coroi­sânmartin), Besenyő (Valea Izvoarelor), Mikefalva (Mica), Kápolna (Căpâlna de Sus), Héderfája (Idrifaia), Harangláb (Hărănglab), and probably also Szőkefalva (Seuca).

  82. 82 These findings are based on a comparison of the registers from 1563 and 1589 (SJAN-SB, F 3, 1-173, fol. 4r-v; Jakó, Dézsma, 34, 35, cf. Table 1, too).

  83. 83 Source of data: SJAN-SB, F 3, 1–173 (the values in brackets), Jakó, Dézsma, 20–71 (page numbers refer to this). Abbreviations: E = episcopal share of tithe, A= archdeaconal share of tithe, q = quarta, T = the whole tithe, P = priest’s share of tithe (for all these, the amount of the corresponding wage is indicated in florins), p = the rate of the priestly tithe. The first three are taken directly from the source, the others are calculated using the formulae: T = 4q; P = T – (E+A); p = P/T.

 

* The research on which this article is based was done with the financial support of the HTMKNP FAEK MTA National Program and of the K 145924 funding schemes of the National Research, Development and Innovation Fund of Hungary.

2024_3_Demeter corr

Differences in Quality of Life and Profitability on Small and Large Farms (1730–pdf1930): A Statistical Approach*

Gábor Demeter
HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities
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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 3 (2024): 361-402 DOI 10.38145/2024.3.361

The competitiveness and productivity of large landholdings and small estates and the incomes or welfare of the people living on such estates have long been an important issue in the Hungarian historiography – and in everyday politics too. Based on the statistical evaluation of serial sources from the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries we give a thorough analysis on the productivity of smallholdings and large estates, which showed a remarkable a spatio-temporal diversity contrary to the statements in the literature focusing on case studies or social aspects of the problems. The size of the in­­vestigated area (Kingdom of Hungary versus Hungary after 1920), as well as land-use colored the palette further. Statistical analysis also proved that socio-economic features on large landholdings were not so unfavorable as depicted by literature. There was a remarkable diversity within the large-estates regarding productivity too, and while in the 19th century their income/ha values were better, than the income on small estates, this gap partly disappeared between 1910 and 1935.

Keywords: Productivity, incomes, large estates, smallholdings, tenant peasantry, King­dom of Hungary, 18th–20th centuries

Introduction

The competitiveness and productivity of large landholdings and small estates and the incomes or welfare of the people living on such estates have long been an important issue in the Hungarian historiography, and indeed this issue remains controversial today. That matter at hand is not simply an economic or social question. Rather, it is one of the means through which the various political regimes after 1848 sought to legitimate their rule and policies. Neither is this issue negligible from the point of view of contemporary regional research and territorial planning. In his discussion of peripheralization at the time of the regime change in the early 1990s Endre Miklóssy identified the preponderance of large estates, rural overpopulation, and the marginalization of livestock farming as three of the four main historical factors contributing to the alleged backwardness of the region today.1 Thus, the question can also be raised from the perspective of conditions today, or in other words, one could ask which former type of farm (allodial estates or farms dominated by plots) and social class (villages of former tenants with plots or villages inhabited by the landless, who after 1848 were mostly daily-wage agrarian laborers) are associated with areas which today are peripheral. The latter, the connection between the territorial pattern of social classes, and areas that are peripheral today, is not examined in the present paper.3In the interwar period, a political debate broke out on the issue of the comparative productivity of large versus small estates. Miklós Móricz (brother of the family writer Zsigmond Móricz) contended that large estates were more productive, but these estates were also associated with poorer living conditions for the populations living on them (and he supposed a causal relationship between the two).2 Jenő Czettler pointed out the advantages of the large estates from the perspective of productivity—in the interwar period, because large estates had 20 percent better grain yields and 30 percent better yields for potatoes than small estates.3 Mihály Kerék refuted this. He contended that livestock production on smallholdings (which most statistics do not measure) compensated for the advantages of large holdings in grain production4 (and net cadastral land income)5 per acre. A table comparing the Balkan countries in the volume by Zagorov, Végh and Bilimovich, which was published after World War II, shows that in Hungary and Romania (as opposed to Greece, which also had a polarized estate structure) the yields of large estates were 20–30 percent higher than the yields of small estates in terms of grain production.6 However, Tibor Tóth’s research on the Interwar period, which is limited to the Transdanubian region, shows that the yields were better on smallholdings, although the return rates were somewhat slower.7 The issue is not a specific Hungarian problem. According to Yanaki Mollov, Bulgarian smallholdings had better yields per hectare than the large estates in the interwar period.8 However, this is not the case if per capita values are calculated (labor force), and small farms were much more vulnerable to climate variability and changes in the external economic situation (including price volatility, which became an acute crisis after 1929).

The profitability of a given estate type may well have depended on many factors, including type of land use, land quality, location of the sample area, and the availability of technological advances, all of which are examined in the present study. Even the proclivities of political regimes (i.e. legal measures) may have been helpful in many cases (for instance in the case of Ottoman Macedonia in the nine­teenth century or in dualist Hungary). However, there are also examples when state intervention was not beneficial (for instance the permanent agrarian crisis in Serbia and Bulgaria after 1870, which was due to the maintenance of smallholder peasant democracy). Productivity and profitability also varied over time. There are many ways to measure these changes, but they do not always produce the same results.

If our results show that productivity measured according to harvest yield per acre was better on large estates then we need to consider the possible reasons for this, which include the following: (a) plot size, parcel size, parcel numbers, (b) technological development, (c) land use and product structure of the smallholdings and large estates, (d) whether the nobility managed to acquire better quality lands after 1848, or (e) whether the landed gentry, losing their tax exemption after 1848, attempted to manipulate the cadastral land survey during the registry period (1851–1865), when land income became the basis for land tax (1865), thus reducing their land tax by claiming that their lands were of poor quality. Klára Mérey, Pál Sándor, and Lajos Für have given concrete examples of how large landowners acquired fallow land after 1848 that had formerly been used by the peasants.9 They have also shown, furthermore, that these lands were often of better quality than the plots remaining in peasants’ hands.10 Scott M. Eddie, however, argues that this was not a general trend in 1850–1870. His sophisticated cliometric studies using country-scale data support the hypothesis that large estates (more precisely, the estates owned by the aristocracy) were subject to a more favorable tax classification than might have been expected in only one county out of the 52 studied (see the case of Viharsarok, also analyzed here).11 The peasant estate was also sometimes placed in a higher “golden crown” category because it had a higher proportion of ploughland, even if the soil quality was actually worse because peasants were forced to cultivate more arable lands regardless of quality (see the case of Békés County in the discussion below).12 On the other hand, the proportion of land taken up by pastures and forests was sometimes higher on large estates, and because of their generally lower income per acre, the average cadastral income per hectare on the whole large estate was also lower compared to the peasant farms, which were primarily ploughland. (The Draskovich family’s estates in southern Baranya offer an example of lands with a higher proportion of pastures and forests, while the Benyovszky family’s estates in the same area were primarily ploughlands).13

Productivity in the 18th Century

In the discussion below, I offer an overview of the issue by providing a summary of research done between 2018 and 2023. According to the census of 1728, which survived in 11 counties (2,200 settlements),14 the declared (and this word is important) seed yield (measured in proportion to seeds sown)15 on serf plots was not more than 1:2 in 25 percent of the settlements (500 settlements), and a seed yield of 1:4 or more was measured in only 20 percent of the settlements. (If the output is calculated in cubulus before sowing and harvesting and paying the tithe and state tax, a grain output of 1 to 4 was close to 800 kg/ha). The average yield of 1:3 was exceeded in Heves, Nógrád, Tolna, Sopron, and Szabolcs Counties. The lower-than-average value in Bihar and Szepes Counties, which are mountainous and forested, is not surprising, while the below average yield of Pest County is more surprising (animal husbandry still dominated the central plains in the eighteenth century due to the devastation caused in 1541–1699 during the Ottoman era). The declared yields of the municipalities of Somogy, Zala, and Vas Counties were also below 3:1. As 10 of the 11 counties are located in present-day Hungary (which is mostly lowlands), data from counties for which the sources do not provide these figures probably would not meaningfully raise this 1:3 average.16 As the landlords and the Church each took 10 percent of the harvest and 33 percent of the harvest had to be spared as seed for the next year, this 1:3 ratio allowed peasants to keep only 47 percent of their harvest, and part of this had to be used to pay taxes to the state. Thus, in the end, not more than 30 percent remained for peasant consumption. Supposing that 200 kg of grain are required for one adult and 150 for one child every year as a minimum, this makes total human consumption for a family 1,000–1,200 kg17 (without animals). This cannot be more than 33 percent of the total grain produced, ranging from 3,000 to 3,500 kg (otherwise the taxes cannot be paid). Calculating with a general output ratio of 1:3, this means that 1,000–1,200 kg of seed had to be set aside to be sown for the next year. Land size was calculated in cubulus, which indicates the volume of seed, 92 kg18 for a Hungarian acre (1 cadastral acre equals with 5,570 sq m, 1 Hungarian acre is 4,200 sq m). Thus, 11 to 12 acres (4.5 to 5 ha) had to be sown to produce this amount of grain at an output ratio of 1:3 in order to secure the subsistence of a family. In the case of an output ratio of 1:5, the seed set aside for the next year was 20 percent of the total harvest, taxes paid to the landlord and the Church came to a total of 40 percent, leaving 60 percent for the peasant to use to feed his family and pay the royal taxes. This left him with more than 40 to 45 percent of his harvest after taxation. Thus, even a smaller plot under 10 acres could sustain a similar family of six according to the figures used above.

To obtain more land, peasants could change the field-system and increase the ratio of cultivated lands from the usual 50 percent (the remainder 50% was used as fallow or grazeland) in the two-field system to 67 percent by applying three-field system (using one third of the plot for autumn crops, one third for spring crops and one third as fallow in a rotational system). They could also rent land from the landlords. This three-field system was often used in hilly regions in 1728 to compensate for lower soil quality.19 Applying the three-field system in the 18th century was not necessarily the sign of modernization or relative welfare (crop surplus), as plots using three-field system were not more productive, than lands under two-field system. It was rather a response to challenges caused by relative land shortages.

In 1728, the larger plots (sessio) had proportionally smaller yields per acre than the smaller units of land. In the lands with poorer yields, the plots tended to be larger, both in absolute terms (sessio size) and measured per capita. Had this not been the case, the population would have been compelled to move. (More than 60 percent of tenant peasants worked lands that were less than half a plot. This is a clear indication of the progressive fragmentation of the lands.) In his research on the Székely Land in the early eighteenth century,20 Dezső Garda has shown that there was no significant difference in the grain yield of the armalist noblemen (nobles without peasants), the tenant peasants, and the landless cottars. The yields fluctuated around nine of ten kalangya.21 The differences between social groups were more pronounced in terms of livestock (1.9 and 3.7 cattle per family for cottars and members of the petty nobility, respectively). Most of the large estates were basically engaged in livestock farming in the first decades of the eighteenth century, either because of the general demand in Europe or because of labor shortages. Before the unification of peasant duties in 1767, the number of days spent on in corvée (compulsory work on a landlord’s manor) or the geographical location of the manor may be a guide to the nature of the large estates (allodia). Vast landholdings that made little use of corvée or allowed tenant farmers to free themselves of this obligation by making payments instead were more likely to be livestock farms (as these required less labor force thus were unable to exploit corvée efficiently), while near the larger cities (Vienna, Buda) grain production began to spread, and this required a workforce. This also suggests that the grain farming methods used on large estates may not have been very efficient in the beginning of the eighteenth century.

As eighteenth-century cadastral census data survived along the valley of the Tisza River, they can be used to quantify the share of tenant peasant plots compared to large estates, as well as to compare the yields on peasant plots and large manors at the end of the eighteenth century (Figs. 1 and 2). In contrast to Jászság and Nagykunság, the Tisza floodplain (and the Hevesi plain) was dominated by manorial ploughlands in 1786. This had not changed even in 1865, when water regulations were introduced and cadastral surveys were made to document the boundaries of estates and tenant plots.22 In the Central Tisza floodplain, both in regional comparison and also on the smallholdings, the grain yield per acre was lower than in Nagykunság and the plains of south Heves, for instance, and more land was owned by the lords and more crops were appropriated by the nobility (Table 1), whereas the amount of land per one agricultural inhabitant (including the cottars) was the smallest.23 On the other hand, at the end of the eighteenth century, there was hardly any measurable difference between the yield per acre of small and large landholdings according to the surviving cadastral data. In terms of the total area of large holdings and plots, there were hardly any settlements on the Central Tisza floodplain, in the Békés loess and Nagykunság, and in South Heves which did not reach the limit of self-sufficiency (nine pm24/person or five pm without animals) calculated by Glósz, with the exception of the region of Kiskunság (Danube-Tisza Interfluve, and in this area there was still heavy emphasis on animal husbandry on the large, empty quicksand plains) and Dévaványa in the moorland of Sárrét. Here, therefore, self-sufficiency had to be achieved either through animal husbandry or other forms of work (cottage industry, migrant labor). However, if we deduct the production of large estates from the total regional production, the situation was not good elsewhere either. Along the Tisza River (in contrast to the settlements of the Nagykunság or southern Heves), the yield was often barely 5 pm per person for peasant plots, if landless cottars are included and the yields of large holdings are not added (Table 3). Thus, the landless cottars25 were forced to work either on the large estates or in animal husbandry (either as owners or herders) in the late eighteenth century. As long as there was enough common grazeland (this was the case until the beginning of great water regulation works in the late 1840s), the livelihood of this stratum was assured. However, the expansion of the large estates (and private land in general) over the commons and the expansion of ploughing on the large estates at the time of the river regulations26 eliminated their livelihood and also provided the large estates with a cheap labor force that was no longer self-sufficient and thus could be easily exploited. This class was the biggest loser of the water regulations works and the new laws on land property after 1848. (The former common lands fell into the hand of landlords after 1848, who, prompted by the European grain hunger after the great crisis in 1847, began the transformation of even lower quality lands to arable land. These lands were profitable until grain prices collapsed after 1873).

According to Glósz, one or two sown cadastral acres were usually enough for one person to subsist, and since the amount of arable land per tenant peasant in most of the floodplains reached ten to twelve acres in the beginning of the nineteenth century, families of five to six people were able to live off the land at the time. By 1910, however, even with the increase of cultivated lands due to water regulation, only an average of six sown acres was available per family, which could only be sufficient for a family of this size if yields doubled (to twelve pm/acre, or about one ton/ha).

It is also important to underline that the yields of the arable land of the landlords in the Central Tisza floodplain were not good, and water regulation resulted in the further expansion of these low-quality ploughlands.27

Table 1. Differences in grain productivity of Hungarian lands based on the specific variables extracted from the data of the first cadastral survey in the 1780s

Landscape-type
(1786, settlement number in brackets)

Ploughland as a proportion of the
total %

Meadow and pasture as a proportion of the total %

Share of manorial ploughland (and yields) %

Ploughland, total
(acre/person)

Peasant plot acre/person

Total grain output/person (in pm)

Yield of manorial land (pm/ acre)28

Yield of peasant plots
(
pm/acre)

Yield for one peasant
(inc. cottars) 
pm/person

Western Hungary: Győr, Moson, Sopron (71)29

30.43

60.19

41.50

1.88

1.05

13.15

7.04

7.02

8.48

South Heves (32)

48.16

43.82

52.98

2.35

1.13

17.68

7.48

7.28

7.74

Tisza floodplain (31)

20.42

78.19

58.89

1.81

0.77

12.57

7.16

7.27

5.10

Hills of North Heves (39)

34.24

25.89

52.15

2.03

0.77

12.02

5.88

5.96

6.28

Nagykunság plains (12)

24.52

71.04

28.36

1.87

1.34

17.17

9.16

8.76

12.01

Csongrád County (3)

24.74

74.11

23.56

1.77

1.62

15.37

9.55

8.67

11.88

Jászság (11)

49.34

47.27

3.61

3.40

1.85

10.87

5.40

5.42

10.48

Kiskunság sand dunes (8)

30.40

67.80

10.63

4.15

1.88

10.08

4.85

5.17

9.35

Altogether (216)

30.73

61.46

37.72

2.15

1.18

13.71

6.90

6.86

7.95

Source: Calculations based on raw data published by Dávid, “Magyarország első kataszteri felmérése” and Rózsa’s recent explorations, Rózsa, “Az ártéri gazdálkodás mérlege.”

 01fig_1786_nagybirt_szanto_vs_jobbagyio_szanto_aranya.jpg 

02fig_1786_teljes_terulethasznalat_regionalis_diff.jpg

Figures 1–2. The size and proportion of manorial arable land (light grey) in the surviving material of the 1786 cadastral census (based on Dávid, “Magyarország első kataszteri felmérése” and Rózsa’s recent explorations, Rózsa, “Az ártéri gazdálkodás mérlege.” / Regional differences in the land use of total cultivated land in 1786 based on the cadastral census (light grey for ploughland, medium grey for meadow and pasture, dark for garden and forest). There was hardly any arable land in the settlements of the Tisza floodplain, which were characterized by small administrative areas and large (manorial) estates with high share of the available arable land.

Productivity of Smallholdings and Large Estates from the 1860s to 1910

The significance of the data series published in 1865 during the first surviving cadastral survey30 is that it is available for the whole country (except Transylvania and the large towns). To a limited extent it also makes it possible to calculate the net cadastral incomes31 of large and small estates, since the number of settlements where only smallholdings or only large estates were recorded (the data for so-called puszta, or “plainland farmsteads,” which had only one or two owners, were recorded separately) was statistically relevant. (Where both large estates and smallholdings were present, we cannot calculate their incomes separately.) From Table 2, it is clear that in the 1860s (after the abolition of corvée), the large holdings were more productive (in terms of harvest yield per acre) than smallholdings. Smallholdings had harvests per acre that were only 66 percent of the harvests (measured per acre) of the large estates.

Table 2. Differences between the profitability of small farms and large holdings in Hungary in 1865 (net cadastral income, excluding the production of livestock) 

Indicator

Small farms (sample)

Large landholdings (sample)

Large estates with some small farm

Country total and average**

Number of holdings

126,758 out of 2,010, 000

187 out of 23,685

138*+235

2,034,630.0

Total utilised area (acre)

1,380,000.0

409,000.0

131,487.0

33,510,620.0

Net cadastral income (forint)

3,610,000.0

1,944,000.0

599,600.0

98,056,000.0

Average size of holding (acre)

10.9

2190.0

1000.0

16.5

Average net income per holding (forint)

28.5

10,395.0

4500*.0

.048.2

Net income per 1 acre (forint)

2.6

4.7

4.6

2.9

Proportion of area used

92

80.0

95.0

91.0

Study sample

6.2% of farms, 4.1% of land, 3.7% of income

1.1% of farms,
1.3% of land, 2% of income

0.4% of land, 0.6% of income

100

** Counting only large estates.
** Excluding Transylvania and Croatia and some large cities (e.g. Debrecen).

Were the differences in income between small and large estates due to technological differences, or were they rather due to the fact that after the reforms in 1848, the nobility acquired land of better quality?32 Followers of prominent twentieth-century Hungarian historian Gyula Szekfű argue, on the basis of parcel names, that the large landowners established their estates on land cleared and cultivated in the nineteenth century and not on parcels obtained from peasants. This land therefore cannot have been of a terribly high quality and cannot have yielded impressive harvests or large incomes (and therefore there was no need for the landowners to manipulate the data). The results given above, however, seem to contradict Szekfű’s idea, though only partially. Surprisingly, if we approach the data series in a different way, in 1865, smallholdings were overrepresented in settlements with a high net cadastral land income of over six forints33 per acre (323,000 holdings, or 15 percent of the smallholdings, compared to 2,635 large holdings, or 10 percent of the large estates).34 This seem to support Szekfű’s thesis (according to which the land quality of the large holdings was generally poor). However, since the distribution of landholdings within a settlement (and therefore the difference in their soil quality) is not known, these data are not conclusive.35 At the other extreme, for the settlements with a low net income of one or two forints per acre (below average), we counted 6,630 large estates and 466,000 small farms in total, which is 28 percent and 23 percent, respectively. Here, large estates are overrepresented, but this is also due to large forest estates with poor yields (this is immediately clear if one plots the large estates on the map).

In other words, the dominant land use of the estate types has a strong influence on the incomes/acre expressed in money. Despite the low group average in the sample in Table 2, smallholdings were not characterized by uniformly low productivity. In Baranya in 1910, for example, smallholdings did not yield worse net cadastral incomes per acre than the larger holdings, because the smallholdings had a higher proportion of arable land, which had higher net cadastral incomes than forests, meadows, and pastures, and this increased the weighted average of the net income per plot.

The notion that, after the 1875 tax reform, when cadastral net income became the tax base, the tax system favored large estates and the taxes placed on smallholdings were higher in absolute terms is untenable. In 1910 (the investigation was reduced to the recent territory of Hungary due to the availability of data), the direct tax36 per capita in settlements dominated by large estates was 20 kronen (30 K for the large estates of aristocrats), and in settlements dominated by small estates it was 15 K (in the national territory of Hungary today).

3_Fig_FF.jpg

Figure 3. The differences in land use depending on estate types in two districts of Baranya County in 1910 (Demeter and Koloh, “Birtokstruktúra és jövedelmezőség.”

4_Fig_FF.jpg

Figure 4. Net land income per cadastral acre in kronen (K) in different subsets of two districts of Baranya County (Ormánság and Hegyhát), 1910 (Demeter and Koloh, “Birtokstruktúra és jövedelmezőség.”)

Table 3. The difference between the net cadastral income per acre of a large estate (over 100 cadastral acres) and the total settlement average and its relationship to the land use-types on the former Harruckern estate 1857–1865 (selected cases)

Landholder

Location (settlement)

Arable 
in acre

Meadow and garden
in acre

Vineyard
in “kapás”

Pasture 
in acre

Large estates in total (in acre)

Net cadastral income,
in forint

Net cadastral income per acre on large estates
in forint

Net cadastral income per acre on total area of the settlement
in forint

Share of arable land on large estates in %

Count György Apponyi

Orosháza

Kis-Csákóval

633

1

 

680

1,316

6,125

4.65

5.49

48.10

Count György Apponyi

Csaba

3,353

1,020

20

1,166

5,561

32,099

5.77

6.25

60.29

György Bajzáth

Szentetornya

608

64

 

63

736

5,802

7.88

 

82.61

Dániel Bakai

the peripheries of Csaba

61

43

1

6

113

608

5.38

6.25

53.98

József Bartóky (abarai és bartóki)

the peripheries of Csaba

76

12

 

46

135

807

5.98

6.25

56.30

Count László Batthyányi

Csákói-puszta, Csaba, Kondoros

3,912

10

 

255

4,178

34,205

8.19

6.25

93.63

Baumgarten brothers

Orosháza

1,216

144

 

582

1,942

11,074

5.70

5.49

62.62

István Beliczey

the peripheries of Csaba

334

3

   

338

2867

8.48

6.25

98.82

József Beliczey

Csaba határában

103

     

103

622

6.04

6.25

100.00

Rudolf Beliczey

 

214

   

6

220

1,850

8.41

 

97.27

József Bernrieder (Paks)

Orosháza

327

12

   

340

2,853

8.39

5.49

96.18

…

                   

Antal Wenckheim

 

1,456

337

 

28

1,822

10,286

5.65

6.25

79.91

Baron Béla Wenckheim

Csaba

1,103

     

1,103

6,624

6.01

6.25

100.00

Mrs József Wenckheim

Csorvás

435

     

435

2,602

5.98

5.71

100.00

Károly Wenckheim

Csorvás

310

     

310

1,861

6.00

5.71

100.00

Rudolf Wenckheim

Csorvás

489

     

489

2,938

6.01

5.71

100.00

Baron Viktor Wenckheim

Csorvás

163

     

163

979

6.01

5.71

100.00

Móric and Albert Wodianer

Gyoma

2,599

4,201

3

3,141

9,945

27,647

2.78

3.42

26.13

Móric and Albert Wodianer

Csorvás

723

     

723

4338

6.00

5.71

100.00

Estates between 100–500 cadastral acres are given in italics. The highlighted background indicated large estates with net incomes higher than the overall municipal average and estates where the share of arable land was above 80 percent. See footnote 40 for source information.

 The same is true if we use per acre values instead of per capita. The average tax for settlements without large estates was 6.5 K per acre, and the average tax for settlements dominated by estates owned by the petty nobility was the same, whereas for villages dominated by aristocratic estates it was 7.3–8 K per acre. Since direct taxes also included land tax alongside a household tax and corporate and industrial taxes, the tax values are also indicative of income conditions. Thus, the hypothesis that large estates paid less tax per acre because the nobility used its political influence to manipulate taxation to underestimate the value of their land in the golden crown system is not tenable in general either. In fact, they did not pay less, as proved above, and Eddie’s aforementioned thesis (that large estates in general did not enjoy more favorable tax rates between 1850 and 1870) seems persuasive.37

Mariann Nagy also concludes that the higher the share of smallholdings in a county, the lower the net cadastral income (r= -0.39).38 Our own country-level (within the state boundaries of Hungary after 1920), settlement-scale study confirms that in the villages dominated by large holdings, net cadastral income per capita (27.8 vs. 21 K) and, to a lesser extent, net cadastral income per acre (10.5 vs. 8.6 K) were also higher in 1910 than in settlements dominated by smallholdings. However, by 1935 the difference had almost disappeared. Thus, this phenomenon showed significant dynamics within two generations!

For the mid-nineteenth century, another case study gave new information concerning the productivity of large and small estates. In 1857, several censuses of the former Harruckern estates (today Békés County in southwestern Hungary) were recorded,39 and here the net income per acre (in forints) can be calculated for more than 80 large estates. Since we also know which settlements these large estates were located in, their net incomes could be compared with the average land incomes of the total municipality (which includes small farms) in 1865. The resulting picture is rather chaotic, because the net cadastral income per acre of large farms varied between five and nine forints/acre, and in some cases the net cadastral income per acre of large landholdings was lower than the overall municipal average. Since this was not owing to differences in the sizes of large farms, we also examined the role of land use. Interestingly, large farms were more profitable than small farms if the share of ploughlands exceeded 75 percent of the area of large farms. (This implicitly also means that the large estates might have had better soil quality, at least for grain production, since it was the large estates that offered a viable way of expanding arable land up to 90 percent of the whole). When the share of ploughlands was between 60 and 70 percent, the net income per hectare of the large farms was equal to the average net income of the municipality, and below this percentage value, the small farms were more profitable (Table 3). Large farms were therefore more competitive in the case of monocultural farming.

Leaving aside land quality and land use as factors and focusing only on the size of the landholdings, in the 42 settlements analyzed in Békés, Csongrád, and Csanád Counties, the large landholdings had 25 percent higher net incomes per acre than the small landholdings in 1865 (Table 4), confirming the result of our general survey for 1865 but contradicting the results of the investigation of the 80 large estates above (Table 3). However, as before, we were unable to quantify the role of animal husbandry, so we cannot estimate how it would modify the differences. Net cadastral income, as an indicator, allows us to determine neither where the income/expenditure ratio was better (i.e. which estate type was more efficient) nor where the expenditures were lower (i.e. which landholding size was less capital intensive), since no other indicator is available at the settlement level beside the “income minus expenditure value” (i.e. net cadastral income).40

Table 4. Differences in net cadastral incomes of smallholdings and large estates (1865) on the area covered by the genetic soil map of Békés County (1858)

Dominant farm structure
(by municipality)

Net cadastral income  
forint/acre

Net income
forint/estate owner 

Average estate size
(acre)

Mixed (25)

Avg.   

4.30

135.0

31.40

Smallholdings dominate (5)

Avg.

4.24

61.1

14.44

Large estates dominate (12)

Avg.

5.43

29846.0

5494.31

Total number of settlements
and “puszta” on map (42)

Avg.

4.45

8615.6

1933.97

Using a special source, however, it is possible to examine how land quality affected income and determine whether large estates were located on better land or not in these three counties. Table 4 above is based on the cadastral survey conscription published in 1865, which includes the precise, accurate number of large and small estates (but not their size separately) and the number of “puszta.” A genetic soil map of the area (the second oldest in Europe) from 1858 has also survived. By superimposing the administrative boundaries of 1865 (Figure 5) on the soil map using GIS-techniques, one can identify the dominant soil type per settlement, and the settlement level average values for net cadastral income per acre in 1865 can be compared to the soil types. Net cadastral income per acre and per holding was highest in the loess (Table 5), which also suggests that the loess was dominated by large estates, while in contrast, the sand or the saline solonetz soils (vertisols) were dominated by small estates in 1865. The net cadastral income per acre on smallholdings located on sands was good, while the incomes of small farms established on peat and solonetz soils was poor. Settlements with mixed saline-loess soils were also dominated by large estates, but with better income per acre values. In other words, the large estates were mostly located on better soils.

Table 5. Net cadastral income per acre and per holding (in forints) by soil type and average size of holdings by soil type in 1865

Soil type and
settlement number

Net cadastral income  
forint/acre

Net cadastral income  
forint/estate

Average estate size

sand IV (1)

Avg.  

5.49

97.38

17.74

peat (2)

Avg.

2.38

103.25

43.36

loess I (8)

Avg.

5.91

2,3076.77

3,903.40

salty/saline II (14)

Avg.

3.51

1,811.74

516.68

salty and peat (1)

Avg.

2.32

68.75

29.66

salty and bound clay (2)

Avg.

3.47

56.81

16.35

salty and loess (14)

Avg.

5.09

10,813.64

2,126.25

total (42)

Avg.

4.45

–

–

Source: Our calculations based on the 1858 soil map and income data published in 1865.

By comparing the productivity of small and large estates located on the same soil types (Table 6), one can highlight the “soil-neutral” efficiency of the farm type. The combined query of the incomes (1865)—soil (1858) database revealed that in the case of loess, the large estates were clearly more efficient, while in the case of saline soils, the smallholdings were more efficient, obviously because the smallholder was forced to produce a minimum quantity even by investing extra work (and/or a larger workforce) to subsist, while the large farm was not under such pressure. In the case of settlements with mixed loess and saline soils, there was no significant difference between small and large farms.

Table 6. Differences in net cadastral income grouped by soil types and farm sizes (in forints, 1865)

Dominant soils   
(1858)

Farm size
(type, settlement number, avg. estate size)

Net cadastral income  
forint/acre

Net cadastral income
forint/estate

sand

MIXED estate structure (1)

5.49

97.38

peat

MIXED estate structure (2)

2.38

103.25

loess

DOMINANCE OF SMALLHOLDINGS (2) (79), cadastral acres

4.67

370.32

DOMINANCE OF LARGE ESTATES (6) (4848 cadastral acres)

6.32

30,645.59

TOTAL (8)

5.91

23,076.77

saline

MIXED estate structure (12)

3.52

90.46

DOMINANCE OF SMALLHOLDINGS (1) (4 cadastral acres)

4.06

36.79

DOMINANCE OF LARGE ESTATES (1)

2.74

24,242.00

TOTAL (14)

3.51

1,811.74

saline and soot

(1)

2.32

68.75

saline and clay

MIXED estate structure (1)

3.38

95.65

SMALLHOLDING DOMINANCE (1)

3.57

17.97

TOTAL (2)

3.47

56.81

saline and loess

MIXED estate structure (6)

5.53

183.82

SMALL FARMS DOMINANCE (3) (18 kh)

4.52

83.67

LARGE ESTATES (5) (6122 kh)

4.90

30,007.40

TOTAL (14)

5,09

10,813.00

Source: Our calculations based on the 1858 soil map and income data published in 1865.

How did landowners manage to acquire good quality land? In order to answer this question, we superimposed the soil map from 1858 on the Harruckern map of land use in the 1780s, which also contained aggregated landuse and population data at the settlement level (unfortunately, it did not include yields). Our research has shown that around 1780, most of the land far away from rivers and covered with loess was used as pasture (Tables 7 and 8), which, as public property (communal land, which meant that both the landlord and the peasants had the right to use it), fell into the hands of the manor according to the laws of 1848. These areas, converted into ploughland as a result of the land-use change induced by grain hunger in Europe, which generated high prices, showed extremely high yields and high incomes in the mid-nineteenth century due to decades of fertilization and fallowing.

Water regulation works began here around 1865, so the statistics cited reflect the incomes of the pre-regulation situation, when plots on saline soils and peat were more exposed to water. This implicitly also meant that the water regulation work of 1865 generated a temporary ameliorating situation for the smallholders (although peat that has lost water is easily damaged by wind and compaction caused by trampling, so the improvements are only temporary). In contrast to the situation along the Körös River, in the Central Tisza region at the end of the eighteenth century the floodplains of the rivers were dominated not by small farms but by large estates and communal-public lands used as pastures and meadows for grazing. This all became manorial land after 1848. So, water regulation along the Tisza River favored large estates.

Table 7. Differences in land use types on different soils (%) and farm types in 1865

Soil type
(I-V: soil quality)

Smallholding / large holding ratio

Arable (%)

Meadow (%)

Pasture (%)

Woodland (%)

Vineyard (%)

Reed (%)

Uncultivated
(%)

sand IV

1

138.17

65.84

4.33

25.16

0.00

1.54

0.00

3.13

peat III

2

32.72

18.06

29.74

16.28

10.64

0.21

7.99

17.09

loess I

8

17.39

60.37

19.04

17.02

0.39

0.16

0.00

3.01

saline II

14

73.40

44.02

16.13

28.95

2.92

1.22

1.03

5.73

saline and sooty peat

1

175.50

34.91

29.17

21.47

0.47

0.84

2.31

10.83

saline and clay, V

2

141.83

37.98

12.40

31.62

3.86

3.17

0.42

10.55

saline and loess

14

52.28

59.89

9.44

23.21

0.94

0.64

0.78

5.10

Total

42

61.32

51.20

14.96

24.02

2.06

0.87

1.06

5.83

Source: Our calculations based on the 1858 soil map and the income data published in 1865 (area and income of Hungary by cultivation). The dominant land use pattern(s) have been highlighted by bold letters.

Table 8. The land use and quality of the land (in 1858) that functioned as praedium (non-urbarial, non-peasant plots) in 1790

Praedium

Soil quality  
1858

Soil genetic type  
1858

Arable 
%

Meadow 
%

Pasture 
%

Forests 
%

Kígyósapáti pr.41

2

saline

0.00

4.76

95.24

0.00

Nagykondoros pr.

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Nagy Csákó

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Kis Csákó

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Csorvás dominale42

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Csorvás comm.

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Eperjes pr.

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Szénás pr.

2

saline

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Kis Kamut pr.

1

loess

100.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

Szt. Miklós pr.

   

100.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

Csejti Pr.

2

saline

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Bélmegyer pr.

2

saline

0.00

55.03

40.46

4.51

Gerla pr.

3

peat

0.00

44.48

44.48

11.04

Ölyved pr.

3

peat

0.00

73.61

24.51

1.88

Királyhegyes pr.

 

loess

0.00

12.27

87.73

0.00

Apáca pr.

1

loess

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

Tamás pr.

2

 saline

0.00

40.20

24.87

34.93

Kis Péll pr.

5

clayey

0.00

24.97

75.03

0.00

The relationship between soil conditions and net cadastral land income can also be examined in 1910, since the genetic soil type can be considered a conservative property (at least for a span of 50 years), and the municipal net cadastral income is also available from 1883 and 1910 and even sorted even by type of land use. So, net income is available for different products (Table 9), which was not true of the survey done in 1865. The difference between loess-soils and clayey or salty solonetz soil is still remarkable, and estate size on loess remained extremely high in 1910.

By 1935, the positive trends in the net cadastral income of smallholdings in the Pécs region (southern Hungary) mentioned earlier (Figure 4) had also changed. The net cadastral income per acre of small estates fell from almost twelve crowns in 1911 to less than eleven crowns, while that of large estates rose to over eight crowns, and on the Biedermann and Benyovszky estates, the net income per cultivated acre of land jumped from eight or nine golden crowns43 before World War I (Figure 6) to ten or eleven. This confirms that we have a spatially and temporally fluctuating phenomenon, which also depended on market volume, soil quality, and land use, in addition to technology and crop culture.

Fig_5.jpg

Figure 5. Overlay of the 1858 Békés-Csanád soil map with post-1886 settlement boundaries

Table 9. Differences in the net cadastral income per acre and per holding of settlements on different soil types, and the relationship between average holding size and soil type in 1910

Soil quality (settlements)

Total net cadastral income, 1865
K
*/acre

Total net cadastral income,
1910 K/acre

Net cadastral income of woods
K/acre

Net cadastral income of grape

K/acre

Net cadastral income of ploughlands
K/acre

Net cadastral income of pastures
K/acre

Net cadastral income of meadows
K/kat. hold

Average net cadastral income per one estate

Average estate size (acre)

clayey V (3)

 

12.41

3.80

16.87

14.26

2.85

6.16

243.49

18

sand IV (3)

11 (1)

20.56

8.47

23.17

20.61

9.21

12.04

128.93

6

peat III (4)

5 (2)

11.83

7.27

15.17

13.30

5.03

11.13

203.13

17

peat and saline (4)

4.5 (1)

10.06

8.44

13.34

11.44

3.10

7.21

133.14

13,5

loess (34)

12 (8)

16.85

5.44

21.34

17.33

7.25

8.29

5,828.85

295

loess and saline (2)

10 (14)

19.19

9.63

22.82

22.17

7.95

9.40

329.68

19

saline II (21)

7 (14)

11.95

6.16

18.85

13.50

4.35

6.20

315.00

24

saline and loess I and II (14)

10 (14)

23.26

6.26

17.51

18.15

4.96

7.56

161.16

9,5

Total: 85

9 (42)

16.09

6.25

19.23

16.10

5.74

7.68

2,405.99

125

* Calculated from forints. One forint = two kronen. Numbers in brackets indicate the number of settlements involved in the investigation in 1865. The sets of settlements in 1865 and 1910 are not identical, so any conclusions concerning changes in incomes should be handled with care.

Source: Our calculations based on the 1858 soil map and Arad / Békés / Csanád vármegye adóközségeinek területe és kataszteri tisztajövedelme.

6_fig_FF.jpg

Figure 6. Differences in the net cadastral incomes of small and large estates of different types in 1935, expressed in golden crowns. (Demeter and Koloh, “Birtokstruktúra és jövedelmezőség.”)

Socio-Economic Characteristics of Estate Types (1890s–1930s)

The question of profitability is therefore not settled by the series of studies summarized above. Income alone, however, does not necessarily offer a precise means with which to classify a settlement (or the type of enterprise that predominates) as developed or underdeveloped, since the concept of welfare includes a variety of other dimensions (health, environment, cultural indicators, etc.). And as a large part of the income generated in settlements that were dominated by large estates did not fall into the hands of the agrarian producers, this indicator is therefore inappropriate for comparisons of welfare. If we want to check or reproduce Miklós Móricz’s local-scale research for the whole country and investigate further the contradictory picture of large estates as either “oppressive” or “modern and profitable,” other social, economic and demographic factors must be taken into account in addition to cadastral income (which is more an indicator of farming quality than of livelihood).

The GISta Hungarorum database44 allows the reconstruction of the socio-economic-demographic conditions of the settlements dominated either by large estates or small farms for 1910. Since various indicators of development are also available (the Human Development Index, HDI at settlement level from 1910 calculated by Zsolt Szilágyi),45 it is also possible to determine whether there was a correlation between general development levels and farm type in 1910. For this purpose, we extracted a list of large farms from the compendium compiled by Gyula Hantos (1926)46 and the Farmers’ Inventory (1897). The former provides statistical data on large estate types within the post-1920 boundaries of Hungary. The latter makes the entire area of the historical country available for analysis from an earlier period, but using different criteria and classifications of large estates. The Farmers’ Inventory from 1935 provides further possibilities. First, it is possible to group the settlements according to the share of the large estates as a proportion of the total area of the given settlements, and second, it is possible to examine the difference in net cadastral incomes per acre between large estates and small farms in the 1920s, but only for the post-Trianon area of the state.47

Based on Hantos’ dataset from the 1920s (the postwar territory of Hungary) and the socio-economic indicators from the census of 1910, it was possible to distinguish aristocratic, non-aristocratic noble, ecclesiastic, etc. large estate types (above 100 acres), and one can also draw a distinction between large estates consisting mostly of arable land and large estates large estates consisting mostly of non-arable land. Using the socio-economic indicators from 1910, the several conclusions can be drawn, each of which I discuss below.

Natural reproduction rate (measured according to the proportion of the population under six years of age) was 1–2 percent higher on almost all types of large holdings than in the settlements dominated by smallholdings.48 The situation was reversed for the population aged 60 and over, with a higher proportion on smallholdings (eight percent versus nine percent). The proportion of elderly people was lower on large farms dominated by arable land, indicating a larger workforce (i.e. people belonging to the work force were usually younger). In 1910, literacy rates on large estates of the noble, feudal, aristocratic, and non-feudal types were one to two percent lower than on small estates. This constitutes a significant change from circumstances in 1880, when literacy rates in the settlements dominated by smallholdings were markedly lower compared to the values in large-estate dominated settlements. Indeed, over the course of those three decades, literacy rates in settlements dominated by smallholdings increased by five percent points. Almost all large estates had 50 percent higher per capita net cadastral income than settlements dominated by smallholders (which is not surprising). The reason for this difference in per capita income clearly lies in the differences in cadastral income per acre, which was significantly higher on the large estates (10.6 vs. 8.6 kronen) than in settlements dominated by smallholdings. Since the amount of land per agricultural earner (including day laborers) was also higher on large estates, the difference in income per earner could be more than 50 percent on most large estates compared to small estates (except for Church and state-owned large estates, where the difference was smaller). The net cadastral income per acre was higher even on the large holdings that were dominated by pasture than it was on the smallholdings.

Death rates were also higher on large estates, as were birth rates. Migration gains were clearly more significant on large estates, with values up to two to three times higher (Church and state-owned estates were the least preferred),49 and in 1910, migration still provided a means with which to address rural overpopulation. On large estates, the death rate from measles, dysentery, and whooping cough was lower.

In terms of distance from the railways, large estates were usually closer than small estates, and the proportion of smallholders compelled to work as day laborers was also higher on large estates (not surprisingly). The quality of housing, on the other hand, was uniformly worse on large estates. In this light, it is particularly noteworthy that mortality from diseases influenced by housing conditions (such as tuberculosis and the commonly prevalent diseases mentioned above) was still lower on these estates. This was probably due to better access to health services in settlements dominated by large estates. The proportion of deceased who had received some medical treatment was also higher on large landholdings.

Finally, the HDI value calculated by Zsolt Szilágyi50 for 1910 was also clearly better in the settlements dominated by large estates and was higher than the national average (Table 10). However, from the perspective of today’s development levels and patterns, there is no connection between the present status of a piece of agricultural land as part of a periphery or core and the locations of former large estates. This means that much has changed over the course of the past century. (High development values were recorded in 2016 on former large estates, where the abundance of arable land was moderate around 1920, i.e. 50-75 percent of the cultivated land).

Based on the 1897 Farmers’ Inventory (which included landowners with estates over 100 cadastral hold), we can draw conclusions for the whole country, not just for the post-Trianon area. Of the 12,600 settlements, 5,576 had no large landholdings and their complex development index was much lower than that of the settlements with large landholdings in 1910 (except the group of large estates less than 15 percent of which was arable land, i.e. they were dominated by forests or pasture). There was hardly any difference in the proportion of the population under six years of age in each group, and the same is true for the population over 60 years of age, in contrast to the results of our investigation using Hantos’ dataset for the “reduced” interwar area in 1926. However, literacy rates were significantly higher in settlements with large estates dominated by ploughland (the opposite was true for the post-1920 country study). The improvement in literacy rates between 1880 and 1910 showed no significant difference between estate types (this also differs from the result of the statistical evaluation of Hantos’ estate list for the post-1920 country), showing an overall improvement of 20 percent (compared to the 5 percent increase in literacy rates in settlements found in the territory of post-Trianon Hungary). The proportion of deceased persons who had received some form of medical treatment was higher on large estates than on small farms. The rate of illegitimate births was high in settlements dominated by forest holdings and was below the national average in settlements with large estates dominated by arable land. However, these two mentioned types of large holdings were the most unfavorable in terms of settlement level infant mortality in 1910.

Table 10. Characteristics of the socio-economic-demographic conditions in the settlements dominated by large estates in the statistics compiled by Hantos in 1926 on large estates (group averages)

Group

Estate  

Population under 6 years 1910, %

Population above 60 years 1910, %

Over 60 years old / under 6 years old

Average
birth rate,  1901
–10

Average death rate, 1901–10  

Average natural reproduction rate, 1901–10

Population increase rate, 1901–10

Average migration rate, 1901–10

Whooping cough, scarlet fever, measles as a % of
total deaths, 1901
–10

Tuberculosis as a % of
total deaths, 1901
–10

large estates of non-nobles

33

17.27

8.32

0.50

37.86

24.04

13.82

74.77

60.96

3.86

16.17

aristocrats

182

16.39

8.10

0.52

37.52

24.08

13.44

73.20

58.99

4.09

14.79

clerical

51

16.28

8.83

0.57

38.33

25.43

12.90

63.61

50.71

4.36

14.53

state (urban)

40

15.73

8.17

0.54

35.57

24.96

10.61

91.30

80.70

3.58

15.18

corporate

3

19.37

4.98

0.26

41.34

21.12

20.22

68.17

47.95

6.00

11.91

foundation

9

15.86

9.03

0.62

35.30

23.68

11.62

98.81

87.19

3.01

16.50

noble

13

16.22

8.00

0.59

38.76

25.16

13.60

111.91

96.11

2.61

15.07

hereditary

20

17.63

7.59

0.45

39.76

25.16

14.60

68.45

53.85

4.66

15.36

all large estates

351

16.46

8.20

0.53

37.60

24.44

13.16

75.80

62.16

4.02

14.99

all municipalities of the country after Trianon

3,392

15.74

9.03

0.62

35.78

23.63

12.15

44.64

31.82

4.74

16.25

settlements without large estates

3,042

15.65

9.13

0.63

35.56

23.53

12.03

41.03

28.31

4.82

16.39

Group

Settlement wealth per capita, 1908, K*

Direct tax per capita, 1909, K

Settlement income per capita, 1909, K

Earners from population, %, 1910

Industrial earners from all earners, 1910, %

Tertiary earner in %, 1910

Literate in 1910, %

Literate in, 1880, %

Increase in literacy rate (1880-1910)
%

Average size of population 1910

large estates of non-nobles

34.09

23.79

8.58

39.09

9.79

16.33

63.43

45.60

17.83

5,665.21

aristocratic

29.72

20.20

7.35

39.27

11.25

15.36

64.84

44.84

20.01

5,100.73

clerical

37.09

19.60

6.97

38.70

9.32

13.33

65.93

45.50

20.43

5,408.08

state (urban)

46.29

10.76

4.19

41.37

17.58

27.70

66.96

49.17

17.79

41,761.78

corporate

9.86

34.79

5.43

37.56

6.08

9.50

59.44

36.68

22.76

2,944.33

foundation

41.73

23.45

6.23

40.09

9.12

14.18

67.15

51.70

15.45

9,236.22

noble

46.74

19.95

8.36

38.00

10.07

12.38

64.09

43.41

20.68

4,462.31

hereditary

19.96

24.50

6.25

38.07

9.27

15.62

61.83

44.43

17.40

4,368.45

all large estates

33.30

19.82

6.98

39.30

11.30

16.39

64.92

45.53

19.39

9,398.59

all municipalities of the country after Trianon

25.31

16.06

6.44

40.82

10.18

13.61

65.67

42.47

23.21

2,362.15

settlements without large estates

24.38

15.63

6.37

40.98

10.05

13.28

65.74

42.10

23.64

1,549.47

* Kronen

Group

Smallholders compelled today laborers %, 1910

Cadastral income / agr. earner
(K, 1910)

Cadastral income/capita (K, 1910)

Cadastral income per acre (K, 1910)

Cadastral income per estate
(K, 1910)

Average estate size
(acre, 1910)

Average estate size per one agr. earner
(acre, 1910)

Direct tax / cadastral income in 1910

large estates of non-nobles

64.32

146.00

32.76

12.78

467.44

31.81

11.64

0.73

aristocrats

62.01

125.54

28.70

10.47

1945.19

275.39

12.35

0.70

clerical

62.17

95.39

25.05

9.61

124.52

12.74

9.66

0.78

state (urban)

59.47

96.31

18.88

10.14

4776.94

247.35

10.37

0.57

corporate

43.98

258.43

32.44

11.11

5986.46

430.17

20.42

1.07

foundation

58.01

127.40

33.31

12.00

263.55

21.74

10.75

0.70

noble

63.16

106.85

30.42

9.92

158.80

16.85

11.02

0.66

hereditary

60.43

159.60

31.05

10.93

1222.40

91.68

14.60

0.79

all large estates

61.66

122.18

27.78

10.57

1757.26

186.64

11.77

0.71

all municipalities of the country after Trianon

62.98

77.69

21.75

8.82

239.51

28.61

9.85

0.74

settlements without large estates

63.12

72.53

21.04

8.62

64.30

10.37

9.62

0.74

Group

Deaths, receiving medical treatment (1=100%)

Share of persons involved in home industry to total population, 1910

Infant mortality measured to deaths, avg. of 1901–1910 (1=100%)

Houses of bad quality material in 1910 (1=100%)

HDI in 1910

(Szilágyi 2019)

Territorial development index in 2010-
(Pénzes 2014)

Distance from nearest railway station (m, 1890)

large estates of non-nobles

0.86

0.002

0.33

0.64

0.42

0.524

14,226

aristocrats

0.76

0.002

0.34

0.54

0.41

0.548

9947

clerical

0.74

0.001

0.32

0.68

0.41

0.576

14,138

state (urban)

0.87

0.002

0.31

0.54

0.43

0.616

7891

corporate

0.76

0.003

0.39

0.51

0.44

0.479

18,282

foundation

0.88

0.002

0.31

0.70

0.42

0.531

9542

noble

0.73

0.001

0.36

0.81

0.40

0.544

8090

hereditary

0.81

0.002

0.35

0.57

0.43

0.518

12,291

all large estates

0.78

0.002

0.33

0.59

0.41

0.588

10,850

all municipalities of the country after Trianon

0.48

0.002

0.32

0.46

0.38

0.568

11,768

settlements without large estates

0.44

0.002

0.32

0.45

0.38

 

11,870

Settlement wealth per capita was also high for large estates over 75 percent of which was arable land, as was the value of direct taxes. This was similar for “smaller” large estates under 500 acres. Municipal incomes per capita were similar in all categories, except for large estates over 75 percent of which was arable land, where we find an outlier value. Large estates over 75 percent of which was ploughland and those with over 1,000 acres had higher birth rates, while there was no difference in the death rates between estate types. However, migration rates were high towards settlements with large estates dominated by forest and grassland and estates that were over 1000 acres, while in settlements with large estates dominated by arable land the rate of population growth from migration was below the national average. The death rates from scarlet fever, measles, and whooping cough were particularly high in settlements with large holdings dominated by pasture and forests and on large holdings under 500 acres, exceeding the average measured for villages dominated by smallholdings. (Again, this contradicts the results of the earlier study on a narrower area, suggesting that the difference is not really due to the size of the estate but to other, natural geographic and cultural causes, as was true in the case of the contrast regarding literacy described above.) In the case of tuberculosis, however, there was no such remarkable difference. The share of industrial earners was significant on extremely large estates and large estates dominated by pasture, forest, and ploughland, two percentage points above the share measured in settlements dominated by small estates. Large estates dominated by ploughland and estates over 1,000 acres were four and a half kilometers closer to railway stations than small estates (again excluding large estates dominated by forest and grassland).

Table 11. The socio-economic and demographic development conditions in 1910 in the settlements dominated by the large estates on the basis of the 1897 Farmers’ Inventory compared with the situation in settlements dominated by small farms

Large estate

Case number (settlements)

Composite development indicator of Demeter, 1910

Population below 6 years, 1910 %

Population above 60 years, 1910, %

Literacy rate, 1910, %

Increase in literacy in %, 1880–1910

Settlement wealth per capita in K, 1909

Direct tax per capita in K, 1909

under 500 kh*

2,215

0.407

16.017

9.010

50.505

21.908

35.400

12.143

500–1000 kh

1,308

0.719

16.293

8.703

53.434

22.551

30.277

14.214

above 1000 kh

3,559

0.995

16.190

8.347

56.065

21.998

28.373

15.274

average of all large estates

7,082

0.760

16.155

8.620

53.840

22.072

30.922

14.099

average of all settlements

12,658

0.513

16.022

8.814

51.554

21.774

30.760

12.836

all settlements without large estates

5,576

0.200

15.850

9.060

48.650

21.400

30.550

11.230

* Cadastral acre = 5570 m2.

Large estate

Birth rate, avg. of, 1901–1910

Death rate,
avg. of
1901–1910

Natural increase avg. of
1901–1910

Total increase, avg. of,
1901–1910

Migration rate, avg. of
1901–1910

Measles, scarlet fever, whooping cough as a % of total deaths, 1901–1910

Tuberculosis as a % of total deaths,
1901–1910

under 500 kh

36.167

24.512

11.655

35.733

23.711

7.045

13.800

500–1000 kh

36.811

24.262

12.549

35.840

23.521

6.742

14.186

above 1000 kh

37.121

24.635

12.487

52.561

39.432

5.757

14.758

average of all large estates

36.765

24.527

12.238

44.209

31.576

6.342

14.353

average of all settlements

36.193

24.496

11.697

39.473

27.664

6.552

14.243

all settlements without large estates

35.470

24.460

11.01

33.460

22.700

6.820

14.100

Large estate

Agrarian earners from all earners, %, 1910

Industrial earners, %, 1910

Acre per 1 agrarian inhabitant,
1910

Smallholders compelled to do daily labor for wages, 1910, %

Net cadastral income/capita, 1910, K

Direct tax/net cadastral income, 1910

Net cadastral income on 1 cultivated acre, 1910, K

under 500 kh

80.28

8.54

4.675

63.83

14.87

1.043

5.927

500–1000 kh

78.17

9.13

4.720

62.49

18.40

0.992

7.210

above 1000 kh

73.16

11.35

5.059

63.13

20.16

0.967

7.774

average of all large estates

76.31

10.06

4.876

63.23

18.18

0.995

7.092

average of all settlements

78.06

9.32

5.051

65.69

15.73

1.096

6.230

all settlements without large estates

80.29

8.39

5.270

68.81

12.62

1.23

5.14

Large estate

Literacy rate in %, 1880

Distance from railway station (m) 1890

Decrease in distance from railway station, 1890-1910

Population dealing with home industry from total population (1=100%)

Deceased receiving medical treatment, 1910 (1=100%)

Illegitimate births, avg. of 1901-1910 (%)

Infant mortality from deaths, avg. of 1901-1910 (1=100%)

Average estate size in acre, 1910

under 500 kh

28.596

16358.1

7559.2

0.003

0.314

8.649

0.294

11.128

500–1000 kh

30.883

14662.1

6384.2

0.003

0.359

8.743

0.303

12.031

above 1000 kh

34.068

13494.4

6280.5

0.003

0.487

9.475

0.312

34.375

average of all large estates

31.768

14605.7

6699.6

0.003

0.409

9.081

0.305

23.013

average of all settlements

29.782

15689.2

7141.4

0.003

0.345

9.000

0.298

22.343

all settlements without large estate

27.260

17065.4

7702.6

0.000

0.260

8.900

0.290

21.490

Table 12. The value of socio-economic-demographic indicators (1910’s census) in the sub-groups of the large landholding population, based on the categorizations used in the Farmers’ Inventory (Gazdacímtár) in 1935

Estate type by size in acre (settlement number in brackets)

Settlement size (population), 1910

Average
death rate, 1901
–1910 (1=100%)

Population under 6, 1910 (1=100%)

State tax per capita
(1910, K)

Crude
death rate, avg. of 1901-1910

Literacy rate in 1910 among population above 6 years, %

HDI 1910 (Szilágyi, Zsolt, 2019)

Composite development in 1910 (composed of the single variables used here)

under 500 acres (502)

900.664

0.024

0.160

7.177

23.283

78.275

0.382

1.214

above 500 acres (1969)

3267.898

0.024

0.147

13.012

24.045

77.125

0.387

1.379

fragment (275)

1103.306

0.022

0.161

7.092

23.464

78.143

0.380

1.104

All settlements’ value

2611.682

0.024

0.149

12.388

23.845

77.440

0.385

1.321

Estate type by size in acre (settlement number in brackets)

Average cadastral income of
large estates, 1935, aK
*

Average cadastral income of large estates per acre, 1935, aK

Proportion of estates under 1 acre, 1935 (1=100%)

Proportion of estates over 100 acre, 1935 (1=100%)

Average size of all estates inc. large landholdings (kh)

Total cadastral income of ALL estates in 1935, aK

Total cadastral income of smallholdings in 1935, aK

Cadastral income of smallholdings per acre in 1935, aK

under 500 acres (502)

2058.86

7.169

0.232

0.422

1409.34

11305

9100

7.299

above 500 acres (1969)

18,926.28

6.643

0.262

0.600

5519.81

47914

27,483

6.184

fragment (275)

262.19

7.534

0.277

0.197

1237.12

11149

10,829

4.935

All settlements’ value

14,047.96

6.830

0.258

0.526

4317.04

37281

22,403

6.264

* Golden crowns instead of pengő to make data comparable with that in 19

The share of smallholders compelled to work as day laborers approached the high value typical for smallholding villages only in the type of large holdings that were predominantly pasture. This may have been due to the fact that on the large holdings that were predominantly ploughland and on extensive large holdings landless day laborers were often the majority of the work force. Net cadastral income per capita was more significant on large holdings than on smallholdings (except for the large estates dominated by pasture or forests), supporting the notion that large holdings were more productive (though this still does not include data on livestock). For large holdings of over 1,000 acres 75 percent of which were ploughland, net cadastral income per acre was also notably high.

The significance of the 1935 Farmers’ Inventory for the present investigation (as well as the inventory from 1910, which we did not use here) is that it allows us to determine the productivity of small farms. By aggregating the total area and total income of large farms by settlement given in the inventory and subtracting these values from the total income and total area of settlements published by the Central Statistical Bureau in 1935 we can calculate the unpublished cadastral income data for smallholdings. In addition, it is also possible to create groups based on the proportion of large holdings (as a percent of area) per settlement and calculate the socioeconomic indicators for these subsets, within the post-1920 state boundaries.

The share of large landholdings as a percentage of total cultivated land in 1935 was analyzed in the following subgroups: above 60 percent, 40 percent-60 percent and 20 percent-40 percent. 1,970 settlements had large estates of over 500 acres (a share usually higher than 60 percent of the total cultivated land of the settlements), 500 settlements had large estate(s) between 100 and 500 acres, and 275 settlements had only large estate fragments under 100 acres (here the share of large estates was usually less than 20 percent of the total cultivated land). Some 600 settlements had no large holdings at all on their administrative area. To sum it up, in 1935, 56 percent of the settlements had a landholding of over 500 acres on their territory (Table 12).

Despite the fact that the 1910 value of the historical HDI calculated by Szilágyi did not show significant differences between the estate types, this does not exclude the possibility that some of its components (HDI is composed of literacy rate, life expectancy, GDP/capita) did so—offsetting each others’ effects. However, there were no differences in mortality rates, neither within the large estate types nor compared to the national average (mortality rates were used as proxies to life expectancy missing from 1910). The proportion of the population under six years of age was one percent higher on settlements with large estates compared to settlements with no estates over 100 acres kh, and 1 percent higher than the national average. The direct taxes per capita, which functioned as the basis of the local municipal surtax (and was used as a proxy to substitute missing settlement-level GDP data by Szilágyi, were high on large estates of over 500 kh (direct taxes still applied to incomes from tertiary and secondary sectors, in addition to agrarian land taxes).

Table 12. The value of socio-economic-demographic indicators (1910’s census) in the sub-groups of the large landholding population, based on the categorizations used in the Farmers’ Inventory (Gazdacímtár) in 1935

Estate type by size in acre (settlement number in brackets)

Settlement size (population), 1910

Average
death rate, 1901
–1910 (1=100%)

Population under 6, 1910 (1=100%)

State tax per capita
(1910, K)

Crude
death rate, avg. of 1901-1910

Literacy rate in 1910 among population above 6 years, %

HDI 1910 (Szilágyi, Zsolt, 2019)

Composite development in 1910 (composed of the single variables used here)

under 500 acres (502)

900.664

0.024

0.160

7.177

23.283

78.275

0.382

1.214

above 500 acres (1969)

3267.898

0.024

0.147

13.012

24.045

77.125

0.387

1.379

fragment (275)

1103.306

0.022

0.161

7.092

23.464

78.143

0.380

1.104

All settlements’ value

2611.682

0.024

0.149

12.388

23.845

77.440

0.385

1.321

Estate type by size in acre (settlement number in brackets)

Average cadastral income of
large estates, 1935, aK
*

Average cadastral income of large estates per acre, 1935, aK

Proportion of estates under 1 acre, 1935 (1=100%)

Proportion of estates over 100 acre, 1935 (1=100%)

Average size of all estates inc. large landholdings (kh)

Total cadastral income of ALL estates in 1935, aK

Total cadastral income of smallholdings in 1935, aK

Cadastral income of smallholdings per acre in 1935, aK

under 500 acres (502)

2058.86

7.169

0.232

0.422

1409.34

11305

9100

7.299

above 500 acres (1969)

18,926.28

6.643

0.262

0.600

5519.81

47914

27,483

6.184

fragment (275)

262.19

7.534

0.277

0.197

1237.12

11149

10,829

4.935

All settlements’ value

14,047.96

6.830

0.258

0.526

4317.04

37281

22,403

6.264

* Golden crowns instead of pengő to make data comparable with that in 1910.

However, compared to the previous examinations, there is a significant difference in net cadastral income per acre. The net cadastral incomes per acre on large estates were lowest for large holdings over 500 acres in 1935. At the same time, the net cadastral incomes of small farms were also low, somewhat lower than that of large holdings, but this situation was reversed for holdings between 100 and 500 acres. Here, the net cadastral income per acre on a large estate was higher than on large estates over 500 acres, but the net incomes of smallholdings were even greater. In contrast, the cadastral incomes per acre of the fragmented large estates exceeded that of the other categories of large estates and was also higher than cadastral incomes on smallholdings, since the net cadastral incomes of the small estates were lowest here, in this category, where there were hardly any large estates anyway. In other words, the presence of large landholdings seems to have had a positive effect on the net cadastral income per acre of small landholdings too.

If the values of single variables are aggregated in one composite development index, the most undeveloped settlements were those where only fragments of large estates were found (less than 100 acres in 1935), while settlements with large holdings over 500 acres showed development levels above the national average (1.37). This sheds new light on Móricz’s investigations concerning the welfare of the people who lived and worked on large estates in the interwar period.

Archival Sources

Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Országos Levéltára [National Archives of Hungary] (MNL OL)

A39 A Magyar Kancelláriai Levéltár [Archives of the Hungarian Chancery]

Acta Generalia (1770–1848), 3688/1786

Központi Statisztikai Hivatal [Archives of the Central Statisctical Bureau]

Iratgyűjtemények (volt F iratgyűjtemény) (1701–1996), XXXII-23-j-12, 31–85. doboz.Az 1728-as adóösszeírás feldolgozásának anyaga (Perjés Géza hagyatéka).

Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Békés Vármegyei Levéltára [National Archives of Hungary, Archives of County Békés] (MNL BéML)

IV. Megyei törvényhatóságok, szabad királyi városok és törvényhatósági jogú városok [County municipalities, royal cities, and towns with municipality rights]

B. 156 A Csabai Cs. Kir. Vegyes Szolgabíróság iratai [Papers of Csaba

B. 202 Szarvas mezőváros iratai

B. 302 Document of Békéscsaba nagyközség iratai

B. 317 Gyoma nagyközség (1872-ig mezőváros) iratai

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Für, Lajos. A csákvári uradalom a tőkés gazdálkodás útján, 1870–1914 [The manor of Csákvár on the road to capitalism]. Budapest: Mezőgazdasági Múzeum, 1969.

Garda, Dezső. Főnépek, lófők, gyalogkatonák Csíkban és Gyergyóban: Csík és Gyergyó gazdasági fejlődése és népességének alakulása 1750-ig [Economic growth and population in Csík and Gyergyó until 1750]. Csíkszereda: Státus Kiadó, 1999.

Glósz, József.“Területi hiány és felesleg Magyarország gabonatermelésében a 19. század első felében” [Territorial patterns of shortages and surpluses in grain production in Hungary in the first half of the nineteenth century]. Korall 10, no. 36 (2009): 119–40.

Glósz, József. “A gabonakereskedelem feltételrendszere Magyarországon a 19. század első felében: A hiány és felesleg területi mérlege” [The conditions of grain trade in Hungary in the first half of the nineteenth century: the territorial balance of shortages and surpluses]. Aetas 24, no. 4 (2009): 16–31.

Glósz, József. “A birtokviszonyok hatása Magyarország gabonamérlegére a 19. század első felében” [The impact of land tenure on Hungary’s grain balance in the first half of the nineteenth century]. In Eszmék, forradalmak, háborúk: Vadász Sándor 80 éves, edited by Béla Háda, 199–214. Budapest: ELTE, 2010.

Kerék, Mihály. A magyar földkérdés [The land question in Hungary]. Budapest: MEFHOSZ Kiadó, 1939.

Miklóssy, Endre. “A területi elmaradottság társadalmi és gazdasági összetevői” [Social and economic components of territorial backwardness]. Magyar Tudomány 97 (Új folyam 35), no.8 (1990): 881–94.

Mollov, Yanaki, and Nikola Kondov. Dohodnostta na 44 zemedelski stopanstva v Balgariya za 1929–1930 godina [Income of 44 farms in Bulgaria in 1929–1930]. Sofia, 1932.

Mollov, Yanaki, and Nikola Kondov. Dohodnostta na 73 zemedelski stopanstva v Balgariya za 1930–1931 godina [Income of 73 farms in Bulgaria in 1930–1931]. Sofia, 1934.

Mollov, Yanaki, and Nikola Kondov. Dohodnostta na 66 zemedelski stopanstva v Balgariya za 1931–1932 stopanska godina [Income of 66 farms in Bulgaria in 1931–1932]. Sofia, 1936.

Móricz, Miklós. “Nagybirtok, népszaporodás, népsűrűség” [Large estates, population growth, and density]. Magyar Statisztikai Szemle 14, no. 4 (1936): 293–309.

Keleti, Károly. A telekadó és kataster: Közgazdasági és statistikai szempontból [The land tax and cadaster: Economic and statistical aspects]. Pest, 1868.

Nagy, Mariann. A magyar mezőgazdaság regionális szerkezete a 20. század elején [The regional structure of the Hungarian agriculture]. Budapest: Gondolat, 2003.

Orosz, István. A jobbágyvilág megszűnése Magyarországon [The dissolution of serfdom in Hungary]. Debrecen: Debreceni Egyetem Történelmi Intézete, 2010.

Pénzes, János. Periférikus térségek lehatárolása – dilemmák és lehetőségek [Defining peripheral areas – dilemmas and opportunities]. Debrecen: Didakt Kiadó, 2014.

Rózsa, Sándor. “Az ártéri gazdálkodás mérlege: A nagykunsági települések gazdasági kondíciója az első kataszteri felmérés alapján” [The economic balance of floodplain management: The economic condition of the settlements of Nagykunság according to the first cadastral survey]. In Környezettörténet 3, edited by Gábor Demeter, Zoltán Kern, Zsolt Pinke, Beatrix F. Romhányi, András Vadas, and László Bíró, 39–64. Budapest: MTA BTK, 2021.

Sándor, Pál. “A XIX. századi parasztbirtok vizsgálatának történeti-statisztikai forrásai, módszerei és újabb eredményei” [Historical-statistical sources, methods and recent results of the study of the nineteenth-century peasant farms]. Agrártörténeti Szemle 6, no. 1–2 (1964): 36–81.

Sándor, Pál. “A XIX. századi parasztbirtok vizsgálatának problémái és újabb eredményei a felszabadulás utáni irodalom tükrében” [The problems and recent results of studying the nineteenth-century peasant farms in the light of post-liberation literature]. Agrártörténeti Szemle 10, no. 1–2 (1968): 94–117.

Sándor, Pál. Birtokrendezési periratok [Property settlement documents]. Értekezések a történeti tudományok köréből. Új sorozat 69. Budapest: Akaémiai, 1973.

Szilágyi, Zsolt. “Regional Differences in Development and Quality of Life in Hungary during the First Third of the Twentieth Century.” Hungarian Historical Review 8, no.1 (2019): 121–52.

Szilágyi, Zsolt. Az ismeretlen Alföld: A táj területi egyenlőtlenségei a 20. század elején [The unknown Great Plains: Spatial inequalities in the landscape at the beginning of the twentieth century]. Budapest: BTK TTI, 2022.

T. Mérey, Klára. A somogyi parasztság útja a feudalizmusból a kapitalizmusba [The path of the peasantry in Somogy from feudalism to capitalism]. Budapest: Akadémiai, 1965.

Tóth, Tibor. A Dunántúli kisüzemek termelése és gazdálkodása az 1930-as években: Kísérlet néhány matematikai-statisztikai eljárás alkalmazására [The production and management of small farms in Transdanubia in the 1930s: An attempt to apply some mathematical-statistical methods]. Értekezések a történeti tudományok köréből 102. Budapest: Akadémai, 1983.

Zagorov, Slavcho, Aleksandr Bilimovich, and Jenő Végh. The Agricultural Economy of the Danubian Countries, 1933–45. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1955.

 

1 Miklóssy, “A területi elmaradottság,” 881–89.

2 Large estates had higher birth rates and lower death rates than the villages dominated by small estates, but population increases were not high due to significant emigration (reaching 40 percent of the natural population increase, whereas in the small estates emigration accounted for an estimated 25 percent of the population increase), despite the fact that population density was the lowest on the large estates. Miklós Móricz interprets this as an indication that the large estate were less sustainable, although it is more likely that fewer people were needed to run a large estate efficiently. Móricz, “Nagybirtok,” 293–309.

3 Czettler, “Földbirtok-politika,” Table 51.

4 According to a statistical assessment of 232 small farms, Kerék argues that although large farms produced more grains (an average of +2 quintals of grain per acre and +800 liters of milk per cow compared to smallholding), the small farms had much larger numbers of livestock, which means that while the large farms had a gross income of 135–167 pengő per acre, the small farms have gross incomes of 170–190 pengő per acre. In addition, the Hungarian smallholders marketed more products (as a percentage of their products) than Balkan smallholders (which were self-sustaining economies according to Chayanov), up to 60–70 percent (compared to 25–35 percent), similarly to the large estates. It is therefore not surprising that the share of contributions made by smallholders to total marketed goods was also high. The net income was thus between 57 and 64 pengő on the small farms compared to 31–35 pengő on the large landholdings. Kerék, A magyar földkérdés, 361–64.

5 Net cadastral land income is calculated in Hungarian statistics as the difference between incomes and costs, so it is similar to the term profit.

6 Zagorov et al., The Agricultural Economy, 15–22, and 50.

7 Tóth, A Dunántúli kisüzemek, 29.

8 Mollov and Kondov, Dohodnostta. According to our recent surveys, this did not stand for the 1860s.

9 Für, A csákvári uradalom, 33–139; Sándor, Birtokrendezési periratok, 94–95; Orosz, A jobbágyvilág megszűnése, 125; Egyed, Falu, város, civilizáció, 134–35; Sándor, “A XIX. századi parasztbirtok,” 1968, 94–117, and Sándor, “A XIX. századi parasztbirtok,” 1964, 36–81.

10 T. Mérey, A somogyi parasztság, 248; Orosz, A jobbágyvilág megszűnése, 133.

11 Eddie, Ami “köztudott”, az igaz is?, 83.

12 See Demeter et al., “Földminőség.”

13 See Demeter and Koloh, “Birtokstruktúra és jövedelmezőség.”

14 MNL OL. Központi Statisztikai Hivatal [Archives of the Central Statisctical Bureau]. Iratgyűjtemények (volt F iratgyűjtemény) (1701–1996), XXXII-23-j-12, 31–85.

15 In the eighteenth century, instead of yields expressed in quintals, grain yield was given as a ratio to seeds sown. Thus, all quantified data expressed here in kg, q, or tons are calculated and estimated.

16 See Demeter and Horváth, “Sopron vármegye.”

17 Glósz’s calculations are very similar. From a different basis he gives five pozsonyi mérő (pm) for an adult person without animals, which is 225 kg. In case of animals fed from arable land this goes up to nine pm. (Glósz, “Területi hiány és felesleg”; Glósz, “A gabonakereskedelem feltételrendszere”; Glósz, “A birtokviszonyok.”

18 This is only valid from the late 18th century according to Schwartner’s description. See Bogdán, Magyarországi űr-, térfogat-, súly és darabmértékek, 303–4.

19 In our opinion (see Demeter and Horváth, “Sopron vármegye”), three-field system were usually applied where intensive farming was needed because of the lack or low quality of arable land. In general, seed yields were also higher for plots using the two-field system. The implementation of three-field system was to compensate for this by extending the arable area from 50 percent to two-third of the ploughland, by reducing the fallow land. In regions using three-field system the ratio of peasants with half plots or less was also high, referring to relative shortages in arable land. The data also indicate that manure was not widespread on lands of better quality and higher yield in 1728. Wheat grain yields were only 1:2.5 in villages in which manure was used, but were close to 1:3 in villages in which manure was not used. The villages in which manure was used presumably relied more on livestock farming than on crop production.

20 Garda, Főnépek, lófők, gyalogkatonák, 138–50.

21 The term refers essentially to a haystack, though the term does not indicate a precise shape or quantity.

22 Demeter et al., Kisatlasz, 175 (Map 129). According to calculations based on the raw data of the 1897 Farmers’ Inventory (Gazdacímtár 1897), the share of arable land on large estates was above the national average in the floodplain counties, but on small farms it was even higher.

23 In Nagykunság and Csongrád Counties in the south, even the small amount of tenant ploughlands resulted in a large grain output per acre, and the landlord expropriated only a quarter of this. In the Tisza floodplain, more than half of the total harvested cereals went to the landlord, as was the case, for instance, in Heves, but the extent of the ploughlands was much greater in the latter. Thus, although the total per capita cereal yield in the Central Tisza region was higher than in the Kiskunság and Jászság, in the latter regions the proportion of grain expropriated by the landlords were only around 10 percent.

24 Pozsonyi mérő. Hereinafter referred as pm. Two pm equals to one cubulus, thus one pm is approximately 45 kg.

25 MNL OL. A39 A Magyar Kancelláriai Levéltár [Archives of the Hungarian Chancery]. Acta Generalia (1770–1848), 3688/1786.

26 See Demeter and Koloh, “Birtokstruktúra és jövedelmezőség,” 25–76.

27 Considering arable land, small farms were more productive in Ormánság, while in Békés and Csanád Counties large farms were more productive in terms of income per acre.

28 From this, we deduct the seed. One Hungarian acre = one cubulus = two pozsonyi mérő of seed (125 l = 92 kg) = 4,200 sq m. This gives an estimate of the seed output, which is 2:7 in Moson and 2:9 in Nagykunság as a ratio of seed yield to seeds sown.

29 Control area.

30 Magyarország művelési ágak szerinti terjedelme és földjövedelme, 1865.

31 We still do not have data on settlement level yield (in tons) between 1865 and 1910. Instead, net cadastral income was measured in 1865 in forints, which was the basis of the land tax. However, this indicator reveals nothing concerning expenditures or gross incomes.

32 Eddie, Ami “köztudott”, az igaz is?

33 One forint = two kronen (two crowns or two golden crowns) = ca. two French francs.

34 Our 1865 (and 1910) data only give the value of crop production. They do not reveal anything concerning livestock production. The figure of six forints was well above the national average.

35 For net income per acre above six forints, smallholdings included settlements such as Ruszt and Kismarton/Eisenstadt (no large holdings were recorded in either place, so there were no such settlements skewing the average upwards), which certainly owe their inclusion in the group to their special agricultural crops (wines, grape) and not to cereals.

36 That included land tax based on net cadastral income, taxes on houses, industrial taxes, and profit taxes paid by enterprises.

37 Eddie, Ami “köztudott”, az igaz is?, 75–88.

38 Nagy, A magyar mezőgazdaság, 36.

39 MNL BéML IV. Megyei törvényhatóságok, szabad királyi városok és törvényhatósági jogú városok B. 156. A Csabai Cs. Kir. Vegyes Szolgabíróság iratai 1133/1857. Birtokosok kimutatása községenként 1857-ben; MNL BéML V. Mezővárosok, rendezett tanácsú városok, községek. B.202. Szarvas mezőváros iratai 635/1857. List of landowners with more than 100 acres; MNL BéML V. Községek B. 317. Gyoma nagyközség (1872-ig mezőváros) iratai b. Közigazgatási iratok 823/1857. List of landowners with more than 100 acres; MNL BéML V. Városok B. 302. Document of Békéscsaba nagyközség iratai b. Tanács-ülési jegyzőkönyvek 582/1857. List of landowners with more than 100 acres.

40 Keleti, A telekadó és kataster, 7–14.

41 Pr. refers to praedium, in this case that is economically exploited area without settlement (community) on it (Hungarian puszta).

42 Part of the settlement was owned by the landlord, the other part belonged to the community.

43 Whereas golden crown and kronen before 1910 meant almost the same, the new Hungarian currency after World War I, the pengő, had a different exchange rate. Therefore we use values expressed in golden crowns (real price instead of nominal price represented by pengő) in order to make them comparable with the prewar kronen (crowns) and to eliminate the effect of inflation.

44 For the census data of 1910 in excel sheets, see: www.gistory.hu.

45 Szilágyi, Az ismeretlen Alföld.

46 Hantos, Magyarország nagybirtok-térképe.

47 In a separate study, the socio-economic-demographic indicators of villages in 1910 that were dominated by former tenants versus landless cottars are analyzed to examine the extent to which they differed from one another 60 years after the abolition of serfdom.

48 Differences were checked with a two sample t-tests. Hereafter, unless otherwise indicated, differences are defined as significant at p=0.05 significance level, which means that there is only a five percent probability of that the measured difference is insignificant (contrary to our assumption).

49 This did not necessarily meant that work opportunities and living conditions on the large estates were better. Rather, it was simply not possible to create new plots for smallholders at the time except by breaking existing estates into smaller fragments. This made migration a viable macro-social strategy. The populations of large estates were recruited from poor areas (such as Göcsej, Matyóföld, and Szabolcs).

50 Szilágyi, “Regional differences.”

* This study was supported by and realized within the frames of the HAS RCH Lendület "Ten Generations" research project.

2024_3_Romhanyi

Spatial Transformations and Regional Differences in the Medieval Kingdom of pdfHungary (1000–1500)

Beatrix F. Romhányi
Károli Gáspár University of the Reformed Church
This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 3 (2024): 339-360 DOI 10.38145/2024.3.339

Spatial transformations of the economies and/or demographic trends of pre-modern European kingdoms are difficult to assess, as statistical data are not available. However, it is possible to create large data sets using different types of sources, including written and archaeological, which can be used as indicators of relative population density, economic activity, and regional differences. Although most of these data included are qualitative in nature and many can only have binary values (0 or 1), the use of a large number of variables has led to reasonable results that can be compared with the results of analyses in later periods. Most of the data available are related mainly either to agriculture or ecclesiastical institutions (parishes and monasteries). The period before the Mongol invasion in 1241 is mainly represented by archaeological data, while for the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries there are considerably more written sources. One of the most important sources is the papal tithe register of 1332–1337, the only tax in Hungary directly related to the differences in agricultural incomes. However, the focus of this paper is not on individual time periods, but on the spatial changes that occurred within the medieval Kingdom of Hungary between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries, with a particular emphasis on possible driving forces behind these changes and various regional differences.

Keywords: Middle Ages, Kingdom of Hungary, regional differences, spatial trans­form­ations, long-term processes

Introduction

While the comparative study of regional differences has become an increasingly important approach in the research undertaken in recent decades, researchers face serious challenges when attempting such comparisons from a diachronic point of view. First, they must address problems concerning the changing significance of the indicators. Second, they must grapple with the problem of the changing or unknown boundaries of the territorial units analyzed.1 If one goes further back in time, a third major difficulty arises: the lack of statistically analyzable, serial or at least numerical data. However, the possibility of processing large and complex data sets containing both qualitative and quantitative data offers a new perspective for diachronic research and may help historians overcome these difficulties. In recent years, such data sets were compiled for the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, using a combination of written and archaeological evidence. Collaboration with geographers and historians who focus on later periods added a lot to the methodology and inspired new research projects, one of which started in 2024 and aims to develop the already existing medieval data set further and connect it to the databases relevant to the modern period.2 In the discussion below, I focus on some lessons of this series of analyses, calling attention in part to how different types of agricultural incomes (basically, those characteristic of rural areas) can be represented visually and interpreted based on the available evidence.

Sources, Possibilities, and Limitations

The sources for such a database are partly written and partly archaeological. For the earlier period, i.e. the period before the Mongol Invasion in 1241–1242, archaeological evidence predominates, while from the second half of the thirteenth century onwards written evidence becomes more and more important. The problem with most of the data is that, unlike the data used in modern statistical surveys, they cannot be linked to a single date and sometimes not even to a clearly defined, brief period. The only exception is the Papal tithe register of 1332–1337, which can be supplemented by the Zagreb register of 1334.3 These two sources cover nearly 90 percent of the parish network in the early fourteenth century. Thus, in this case too, additional sources from a longer period need to be consulted to fill in the missing data.

Another problem is the lack of continuous variables for most of the period. Hardly any tax censuses survive, and those that do survive do not cover the whole of the kingdom. Furthermore, the royal tax levied on tenant peasants was not dependent on income. The amount was the same, rather, for all taxpayers. Again, the only exception in this case was the papal tithe, since the tax paid by the priests to the papal curia was related, albeit indirectly and in a somewhat complicated way, to the agricultural incomes of the faithful who paid the church tithe.

Given the limitations and difficulties mentioned above, other methods are needed to measure regional differences before modern statistical data collection became a common practice. First, a combination of well-defined historical, art historical, and archaeological data needs to be compiled in a complex database. These data then need to be assessed as a proxy for development. As their relevance changes over time (for example, the presence of certain institutions, the value of privileges, or indicators such as literacy do not always reflect the same position in the settlement hierarchy), the validity of proxy data needs to be reassessed in each context.

Since life in medieval European societies was closely linked to a network of religious institutions, such as parishes and monasteries, data concerning these institutions can also serve as the basis for the database. Unlike many other phenomena in this part of Europe, these institutions are also well documented and can be (or were) precisely dated (on the basis of either written sources or archaeological/art historical evidence). Furthermore, as they were ubiquitous throughout Latin Europe, the basic structure of the network did not differ significantly from region to region. This allows for meaningful comparison of the data, even between distant parts of the continent.

One may ask why it is worth setting up such databases and analyzing them in a comparative way. Even if there are no statistical data for the medieval and early modern periods, pilot projects, such as those depicted on Maps 1 and 2, have shown that well-defined indicators and appropriate methods of creating visual depictions can lead to new, meaningfully interpretable results. In this way, we can identify long-term processes, stable and changing elements of spatial patterns, and periods of transformation. These periods of transformation do not necessarily coincide with the turning points defined by political history. This new approach thus calls attention to the importance of other factors, such as environmental changes, changes in the way of life, and technical developments, which may well have influenced settlement patterns and economic activity more than politics.

Furthermore, this methodology makes it possible to link longer historical periods and draw comparisons between data concerning recent times and data relevant to considerably earlier periods (and significantly, even to arrive at new comparisons of the pre-Ottoman period and the post-Ottoman period). This is particularly important, as the Ottoman period caused a well-known rupture in many respects, and the fragmentation of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, combined with the large-scale loss of sources and the profound transformation of both estate structure and society, led to discontinuities in the historical narratives and made it difficult to model the changes that took place.

This kind of research also promises to further a more nuanced understanding of how certain regions became developed or underdeveloped. Which regions enjoyed periods of continuous development, and which remained less active? If we can answer these questions with reasonable accuracy, these findings may well contribute to a better grasp of long-term processes in the past and even prospective for regional planning today.

There are limitations on the potentials of this research, however. The data sets are very different in size (from a few hundred entities—based on both written and archeological evidence—for the period of the foundation of the kingdom c. 1000 to about 15,000 entities for the end of the Middle Ages), and the data themselves are of different types, ranging from serial sources related to economy such as the papal tithe register to individual sources reflecting cultural achievements such as the schools, students attending universities or even organs and tower-clocks. Furthermore, even for individual settlements, the data are very uneven, making it impossible to interpret development levels at the settlement level. A partial exception is the group of the privileged towns throughout the Middle Ages. It is also important to note that, in the absence of serial sources, data must be collected over longer periods, often several decades. The criteria for data collection must therefore be precisely defined and strictly adhered to. However, even so, the results of the analyses cannot be tied to an exact year or even decade. A certain level of uncertainty remains, which means that only changes between relatively distant time periods (at least a hundred years) can be assessed.

One further difficulty is that data from the period after the Mongol Invasion are mainly available for settlements with parish churches. This is evident in the case of the dataset for the 1330s. Even if there are data for settlements that are not mentioned in the papal tithe list, alone the fact that the papal tithe is an exceptional continuous variable implies that settlements not on the list can be included in the database under very strict conditions. To safeguard the integrity of the dataset, only parishes can be integrated, even more so, as we have some data concerning the amount of the tithe paid by the parishes not listed. In the late medieval database, the challenge is different. As there is no continuous variable we could use, actual data collection at the settlement level is necessary and fortunately also possible (at least theoretically) due to the much larger quantity of written evidence. However, additional data are available for only one third of the documented settlements. This means that an analysis based on raw data would use up a lot of entities that can be localized but for which no other data are available. These data thus have no real value. As the analysis of such a database would lead to distorted result. Again, the solution is to aggregate the data by parish so that the analysis can be based on a differentiated data set. Fortunately, the parish was the basic administrative unit in much of Europe between the late thirteenth and late eighteenth centuries, for instance in France and England, as well as in the Kingdom of Hungary. Thus, the use of parishes as a basis for data analysis is not only necessary but also consistent with the reality of the period.

In the following, I will present some results of the analysis of the datasets for 1220 and 1330 (marked in bold in Table 1), because the dataset for 1100 is too small for a complex analysis, and the construction of the database for the late Middle Ages has just begun. These two datasets will serve as comparative material for some aspects of the argument.

The Database

Table 1. Composition of the data sets of the periods of time investigated

c. 1100

c. 1220

c. 1330

c. 1500

c. 700 entities

c. 2,300 entities (including passes)

c. 4,200 entities (“municipalities” / parishes)

c. 15,000 entities
(c. 4,730 “municipalities” / parishes)

Bishops’ sees

All data types for the time c. 1100

PAPAL TITHE LIST (completed with related,
partly serial sources)

Legal indicators

Collegiate chapters

Charter evidence

Lay and ecclesiastical administration

Ecclesiastical indicators

Monasteries

Narrative sources (domestic
and foreign)

Mendicant friaries

Economic indicators

Monastic estates

Privileged ethnic groups
(e.g. Jews, Latini)

Economic and/or judicial centers

Cultural indicators

County castles, other strongholds

Market, toll, ford

Markets, fairs

Other specific data

Rural churches, churchyards

Economic and judicial centers

Urban privileges

 

 

As can be seen from the data structures described in Table 1, it was necessary to create a composite “development score” based on weighted data and to establish development levels to ensure comparability. The size of the database for the early thirteenth century is about half the size of that for the 1330s and consists of c. 2,250 entities. Empirical research has shown that this is the minimum number of entities required to model regional differences in the Carpathian Basin as a whole. Therefore, the database for the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries has not been transformed into a visual representation in the same way (Map 3) and is not discussed in this article. As for the database for the Late Middle Ages (c. 1500), it has just been established, and substantial datasets will be uploaded later.

The Findings and Conclusions

Two primary outputs were produced: maps illustrating the hierarchy of settle­ments (Maps 1–2) and diagrams showing the development slopes (N–S and W–E, Figs 1–2). With regard to the maps, it is important to stress that, despite the collection of data at the settlement level, the analysis can only be carried out at the regional level, i.e., only the regional level can be interpreted in a historically meaningful way. The difference between the two maps is obvious at first glance: while the peripheral areas, which were barely inhabited at the beginning of the thirteenth century, were filled with settlements a century later, the central parts of the Great Plain were depopulated. At the same time, the marked contrast in settlement density between the western and eastern parts of the Carpathian Basin almost disappeared. This pattern of the settlement and parish network proved enduring. It can be seen not only on the map for 1500, but also up to the early twentieth century (Maps 4–6). It is even represented on the Lazarus-map (1528, Fig. 3) and to some extent also on the Lazius-map (1556). The latter is important because it also depicts the cause of this emptiness in a very spectacular way, showing cattle in the region and adding the inscription Cumanorum Campus, Bachmege deserta, pascendis pecoribus apta.4

The difference in developmental slopes is also instructive (Figs 1–2). On the one hand, there is no significant difference between the north-south transects. In both periods, the center of gravity was in the north. On the other hand, a shift can be observed in the west-south transects. While before the Mongol Invasion the western part of the kingdom was clearly more densely populated and therefore more active (more developed), the diagram for the 1330s shows a roughly even level of development, where only the periphery appears to be underdeveloped, or rather underpopulated and therefore less active.

In the creation of visual representations of the data for the 1330s, the problem of the missing parish boundaries arose almost immediately. While certain features can be represented using points, the visual depiction of regional differences can be distorted by the fact that large parts of the Carpathian Basin were characterized by a loose parish and settlement network. However, the fourteenth-century boundaries remain unknown for the overwhelming majority of the parishes. To overcome this problem, actual parish boundaries were substituted with Voronoi cells (Map 7). As parish churches served the everyday needs of pastoral care and the distances between the places in which people resided and the places where Sunday masses were held offer a good indicator of the spatial distribution of the population, the Voronoi diagram will define the areas which were closer to a given parish church than to any other parish church in the neighboring cells. This diagram thus offers a usable substitute with which to model the medieval parish system.

In this way, tithe per area unit could be calculated, and differences in certain types of land use became clear. The structure of the settlement system, including the absence of certain types of settlement, was also instructive. In southern Transdanubia, for instance, where a very dense parish network developed before the 1330s, the parsons usually paid a low (sometimes very low) sum as papal tithe. This would suggest that they had rather modest incomes. Based on this, one would conclude that the population of the region was poor. However, when projecting these sums on the Voronoi diagram representing the territory of the parishes, the picture changes radically. Based on the tithe per area unit, parts of Baranya, Somogy, Tolna, and to some extent even Vas and Zala Counties produced high values compared to other parts of the kingdom (Map 8).5 This means that agriculture was intensive and lucrative in this part of the Carpathian Basin, and a large proportion of land, maybe around or slightly above 30 percent, was ploughed (the national average was below 20 percent). Incomes from agriculture were relatively high in part thanks to viticulture, which seems to have been continuous in the region since Roman times.6 The average size of the tenant hides in this region support this conclusion, as do data concerning very small plots in Baranya County.7 Also, while in most parts of the kingdom an acre of c. 0.34 ha was used and approximately 120 acres were counted for a tenant hide, in this part of Hungary both the size of the acre and the number of acres per tenant hide were lower. It is even possible that in some parts of the region the Roman iugerum (0.25 ha) survived as a measurement unit, albeit the general the so-called “small acre” was used, a unit of measurement equal to c. 0.28 hectares.8

When speaking about the structure of the local settlement network, it is important to keep in mind the substantial differences between the different regions of the kingdom. For instance, southern Transdanubia, mentioned above, was (and is) a very rural region where there were very few towns in the Middle Ages.9 The Turopolje region and Lower Slavonia, south of the Sava, as well as the Székely Land in Transylvania appear even more rural, and they both had a very low tithe per area unit ratio. At first glance, one would interpret this feature as a sign of poverty, but certain types of animal husbandry, especially sheep farming, could also contribute to that picture. Nevertheless, it is also clear that neither the Turoploje nor the Székely Land were among the wealthiest regions of fourteenth-century Hungary. On the opposite end of the imaginary scale, we find the northern mining district. In this highly urbanized region, which had important towns which paid high sums to the papal tithe collectors, there were few villages. We can count on a similarly incomplete settlement network, but with much smaller (and in the fourteenth century less wealthy) towns in the Great Hungarian Plain and Máramaros County. In the first case, this relative lack of network development was caused by large-scale livestock farming, which was widespread in the region since the mid-thirteenth century. In the second case, it was a consequence of the salt mining industry, which was the basis of the local economy. On the Great Hungarian Plain, the low number of villages compared to the emerging market towns is a fairly well-known thing, and the high lucrativity of animal husbandry was no surprise either. But the outstanding position of Máramaros County as early as in the 1330s was surprising, because there is later written evidence indicating the importance of salt exploitation there. However, the position of Máramaros County was also a consequence of the fact that there were only a handful of well-off, comparatively urban settlements, and the surrounding mountainous area was almost completely uninhabited at the beginning of the fourteenth century. Thus, the incomplete settlement network, which in these cases was a consequence of the virtual absence of villages, appears at a higher level of development than expected.

The consequences of the above are somewhat paradoxical, but understandable. It is clear that urbanization significantly contributed to regional development level in the Middle Ages. But this does not necessarily explain changes in the individual income levels (the living standard) of the inhabitants of the given region. Regions with specific products such as minerals (ores or salt) or livestock usually require complex trade networks not only to sell their products but also to buy food, especially grain. Both the basis of their economy and the need to supply the population with food favored a comparatively high population density, which means the development of towns and cities. As such commodities can be produced in regions where agriculture is limited either by natural circumstances or by the type of economy itself (the need for large pastures), the village will more or less become the missing element in the settlement network. The higher level of urbanization, in turn, will lead to the emergence of more complex social and economic systems, even without the presence of institutions representing central or local power (although these institutions will of course appear in such central places). However, the essentially rural character of a region and the lack of anything resembling urban settlements, which in a modern context would be considered signs of underdevelopment and poverty, should not be perceived as such in medieval times. Also, one has to be aware of changes over time. For instance, agriculture and viticulture seem to have provided considerable incomes, while transhumant sheep-farming was not (yet) a lucrative sector in the fourteenth century, but this seems to have changed in the following century, even if sheep-farming did not become a leading economic sector (in contrast with cattle-farming). Therefore, one has to be very careful when interpreting the regional differences visible on the maps. To arrive at better models of settlement structures and developmental levels in the Middle Ages, different methods of modeling are required, as well as complex narratives that deal with spatial and sectoral changes.

Moreover, the analysis of several aspects of the medieval and early modern spatial organization in the Carpathian Basin yielded an important finding. As noted above, major political events that marked the region between the Migration Period and the end of the Ottoman occupation (e.g., the collapse of the Avar Khaganate c. 800, the Hungarian conquest c. 900, the foundation of the Kingdom of Hungary in 1000, the Mongol Invasion of 1241–1242, the Battle of Mohács in 1526, and the Peace of Karlovac in 1699) are not reflected in the changes of spatial patterns. This means that the changes happened independently from the political events and the changing political systems. Patterns of landscape use remained essentially unchanged between the eighth and twelfth centuries, with some elements that can be traced back to the late Roman period. The transformation that took place in the long thirteenth century began well before and independently from the Mongol Invasion, and the process did not end before the first third of the fourteenth century. The new spatial structure, which stabilized by the mid-fourteenth century, persisted throughout the early modern period, despite the Ottoman occupation, and it only began to fade as late as in the last decades of the eighteenth century. Driving factors in the thirteenth-century transformation were environmental changes (a changing water regime, aeolian sand movement), dynamically increasing population (intense immigration from West and East), and new commercial and technical possibilities (the development of the mining districts due to the increasing demand for precious metals, including gold, silver, and copper, as well as changing land use in the Great Hungarian Plain to meet the demand for cattle). The newly emerging and growing sectors (mining, livestock farming) also resulted in intense internal migration.

Thus, regional characteristics can be much more persistent than presumed, and the interpretation of the stability or instability of these patterns demands a more complex approach. Speaking about long-term characteristics, we have to acknowledge, for instance, that the Budapest–Vienna economic axis, sometimes referred to as a result of the policy of the Habsburgs, who sought access to resources in the Kingdom of Hungary, seems to be much older and was present (and left discernible traces) even in the Roman period (and thus could be referred to as the “Aquincum–Vindobona axis”), which means that it was (and still is) the main development agent of the Carpathian Basin10 and proved so strong and enduring that it was only cut in the middle of the twentieth century, with the fall of the Iron Curtain. On the other hand, the active and inactive periods of specific regions need to be looked at more attentively, and we have to look for explanations that are more complex than the narratives that refer almost exclusively to political or military events. For instance, environmental changes, technical development, changing energy sources, and even changing external relations seem to have been decisive driving factors in certain transformations.

Bibliography

Buturac, Josip. “Popis župa Zagrebačke biskupije 1334. i 1501. godine” [Description of the County of Zagreb bishopric 1334 and 1501 years]. Starine [JAZU] 59 (1984): 43–108.

Demeter, Gábor, István Papp, Beatrix F. Romhányi, and János Pénzes. “A területi egyen­lőt­len­ségek településszintű vizsgálata a történeti Magyarország és utódállamai területén, 1330–2010 (I)” [Long-term study of territorial inequalities at settlement level in the ter­ritory of the historical Hungary and its successor states, 1330–2010 (I)]. Területi Statisztika 63 (2023): 271–99. doi: 10.15196/TS630301

F. Romhányi, Beatrix. “A középkori magyar plébániák és a 14. századi pápai tizedjegyzék” [The medieval Hungarian parishes and the fourteenth-century papal tithe register]. Történelmi Szemle 61 (2021): 339–60.

F. Romhányi, Beatrix. “Plébániák és adóporták: A Magyar Királyság változásai a 13–14. szá­zad fordulóján” [Parishes and hides: the transformation of the Kingdom of Hungary around 1300]. Századok 156 (2022): 909–42.

F. Romhányi, Beatrix, Gábor Demeter, and Zsolt Szilágyi. “A Magyar Királyság regionális különbségei a pápai tizedjegyzék keletkezése idején” [Regional differences of the Kingdom of Hungary in the period of the papal tithe register]. In Magyar Gazdaságtörténeti Évkönyv 2022, edited by Gábor Demeter, Boglárka Weisz, and Ágnes Pogány, 17–52. Budapest: Bölcsészettudományi Kutatóközpont, 2023.

Kubinyi, András. “Mezővárosok egy városmentes tájon: A középkori Délnyugat-Magyarország” [Market towns in region without towns: Medieval southwestern Hungary]. In A tapolcai Városi Múzeum közleményei 1, ed. Zoltán Törőcsik, 319–35. Tapolca: Városi Múzeum, 1989.

Müller, Róbert. A mezőgazdasági vaseszközök fejlődése Magyarországon a késővaskortól a törökkor végéig [The development of agricultural iron tools in Hungary from the Late Iron Age until the end of the Ottoman occupation]. Zalai gyűjtemény 19. Zalaegerszeg, 1982.

Rationes collectorum pontificorum. Pápai tizedszedők számadásai 1281–1375. Edited by Arnold Ipolyi. Monumenta Vaticana I/1. Budapest, 1887.

Tímár, Gábor, Gábor Molnár, Balázs Székely, and Katalin Pilhál. “Orientation of the Map of Lazarus (1528) of Hungary: Result of the Ptolemian Projection? In Cartography in Central and Eastern Europe, edited by Georg Gartner, and Felix Ortag, 487–96. Berlin–Heidelberg: Springer, 2010. doi: 10.1007/978-3-642-03294-3_31

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map-01.jpg

 Map 1. The settlement network of the Kingdom of Hungary c. 1220, based on archaeological and written evidence. Source: designed by the author.

 

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map-02.jpg

 

Map 2. The parish network of the Kingdom of Hungary c. 1330, primarily based on the papal tithe list and related documents. Source: designed by the author.

 

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map-03.jpg
 

Map 3. Heatmap of the data for c 1100, primarily based on archaeological data. Source: designed by the author.

 

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map-04.jpg
 

Map 4. Heatmap of the parish network of the 1330s (Ø: 30 km), with the parishes indicated as dots. Source: designed by the author.

 

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map-05.jpg
 

Map 5. Heatmap of the settlement network of the 1500s (Ø: 30 km), with the parishes indicated as dots. Source: designed by the author.

 

FRomhanyi_HHR2024_Map06.jpg
 

Map 6. Heatmap of the settlement network of 1910, with the settlements indicated as dots. Source: courtesy of Zsolt Szilágyi.

 

Map 07
 

Map 7. Voronoi diagram of the fourteenth-century parish network of the Kingdom of Hungary. Source: designed by the author.

 

Map 08
 

Map 8. Papal tithe per area unit, projected on the Voronoi diagram of the fourteenth-century parish network of the Kingdom of Hungary. Source: designed by the author.

 ROM_1.jpg

 

ROM_2.jpg

Fig. 1. Development slopes of the Kingdom of Hungary c. 1220. a: West–East section, b: North–South section. Source: database of the author.

ROM_3.jpg

ROM_4.jpg

Fig. 2. Development slopes of the Kingdom of Hungary c. 1330. a: West–East section, b: North–South section. Source: database of the author.

Lazarus_large.jpg

Fig. 3. The Lazarus-map (1528). The shape and the extent of the empty space in the middle of the map corresponds approximately to the loose settlement network of the Great Hungarian Plain, shown by Map 4. On the orientation and projection of the Lazarus map, see Tímár et al., “Orientation.” Source of the image Wikimedia Commons.

1 Demeter et al., “A területi egyenlőtlenségek.”

2 The project K145924: Regional differences of the Kingdom of Hungary c. 1500 supported by NKFIH, also aims to complement the existing eighteenth-century data set with data on parishes and the data of modern northern and eastern Croatia (medieval Slavonia with Pozsega, Valkó, and Szerém Counties, as well as the parts of Baranya County south from the Drava River). The results of the project and the datasets produced in the course of the pilot projects will be published and modelled in the framework of the GISta Hungarorum database.

3 Rationes; Buturac, “Popis župa Zagrebačke biskupije.” On these and other, smaller sources and their evaluation, see F. Romhányi, “A középkori magyar plébániák.”

4 F. Romhányi et al., “Plébániák és adóporták,” 38.

5 It is worth noting that this part of Roman Pannonia remained under Roman rule after the partition of the province in the fifth century AD, when the northeastern part was ceded to the Huns.

6 Cf. the archaeological evidence, namely the tools connected to viticulture from Migration Period strata. Müller, A mezőgazdasági vaseszközök fejlődése.

7 F. Romhányi, “Plébániák és adóporták,” 936.

8 Ibid., 938.

9 Cf. Kubinyi, “Mezővárosok egy városmentes tájon.”

10 Demeter et al., “A területi egyenlőtlenségek.”

2024_2_Hubner

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“The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” – The Impossible Term “Propaganda” and Its Popular and Anti-Royal Uses in Luxembourg Bohemia (ca. 1390–1421)*

Klara Hübner

Masaryk University, Brno

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 2  (2024):235-260 DOI 10.38145/2024.2.235

The article follows two paths. First, it deals with the genealogy of the concept of propaganda and the ambiguities and vagaries of the term associated with it. On the one hand, this concept is decisively shaped by modern prerequisites. On the other hand, it has characteristics that make it a timeless element of political communication. Because of the strong influence of modern phenomena on what we have come to understand as propaganda, the application of this term to premodern examples works only if the communicative context is emphasized, including the historical and social background, the strategies of the propagandist, the propagandist’s sense of the most effective means of swaying a certain target public, etc. Second, the focus is on parallel manifestations of propaganda in Bohemian society in the decades before the Hussite Wars (1390–1420). One can identify two of the functions of the propaganda of the time: it was used to deepen and spread the Hussite reformist thinking among the general population and to subject the respective Luxembourg kings, Wenceslas IV and Sigismund of Luxembourg, to harsh criticism. There were few points of contact between the two forms of propaganda used to further these two goals, since they addressed different social groups, but their effectiveness clearly demonstrates how far-reaching the impact of political propaganda could be in the fifteenth century.

Keywords: medieval propaganda, pre-Hussite Bohemia, Luxembourg dynasty, Wenceslas IV, Sigismund of Luxembourg

Good terms are all alike. Every bad term is bad in its own way. The latter applies in particular to the term propaganda when applied to pre-modern phenomena. The term has been subjected to particular scrutiny in the German secondary literature, mainly because of its ideological framing in the Nazi-era. One could raise many objections to its use. First, the term itself only emerged in the seventeenth century and therefore cannot be applied to communication strategies used in the Middle Ages. Moreover, it only began to acquire the meanings and connotations it has today in the nineteenth century, because it was only in this period that it became the powerful instrument of political influence used by actors in the public sphere to form parties.1 Furthermore, its definitions were modelled on modern ideas of the public and the media. Some voices have suggested that, given the comparative dearth of sources from pre-modern centuries and the very different nature of the public sphere and the political languages of the times, we can refer to the communication and persuasion strategies that were in use as propaganda-like at most. Most phenomena of political communication between rulers and the ruled could be explained using the methods introduced by Hagen Keller and Gerd Althoff in the 1980s2 for the study of symbolic communication and ritual. Their theses concerning the political culture of the Middle Ages, which primarily relied on visual and oral forms of communication as source material, are based on examples from the early and high Middle Ages. Here, the main medium was not writing but sophisticated sign systems and symbolically charged acts, including gestures and rituals. All rulers, i.e. kings, emperors, and also the pope, relied in their communication on this spectrum of non-verbal instruments of power. After all, the symbols comprising these semiotic systems were universally recognized political instruments that could be used to express both consent and dissent.

For football enthusiast Gerd Althoff, medieval rule had a lot in common with a game governed by fixed rules that were binding for both parties.3 They included publicly celebrated rituals of rule, such as petitions or acts of submission, but also controlled expressions of emotion, i.e. the notorious tears of the king, which he could allegedly shed at will.4 The main argument is compelling: in a time without universally binding international law or corresponding procedures, compliance with these rules served to secure an urgently needed peace. At the same time, these diplomatic habits appear as a hermetic discourse used among powerful elites that could hardly be accurately characterized as propaganda in the modern sense. Seen from the early and high medieval playing field, this may be true. But this idea of political balance is also one that largely excludes any interaction with external disruptive elements, or to stick with the football metaphor, a swearing coach on the sidelines or the effects of a pyrotechnical rumble in the stands.

The wider variety of sources from the Late Middle Ages, however, confronts us with political facts that can only be explained as the effects of propaganda in the modern sense of the word. One might think, for instance, of the significant number of negative legends that tarnish the historiographic image of kings and queens. Often, these legends turn out to be byproducts of intra-dynastic squabbles. One could mention the hapless Edward II, the deposed count of Tyrol, John Henry of Luxembourg, or the French queen Isabella of Bavaria, who became the target of England’s enemies during the Hundred Years’ War.5

Much as we collide here with the methodological limits of research on rituals, we must also confront the modern scholarship on models of communication. This scholarship tends almost completely to ignore the pre-modern era and focus instead on the most formative examples of what we have come to understand as propaganda, preferably the mass propaganda created by Josef Goebbels.6 No wonder. As an object of study, as an example of communicative strategies used to galvanize the masses, this propaganda has much more to offer. First and foremost, it made use of dynamically deployable mass media that was available across all social classes, as well as scientifically measurable interactions between political elites and the citizenry. The study of medieval propaganda offers none of these certainties. First of all, there are no models for this period, in which there were no modern structures of mass communication and the approach to the “public sphere” was completely different. Despite this, the popularity of the term propaganda in medieval studies is unbroken, even if researchers often forget to tell their readers what they mean by it, perhaps in the shy hope that their readership intuitively knows. But there is also an understandable unease associated with the term today, which is why the question of its applicability to pre-modern times is often limited to the search for comparable parameters based on ways in which it has appeared in modern times. This is only partially effective, since the manifestations of propaganda, which is a highly amorphous communication phenomenon, often make little sense outside of a specific socio­cultural context. But then again, there is something chameleonic about propaganda, such as its timeless characteristics.

Given the ambiguities of the term when applied to different eras, it is necessary to approach its potential usefulness, in medieval studies, from more than one direction. First, we must consider the genealogy of the concept, which calls attention to this versatility. We must then examine forms and uses of propaganda in pre-Hussite Bohemia which show both characteristics: the universal elements of propaganda on the one hand and, on the other, the features of this propaganda (which often addressed several diverse target audiences at the same time) that were specific to Bohemia in the years between 1400 and 1421. In this wide array of propaganda manifestations, the anti-royal examples used against the Luxembourg kings Wenceslas IV and Sigismund of Hungary were only a small side effect of the many crises of the period, which according to modern communication models favored the emergence of propaganda. These crises included the Great Schism, the development of a Czech-centered, spiritual-national reform movement, a royal reign made fragile by power issues and intra-dynastic strife, and the beginning of the confessional Hussite Wars. In the course of these often overlapping conflicts, several defamatory writings were composed which left significant traces in the later historiographical portrayals of Wenceslas and Sigismund.7 However, chronicles are not at the center of the study, as they represent a category of propaganda that has already been filtered.8 The focus is more on contemporary sources, such as treatises and manifestos, which even at the time were considered documents which would only be relevant for a comparatively short time. These documents are familiar to the scholarly community, but they have not yet been examined side by side or as a corpus.

Term and Concept

Propaganda, like any communication phenomenon, defies precise definition. It is rather a spectrum of fleeting uses of language and other communication tools the influence of which can be perceived in many different ways. The verb propagare, on which the term is based, comes from early modern biology, where it was used as a synonym for “to expand.” “to graft,” but also “to reproduce.”9 In the early seventeenth century, when it first appeared, it referred primarily to spiritual growth. In these early days, propaganda was both a missionary instrument and an institution of the Catholic Church.10 The Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, founded for this purpose in 1622, was a subsidiary authority of the Counter Reformation papacy with a permanent office in Rome. Pope Gregory XV had provided it with the necessary bull, and the intention was to provide support for the mission in China and thus help Catholicism play an increasingly global role.11

However, it seems that this modest office, the history of which has still not been given a thorough discussion in the secondary literature, also served other purposes. Around a century later, it was described in Zedler’s Universal Lexicon as a “contact point for new Christians visiting Rome for the first time.” It was meant not only as a point of reference for new bishops from distant colonies who came to visit the Roman shrines for the first time.12 It also addressed Catholic dignitaries who had been driven out of their dioceses by the Protestants. From the outset, the seat of the Propaganda Fide provided not only a place of refuge but also a forum for ideological edification, especially as the house had an printing press of its own which could produce and distribute any number of breviaries and missals.13

The French revolutionaries appropriated this idea of an ideological center when they transferred the concept of propaganda from the spiritual to the political sphere at the end of the eighteenth century. They saw themselves as missionaries (missionaires) and apostles (apôtres) of a global doctrine, the new democratic credo. In 1791, Camile Desmoulins, the French revolutionary and cofounder of the Jacobin Club in Paris, equated the task of the Jacobins with that of Catholic Propaganda Fide. Like the Propaganda Fide, the “propaganda clubs” of the revolutionaries should also further the spread of democratic teachings throughout Europe.14 These clubs did not exist for long, but it was precisely during the Restoration period that they also promoted the emergence of a conspiracy narrative spread by the advocates of corporatist society. According to this narrative, a secret organized revolutionary network operating out of Paris was responsible for the July Revolution of 1830.15

The idea that propaganda helped give every political movement a specific center and form a steady political following only began to be voiced after 1848, when the conservative parties of Europe began to understand the potentials of this tool. At that time, the methods of political propaganda included verbal persuasion but also persuasion by deed, as carried out with bayonets by the Anarchists. The German social democrats and communists distanced themselves from this practice and redefined the term agitation, which was based on arguments.16

The concept of propaganda received another layer of meaning around 1900, when the fields of sociology and later psychology turned their attention to its effects, making use of methods from emerging disciplines, such as com­munication sciences, public relations, and propaganda research.17 This was the birth of American PR and the propaganda concepts of Edgar Bernays who basically invented the profession of propagandist. He understood propaganda as a positive instrument that could be used to promote democracy and the common good, for example in the public health campaigns at the end of World War I, which helped motivate the American (rural) population to be vaccinated against typhoid and typhus.18

With his comparatively positive assessment of the uses of propaganda, Bernays was unquestionably in the minority, however. In 1922, Walter Lippmann, who studied the formation of public opinion, pointed at the much more probable dangers of manipulation through the mass media.19 The experiences of the Nazi era again shifted research on propaganda in the direction of its psychological effects. For Jacques Ellul, the main aim of modern propaganda was to evoke feelings. Its main goal was no longer to change the ways in which people think, but to get them to act in the way the propagandist intended.20

But what has changed since 1962, when Ellul formulated his findings? I could share a relevant personal experience. In the autumn semester of 2023, I offered the topic of “Propaganda in the Middle Ages” as an exercise both at the University of Vienna and my home university in Brno in the Czech Republic. I was interested in whether the experiences with propaganda in the Cold War had had an impact on the prevailing perceptions of propaganda among students. They were familiar with propaganda mainly from their parents’ experiences. Since propaganda had a much more positive connotation in the countries of Central Europe than in the West, I hoped to find at least some differences.21 The result was sobering. Instead of historical insights, the students offered me rather gloomy pictures of the present. They perceived propaganda as pure evil, i.e. as a highly ambivalent if not openly dangerous instrument of political manipulation, very much in the spirit of Walter Lippmann. Its main power lay, according to them, in total information control, which is why they associated propaganda with illiberal regimes, extremist political parties, and messianic individuals, all of whom (according to the students) were trying to impose their ideas on a wider public. In doing so, they would rely on strategies ranging from the simplification to the distortion and even the invention of information, or what has now become infamous as alternative facts.22 The same accounts for constructed images of imaginary enemies, the exploitation of stereotypes, and the use of vulgar language, to name just the most important responses. Neither was there any trace of a positive perception or a historical grasp of the history of propaganda.

It was quite clear that it would be next to impossible to apply these understandings of propaganda to pre-modern phenomena. Today, as em­pirical experience has confirmed, the concept is highly emotionalized, and understandings of propaganda tend to center around its impacts, which can only rarely be demonstrated in the case of medieval examples. To make the term usable again, it was necessary to get back to the complex web of relations between the propagandist and his target group, i.e. to emphasize the process famously summarized in 1948 by Harold D. Laswell, whose famous model of communication is based on the following question: “Who says what, in which channel, to whom, and with what effect?”23 It was therefore important to comprehend the multiple levels of interaction between the propagandist and the target group as a playful relationship that finds expression through the chosen channels of information. And one must not forget the craftsmanship of the propagandist. He must know the tastes of his public, prepare the information in a credible way, and choose the channels so as to ensure that his target accepts the information conveyed, whether it is true or not.24 In addition to choosing the right tools and channels, he must also be clear about the most promising strategies in the respective context.25 Furthermore, as Umberto Eco has pointed out, most information is ambiguous and can therefore be interpreted in various ways. Effective propaganda therefore requires not only control of the channels but also manipulation of the information content so that the target group gets only the message intended by the propagandist.26

As rhetoric became an increasingly important instrument with which to shape political opinion, a broad spectrum of strategies and motifs was developed the effective use of which determined the persuasive quality of the communicative act. Although the effectiveness and availability of some propaganda techniques depend on the specific cultural contexts, we still find similar propaganda techniques in use in almost every period of history. For example, the tactic recognized by Vladimir I. Lenin of simplifying persuasive content or limiting it to a core message that could be understood by as broad a public as possible was perfected by Joseph Goebbels, but it had already been put to use in the medieval ars dictaminis.27

Among these universal truisms of propaganda use is the fact that effective propaganda depends on freely accessible, publicly available information. This information constitutes the foundation of every propaganda invention, since it increases the credibility of the constructed messages. Lies have a special role to play here. According to Goebbels, lies have to be carefully inserted into the propaganda act, as the target audience otherwise may no longer believe the message. However, it has also been true over the ages that the dissemination of persuasive content has been particularly successful when it has been carried out by well-known personalities. Equally efficient and timeless is also the strategy of disseminating persuasive content on many channels simultaneously and, above all, repeating the key messages as often as possible.28 The latter elements both merit a chapter of their own. Most of the tried and tested strategies are based on familiar (narrative) motifs that change only slightly over time.29 The communication procedures include the particularly catchy use of oppositions between good and evil and references to the perpetual struggle between the two. Above this conflict lingers a higher power that represents the principle of order and intervenes only to punish or reward. We also encounter the martyr and the principle of self-sacrifice for an idea or community, which is highly topical in the Hussite period. Last but not least, the propagandist may also use humor or parody. The former is known since antiquity as a subversive instrument of the ruled, enabling them to criticize their real or perceived oppressors in public without putting themselves in immediate danger.30

Propaganda against the Luxembourg Kings

The years surrounding the outbreak of the Hussite Revolution have long been known as a period in which propaganda was used in an unprecedented density of transmission across all social classes. Between 1400 and 1420, the leading figures of the Hussite movement in particular succeeded in disseminating the complex content of their theology in a broadly effective, easily understandable way.31 They utilized all available media and channels and relied in particular on the long-term impact and constant repetition of their messages. Anti-royal propaganda developed against the backdrop of the same crisis-related background. Its propagandists and target audiences belonged to a socially higher and therefore smaller but more educated group. However, they too ultimately used strategies and persuasive instruments that were similar to the tools and techniques used by the Hussites. But what kinds of communication spaces existed in Prague around 1400? The largest of these spaces was tailored to an audience that, according to Thomas Fudge, was illiterate.32 By this I mean that most city dwellers could read at least reasonably well, which is why the emerging Hussite movement used oral preaching but, above all, combinations of text and image as a means of spreading its ideas. Most common was the convergence of “paint, poetry and pamphlets,” often in the form of allegorical images or symbols, to which explanatory or supplementary lines of text were sometimes added and which were carried as a kind of banner in public stagings, such as parodistic processions against ecclesiastical abuses, for example Pope John XXIII’s indulgence policy in 1412.33

Oral propaganda from the Hussite period consisted mainly of songs and poems, of which the Czech music historian Zdeňek Nejedlý has compiled a significant number from the Hussite period.34 It would be practically impossible to reconstruct the melodies, but the texts they combine several of the functions mentioned above, with the most important aim being the propagation of the movement. Accordingly, the texts reassures all sympathizers and encouraged them to distance themselves from splinter groups and opponents. But they were also intended to motivate members and supporters, including King Wenceslas IV, and sometimes also to persuade them to act in the interests of the movement. At the same time, they used “slander, subversion, and sedition” to belittle their opponents with the entire spectrum of parodistic tricks.35 Songs and highly mobile groups of singers have always been a tried and tested medium with which to spread specific ideas across social and age boundaries. For the Hussites, they were an excellent form of low–threshold protest in which children could also be involved. The Utraquist priest Jan Čápek, for example, wrote a song for these kinds of groups in 1421, after the surprising victory of the Prague Hussites against Sigismund’s crusaders. The aim was to let them proclaim in the streets of Prague that God had personally driven away the thousands of barbarians, Swabians, Saxons of Meissen, and Hungarians who had attacked Bohemia.36

This children’s song offers an example of one of the forms of propaganda that offers an often unacknowledged advantage to which my students in Brno drew my attention. Songs and slogans are so low-threshold (from the perspective of the complexity of the texts) and positive that reciting, singing, or shouting them can be fun. The children who were taught to love the Soviet Union and despise the West with slogans and songs in school and kindergarten during socialist times did not find these texts offensive either, presumably because the act of reciting or singing them was enjoyable, at least to some degree.37

This use of provocative sayings and rhymes was already common in Hussite times. Just like the songs of Soviet times, the songs of the Hussite era could also be memorized by the illiterate. Best known is the phrase “veritas vincit, pravda vítezí,” or “the truth prevails,” which was incorporated into the official coat of arms of the Czech Republic after 1920 but was initially the battle cry of the socially and linguistically heterogeneous Hussite armies.38

If one had to define a place in Prague where the propaganda material of these years reached a density that bears comparison with the ideological and spatial presence of the early modern Propaganda fidei, it would be the Bethlehem Chapel in Prague, a propaganda center avant la lettre, where the Hussite movement had its spiritual and practical headquarters from 1402 on. The walls of the original chapel were decorated with hymns, defamatory images, and quotations from the works of the leading reformers. There was also an oral element. Jan Hus preached here in Czech at least three times a day between 1402 and 1412, and this gave his words tremendous impact over time.39

The situation was different with anti-royal propaganda, for which the Prague public was primarily a sounding board in the years immediately before the Hussite Revolution. Its main media were textual. The surviving pamphlets, tracts, and manifestos directed against Wenceslas IV and his brother Sigismund are exclusively the products of the elites, the clergy, the nobility, their chancellors, and sometimes also university circles.40 These groups constituted a rather hermetic public sphere, and the general population had little access to their knowledge and intellectual expertise. Anti-royal propaganda was more a political byproduct of the general crisis than a category in its own right. Therefore, its genres are also diverse and range from a sober, legal recording of various gravamina committed by the kings to anonymous Latin lamentations, satirical poems and manifestos often written in several languages.41 What they have in common is an appealing undertone, which is directed either at the respective king, his supporters, or his opponents, whereby motifs from the criticisms of rulers were used. The arguments touched on two aspects: the morality of the rulers’ acts and the legal dimension of these acts. In the course of the fourteenth century, the idea that a tyrant king could be deposed using appropriate legal means became firmly established, such as the idea that depositions were to be implemented by authorized interest groups only.42 Even if the propaganda against Wenceslas IV and Sigismund of Luxembourg had different roots and initiators, both were ultimately centered on the highly political question of their suitability as Bohemian or Roman kings.

Why Wenceslas, the eldest son of the extremely successful Emperor Charles IV, was caught in the propagandistic crossfire of his clerical and aristoc­ratic critics is more complex than nineteenth-century historians suggest. Most of these historians considered him simply a bad, lazy, and incompetent king.43 What is certain is that, in 1378, as the 17-year-old Wenceslas succeeded his great father Charles IV, he had a difficult time from the outset, as he had to deal with problems that were partly due to his position and partly related to the major upheavals of the time.44 One of these problems was the generational change in the king’s crown council, where several politically experienced members from Charles’s time were getting old, so the young king lost his immediate protection. Another reason was economic decline, which was reaching Bohemia from the west. This was accompanied by several waves of epidemics, to which Wenceslas’s first wife, Joan of Bavaria, fell victim in 1386.

Furthermore, the king’s position in the complex structure of Bohemian rule became more vulnerable again, for there were two other powerful stake­holders in the kingdom: the Bohemian barons and the high clergy. Both used the change of rule to force the young king to renegotiate their own rights to rule.45 The dispute between the five heirs of the House of Luxembourg, i.e. Wenceslas’s cousins Margraves Jobst and Prokop of Moravia, and especially Wenceslas’s long-term dispute with his younger half-brother Sigismund of Hungary, who plotted with the margraves, also caused upheaval.46 Wenceslas’ Bohemian opponents thus had an opportunity to achieve their goals through pressure from several sides, albeit with changing alliances.

Clouds were also gathering over the empire of which Wenceslas had been head since 1376. Wenceslas had been a thorn in the side of several ecclesiastical electors, in particular the pugnacious Archbishop of Mainz, John II. This was particularly true after his father bought him the Roman crown.47

The question of obedience in the Great Schism certainly played a role in this. The young king initially showed open sympathy for his cousin, the French king Charles V, who based his political ambitions on the Avignon papacy. This was a terrifying vision for the Rome-orientated electors, and as far as they were concerned, it had to be avoided at all costs.48 Ultimately, the European context was far less important for the emergence of the black legend of Wenceslas than the entanglements in Bohemia itself. Although Wenceslas was criticized by many as the exclusive guardian of his father’s legacy shortly after the death of Charles IV, the real spark for the construction of his bad reputation was a personal feud between the king and the Archbishop of Prague, John of Jenstein. John had been the king’s chancellor in the first years of his reign, but he had left this post as early as 1384 because he had not gotten on with Wenceslas. He too feared Wenceslas’ rapprochement with France, but he also took offence at the young king’s efforts to break up the church structures that his father Charles had created.49

Wenceslas, on the other hand, took offence at John’s ascetic orthodoxy and his open sympathy for the opposition League of Bohemian Barons. However, the main point of contention was church policy, namely the right of investiture of the Bohemian kings in the appointment of high church offices, which they had been allowed to exercise since the Přemyslid period in the thirteenth century50. This involved rights, but also no small amount of revenue, which Wenceslas wanted for the kingdom from then on. In doing so, he provoked a closing of ranks between the high clergy and the Bohemian barons, as well as other princes, including his brother Sigismund.

The situation came to a head in the spring of 1393, when Wenceslas attempted to make the Benedictine monastery of Kladruby, which had previously belonged to the Prague archbishopric, a bishopric dependent on him personally. With his contacts to the League of Lords, Jenstein succeeded in thwarting the intervention of the royal power with a legal coup d’état. However, Wenceslas then captured Jenzenstein’s closest associates, the cathedral deans Nikolaus von Puchnik and Johann von Pomuk, and had them tortured in order to find out more about the bishop’s plans and the individuals behind them. Pomuk died in the process.51

Politically humiliated, Jenstein fled to Rome and wrote the Acta in Curia Romana, a collection of 37 articles of accusation against the king, which he wanted to present to Pope Boniface IX in the hope that the pope would make Wenceslas pay for the death of his court juristatone for the death of his court jurist. The Acta were thus a personal reckoning. The text did not initially have a propagandistic purpose. It did not call on anyone apart from the pope to take action, nor was it intended to be read aloud. Initially, it was meant as a legally usable inventory of the long-term disputes with the king, for which the archbishop hoped to be financially compensated. However, the text also contained the first comparison of Wenceslas with Emperor Nero, a central motif of discourse on alleged tyrants which was widely discussed both legally and politically. This comparison was formulated in a way that Boniface, who was in favor of the Luxembourg Dynasty, could accept.52 In the 27th article, Jenstein, who was not present himself, describes how the king had tortured Pomuk “with his own hand, applying the burning torch to his side and other places” on his body.53 However, it was not even the legal aspects of the treatise that made Wenceslas seem a tyrant to the public, but its targeted exploitation by the archbishop’s sympathizers, the Bohemian barons, and, later, the ecclesiastical electors. Jenstein’s treatise reached the League of Lords, which had Wenceslas IV captured in the autumn of 1394.54 At the same time, the text was sent to his supporters at the Prague bishop’s court, who passed the treatise on to the University of Heidelberg and into the hands of the electoral opposition. The gravamina listed in the treatise became the basis for Wenceslas’ deposition. The Nero motif appears again in a letter of complaint addressed to the king in 1397.55 However, the final use of the extract from the Acta quoted above was in the sixth article of Wenceslas’ deposition decree from 1400, which was the result of a collaborative effort between Heidelberg canonists and lawyers from the Electorate of Cologne’s chancellery. It contains the following accusation: “[Wenceslas] murdered, drowned, and burned with torches in a terrible and inhuman way, with his own hand and with many other criminals he had with him, honorable and noble prelates, priests, and clergy and many other worthy men,” which is not worthy of a Roman king.56 The passage also refers to the widespread notoriety of Wenceslas’ alleged crimes. This contention was intended to facilitate the legal side of his deposition. At the same time, it underlined the simple fact that the ecclesiastical electors, at least in their territories, worked diligently to slander Wenceslas publicly.57 The attribution of the term tyrant by the highest ecclesiastical circles remained with Wenceslas until his death in 1419. His opponents used it again when it became clear that the king supported the Hussite movement, which, after the fiery death of Jan Hus, also earned him the reputation of a heretic.58

Between Sender and Reciever

While the propaganda against Wenceslas was linked to the overlapping power interests of various secular and clerical groups in Bohemia and later also in the empire, the negative image that emerged of Sigismund was exclusively the result of the tensions between him and the Bohemian Hussites. The most effective instrument used by the Bohemian Hussites was written manifestos, which became their most important medium of information from 1412, when Hus was banned, to the 1460s, when the movement disintegrated.59 The target audience of these manifestos was the Bohemian supporters of the Hussite cause, but the manifestos were also used to inform potential sympathizers in the surrounding countries, which resulted in the publication and spread of similar materials in several languages.60 In terms of content, they served both for spiritual edification and internal strengthening of the movement, as well as to provide information about the current political situation, with propagandistic intentions. The steadfastness of the movement and the doctrine of faith were emphasized, but usually the difficult political and military situation of the movement was also brought to the foreground, as were the intentions of the royal opponent and his allies. The propaganda materials also contained requests for advice and help and sometimes also for personal or financial support.61

The manifestos of 1420, when the conflict between Sigismund and the Hussites turned into an open war, also document the verbal armament that came with this war. They began with a dilemma, however. Sigismund’s call for a crusade, which the papal legate had read aloud in Wrocław on March 17, 1420, presented many Bohemian nobles with an impossible choice. They sympathized with the Hussites, but they also recognized Sigismund’s legitimate claim to the Bohemian throne. Sigismund had threatened the Hussite nobility not with conversion but with extermination.62 The fear of physical destruction, of losing all secularized church property again, and of further radicalization prompted Lord Burggrave Čenek of Wartenberg to convene a meeting of like-minded noblemen at Prague Castle on April 18, at which manifestos were written in German and Czech.63 For Wartenberg, who was a follower of the king, the threat issued by the king in Wrocław represented a formal legal basis for a justified call to arms. The occasion for the document was serious, but the form of a feudal letter was not chosen. Instead, they chose the more open form of a manifesto. This was intended to provide the addressees with arguments as to why they should not pay homage to the king and instead arm themselves for the fight against Sigismund. In keeping with the occasion, its form was based on a formal charter. It was addressed to the higher nobility and the towns and villages of Bohemia and Moravia. Sigismund was also referred to without irony with the full title of Hungarian and Roman king. This was followed by the justification for the refusal to show homage, which drew on legal elements similar to the legal elements of Wenceslas’ decree of Deposition.64 Here, too, the basis was the right to resist, because the Hussites now understood the Kingdom of Bohemia as an elective kingdom of their estates. In their view, Sigismund was neither elected nor crowned, and he was guilty of numerous offences against the Bohemian Crown and His Majesty,65 such as the betrayal of Jan Hus with the rejection of chalice communion and the elevation of one of the most prominent enemies of the Hussites, John the Iron, to the Olomouc episcopal throne. Sigismund’s attacks on the territorial and political integrity of the kingdom were also clear through the pledging of the Margraviate of Brandenburg and the sale of the Neu­mark to the Teutonic Order. Here again we encounter aspects of the dis­course on tyrants in the accusations brought against Wenceslas, including allegations concerning the execution of Hussite merchants in Wrocław, whose property he had appropriated, and accusations involving his approach to Count Palatine John, Duke of Bavaria, who had transferred Jerome of Prague, Hus’ comrade-in-arms, to Constance in 1416. But there is also a direct reference to the Nero motif. In January 1420, Wenceslas allegedly had ordered the German miners in Kuttenberg to throw all the Czechs into the shafts, and some 400 people had perished. This was probably an unverifiable legend circulating among the Hussites.66 For these reasons, according to these propaganda materials, no one should pay homage to him, because anyone who were to do so would be a traitor to the Kingdom of Bohemia.

Given the fragility of the Hussite alliance at the time, this alliance should be understood more in symbolic political terms. However, this manifesto, whose dissemination can be traced as far as Ulm, was trendsetting in that it provided a structure for the rejection of Sigismund, which then took on a satirical tone.67

This was also true of the four Hussite manifestos preserved in the so-called Bautzen Manuscript, which were written between July and August 1420 by an author from the circle of the Hussite chronicler and magister Laurentius of Březová.68 The circumstances of its creation were favorable to the Hussites cause. Sigismund’s crusader army had suffered an unexpected defeat at Vítkov in Prague. He had been defeated by a small contingent led by Jan Žižka on July 14, and his army had been dispersed. Furthermore, he was not able to keep his subsequent coronation at Prague castle a secret. His role as a villain is clear. But in addition to this, the authors experimented with various propagandistic contents and strategies.

The first of these manifestos, the so-called Lament of the Bohemian Crown to God and against the Hungarian King and the Constance Assembly, also known as audite coeli in Latin, has been the subject of extensive research.69 The main protagonist of this fictional speech is the personification of the Bohemian crown, who addresses the world and God as the allegorical bride of the Bohemian kings and thus the widow of Wenceslas IV. The crown mentions the good old kings of Bohemia up to and including Wenceslas IV, and it contrasts these exemplary rulers with the new bridegroom, Sigismund, who is portrayed here as an ogre and the embodiment of the anti-king, thus rhetorically reversing the ideal of the ruler: instead of protecting his subjects and upholding the traditions of the dynasty, he betrayed Margrave Procopius and, even worse, betrayed his brother Wenceslas. He was also responsible for the deaths of Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague. The enforcement the crusade proclamation in Wroclaw clearly showed that he had betrayed the Kingdom of Bohemia and the crown (the metaphorical speaker), which was and last guardian of Bohemian majesty.70 Sigismund is viciously attacked in the document, and his honor and social position are ridiculed. The strategy and language used in the document had a high entertainment value and a high recognition effect. This is shown, for instance, by the well-known comparison of Sigismund with the apocalyptic beast. According to the Bohemian Crown, Sigismund was “not human, but the most murderous offspring of a poisonous snake, which not only wants to tear apart his mother’s womb at birth, but to destroy her entire body. He is... the terrible dragon that your beloved apostle saw, red, with seven heads, ten horns, and crowned with seven crowns and ten stars.”71 In general, Sigismund was “closer to an animal than to a human being, as he lacks all reason: a deaf viper, a dog, a predatory fox and greedy wolf and as unreasonable as a donkey standing next to a market stall and not understanding the violin playing.72” Accordingly, doubts were expressed about his legitimate descent. Charles IV was only presumed to be Sigismund’s father. Sigismund was averse to royal grandeur, which is why the Bohemian Crown described him not as a branch but as “a little twig of a noble foreign root, sickly and covered in dung.”73 In a reversal of the virtues of a ruler, the crown laments that Sigismund would neither protect the weakest of his subjects nor would be interested in preventing injustice: “How many virgins have been defiled (...) How many honorable, undefiled marriage beds have been defiled! (...) How many widowers, widows, how many orphans and how many childless, poor, needy, miserable, and desperate people have been destroyed by his evil hand.” The crown itself is also presented as his victim: “with an unprecedented fury, he rages against me, an abandoned widow, but also a mother and benefactress, and he strives to throw the famous majesty of my glory into the abominable dust.”74

However, Audite coeli was addressed not only to an educated audience who wanted to be entertained and thus possibly distracted from the difficult political situation. It was also intended for a wider public, as it was translated into Czech, together with the second satirical manifesto nuper coram, or the Censure of the Bohemian Crown on the Hungarian King Sigismund, written after Sigismund’s unsuccessful coronation.75 While the Latin manifestos were most likely intended to appeal to educated Hussite sympathizers in Europe, the Czech texts are clearly intended for a domestic, mostly functionally illiterate audience. Accordingly to reding situations, they differ in content, but also in style. In the latter, Sigismund’s misdeeds are depicted much more vividly. The text has a strong national undertone, and the language is a little coarser. For example, Sigismund is portrayed in a gender-stereotypical manner as an effeminate war­rior who was also responsible for the defeat to the Turks in 1419 because whores had robbed him of his virility. Here, too, he is mocked by the Bohemian crown: “You have become so effeminate through the lust of harlots that you did not dare put on your armor and did not see the enemy armies, but fled in shameful flight.”76 This would have been repeated, the crown alleges, at Vítkov in Prague, where Sigismund’s effeminacy meant that he was unable to prevail against a small Hussite contingent, which included women and a girl, despite his military superiority: “But you were startled, perhaps by the frightening sound of a dry leaf or perhaps by the snap of the flail (the popular Hussite weapon!). You fled shamefully and lost the bravest part of your large entourage.”77

As a conclusion to this discussion, we observe that a proper research discussion on premodern propaganda does not yet exist. As far as they are comparable, the results do not contradict medieval ritual research, but can be linked to its phenomenology. The results of the study, insofar as they are comparable, do not contradict medieval ritual research, but can be linked to its cognitive categories. The example of the Bohemian kings Wenceslas IV and Sigismund of Luxembourg in particular shows that propaganda in the fifteenth century could not function without a well-established framework of political symbols, rituals, and ideas of order. The king was a public figure who embodied normative notions of majesty. At the same time, he was forced to deal creatively with this network of norms, especially in times of crisis. His subjects or rivals for power by no means interpreted this embodiment of the norm as inviolable. This became particularly clear in the late Middle Ages, when politically and religiously motivated interest groups used every available means of communication to remind the king of the need to comply with these conceptual norms. We have ample evidence from this period in support of the conclusion that propaganda was an integral part of ritual-based communication among monarchs, elites, and wider audiences. However, since the tools through which propaganda could be propagated were accessible to an array of social, linguistic, and religious groups, uses of propaganda had an unpredictable side that even the presidents of today’s democracies fear. The many instruments, strategies, and motifs on which propaganda relies can be used at the right time and by capable propagandists to significantly change perceptions, e.g. to polish one’s own image, to help convey even a misleading a message convincingly. It may serve as a subversive form of expression for the frustrations of the oppressed, or to herald a toxic reception history that can no longer be shaken off. The strength of the mechanisms of propaganda lies in the ways in which they can be effectively adapted to new circumstances, and this in turn makes it possible to use them to interfere drastically with the normative frameworks of political rituals. The grip that various uses of propaganda had on Bohemian society before and during the Hussite Wars, including wide swathes of the population and representatives of royal power, speaks for itself.

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Eberhard, Winfried. “Gewalt gegen den König im spätmittelalterlichen Böhmen: Adeliger Wiederstand und Ausbau der Herrschaftspartizipation.” In Königliche Gewalt – Gewalt gegen Könige. Macht und Mord im spätmittelalterlichen Europa, edited by Martin Kintzinger, 101–18. Berlin: Duncker&Humblot, 2004.

Eco, Umberto. Tra menzogna e ironia. Milano: Bompiani, 1998.

Eco, Umberto. “Für eine semiologische Guerilla.” In Über Gott und die Welt (Dalla periferia dell’Impero), edited by Umberto Eco, 166–77. Munich–Vienna: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1985.

Elull, Jacques. Propagandes. Paris: Armand Colin, 1962.

Formánková, Pavlína. “Kampaň proti ‘americkému brouku’ a její politické souvislosti” [The campaign against the “American Bug” and its political context]. Pamět a dějiny 2, no. 1 (2008): 22–38.

Fudge, Thomas A. The crusade against Heretics in Bohemia, 1418–1437: Sources and Documents for the Hussite Crusades. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.

Fudge, Thomas A. The Magnificent Ride: The first Reformation in Hussite Bohemia. Aldershot–Brookfield–Singapore–Sidney: Ashgate, 1998.

Given-Wilson, Christopher. Edward II: The Terrors of Kingship. London: Allen Lane, 2016.

Golf, Julia, Christoph Schanze, Stefan Tebruck, eds. Tyrannenbilder: Zur Polyvalenz des Erzählens von Tyrannis in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021.

Graus, František. “Das Scheitern von Königen. Karl VI., Richard II., Wenzel IV.” In Das spätmittelalterliche Königtum im europäischen Vergleich, edited by Reinhard Schneider, 17–37. Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1987.

Hachmeister, Lutz, and Michael Kloft, eds. Das Goebbels-Experiment – Propaganda und Politik. Munich: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 2005.

Haidacher, Christoph, and Mark Mersiowsky, eds. 1363–2013. 650 Jahre Tirol mit Österreich. Innsbruck: Universitätsverlag Wagner, 2015.

Havránek, Bohuslav, ed. Výbor z české literatury od počátků po dobu Husovu [Excerpts of Czech literature from the beginnings to the time of Hus]. Prague: Československá Akademie Věd, 1957.

Hendricks, Vincent F., and Mads Vestergaard. Postfaktisch: Die neue Wirklichkeit in Zeiten von Bullshit, Fake News und Verschwörungstheorien. Berlin: Blessing, 2018.

Hruza, Karel. “Ghostwriter Ihrer Majestät, der Krone von Böhmen: Fingierte Mündlichkeit, reale Schriftlichkeit und Legitimation satirischer husstischer Pro­paganda.” In The Development of Literate Mentalities in East Central Europe, edited by Anna Adamska, and Marco Mostert, 415–29. Turnhout: Brepols 2004.

Hruza, Karel. “‘Audite coeli!’ Ein satirischer husstischer Propagandatext gegen König Sigismund.” In Propaganda, Kommunikation und Öffentlichkeit im Mittelalter, edited by Karel Hruza, 129–52. Vienna: Verlag der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2001.

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Hruza, Karel. “Die Husstischen Manifeste vom April 1420.” Deutsches Archiv für die Erforschung des Mittelalters 53 (1997): 119–77.

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Keller, Hagen. “Gruppenbildungen, Spielregeln, Rituale.” In Spielregeln der Mächtigen: Mittelalterliche Politik zwischen Gewohnheit und Konvention, edited by Claudia Garnier, and Hermann Kamp, 19–32. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2010.

Keller, Hagen. “Mündlichkeit – Schriftlichkeit – symbolische Interaktion. Mediale Aspekte der ‘Öffentlichkeit’ im Mittelalter.” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 38 (2004): 277–86.

Klassen, John M. “Images of Anti-majesty in Hussite Literature.” Bohemia 33 (1992): 268–81.

Klassen, John M. The Nobility and the Making of the Hussite Revolution. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978.

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Nejedlý, Zdeňek. Dějiny husitského zpěvu za válek husitských. [The history of Hussite songs in the period of the Hussite wars]. Prague: Jubilejní fond Kral. české společnosti nauk, 1913.

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Roschek, Petra. “König Wenzel IV: Opfer einer Schwarzen Legende und ihrer Strahlkraft.” In Regionen Europas – Europa der Regionen, edited by Peter Thorau, Sabine Penth, and Rüdiger Fuchs, 207–30. Cologne: Böhlau, 2003.

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Schieder, Wolfgang, Christoph Dipper. “Art. Propaganda.” In Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Vol. 5, edited by Otto Brunner, Werner Conze, and Reinhart Koselleck, 69–112. Stuttgart: Klett-Kotta 1984.

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Sösemann, Bernd. Alles nur Goebbels-Propaganda? Untersuchungen zur revidierten Ausgabe der sogenannten Goebbels-Tagebücher des Münchner Instituts für Zeitgeschichte. Jahrbuch für Kommunikationsgeschichte 10. Munich: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2008.

Šmahel, František. Husitská revoluce. Vol. 2, Kořeny české reformace [Hussite revolution. Vol. 2, Roots of the Czech Reformation]. Prague: Karolinum, 1993–1996.

Šmahel, František. “Reformatio und Receptio: Publikum, Massenmedien und Kom­munikationshindernisse zu Beginn der Hussitischen Reformbewegung.” In Das Publikum politischer Theorie im 14. Jahrhundert, edited by Jürgen Miethke, 255–68. Oldenburg: De Gruyter, 1992.

Šmahel, František. “The Idea of the Nation in Hussite Bohemia.” Historica 16/17 (1969): 143–247, 93–197.

Sthamer, Eduard. Erzbischof Johann II. von Mainz und die Absetzung König Wenzels. Jena: J. A. Koch, 1907.

Studt, Birgit. “Geplante Öffentlichkeiten: Propaganda.” In Politische Öffentlichkeit im Spätmittelalter, edited by Martin Kintzinger, and Jörg Rogge, 203–36. Vorträge und Forschungen 75. Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2011.

Oliver, Thomson. Mass Persuasion in History: An Historical Analysis of the Development of Propaganda Techniques. Edinburgh: Paul Harris Publishing, 1977.

Valente, Claire. “The deposition and abdication of Edward II.” The English Historical Review 113 (1998): 852–81. doi: 10.1093/ehr/CXIII.453.852

Wardle, Claire. “Fake news: It’s Complicated.” First Draft, February 16, 2017. https://first­draftnews.org/articles/fake-news-complicated/, accessed on February 9, 2024.

Weltsch, Ruben E. Archbishop John of Jenstein (1348–1400): Papalism, Humanism and Reform in Pre-Husite Prague. Den Haag: Mouton, 1968.

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Zedler, Johannes Heinrich. Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon aller Wissenschaften und Künste. 18 vols. Halle–Leipzig: Verlag Johann Heinrich Zedler, 1731–1754. https://www.zedler-lexikon.de/, accessed on February 9, 2024.

* This study was supported by grant no. 19-28415X “From Performativity to Institutionalization:* This study was supported by grant no. 19-28415X “From Performativity to Institutionalization:Handling Conflict in the Late Middle Ages (Strategies, Agents, Communication)” from the Czech ScienceFoundation (GA ČR). It relies on the Czech Medieval Sources online database provided by the LINDAT/CLARIAH-CZ research infrastructure (https://lindat.cz) supported by the Ministry of Education andScience of the Czech Republic (project no. LM2018101).


  1. 1 Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda.”

  2. 2 Among the many publications in which this approach has been used, the following provide the most up-to-date overviews: Althoff, Inszenierte Herrschaft; Althoff, Die Macht der Rituale; Keller, “The Privilege,” 75–108; Keller, “Gruppenbildungen,” 19–32; Keller, “Mündlichkeit – Schriftlichkeit,” 277–86.

  3. 3 On this concept, see Althoff, Spielregeln; Althoff, “Demonstration,” 229–57.

  4. 4 Among the critics of the concept, sometimes polemical: Dinzelsbacher, Warum weint der König. More general: Buc, “The monster,” 441–52; Buc, The Dangers of Ritual.

  5. 5 On Edward II: Valente, “The deposition,” 852–81; Given-Wilson, Edward II; on Queen Isabeau of Baviere, Adams, The Life and Afterlife; Clin, Isabeau de Bavière; On Margarethe Maultasch and the Transition of Tirol from the Luxembourg Dynasty to Habsburg: Cainelli, “Die Ehetraktate,” 235–48; Haidacher and Mersiowsky, 650 Jahre Tirol mit Österreich.

  6. 6 On the omnipresence of Goebbels’ propaganda apparatus, Kater, “Inside the Nazis”; Hachmeister and Kloft, Goebbels-Experiment; Sösemann. Goebbels-Propaganda, 52–76; Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 108–12.

  7. 7 Cf. Hruza, “Audite coeli!” 129–52; Roschek, “König Wenzel IV.,” 207–30; Čornej, “Dvojí tvář,” 67–115.

  8. 8 Studt, “Geplante Öffentlichkeiten,” 203–36.

  9. 9 Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 69.

  10. 10 The term “propaganda” became the terminus technicus for all Christian missionary institutions of every denomination; Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 69.

  11. 11 Propaganda is not mentioned in the founding bull (June 22, 1622). However, an excerpt from the founding day reports that the pope had entrusted 13 cardinals with the negotium propagationis fidei; Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 69.

  12. 12 Zedler, Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon, vol. 6, 973–74; Art. Congregatio de Propaganda Fide: Zu Fortpflanzung des Catholischen Glaubens errichtet, und versammelt sich wöchentlich einmahl in Gegenwart des Papstes in einem besondern Palast, der der von gedachtem Gregorio vor dieses Congregation aufgeführet werden, und in welchen diejenigen Personen, so nach Anehmung der Catholischen Religion nach Rom kämen die Heiligthümer zu besuchen, ingleichen vertriebene Bischöffe, und andere Geistliche aufgenomnnen, und verpfleget werden.

  13. 13 Zedler, Grosses vollständiges Universal-Lexicon, vol. 6, 974. Es ist auch eine Druckerey daselbst beffindlich, in welcher Breviaria, Missalia et co. gedruckt und von der aus an die Oerter wo es nöthig ist, hingesendet werden.

  14. 14 The French revolutionaries sought “de propager la vraie liberté.” Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 77–79.

  15. 15 While the clubs were still demonstrably active in the 1790s, there are no indications in the sources that they were active during the Restoration period. However, there is solid evidence that the institution of Parisian propaganda survived and played an active role in the 1830s. Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 81.

  16. 16 Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 94–99.

  17. 17 Around 1900, the idea arose that commercial, religious, and political propaganda were basically the same advertising tool, as they all served to persuade a target group, Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 101.

  18. 18 Bernays, “Manipulating Public Opinion,” 958–71.

  19. 19 Lippmann, Public Opinion.

  20. 20 Ellul, Propagandes.

  21. 21 Hruza has already pointed out that the term underwent a positive revaluation in the communist countries of Central Europe after World War II, while in the West it was replaced by alternative terms (public relations, marketing methods) due to its strong associations with the Third Reich. Hruza, “Propaganda,” 13.

  22. 22 The term “fake news” in particular, which was first coined as a means of suggesting that the mainstream sources of news were biased and unreliable and now is often understood more broadly to refer simply to forms of disinformation, propaganda, and hoaxes, is currently put to such a shifting array of uses that it is difficult to predict the latest developments. Cf. Wardle, “Fake news. It’s complicated”; Cooke, Fake news; Hendricks and Vestergaard, Postfaktisch.

  23. 23 Laswell, “The structure,” 37.

  24. 24 Skill was an aspect to which Josef Goebbels also attached great importance. He saw propaganda as an art form of persuasive communication; cf. Hruza, “Propaganda,” 9–10; Doob, “Goebbels’ Principles,” 419–42.

  25. 25 Eco, “Guerilla,” 166–77.

  26. 26 Ibid., 175.

  27. 27 Schieder and Dipper, “Propaganda,” 98–100; Doob, “Goebbels‘ Principles,” 426–28.

  28. 28 Propaganda researcher and psychologist Leonard W. Doob was one of the first people to analyze the microfilm versions of Goebbels’ diaries in his research on propaganda strategies after World War II. He identified a list of fifteen principles that determine the success of propaganda in a society with modern mass media. Some of these principles are specific to times of war, while others, such as the two characteristics listed, have timeless validity, Doob, “Goebbels’ Principles,” 423.

  29. 29 One of the few historians who has dared look for propaganda structures in the pre-modern era was the British PR specialist and historian Oliver Thompson. His work, published in 1977, contains many terminological inaccuracies, especially for the pre-modern period, but it nevertheless provides a useful overview of recurring narrative motifs used for propagandistic purposes. Thomson, Mass Persuasion, 15–23.

  30. 30 On the intersection between humor, irony, and political subversion, cf. Schleichert, Fundamentalisten; Billig, Laughter and ridicule; Eco, Tra menzogna e ironia; Morreall, Laughter and Humor.

  31. 31 Fudge, The Magnificent Ride, 179.

  32. 32 Ibid., 180.

  33. 33 One of the most notorious satirical processions of 1412 was organized by students and Master Hieronymus of Prague. It was centered around an allegorical chariot decorated with seals in the manner of papal bullae. On it sat a student disguised as a prostitute with bells and jewels on his hands, adorned with imitations of indulgence bullae and offering these bullae to spectators with seductive gestures and flattering words, cf. Šmahel, Husitská revoluce, vol. 2, 252–53.

  34. 34 The controversial Czech musicologist Zdeňek Nejedlý collected Czech “folk songs” from the Middle Ages to the nineteenth century between 1900 and 1913. His Dějiny husitského zpěvu (1913) are dedicated to the Hussite period.

  35. 35 Fudge, The Magnificent Ride, 188–91.

  36. 36 The first verse is the most meaningful in this respect: “Children, let us praise the lord / Honor Him in loud accord! / For He frightened and confounded / Overwhelmed and sternly pounded / All those thousands of Barbarians / Suabians, Misnians, Hungarians / Who have overrun our land.” Fudge, The Crusade. 81.

  37. 37 Little research has been done on the subject of low-threshold propaganda in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic. A classic example of this kind of propaganda is the campaign against the “American beetle” (the leptinotarsa decemlineata, or Colorado potato beetle). The regime called on the population to collect these beetles in the 1950s and thus distracted the citizenry from serious domestic political problems. Cf. Formánková, Kampaň, 22–38.

  38. 38 Cf. Kroupa and Veyne, Veritas vincit.

  39. 39 Šmahel, “Reformatio,” 264. On the architectural elements of the Bethlehem Chapel in Hus’ times, see Baláček et al., Jan Hus v památkách Prahy.

  40. 40 Cf. Hruza, “Propaganda,” 19–21.

  41. 41 Cf. Hübner, “Mord und Rufmord,” 74–80.

  42. 42 The figure of the tyrant, perhaps best exemplified by Emperor Nero, had been a popular motif for bad rule since Suetonius’ Imperial Vitae, which was legalized with the Investiture Controversy. Golf, Schanze, and Tebruck, Tyrannenbilder; Backhaus. Tyrann als Topos, 379–404.

  43. 43 The narrative motif of the “lazy Wenceslas” largely goes back to Piccolomini’s Historia Bohemica (1458). In the German secondary literature, this image was mainly established by Lindner, Geschichte, vol. 1 (1875). The great Bohemian historiographer of the nineteenth century, František Palacký, also preferred to avoid the subject of the elusive king, cf. Činátl, Dějiny, 59–66.

  44. 44 For a critical look at the political legacy of Charles IV, cf. Rader, Kaiser Karl der Vierte.

  45. 45 Cf. Klassen, Nobility; Šmahel, Husitská revoluce, vol. 1, 200–8.

  46. 46 Čornej, Velké dějiny, vol. 5, 29–32; Čornej, Dvojí tvář, 71–80.

  47. 47 Sthamer, Erzbischof Johann II.

  48. 48 Čornej, Velké dějiny, vol. 5, 57–63.

  49. 49 Klassen, Nobility, 51; Weltsch, Archbishop John of Jenstein, 68.

  50. 50 Čornej, Velké dějiny, vol. 5, 629.

  51. 51 Hübner, “Mord und Rufmord,” 71.

  52. 52 Weltsch, Archbishop John of Jenstein, 68–69.

  53. 53 Ipseque solus manum et ignem ad latera vicarii et officialis et citera loca apposuit. Jentzenstein, Acta, Art. XXVII, 433.

  54. 54 Eberhard, “Gewalt gegen den König,” 101–5.

  55. 55 The League of Lords (1397) wrote a letter of complaint with accusations against Wenceslas in which the Nero motif is further embellished: Proč Vaše Jasnost učeným pražské koleje studentóm a kněím Neronovu ukrutostí protivila se, neukazuje jim Vašie Jasnosti lásky, neb některé ste jímali, jiné stínali, jiné topili, jiné hřebelci jako hovada cídili, jiné bili ste kyji, žádné jim jakožto přejasný otec Váš neukazuje pomoci, ale kládami, okovy i všelikými haněními je mnohokrát zhanbovali ste? In Havránek, Výbor, 619.

  56. 56 Er hait auch, das erschrecklich und unmenschlich ludet, mit sins selsbes hand und auch ubermicz ander uebelteder die er by yme hait erwirdige und bidderbe perlaten pfaffen und geisltliche lude (…) ermordet, derdrenket verbrandt mit fackelen und ys jemerlichen und unmesslichen recht getodet. In Weizsäcker, Deutsche Reichstagsakten, vol. 3, 256.

  57. 57 Graus, “Das Scheitern,” 20; Hübner, “Mord und Rufmord,” 60–61.

  58. 58 Čornej, Velké dějiny, vol. 5, 177–211.

  59. 59 Hruza, “Manifeste,” 121–22.

  60. 60 Ibid., 132–33.

  61. 61 This applies to the manifesto of March 19, which was apparently distributed immediately and thus found its way to Nuremberg and Ulm. Hruza, “Manifeste,” 136–37.

  62. 62 Hruza, “Manifeste,” 132.

  63. 63 Both manifestos were based on the same text. The most important difference between the versions in various languages was that the Czech version began with the Hussite ideological program, i.e. the four Prague Articles. Hruza, “Manifeste,” 133.

  64. 64 Cf. Schnith, “Königsabsetzungen,” 309–29.

  65. 65 This argument is linked to the general humiliation of the “Czech tongue,” which is mentioned in the text as frequently as the Bohemian crown, or more precisely, 14 times. Both are a substrate for the principle of the national unity of sovereign power and royal territories, exploited by the Hussites for propaganda purposes. Šmahel, “The Idea,” 16, 191.

  66. 66 On the ten charges against Sigismund in detail, see Hruza, “Manifeste,” 143–46.

  67. 67 This information was taken from a letter that the council of Nürnberg sent to Ulm, cf. Hruza, “Manifeste,” 137.

  68. 68 On the context of the manifesto tradition, see Hruza, “Ghostwriter,” 415–20.

  69. 69 Cf. Hruza, “Audite coeli!,” 129–52.

  70. 70 Sigismund is described as a villain allied with the Roman Church who destroys the bonum commune of the Bohemian kingdom. Hruza, “Ghostwriter,” 420.

  71. 71 In Czech: Tentot´ jest, jakožt‘ sě jistě domnievam, onen ještěr hrozný, od tvého milého apoštola viděný, črvený, sedmihlavý, desieti rohy zrohatilý a sedmi korunami korunovaný, jenž oné dvanádct hvězdami korunované, slavné láká ženy a plod její ušlechtilý, bolestně rizený, pílí obželivými ustý vražedlně sežrati. The Latin description is significantly shorter. Hruza, “Ghostwriter,” 421.

  72. 72 Daňhelka, Husitské skladby. 32.

  73. 73 To emphasize Sigismund’s lack of royal dignity, the crown refers to him not as a branch but as a “little branch” of a noble foreign root. Daňhelka, Husitské skladby. 30.

  74. 74 Klassen, “Anti-Majesty,” 277; Daňhelka, Husitské skladby, 24.

  75. 75 The main accusation in the case of this manifesto is that Sigismund had not received the crown legitimately and was thus taking the Kingdom of Bohemia by force. Klassen, “Anti-Majesty,” 271.

  76. 76 Klassen, “Anti-Majesty,” 271.

  77. 77 “You arranged your army for war and advancing gloriously toward their wooden huts, built with wooden slats meant for sheepfold, and here attacked with bold hand, having a thousand troops for each defender of the hut.” cit. after Klassen, “Anti-Majesty,” 271.

* This study was supported by grant no. 19-28415X “From Performativity to Institutionalization: Handling Conflict in the Late Middle Ages (Strategies, Agents, Communication)” from the Czech Science Foundation (GA ČR). It relies on the Czech Medieval Sources online database provided by the LINDAT/CLARIAH-CZ research infrastructure (https://lindat.cz) supported by the Ministry of Education and Science of the Czech Republic (project no. LM2018101).

2024_1_Mihaljevic

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Jakša Kušan’s Forgotten Struggle for Freedom and Democracy in Croatia*

Josip Mihaljević

Croatian Institute of History

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 1  (2024):107-132 DOI 10.38145/2024.1.107

Croatian journalist and writer Jakša Kušan (1931–2019) was one of the most prominent Croatian émigré dissidents. By editing and publishing the non-partisan magazine Nova Hrvatska (New Croatia), he tried to inform the global public about the suppression of human rights and civil liberties in socialist Yugoslavia, even under constant threat of being attacked by the Yugoslav secret police. After the fall of communism, he returned to Croatia and continued his work in the media and the civil sector for a brief time. In this article, I offer an overview of the most relevant of Kušan’s oppositional activities during the period of communist rule in Croatia and Yugoslavia and consider the roles and impact of his activities. I also venture some explanation as to why his life and work have mostly been forgotten in today’s Croatia. One possible answer to this question could be his complex relationships with the Croatian dissidents who won the first multiparty elections in Croatia in 1990. My discussion is based on the findings of the COURAGE project (Cultural Opposition – Understanding the Cultural Heritage of Dissent in the Former Socialist Countries), oral history sources, and archival documents of the Yugoslav secret police.

Keywords: Jakša Kušan, Croatian émigré, dissent, socialist Yugoslavia, Croatia, democracy, COURAGE project, Yugoslav secret service

Introduction

The life of Jakša Kušan is a relevant topic in the history of dissent and non-conformism in the former socialist countries of Central, Eastern, and Southeastern Europe. Kušan, who spent much of his life in exile, was one of the most prominent journalists and publishers of the Croatian diaspora. From 1955 to 1990, he propagated a vision of a democratic and pluralistic Croatia. By publishing the non-partisan newspaper Nova Hrvatska (New Croatia), he sought to inform not only the Croatian emigrants but also the Yugoslav and Western public about the suppression of human rights and civil liberties in socialist Yugoslavia and to emphasize the precarious position of the Croatian nation in the federal Yugoslav state. The communist authorities in Yugoslavia attempted to hinder his activity in exile by creating an extensive network of agents and informants around Kušan. Despite the efforts of the Yugoslav State Security Service (UDBA/SDS),1 however, Kušan managed to publish the journal for more than three decades. The journal earned the epithet of the most respected political magazine among Croatian émigrés. Although Kušan was emotionally attached to the idea of creating an independent and sovereign Croatia, he believed that in the political struggle, one should avoid indulging in the emotions that led many Croatian émigrés to political radicalism. He believed that Croatian émigrés would not gain the support of the Western world if they showed any willingness to use terrorist methods.

Croatian political emigration would significantly contribute to Croatia’s independence from Yugoslavia in the early 1990s. In the 1970s and 1980s, Kušan strongly supported many of the Croatian dissidents and oppositional figures who eventually won the first multi-party elections in Croatia in 1990. However, Kušan’s connections with the people who formed the new government were severed very quickly, and he found himself on the margins of political life. Although he performed some public duties in the 1990s, mostly in the civil and NGO sector, Kušan did not participate actively in political life, and he wrote less and less and stopped publishing. Gojko Borić claims that Kušan was marginalized from the moment of the establishment of the Republic of Croatia as an independent state and that today he has been almost completely forgotten and his legacy has become a matter of debate.2

This paper has two main goals. The first is to emphasize the most relevant of Kušan’s oppositional activities during the period of communist rule in Yugoslavia and consider the roles and impact of his activities. The second is to venture some explanation as to why his life and work have mostly been forgotten in today’s Croatia. The discussion is based primarily on the findings of the COURAGE project (Cultural Opposition – Understanding the Cultural Heritage of Dissent in the Former Socialist Countries),3 oral history sources (interviews), and archival documents. The COURAGE project researched Kušan as a significant oppositional figure to socialist Yugoslavia, describing his private collection of books, photographs, and letters related to the activities of Croatian émigrés.4 As part of this project, two long interviews were conducted with Kušan in 2016 and 2018.5 For this article, a dossier (intelligence file) on Kušan created by the notorious UDBA (the secret service of socialist Yugoslavia) was also analyzed. Files of the Croatian branch of the UDBA, including the file on Kušan, are held today at the Croatian State Archives in Zagreb and recently became available to researchers.6 In this research, I have used various books from the fields of history, political science, and diaspora studies, as well as various articles from scientific and other journals and online sources.

Kušan’s Life before Exile

Kušan was born in Zagreb on April 23, 1931 to a middle-class family. During World War II, when he was still a boy, his family did not sympathize with the Ustasha regime in the Independent State of Croatia (Nezavisna Država Hrvatska, or NDH), which was a fascist puppet state supported by Nazi Germany and fascist Italy. Kušan’s family was Western-oriented, appreciating parliamentary democracy and liberalism. They listened to Western radio stations, such as the BBC.7 Nevertheless, hopes for the establishment of democracy were dashed after the end of the war. After the overthrow of the fascist regime of the NDH, another form of totalitarianism, the communist one, rose to power in the new Federal People’s Republic of Yugoslavia (Federativna Narodna Republika Jugoslavija, or FNRJ).8

Kušan finished high school in 1950 in his hometown. As a high school student, he corresponded with members of the International Friendship League.9 He also came into conflict with philosophy professors over the issue of ideology, and similar conflicts arose when he pursued the study of law at the University of Zagreb. Unlike most of his colleagues, who wrote essays and seminar papers based on texts by Karl Marx, Kušan took an interest in subjects associated with the works of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Kautsky, authors who were not widely promoted at the time. Due to his nonconformist views, he soon came into conflict with the communist party nomenclature at the university.10

During his student days in Zagreb, he was part of a circle of young intellectuals who were dissatisfied with the political situation in Yugoslavia, especially with the oppressive methods used by the regime and the lack of cultural ties to the Western world. In 1953, they began to hold regular gatherings, and they started entertaining the idea of establishing a political organization, which was prohibited by law. In 1954, they organized an illegal organization called the Croatian Resistance Movement (Hrvatski pokret otpora, or HPO).11 They illegally procured newspapers published by Croatian emigrants, but they were disappointed by these publications, which did not meet their expectations or standards. In their assessment, the Croatian émigrés were uninformed and did not have close enough ties with their homeland. Kušan felt that the émigrés were more concerned with relations among the Croatian émigré communities (and the differences that divided these communities) than they were with the fate of the people in Croatia. The first proclamation made by the HPO, which was written in 1954 and bore the title “Message of the Croatian youth from the homeland to Croats in exile,” was an appeal to Croatian emigrants to set aside their petty disputes and problems and work together for the sake of Croatia.12 Kušan was the main founder of HPO and also the person who authored all the organization’s documents.13 The group was also dissatisfied with the attitudes of the Western states, many of which supported Josip Broz Tito and his communist regime in Yugoslavia because of his dispute with the Soviets. They therefore decided that someone from the group should go to the West and engage in journalistic work there. Kušan volunteered to be that person, in part because he was already under police surveillance.14 Kušan had caught the attention of the authorities because he had defended a friend, a student at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine, at the Disciplinary Court of the University of Zagreb. His friend had been accused of having publicly expressed political beliefs that were not in line with party propaganda.15 The case turned into a strong demonstration against the communists, who led the student organization at the faculty.16 Partly in response, at the beginning of 1954, students who were members of the party organizations began to take revenge on Kušan and forbade him to attend lectures and exams. They soon initiated disciplinary proceedings against him at the Faculty of Law. As a consequence of these proceedings, Kušan was given a comparatively lenient punishment for having “exceeded his right to defense,” but this meant that he was subjected to police interrogations and also received death threats. Kušan decided to move to Belgrade to continue his law studies. According to him, the atmosphere in Belgrade was completely different, and he was not under the same strict control that he had been put under in Zagreb.17

Fleeing Yugoslavia and Founding the Magazine Nova Hrvatska

In Belgrade, while pursuing his studies, Kušan worked as a tourist guide for English-speaking groups of tourists. At the end of April 1955, he received a Yugoslav passport, and he left Yugoslavia in May. He crossed the border with Austria and traveled to Italy, where he stayed for a short time before moving to The Hague via Rome, where in 1955 he received a scholarship at the Academy of International Law. One of the judges of the Hague Tribunal, Dr Milovan Zoričić, helped him obtain the scholarship. In early 1956, he settled in Great Britain, where he was given political asylum. In London, he continued his education at the London School of Economics and Political Science from 1957 to 1961, but he did not complete his studies because he was too busy working as a journalist and editor.18 In 1956, HPO, his organization in Croatia, was discovered by the Yugoslav authorities. Its members were arrested and, in 1957, were sentenced to prison.19

In 1958, Kušan received a scholarship from the Free Europe University in Exile (FEUE), which had been founded in 1951 by the American National Committee for Free Europe.20 At this university, especially during its summer seminars held in Strasbourg, respectable members of the liberal academic community from the United States, as well as many prominent European emigrant intellectuals gave lectures. At the same time, it was a gathering place for refugee students from countries under communist rule, who were educated at the institution in a liberal democratic spirit. The Yugoslav communists contended that it was a school for CIA informants.21

In Strasbourg, Kušan connected with many young intellectuals from Europe, and especially with his compatriots. He began to cooperate with some of them in efforts to further the political education of society as a whole and to call attention to the harmfulness of totalitarian rule in Yugoslavia. Kušan continued to maintain contacts with like-minded people from his homeland, and he soon created a network of associates to work together on efforts to inform the public. In 1958, he founded the magazine Hrvatski bilten (Croatian Bulletin) in London.22 In 1959, the magazine was renamed Nova Hrvatska (New Croatia, or NH). The primary goal of the periodical was to inform the Croatian public abroad about the events in their homeland and to reveal the truth about the undemocratic practices of the communist regime in Yugoslavia. One of the aims of the magazine was to set aside the ideological differences within the Croatian émigré communities and work together for Croatian independence. The desire to unite the various political currents in the Croatian diaspora is clearly evident from the slogan at the top of the front page of the first issue of the magazine: “Croats of all parties, unite!”23

From the mid-1960s, NH became the most influential polemically oriented magazine in which discussions concerning solutions to the Croatian question were held. It was initially published monthly, but from 1974 until it was discontinued in 1990, it transitioned to a bi-monthly publication schedule. In the beginning, it was distributed through its trustees, and later it was sold in public places.24 It had the largest circulation of publications among the Croatian diaspora (some editions ran up to 20,000 copies). As an editor-in-chief, Kušan advocated democracy and the freedom of the individual and freedom of peoples. He believed that only a politically informed and educated individual could be an active factor in his social environment, and he saw this principle as a shield against political manipulation of individuals and political parties.25 About Kušan’s work as editor-in-chief, Borić said that he adhered to the principle of objectivism, which meant drawing a strict distinction between information and commentary and taking into account different views on the contents of his reporting. That was an especially hard task, because it was difficult to gather reliable information from totalitarian Yugoslavia.26 According to Gojko Borić, one of the founders of NH, the magazine differed significantly from other Croatian émigré publications, which tended only to report on news from the homeland that confirmed their political views.27 Kušan’s main goal was to educate Croatian emigrants politically, in part to make them less susceptible to the false promises made in the propaganda of some radical Croatian emigrants.

The NH often published news that the Yugoslav government did not want to get out, and the comments NH gave when interpreting certain news and events were negative towards the communist regime in Yugoslavia. The editorial also received confidential information, mostly from anonymous senders, and that information was published or rejected, depending on the assessment of its credibility. The editorship was always at risk of falling prey to false claims, which happened in some cases, which is why some Croatians in exile criticized the magazine and declared such rare failures as hoaxes contrived by the Yugoslav secret services.28

The correspondence with associates from the country was handled through encrypted messages. Thus, for example, in correspondence with one of his friends and associates who he did not know was a UDBA informant with the code name Rajko,29 Kušan wrote at the end of 1964 that he was interested in the Congress of Lawyers in Belgrade, which meant the Eighth Congress of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (Savez komunista Jugoslavije, or SKJ). Kušan also wrote that he “expects a baby in a few days,” which was a coded message to indicate that he was expecting a new issue of NH.30 For the transmission of messages and information, the editorial board of NH used people who occasionally traveled from Yugoslavia to the West. The NH associates and informants were most often people from the closest family circle of the NH journalists.

The Yugoslav authorities were also bothered by the fact that NH was smuggled to and illicitly distributed in Yugoslavia. Kušan also sent NH to his homeland by mail to the many ordinary citizens whose addresses had been made public, for example, as part of some prize games in the newspapers. Through secret channels, a pocket-size edition (14.5 x 10 cm) of the magazine the articles in which could only be read with the use of a magnifying glass was usually sent to Yugoslavia.31 Kušan also sent NH to numerous political leaders in Croatia, such as members of the Central Committee of the League of Communists of Croatia.

The Yugoslav secret services constantly followed the writing of NH and tried to prevent the publication of the magazine, which is evident from the UDBA file on Kušan. As early as the beginning of 1958, the UDBA learned from Tihomil Rađa’s conversation with a UDBA informant that in the summer of 1957 in Strasbourg Kušan and Rađa had agreed to launch Hrvatski bilten.32 In the mid-1960s, the UDBA stated in its reports that “the editorial office of this paper is one of the main centers of subversive-propaganda and anti-Yugoslav activity.”33 The UDBA tried to gain access to Kušan’s store of documents and the magazine’s archives, which included files on contributors and associates. They never succeeded, although they managed to get some of the documents.34

Kušan’s Political Views and His Activities in the Diaspora: A Thorn in the Side of the Yugoslav Communist Regime

Throughout his life in exile, Kušan continuously raised the question of Croatian national independence and spoke openly about the suppression of human and civil rights in socialist Yugoslavia, which is why he was constantly under the surveillance of the Yugoslav secret services.35

From the documentation of the UDBA, one can learn a lot about Kušan himself. According to the reports from the early 1960s, Kušan initially worked under difficult conditions. This is clear from the report of UDBA’s informant Rajko, who visited Kušan in London in 1964. He states that Kušan was not making any profit from NH and that the Kušans lived off the salary of his wife, Zdenka:

He worked day and night, ate almost nothing, and looked like a biblical ascetic—thin, pale, bloodshot eyes, badly in need of a shave, hollow. Usually, they don’t eat enough: they drink tea in the morning, and then she goes to work, and he works in the apartment, and they take the main meal only when she comes and prepares it around 6 o’clock, and even that meal is less than our average lunch.36

Another UDBA informant (code name David) offered similar reports concerning the difficult living conditions of Jakša Kušan in October 1965. He reported that Vinko Nikolić, one of the most prominent Croatian émigré intellectuals, said that Kušan lived under comparatively modest, even meager circumstances and that he edited his magazine on an old-fashioned typewriter.37 He also noted that another Croatian emigrant, Jure Petričević, had said that Kušan lived in poverty and that he depended mainly on the help of some Englishmen.38

Nevertheless, in the second half of the 1960s, Kušan was better off financially because he got a job as an associate to Viktor Zorza.39 In September 1967, Rajko talked to Kušan’s brother, Zlatko. They touched on Jakša’s activities in London. Zlatko told him that Jakša had secured regular employment with the prominent English liberal newspaper The Manchester Guardian and that he worked as a close assistant to the editor for Eastern Europe, the Polish Jew Victor Zorza, one of the most respected journalist experts on Eastern European politics and a man with strong ties to the Liberal Party in Britain. Kušan allegedly collected and systematized news and data on which Zorza wrote his articles and comments.40 The UDBA’s agents considered him a man close to the British Foreign Office. Consequently, it was assumed that Kušan was also leaning on the British secret services.

Kušan sympathized with the left in Britain. Thus, one UDBA informant reports that Kušan, as an English citizen, consistently voted for the Labor party.41 From his youth, Kušan had been a sympathizer of the Western form of political rule, especially the British. However, when he left Yugoslavia as a young man in 1955, he was not against socialism. He considered that, due to the character of the regime, it was impossible to expect the introduction of pluralism, but that a big step would also be to allow a faction within the Party.42

From the very beginning of his activities in London, Kušan stood out as someone who espoused different views regarding the realization of Croatian independence. Although he harshly criticized the communist regime in Yugoslavia, he thought that the liberalization process within the League of Communists of Yugoslavia could expand the space of freedom in the country.43 He advocated for reconciliation between nationalists and communists and felt that the radical methods used by some organizations in the Croatian diaspora were not good or effective as means of fulfilling Croatian goals. He claimed that terrorism was unacceptable both to the Western and the Eastern blocs, which were already inclined to preserve Yugoslavia. He advocated a strategy of gradually building democratic consciousness and cooperation among Croatian emigrants with the liberal wing of Croatian communists. In this sense, in the second half of the 1960s, one of the missions of his journal was to encourage democratization processes within the League of Communists of Croatia and to promote the Croatian reform movement (Croatian Spring) in the West in the hopes of gaining foreign sympathy and support.44 He believed that through the liberalization of the regime in Croatia, the situation in the whole of Yugoslavia could be liberalized. He believed that the League of Communists of Croatia could eventually turn into some kind of socialist or social democratic party. In such a democratic environment, Croats would then be free to decide in a referendum whether to stay in Yugoslavia or secede.45 Because of his conciliatory attitudes towards the communists, Croatian émigrés with more right-wing leanings were suspicious of Kušan, and some of them even called him a communist and a UDBA man.46

Kušan was constantly under surveillance by the UDBA through its numerous agents, collaborators, and informants,47 and his correspondence was secretly controlled. Due to his activities in exile, the District Court in Zagreb opened an investigation into his activities in February 1965.48 The Yugoslav Embassy in London invited him several times and sought to persuade him to stop his political activities in exile while promising him some privileges. Kušan refused, although he had to bear in mind that his family (parents and brothers) still lived in Yugoslavia, and they were also under surveillance by the UDBA.49 Zlatko was arrested in 1959 and charged because he had corresponded with his brother. He defended himself at the hearing, saying that maintaining a written relationship with his brother was not a criminal offense.50 He was forced to explain the way in which they corresponded. They sent messages encrypted in Braille, and Zlatko received the letters from his brother at the address of one of his friends who was blind, and he would send a letter to Jakša addressed to one of Jakša’s English friends.51 Zlatko was later invited by the UDBA to take part in “informative interviews” several times, and in 1972, he was even detained and interrogated for 10 days.52 The UDBA also conducted “informative interviews” with Jakša’s other brother, Petar, in 1975, and his passport was confiscated because he once visited his brother Jakša during his travels abroad.53 In 1977, they confiscated the Jakša’s mother’s passport, and they only returned it seven years later, in 1984.54 The return of the passport was just another UDBA setup. They gave her passport back, but in return, during her visit to London, she was expected to try to persuade Jakša to stop his anti-Yugoslav activities.55 The UDBA failed in its endeavor.

The UDBA speculated that Kušan had maintained contacts with the British intelligence service while still a student in Yugoslavia, because during his stay in Italy in 1955, he had received a British visa “in an unusually short time” and “some photos and other published materials in Nova Hrvatska indicate that Kušan has access to British diplomatic and intelligence sources.”56 The UDBA suspected that the British intelligence service was providing scholarships offered by Kušan to young and talented students abroad who had distinguished themselves through their hostile activity against Yugoslavia.57 However, after reviewing all the documents in his UDBA file, I did not come across any documented evidence of his alleged collaboration with the UK services. The only thing the UDBA had were reports submitted by its informants, who said that some of Kušan’s associates had said that he had connections to the British services.58 In an interview for the COURAGE project, Kušan pointed out that his choice of London as a place to work and publish was a complete success because it was an open environment that received refugees from all around the world and provided him with full protection from the Yugoslav secret services. “The UDBA did threaten us,” he said, “but the English authorities always gave police protection whenever we reported threats. That is why the authorities in Belgrade often said that we were collaborators with some British secret services, and in the end, they never touched us.”59

The editorial office of NH was originally located in a small basement room in London and was constantly struggling with a lack of money for publishing. Moreover, in the second half of the 1960s, the periodical almost went out of publication, because Kušan himself was too busy with his work as an analyst for The Guardian. In 1969, no issues of NH were published. In 1970, one regular issue and one double issue were published, and in 1971 only one was released. In addition to financial difficulties and lack of time, the reason for the reduced publication is that Kušan himself wondered if NH was needed at all. Kušan believed that, in the more liberal atmosphere in Croatia in the late 1960s, and early 1970s, the local magazines and newspapers were freeing themselves from the shackles of communist censorship and were presenting the situation in the country more and more objectively.60 During the Croatian reform movement, better known as the Croatian Spring (1967–1971), Kušan nurtured sympathy for the movement because it was a process he had hoped for.61 Jakša was delighted with Većeslav Holjevac, a former high-ranking partisan officer and long-time mayor of Zagreb, who, since the mid-1960s, had advocated in support of cooperation between the homeland and Croatian émigrés. Kušan described Holjevac’s book Hrvati izvan domovine (Croatians Abroad), which was published in 1967, as the first real step towards buildings ties with the Croatian émigré communities, and he noted that Holjevac had enabled several associates of the Emigrant Foundation of Croatiato come into contact with Croatian émigré organizations, including associates of NH.62 Kušan believed that during the Croatian Spring, especially within the League of Communists of Croatia, a process of democratization was taking place that would eventually lead to the disintegration of the communist regime and, ultimately, the democratization of the whole of Yugoslavia. He was more than disappointed when the Croatian reform movement was suppressed in late 1971 and early 1972.

Although he was disappointed with the collapse of the Croatian spring, this event meant new life for Kušan’s magazine. Communist censorship once again shackled the media in Croatia, so NH became more important. Ironically, communist censorship indirectly saved the journal. Censorship in Croatia reached such a level that the Hrvatski pravopis (Croatian Orthography) written by Stjepan Babić, Božidar Finka, and Milan Moguš, published in 1971, was banned by the Yugoslav authorities for political reasons shortly after it went into print. The Yugoslav authorities destroyed the entire print run of 40,000 copies. Only a few internal copies were preserved. This act of censorship was part of the Yugoslav authorities’ confrontation with the Croatian Spring at the end of 1971, because the Croatian orthography was created within the Matica hrvatska, the most important cultural-oppositional institution in socialist Croatia. However, the editorial board of NH, headed by Kušan, managed to get a copy and publish it in London in 1972. For many years, this book was a best-seller in the Croatian diaspora because it was a symbol of the Croatian Spring.63 The financial success of this book, as well as the contributions from about 20 friends of NH who donated money, enabled the editorial board of NH to buy a house in London which provided a new home for the editorial office. According to Kušan, it was the best investment in the history of NH.64

Kušan and NH constantly reported on fabricated lawsuits against Croatian intellectuals who were tried after the collapse of the Croatian Spring. NH tried to make news of these people’s fates reach the Western public and the Croatian émigré communities. In this regard, they also worked closely with Amnesty International, which they provided information and from which they also received information.65 Kušan also maintained contacts with and published articles and books by Croatian dissidents and oppositionists who could not publish in their homeland. UDBA informants reported that Kušan said that this way a “Croatian Solzhenitsyn could be created.”66 Kušan may have seen some kind of Croatian Solzhenitsyn in Franjo Tuđman, a Croatian historian and communist dissident who was expelled from the party in 1967. Kušan was involved in the publication of Tuđman’s book The National Question in Contemporary Europe in 1981,67 and Kušan’s wife Zdenka translated into English the court documents from Tudjman’s trial, which were also published in London in 1981.68 For the promotion of Croatian dissident writers, Kušan did the most, working together with Vinko Nikolić, when they decided to exhibit together at the Frankfurt Book Fair. Nikolić was the editor-in-chief of the cultural magazine Hrvatska revija (Croatian Review) and the head of the publishing house that bore the same name. Since 1973, they had been exhibiting in Frankfurt every year, and their exhibition stand was always well attended, although they knew that UDBA agents and informants were among the visitors.69 Yugoslav authorities even used the diplomatic apparatus in their attempts to ban Kušan’s participation in the Fair,70 but they did not succeed. Moreover, Kušan and Nikolić expanded their exhibition stand every year.

In addition to his connections with Croatian dissidents, UDBA’s informants also talked about Kušan’s connections with dissidents of other nationalities, such as the famous Milovan Đilas.71 Because he cooperated with Đilas, other Croatian émigrés criticized Kušan.72 In his work against the communist government in Yugoslavia, Kušan also collaborated with Serbian and Albanian dissidents and émigrés, and he took part in some anti-Yugoslav demonstrations organized in European cities.73

The collapse of the Croatian Spring and police clashes with the liberal and national currents in Croatia gave additional impetus to those in exile who believed that Croatian national goals could only be achieved by violent means.74 To acquaint the Western public with the position of Croats in Yugoslavia and to gain international support for the overthrow of the communist regime in Yugoslavia, a small number of Croatian émigré organizations advocated terrorism and were particularly active in the 1970s.75 Kušan believed that the terrorist actions did more harm than good to the Croatian struggle for independence, and in that sense, he also commented on the terrorist actions that some Croatian emigrants carried out in Germany and other European countries.76 He had no sympathies for the action of the Croatian Revolutionary Brotherhood (Hrvatsko revolucionarno bratstvo, or HRB), a Croatian revolutionary organization founded in 1961 in Australia that used terrorist methods, and their guerrilla incursion into Yugoslavia in June 1972. He believed that such actions were doomed to failure and would lead to unnecessary bloodshed, and he felt that the Croatian émigré communities would thus get a bad reputation in the world.77 The Croatian terrorist actions worked in favor of the Yugoslav government. The Yugoslav missions abroad and the secret services worked continuously to create a negative image of Croatian émigrés, trying to portray them as fascists and terrorists. The Yugoslav security and intelligence apparatus occasionally encouraged the radicalism of Croatian extremists in exile to discredit the political émigré community as a whole.78

The collapse of the Croatian Spring also affected numerous Croatian émigré organizations and individuals who were increasingly convinced that they had an obligation to take up the fight for Croatian interests and unite for this cause. In this sense, there were more attempts to unite all Croatian émigré organizations, which was accomplished with the establishment of the Croatian National Council (Hrvatsko narodno vijeće, or HNV) in 1974 in Toronto. It was an umbrella association of the Croatian diaspora which coordinated various émigré organizations that sought to present the case for Croat independence to the international community.79 In 1975, some of the most prominent magazines published by members of the Croatian émigré community, such as Hrvatska revija, Nova Hrvatska, and Studia Croatica joined the HNV. In 1975, Kušan also became a member of the HNV’s Congress and the Head of its Press and Advertising Department (1975–1977, 1979–1983).80 During the preparations for the elections for the Third Congress of the HNV, which were to be held in Australia in 1979,81 Kušan visited Australia and gave an interview for the national television there in which he spoke about the current case of the so-called Croatian six, who were six Australian citizens of Croatian descent who had been accused of attempting to carry out several terrorist attacks in Sydney in early 1979, which involved putting poison in the city’s water supply and planting a bomb in a theater. After a long trial, six Croatian-Australian men were sentenced to 15 years in prison in 1981 for a conspiracy to conduct terrorist attacks. The whole case was the result of the operation organized by the Yugoslav state security service to portray the Croatian-Australian community as extremists using Australian intelligence and police services as its tools.82 It was one of the methods of operation of the Yugoslav secret services, which sought to discredit the Croatian political émigré community. Before the trial was over and many years before the setup was revealed, Kušan told Australian television that it was a setup by the Yugoslav secret services.83

Since the late 1970s, Croatian émigrés had increasingly focused on calling attention to human rights violations in Yugoslavia.84 After the Helsinki Final Act was signed in 1975 at the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE), in which the communist countries pledged to respect human and civil rights, the issue of violation of these rights became one of the main means with which to exert pressure on the communist regimes in Europe. Croatian émigré organizations had increasingly warned Western institutions and the public about the position of political prisoners in Yugoslavia, and they had emphasized the right of Croats to national self-determination. In this sense, they were especially active during the CSCE in Belgrade (June 1977–March 1978) and Madrid (November 1980–September 1983). The UDBA noted Kušan’s particularly strong anti-Yugoslav activity during these conferences.85 Kušan always sought to portray the issue of human rights violations against Croats within the Yugoslav communist regime as an integral part of a transnational problem.

Return to the Homeland and Displacement to the Margins

After the fall of communism in Croatia in 1990, the editorial board of NH felt that there is no reason to publish the journal abroad. They planned to transfer the journal to Croatia and publish it from there. However, by returning to Croatia, Kušan became aware of the numerous problems in a society that suffered the consequences of almost half a century of communist rule. The prevailing spirit of materialism and the lack of idealism stunned Kušan. In his memoirs, he spoke about the atmosphere in which inherited habits and the mentality of censored journalism prevailed.86 In the newspaper business, he faced theft, corruption, and embezzlement, and he soon gave up publishing his journal.87 The Serbian uprising and open aggression against the Republic of Croatia in 1991 had an additional negative impact on the development of the media in Croatia at the time.

Nevertheless, in late 1990, Kušan decided to return to his homeland permanently and continue his struggle for a better society. In 1993, he became a chairperson of the board of directors of the Open Society Institute of Croatia. Given that the society was funded by Hungarian-American billionaire George Soros, Kušan was criticized by the Croatian right and the conservatives. However, Kušan responded to his critics, saying that Soros gave more money for humanitarian purposes than for political purposes.88 In 1995, Kušan was a co-founder of the Association of the Homeland and Diaspora for a Democratic Society. This association was renamed the Association for a Democratic Society, and Kušan was its president in 2004.89

In the 1990s, Kušan was disappointed by political developments in modern Croatia. He did not participate actively in political life. Moreover, in the public sphere, he was largely marginalized and has practically been forgotten in today’s Croatia. One of the main questions this paper raises is why he was marginalized. It is difficult to give a precise and clear answer to this question. Relevant historical sources, such as archival documents from the period after 1990, are still unavailable, so I can only venture tentative answers based on data concerning his political views until 1990, his memoirs published in 2000, and statements made by some of his close contemporaries.

Historian Wollfy Krašić considers Jakša Kušan the first Croatian intellectual to sketch the idea of so-called Croatian reconciliation or the all-Croatian peace.90 It is the idea of the necessity of cooperation among former enemy sides from World War II, Ustashas and Croatian partisans, and their descendants in the creation of an independent Croatian state. At the time of the fall of communism, the aforementioned former communist dissident Franjo Tuđman achieved great political success and won the first multi-party elections in Croatia in 1990. Although Tudjman’s idea of reconciliation generally coincided with Kušan’s vision, after the independence of Croatia, the two of them had practically no mutual relations. Perhaps the relationship between Kušan and Tuđman was a crucial factor in the process of Kušan’s marginalization in Croatian public life. After the death of Kušan in 2019, Vladimir Pavlinić, his long-time close associate and also one of the editors of Nova Hrvatska, said that Tuđman was the one to blame. He claimed that Tuđman had begun to establish secret contacts with Kušan’s circle in the mid-1970s. Tuđman had sent documents concerning his trials and his new books to the editorial board of Nova Hrvatska, and they had published and translated them into English so that the global public would be able to read about him and his case.91 However, Pavlinić believes Tuđman shifted his circle of confidants in exile to Canadian-Australian radical organizations in the late 1980s. According to Pavlinić, Tuđman discarded the once very useful Kušan even before Kušan returned to Croatia. Pavlinić says that Tuđman invited Kušan from London to Zagreb in June 1990 to talk about founding a Croatian news agency and that at one point he had asked Kušan why he was writing hostilely about him and his political party, Croatian Democratic Union (Hrvatska demokratska zajednica, or HDZ).92 Tuđman referred to an article Kušan had published in Nova Hrvatska in March 1990. Kušan had commented extensively in the article on the First General Assembly of the HDZ, which had just been held. Kušan had claimed that the assembly had not touched on real political issues and that the gathering had resembled communist congresses, where it was not important what was said but only who was speaking.93 Kušan had been critical in the article of the HDZ, perhaps even more so because he advocated that the anti-communist opposition in Croatia act together as a united coalition. As the HDZ decided to run in the elections on its own, Kušan sympathized with its rival, the Coalition of People’s Accord (Koalicija narodnog sporazuma, or KNS). Pavlinić believed that Kušan’s libertarian thinking was enough for Tuđman to label Kušan an enemy of the people and that this had been a stigma that Kušan had carried until his death.94 Another one of Kušan’s former associates, Gojko Borić, had a similar view. He believed that any members of the émigré communities who had not been close to Tuđman had suffered great disappointment and failed in anything they had undertaken after the collapse of communism in Croatia.95

A few years before his death, Kušan mentioned that the change in his relations with Tuđman took place after the founding of the HDZ in June 1989.96 It is difficult to say what disrupted the relationship between the two. Perhaps the answer to that question lies in another question: why did Tuđman turn to Canadian-Australian circles of the Croatian émigré world?

If we observe the development of Kušan’s attitudes regarding the struggle for Croatian independence, a certain evolution of attitudes is noticeable. Although Kušan advocated the necessity of Croatia’s exit from communist Yugoslavia, in the 1980s his attitudes softened, and on several occasions, he said that Croatia could remain in Yugoslavia if Yugoslavia were to become a real liberal democracy. One of the reasons why Kušan was marginalized in the 1990s may be that, while supporting the struggle of all dissidents in Yugoslavia in the 1980s, he insisted less on Croatian independence and more on the democratization of Yugoslavia. Perhaps this shift, the milder approach of Kušan’s circle to the question of the existence of Yugoslavia, was why Tuđman turned to the Canadian and Australian part of the Croatian émigré world, which was more nationalistic and hardline. Perhaps Tuđman turned to the émigrés in Canada and Australia because they were also wealthier than those from Kušan’s circle, and he hoped to get stronger financial support from them for his political activities.

On the other hand, Kušan was disappointed with the achievements of democratic Croatia in the first decade of its existence. He believed that the ideals that he and other émigrés gathered around Nova Hrvatska had fought for had not been realized.97 Kušan was also disappointed with the new government’s attitude towards the Croatian émigré communities. He believed that the government had embraced members of these communities who had never had much influence and who, in his assessment, had no real grasp of the true values of freedom and democracy.98 He believed that the HDZ’s policy was guided by short-term goals and that the émigré communities were important to the party only as a source of financial and material resources with which the party would be better positioned to win elections and resist Serbian aggression. He believed that the UDBA in Croatia had changed sides overnight and joined the new government. In his memoirs, he expressed these concerns:

In this way, human rights violators from the previous regime, including notorious criminals, were not brought to justice. In return, and for balance, mostly extreme elements from the émigré world were brought home, and they were given high political, military, and police duties. The former UDBA agents and “the greatest Croats” found themselves side by side in many places... Essentially, this only confirms what we often emphasized, namely that there was never a significant difference between totalitarian communists and national extremists.99

Kušan believed that this was why many respectable Croatian émigrés distanced themselves from the new government. He believed that the HDZ had chosen this path to facilitate its consolidation and because of a lack of democratic sense at the top of the party. Furthermore, the political inexperience of voters and the apparent weakness of the domestic media, both as a direct consequence of the half-century one-party system and the war that soon followed, facilitated the undemocratic practice and delayed democratization processes.100 According to Kušan, these negative developments had psychological causes. The high degree of materialism which prevailed in all post-communist societies had further accelerated the spread of corruption and the overwhelming alliance between tycoons and politicians.101

This hypothesis requires further study, which will only be possible when archival sources from the 1990s are fully available. In this sense, it is worth mentioning the personal archive of Franjo Tuđman, which is still inaccessible to the public. It would also be useful to see and research the editorial archive and correspondence of the magazine Nova Hrvatska, which Kušan handed over to the National and University Library in Zagreb. Unfortunately, although more than a quarter of a century has passed since Kušan turned these documents over, they are still inaccessible to the public. This can also be seen as an indication that Kušan is a forgotten figure in Croatian political and cultural history. On the other hand, Kušan’s private collection, which he kept in his apartment in Zagreb, is also important for future research. According to his wishes, his private collection will be handed over to the Franciscan monastery in Visoko in Bosnia and Herzegovina.102

Nevertheless, it is a telling fact that only after Tuđman’s death did Kušan become more present in public life, and he also performed some public duties. This was the time of the new left-liberal coalition government, which ruled Croatia for several years after the death of Tuđman. From 2000 to 2004, Kušan was a chairperson on the board of directors of the Croatian Heritage Foundation, and from 2001 to 2002, he was a member of the Council of the Croatian Radio and Television.103

Conclusion

Although most of the East European diasporas which originated from areas that were subjected to communist rule were antagonistic towards communism and were preoccupied with the question of national identity and national independence,104 within these diasporas, there was a diversity of ideas and political views. One of the atypical representatives of the Croatian political diaspora was journalist and publicist Jakša Kušan.

Kušan distinguished himself from the majority of Croatian political emigrants through his persistent endeavors to broaden his network of resistance. Already as a student at the Free Europe University in Exile, he encountered and connected with various intellectuals, including the renowned writer Czesław Miłosz.105 He maintained a long-standing collaboration with the distinguished journalist Viktor Zorza, and through his journalistic and editorial work, he established connections with various democratically oriented intellectuals and organizations, such as Amnesty International. In building his network of resistance, he collaborated with other ethnic and national groups, not only those originating from the Yugoslav region but also with Poles and Estonians, for instance.106 Through years of participation at the Frankfurt Book Fair, he emphasized the importance of culture as a primary form of resistance against authoritarian and totalitarian regimes. Alongside democracy and freedom, he regarded culture as one of the main pillars of the new democratic Croatia.

This article presented the most important of Kušan’s activities during the period of communist rule in Yugoslavia, bringing to light new information concerning his life and work. The archives of the Yugoslav secret services are a fascinating source of data which can fill numerous lacunae in our knowledge of Kušan’s oppositional activities. This article shows that Kušan was a ubiquitous figure in the Croatian émigré world who was involved in many of most important events and organizations in Croatian diaspora, such as the Croatian National Council, and who was also important transnationally. In the diaspora, he stood out because of his constant struggle for democratic principles and pluralism, as well as the idea of reconciling the Croatian right and left, which, he felt, was a prerequisite for the creation of a modern democratic and pluralistic Croatia. In that sense, he had a significant influence on numerous actors in the émigré world and among dissidents and oppositional figures in Yugoslavia. Recent historiography has already noted that the idea of all-Croatian reconciliation, first outlined in the mid-1950s by Kušan, was eventually advocated by communist dissident Franjo Tuđman, who in the late 1980s became one of the main representatives of the opposition to communism in Croatia and won the first democratic multi-party elections in 1990 and became the first president of the newly independent Croatia. Kušan may have been somewhat surprisingly marginalized after his return to Croatia in the early 1990s in part because of his relationship with Tuđman. It is possible that in the context of the struggle for political power in Croatia, Kušan, who had been a long-term supporter and promoter of Tuđman, became a political enemy. Although this hypothesis requires further study and substantiation with sources which remain inaccessible, it certainly does not seem implausible. In the 1990s, Kušan was close to Tuđman’s political opponents, and he wrote critically about the new democratically elected government.

Kušan was thus not simply an archetypal representative of the transnational struggle against communist dictatorships but also a non-conformist who persisted in the fight for democracy and human rights even after the communist dictatorship had fallen. He continued his “Battle for a New Croatia,” which was also the title of his memoirs published in 2000.107

Archival Sources

Hrvatski državni arhiv, Zagreb [Croatian State Archives] (HDA)

HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH The State Security Service of the Republic Internal Affairs Secretariat of the Socialist Republic of Croatia

Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša

Oral history (interviews)

Bing, Albert, and Josip Mihaljević. Interview with Jakša Kušan, May 26, 2016. COURAGE Registry Oral History Collection.

Mihaljević, Josip. Interview with Jakša Kušan, April 05, 2018. COURAGE Registry Oral History Collection.

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1 Until 1966, the official name of the Yugoslav secret service was the State Security Administration (in Serbian, Uprava državne bezbednosti, or UDBA). From 1967, its name was State Security Service (in Croatian, Služba državne sigurnosti, or SDS).

2 Borić, “Veliki emigrantski novinar Jakša Kušan.”

3 The COURAGE project was an EU funded project on the legacy of cultural opposition in the former socialist countries of Central and Eastern Europe. It explored and compared collections on cultural opposition and dissent. For more on the project see the project’s webpage COURAGE: Connecting Collections.

4 Mihaljević, “Jakša Kušan Collection.”

5 Bing and Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan; Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

6 The file on Kušan was created by the Croatian branch of the UDBA/SDS (the official name of the Croatian branch was State Security Service of the Republic Internal Affairs Secretariat of the Socialist Republic of Croatia). The Service monitored all persons whose activities were assessed as a threat to the state’s political and security system. See HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša.

7 Klemenčić, “Jakša Kušan: Deficitarni smo u idealizmu i idealima,” 5–6; Bing and Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan; Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 161.

8 The 1963 constitution officially renamed it the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (Socijalistička Federativna Republika Jugoslavija, orSFRJ).

9 Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 164. The International Friendship League is a voluntary non-profit organization founded in 1931 which aims to enhance understanding and friendship between peoples of all nations through the development of personal friendships between individuals of different countries. International Friendship League, “About Us: The story of the IFL.”

10 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

11 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 5. The group included students Stanko Janović, Ivo Kujundžić, Tvrtko Zane (alias Branimir Donat), and Zorka Bolfek. On HPO, see Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora.

12 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 37–49.

13 Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 160.

14 Bing and Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

15 Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 168–72.

16 Vlašić, “List Nova Hrvatska 1958–1962,” 292–93.

17 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

18 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

19 Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 222–36.

20 On the Free Europe University in Exile, see Durin-Horniyk, “The Free Europe University in Exile Inc. and the Collège de l’Europe libre (1951–1958)”; Scott-Smith, “The Free Europe University in Strasbourg.”

21 Mihaljević, “Summer Courses of the Free Europe University in Exile, 1957. Brochure.”

22 In addition to Kušan, who was the editor-in-chief, the members of the editorial board were Tihomil Rađa, Gojko Borić, Tefko Saračević, Marijan Radetić, Đuro Grlica, Ante Zorić, and Stjepko Šesnić. Vlašić, “List Nova Hrvatska 1958–1962,” 291–92.

23 Vlašić, “List Nova Hrvatska 1958–1962,” 296.

24 Ibid., 293.

25 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku, 8.

26 Borić, “Veliki emigrantski novinar Jakša Kušan.”

27 Ibid.

28 Ibid.

29 Informant Rajko was Kušan’s old friend, a lawyer Drago Dominis.

30 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 210.

31 Ibid., 201.

32 Ibid., 82.

33 Ibid., 10.

34 Ibid., 1005–10.

35 In his private collection, there is also a copy of a video (VHS) of an interview Kušan gave to Australian television in 1979 in which he spoke about the situation in Yugoslavia and Croatia’s struggle for independence. Mihaljević, “Jakša Kušan Collection.”

36 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 186–87.

37 On Vinko Nikolić, see Bencetić and Kljaić, “Nikolić, Vinko.”

38 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 242.

39 Ibid., 302.

40 Ibid., 288–89. Zorza was one of the most respected Western commentators on the communist countries and China, and he was among the first to notice and write about the conflict between the USSR and China. On Zorza, see Wright, Victor Zorza: a life amid loss.

41 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 304.

42 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

43 Ibid.

44 Krašić, Hrvatsko proljeće i hrvatska politička emigracija, 54. On the Croatian Spring, see Batović, The Croatian Spring.

45 Krašić, Hrvatsko proljeće i hrvatska politička emigracija, 54.

46 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 146–47.

47 Under his supervision, the UDBA used more than 20 informants whose code names were Bodul, Majk, Kokić, Rajko, Jusufi, Putnik, Ivo, Špica, Branko, Max, David, Marijan, Forum, Joško, Boem, Janko, Leo, Lovro, Grbavi, Prizma, Maja, Lula, Olja etc. HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 8, 12–27, 182, 235, 974–979.

48 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 4, 214–28.

49 Ibid., 154–55.

50 Ibid., 97.

51 Ibid., 98–107.

52 Ibid., 15, 20, 450–52.

53 Ibid., 20.

54 Ibid., 22–25.

55 Ibid., 182, 1030–31.

56 Ibid., 6.

57 Ibid.

58 Ibid., 135, 229, 326.

59 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

60 Krašić, Hrvatsko proljeće i hrvatska politička emigracija, 52.

61 Ibid., 53.

62 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 305.

63 Mihaljević, “Stjepan Babić, Božidar Finka, Milan Moguš. Hrvatski pravopis (Croatian Orthography), 1972. Book.”

64 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku, 103.

65 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 1038.

66 Ibid., 505.

67 Ćosić, “Franjo Tuđman i problemi objavljivanja knjige Nacionalno pitanje u suvremenoj Europi.”

68 Palić-Kušan, Croatia on trial. Kušan also published the Croatian edition of the book in the same year. See Na suđenju dr. Tuđmanu sudilo se Hrvatskoj.

69 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan; HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 18, 954–57, 1066–68.

70 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku, 123.

71 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 7.

72 Ibid., 417–18.

73 Ibid., 6–7.

74 Krašić, Hrvatsko proljeće i hrvatska politička emigracija, 173.

75 On the terrorist actions of Croatian radicals in exile see Tokić, Croatian Radical Separatism and Diaspora Terrorism during the Cold War, 2020.

76 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 497.

77 Ibid., 1036–37.

78 Perušina, “Hrvatska politička emigracija,” 29.

79 Banac et al., “National Movements, Regionalism, Minorities,” 546.

80 Miočević, “Hrvatsko narodno vijeće od 1974. do 1990.”

81 The Australian government banned the HNV meeting, so elections were held in January 1980 in London. Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

82 McDonald, Reasonable doubt; Horner and Blaxland, The secret Cold War; Daley, “Catholic extremism fears in 1970s Australia made Croats ‘the Muslims of their time’.”

83 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

84 Čulo, “Ljudska prava u hrvatskoj emigrantskoj misli (1945–1990).”

85 HR-HDA-1561, SDS RSUP SRH, Intelligence Files, 229528 Kušan Jakša, 903–7.

86 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku, 313.

87 Ibid., 309–13.

88 Borić, “Veliki emigrantski novinar Jakša Kušan.”

89 Hameršak, “Kušan, Jakša.”

90 Krašić, Hrvatski pokret otpora, 13–18.

91 Pavlinić, “Jakša Kušan.”

92 Ibid.

93 Kušan, “Nakon saborovanja HDZ,” 4; Pavlinić, “Jakša Kušan.”

94 Pavlinić, “Jakša Kušan.”

95 Borić, Hrvat izvan domovine, 79.

96 Kušan, “Najveći borci za Hrvatsku došli su upravo iz bivših udbaških redova.”

97 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku, 5.

98 Ibid, 7.

99 Ibid., 314.

100 Ibid., 314–15.

101 Ibid., 315.

102 Mihaljević, “Jakša Kušan Collection.”

103 Hameršak, “Kušan, Jakša.”

104 Apor et al., “Cultural Opposition Goes Abroad,” 474.

105 Mihaljević, “Summer Courses of the Free Europe University in Exile, 1957. Brochure.”

106 Mihaljević, Interview with Jakša Kušan.

107 Kušan, Bitka za Novu Hrvatsku.


*
 The research is conducted within the project “Exploring emotions in the (re)construction of diaspora identity: Croats in Australia and New Zealand (1945–1991),“ funded by the Croatian Science Foundation.

2024_2_Intro

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Concepts of Diversity in the Time of Sigismund of Luxembourg (1368–1437): Introductory Remarks and Conceptual Approaches*

Julia Burkhardt

Faculty of History and the Arts, Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich

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Paul Schweitzer-Martin

Faculty of History and the Arts, Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich

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Hungarian Historical Review Volume 13 Issue 2  (2024):153-171 DOI 10.38145/2024.2.153

On January 20, 1438, a memorial service for Sigismund of Luxembourg was held in the cathedral of Ragusa (now Dubrovnik). Sigismund, who had been king and emperor of many realms, had died a few weeks earlier, and in many regions of Europe, he was commemorated with church services, the ringing of bells, and solemn speeches.1 Ragusa was no exception: here, in front of an exclusive audience, the Italian scholar Philip Diversi († 1452) spoke in memory of the deceased.2 Philip first referred to his unworthiness and then outlined Sigismund’s connection to Ragusa before moving on to the emperor’s greatest achievement: Sigismund’s commitment to unity in the Church, evident in his efforts against the Ottomans and Hussites. Whole countries, including “Italy, Germany, Spain, Gaul, England, all the transalpine regions, all peoples and nations” even the very “earth and all the seas [...], the rivers, mountains, valleys, and finally all elements”3 had born witness to Sigismund’s achievements. The emperor had traveled to all “places, coasts, the most remote regions and the whole world, as well as to kings, leaders, princes, and Christian peoples”4 with tireless commitment and prudence. If this picture of imperial omnipresence did not convince the members of Philip’s audience, they should compare their own deeds with those of Sigismund. They would then clearly see that their achievements hardly bore any comparison with his, “neither with regard to the variety of regions, nor the effort to travel all over the world, nor the speed of their execution, the dexterity of warfare, the number or size of battles, or the conclusion of peace and alliances.”5 Thus all the peoples of all the many languages of Europe should commemorate the great emperor’s passing.

Similarly, almost four years earlier, Isidore of Kiev († 1462) had commented on Sigismund’s praiseworthy character and accomplishments. Isidore had traveled to the Council of Basel as a delegate of the Byzantine Emperor John VIII Palaiologos to negotiate the union of the Latin and Greek churches.6 En route, he stopped at the Imperial Diet in Ulm, where he held a panegyric speech and managed to persuade Sigismund of the importance of future cooperation. Isidore also praised Sigismund’s commitment to the unity of Christendom throughout Europe (only logical in view of his efforts to bring about Church union). Sigismund, Isidore insisted, was well equipped to do this. He was, after all, fluent in Latin, German, Hungarian, Czech, and Italian.7 In addition, Isidore claimed, Sigismund had shown a sense of justice and foresight. He had stayed awake “through whole nights in concern for the state [... and had taken care] with foresight of peoples, cities and people, and everything that concerned them!” Isidore also noted that if the emperor’s presence was necessary somewhere, “then [he did] not allow [himself] any rest, without thinking even in the least about postponement or rest for the body. As if on wings, [he seemed] to fly here and [was] always on the move [...].”8 Isidore expressed his astonishment at the emperor’s devotion and accomplishments with an exclamation rich with pathos: “Who has as much power and rulership and who commands as many vast peoples [...] as you, Your Majesty?”9

Ruling Diverse Realms and Territories: The Case of
Sigismund of Luxembourg

Sigismund of Luxembourg (1368–1437) not only ruled over an impressive array of territories but also reigned for a long period of time. From the perspective of diversity, Sigismund of Luxembourg’s reign represents a fortunate but also challenging case study. Fortunate because immensely rich and varied sources have survived from Sigismund’s long reign in Hungary, the Holy Roman Empire, and Bohemia. These sources provide detailed insights into the significance and roles of categories of difference, social affiliations, group identities, and negotiation processes. The two examples introduced above only give a small glimpse of these kinds of bonds and processes. Challenging, however, because Sigismund was confronted with very different cultural and political conditions in each of his kingdoms. The reality of a personal union across several kingdoms therefore consisted less of a centrally organized power structure and more of different spheres of influence with their own structures and methods of exerting influence. The rule of Sigismund as a cosmopolitan figure who governed vast territories led to a multiplication and differentiation of monarchical centers.10 Resilient alliances, effective communicative strategies, and a considerable degree of everyday political pragmatism were constitutive for the period of Sigismund’s rule. Depending on the situation and the local balance of power, Sigismund, his allies, and his opponents alike had to renegotiate or reconfirm interests, power relations, and coalitions in different regions, depending on the temporal, spatial, and social contexts.

The territories ruled by Sigismund and the neighboring regions significantly influenced by him served as the framework and the focal points of case studies for the international and interdisciplinary conference “DIVERSITAS (Sigis)MUNDI – Politische, soziale, religiöse und kulturelle Vielfalt in der Zeit Sigismunds von Luxemburg (1368–1437)“ [DIVERSITAS (Sigis-)MUNDI. Political, social, religious, and cultural diversity in the time of Sigismund of Luxembourg (1368–1437)], which took place in Munich in February 2023.11 The conference aimed to reveal dynamics, conflicts, regional peculiarities, and the significance of various affiliations in the time of Sigismund of Luxembourg by focusing on a range of case studies. In addition to questions of political history, issues involving social and economic history, migration history, gender history, religious history, object and art history, personal history, and spatial history were considered. Presentations and joint debates were dedicated to the question of how religious, cultural, and linguistic diversity influenced local practices of rule and governance. Furthermore, we considered the extent to which categories of difference (such as religion, social status, gender, and ethnicity) established politically relevant group constellations. We also discussed whether specific practices and semantics were developed to cope with diversity. Finally, we considered the ways in which the various categories of difference overlapped or reinforced one another.

In order to provide a forum for discussion of these questions, the conference focused on the period of Sigismund of Luxembourg (1368–1437). But more importantly, it considered the meanings and applicability of diversity as an analytical term for Medieval Studies. The conference panels were structured around four fields: political, social, religious, and cultural diversity. These fields enabled the participants to focus on a variety of types of diversity, e.g. religious practices, concepts of the unity both of the Church and of empires. Other issues were discussed, including multilingualism, the roles of learned men and women, multiple cities, and propaganda and conflicts.

This special issue of the Hungarian Historical Review presents selected case studies from the 2023 conference. Instead of providing a summary of the papers or retracing the four conference sessions, our introduction focuses on the various possible meanings of the term diversity, methodological approaches to the study of diversity, and the relevance or applicability of these approaches to the field of Medieval Studies.12 We discuss ways in which we can study political, social, religious, and cultural differences in the Middle Ages through the prism of diversity and the terminological and methodological challenges this presents.

Modern and Historic Meanings of “Diversity”: Approaching
a Challenging Term and Its Usages in Medieval Studies

The term diversity can be understood in a variety of ways, as current debates concerning social/gender/class equality and sociological discussions about social orders aptly demonstrate.13 In historical research, however, there seems to be no fixed definition. For this reason, the conference concept used a broad understanding of this term, defining diversity simply as any potential system of differentiation.14 Some conference papers noted that diversity is not merely an analytical term, as one does indeed find the Latin term diversitas in numerous medieval sources.15 However, more than once it became clear that this term does not translate to a modern concept of diversity, especially not to diversity as “celebration of difference.”16 This first impression, if perhaps vague, is confirmed by the definition of diversitas provided by the Oxford Latin Dictionary:

dīuersitās, -ātis f.

1. A state of being apart, separateness, distance.

2. The condition or fact of being different, diversity, difference; difference

of method.

3a. Difference of opinion, disagreement (between).

3b. a contradictory state, inconsistency.17

These observations lead us to two questions. First, is it misleading to use the term diversity in studies on the Middle Ages despite the fact that it may well have meant something else in the sources? Second, is diversity a useful neutral and methodologically convincing term?18 Numerous papers of this special issue highlight that the term could have an ambiguous or even negative nuance in the Middle Ages.19 Does that mean we should draw distinctions between positive and negative connotations of diversity in historical research?

To provide some idea of how these two questions can be handled, we should first discuss conceptual and terminological aspects regarding diversity. Today, the concept of diversity is of growing importance and finds itself at the center of political and social debates (e.g. political/religious/social/ethnic/gender diversity, diversity management in work environment, biodiversity, etc.).20 For the most part, the term is used to refer to issues of race, class, and gender, but it is not limited to these aspects.21 The Merriam-Webster Dictionary provides recent examples on the web for each dictionary entry.22 These examples suggest that American newspapers and magazines tend to use the term diversity together with the word inclusion, so the term indeed leans towards aspects of race, class, and gender.23

This certainly is not the way Sigismund of Luxembourg or his contemporaries (the case study for this special issue) would have understood diversity. However, recent trends and debates have clearly reflected on academic research and on study programs taught at history departments and other university institutes.24 In January 2023, for example, the History Department at the University of Münster advertised a permanent position (open to historians of all historical periods) as lecturer with a focus on diversity.25 They were seeking someone who could teach “in the field of ‘diversity’ (including culture, religion, ideology, ethnic or social origin, gender, age, disability),” understood as “a social phenomenon as well as a key concept and field of research in historical studies.”26 According to this text, the department’s concept of diversity is quite broad. Compared to the focus fields of our conference, it additionally comprises ideology, ethnic origin, gender, age, and disability.27 Overall, this advertisement testifies to a growing academic interest in this field, independent of specific periods, as much as it shows how extensive and vague the very concept of diversity is.

Drawing on this example, we pondered the extent to which the term is relevant (or increasingly relevant) to the field of Medieval Studies in particular. Without claiming completeness, we tried to establish a first impression based on findings generated by searches in the bibliographical databases RI-Opac (Regesta Imperii-Opac) and IMB (International Medieval Bibliography). According to our statistical analysis, the term diversity (or “Diversität” in German) has only come into use for publications by medievalists since the late 1990s. If one counts all entries using the term “Diversität” or “diversity” in the title of a book or article without, however, counting titles that were indexed with the term diversity, the number of results is limited: about 90 in the IMB and about 30 in the RI-Opac. Compared to many other key words of medieval studies, these are fairly low numbers. As is so often the case, there are various explanations. Mostly, this topic has a lot to do with labels. There has been considerable research and scholarship on social and religious difference in the Middle Ages, but often this scholarship is part of studies focused mostly on other topics and therefore does not show in the databases if one considers only the titles of publications. Examples include studies focused on the crusaders or on pluri-religious cultural contact zones.28

What, however, do authors mean when they use the label diversity for their publications? Diversity is often used as a synonym for “variety” or “plurality,” and vice versa.29 These terms are not quite the same in English and German, but they have clear overlaps. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary describes diversity as “the condition of having or being composed of differing elements (especially the inclusion of people of different races, cultures, etc. in a group or organization).”30 Plurality is defined as “a) the state of being plural, b) the state of being numerous, c) a large number or quantity,”31 while variety is “the quality or state of having different forms or types.”32 While we cannot discuss the manifold studies on plurality in the Middle Ages here,33 we would like to suggest the use of diversity as an analytical tool for Medieval Studies. This is not a political agenda that seeks to highlight or promote diversity in history. Rather, compared to terms such as plurality and variety, diversity as a concept seems to offer the clearest focus on individuals and groups, and this makes it an attractive concept for the study of social groups and their structures and forms of identity.

Diversity as an Analytical Tool for Medieval Studies?
Conceptual and Terminological Suggestions

Accordingly, the levels of meaning and areas of application of this term vary considerably. Diversity is often used to describe very different areas, ideas, and social practices. Cultural scientist Margit E. Kaufmann even characterizes diversity as a “tense dispositive of the Zeitgeist.”34 According to Kaufmann, the widespread use of the term diversity can be understood as a reaction to tensions within Western societies. Cultural anthropologist Steven Vertovec even states that our time is not necessarily “characterized by a higher degree of social difference than earlier times, but […] discourses about diversity are ubiquitous in the contemporary era.”35

From a historical perspective, on the other hand, Thomas Bauer, professor of Islamic and Arabic Studies, recently noted a significant loss of diversity and ambiguity in modern times under the catchphrase of the “disambiguation of the world” (“Vereindeutigung der Welt”). Bauer suspects that this development is a trait of modernity, which is characterized by a trend toward the annihilation of diversity and the rejection of ambiguity. In contrast, Bauer attests to the exemplary character (from the perspective of diversity) of pre-modern societies, because they were “tolerant of ambiguity” (“ambiguitätstolerant”) and thus well versed in modes of dealing with social, cultural, and religious differences. In contrast to countries in Africa, the Near East, or Asia, which he contends offer examples of “real multiculturalism” (“wirkliche Multikulturalität”), Bauer considers pre-modern Europe monocultural due to the homogenizing effect of Christianity: “In the pre-modern era, no continent was as religiously and culturally uniform as Europe.”36

A medieval monarch like Sigismund of Luxembourg or his contemporary observers like Philip Diversi and Isidore of Kiev would probably have been surprised by this assessment. After all, Sigismund ruled and influenced large parts of Europe. Sigismund was always confronted with diverse day-to-day political disputes, different groups, differing concepts of belonging, and a differentiation of participatory structures, whether these differences were consequences of the “Great Western Schism,” the war against the Hussites, debates concerning the power of disposition in his kingdoms, efforts to unify Christendom, or defense measures against the Ottomans.

But do we need the concept of diversity for research on Sigismund and his time? Does the study of historical constellations through the prism of diversity really yield new or different findings? Or is diversity just a buzzword synonymous with variety, plurality, or multiculturalism? And does the term, which is used today primarily in reference to race, class, and gender, possibly direct our gaze away from forms of alterity in medieval societies? The aim of this special issue is not to impose modern notions of diversity on medieval societies. Nevertheless, it seems that a term that is primarily used with political and social connotations and implications has great potential for academic discussions, less as an empirical than as an analytical category.

At the heart of diversity lie “different conceptions of social difference.” It is thus a relational concept which highlights differences in terms of social categories and can be applied to relational structures within a social space. Consequently, as Steven Vertovec suggests, an important basic assumption is “the recognition of social difference,”37 regardless of which aspects are brought into focus. This is also where Moritz Florin, Victoria Gutsche, and Natalie Krentz started in 2018 when they made the first systematic attempt to make diversity applicable to historical case studies. They understand diversity as a “system of differentiations”38 that could be pronounced and asserted differently depending on historical constellations. First, a broad reservoir of categories of difference is to be assumed (e.g. religion, language, gender, social position, etc.), which can become visible and effective in different ways. Then, we must ask for forms of dealing with these social differences. In addition to the marking of otherness, the resulting options for perception and action are crucial. These include both observable positioning by means of clothing, symbolic external presentation, and use of language or religious practice and discursive positioning within a social hierarchy.39

Depending on the context, differentiated categories can lead to social inequalities, disparate distribution of resources, and different opportunities for participation. They can but do not necessarily have to contribute to the consolidation of social hierarchies. At the same time, the categories that are used to define and legitimize differences are variable in terms of their content or use, and thus the practices and semantics of differentiation are similarly variable. Categories of difference can be used to legitimize or negate claims to resources or to create new normative orders.40

Diversity as a historical category of analysis thus does not serve as a means of tracing static forms of inclusion or exclusion.41 Rather, according to our hypothesis, it can further more nuanced contextualization of political, social, cultural, and religious differences and hierarchies historically in their relevance to processes of social negotiation and also reveal semantic or narrative changes in the ways in which these differences were reified, challenged, or exploited.42 Whether “plurality” (“Vielfalt”) is an adequate synonym for diversity or whether, as in recent migration research, terms such as “multiplicity” (“Vielheit”)43 or alternatives are more appropriate remains a matter for discussion.

The papers in this special issue consider which sources reveal information about social differences and hierarchies. They thereby show that a variety of sources and phenomena can provide knowledge about forms of social dif­fe­rentiation. One can easily state that it is possible to study diversity in the Middle Ages and that this study of diversity is fruitful. However, not everything we can study has to be studied or has the same importance. Without any doubt, the concept of diversity offers new perspectives on social groups and phenomena that have not been given the attention they deserve. At the same time, we need to discuss whether and how the modern concept of diversity is applicable to the Middle Ages. The easy answer would be yes, it is applicable, but we have to be cautious and precise. It is important to understand the study of diversity not solely as analysis of markers of difference, such as race, class, and gender, but also as the study of concepts, definitions, and uses of variety, understanding contemporary assessments of such variety and its social functions and contexts.

Baring this in mind and based on the papers of the conference and the articles in this special issue, we would like to highlight four aspects that struck us as good reference points to show why it is important to focus on diversity as a concept. First, when applying the concept of diversity, many case studies also found notions of unity and uniformity. These concepts are certainly essential to any understanding of groups and societies, and thus they are of great importance to the field of medieval studies. In some cases, unity and uniformity seem to be opposed to social differentiations. In other cases, these differentiations can be part of unity. Thus, as an analytical tool, diversity can further a more nuanced understanding of how various forms of unity were understood and how they functioned.44

Second, differences and hierarchies typically can be found in processes of inclusion and exclusion used by self-fashioning social groups. This becomes visible in the cases of numerous religious groups and subgroups but also in uses of language (understood broadly also as discursive styles), forms of symbolic expression, and communication strategies.45 At the same time, the papers discuss how social groups were imagined, for instance in the case of individual cities, knights, the nobility, and possibly even heretics.46 If we analyze these constellations through the prism of diversity (within a realm or outside it), we can arrive at a richer grasp of how these groups were constructed and how they functioned.47

Third, we can ask whether positive and negative conceptions of diversity can be handled analytically the same way. Negative and positive connotations of diversity certainly are closely linked to processes of inclusion and exclusion and can even be used as tools in these processes. As a term, diversity has a number of meanings, ranging from separateness and the condition of being different to a difference of opinion. And scenarios of diversity are conceived in multiple ways. If possible, in our analysis we should make clear how diversity was assessed at the time in its specific context to preclude misconceptions by modern readers.48

And last, what role do differences and imaginations play in learning and imitating in art and scholarship, in connecting people, and in establishing opportunities for cultural exchange? Contact zones (understood both spatially and socially) seem to be especially fruitful for these questions.49 These contact zones can include regions such as the Adriatic or the Mediterranean,50 assemblies such as councils or parliaments,51 and cities and even courts.52 We can study both the intellectual works and artifacts produced in these milieus and contact zones and we can focus on individual people and their motives and interests.

These four spotlights highlight only some aspects and debates of this special issue. In many cases, the focus on diversity puts social groups, social practices, social discourses, and forms of identity building or interactions with these forms of identity into focus. This seems to be a promising way of broadening our perspective on the period of Sigismund of Luxembourg beyond the emperor and the nobility surrounding him. Analyzing modes of differentiation in the Middle Ages thus means applying the analytical category of diversity, which furthers a more nuanced understanding of social groups, their practices, and how they interacted with and conceived of one another.

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* We would like to thank our anonymous reviewers for their remarks, which helped clarify our argu­menta­tion.


  1. 1 Jörg, “Trauerfeierlichkeiten Kaiser Sigismund.” On rituals in Ragusa, cf. Janeković Römer, “Public rituals,” 7–43.

  2. 2 On Philip Diversi and his speeches, see the studies by Janeković Römer, “The orations of Philip Diversi,” 43–79; Janeković Römer, “Newly Discovered Autograph,” 67–117; Janeković Römer, “Laudes civitatum,” 275–89.

  3. 3 Janeković Römer, “Oratio in funere Sigismundi imperatoris,” 52–83, here 59–60: Attestatur demum Italia, Germania, Hispania, Galia, Anglia, omnes provintię transalpinae, omnes regiones, omnes gentes ac nationes. Testantur terrę et omnia maria, testantur flumina, montes, valles, et omnia denique elementa longos crebros continuos ipsius comeatus, incredibiles labores, maxima capitis pericula rectissima consilia, singularissimos modos, divinam solicitudinem, prudentiam apertam, et admirabilem industriam quae tam solicite, constanter, intimide, sapienter, diligenter, clare, benignissime et astute egit, exercuit, passus est, subiit, adhibuit […]. in opus adduxit atque demonstravit cum ea loca, illas oras, remotissimas regiones, et ipsum universum orbem, reges, duces, principes et populos christicolas preter sui regalem dignitatem discurreret et circuiret et conveniret unde summo christianorum consensu, eius sanctissimis exortationibus initum convocatum, congregatum atque confectum est, illud splendidissimum, sanctissimum divinissimumque Constantiense concilium in quo cum bona fere infinita acta fuerint unum maximum totius christianitatis saluberimum culmen completum extitit.

  4. 4 Janeković Römer, “Oratio in funere Sigismundi imperatoris,” 52–83, here 60: In opus adduxit atque demonstravit cum ea loca, illas oras, remotissimas regiones, et ipsum universum orbem, reges, duces, principes et populos christicolas preter sui regalem dignitatem discurreret et circuiret et conveniret unde summo christianorum consensu, eius sanctissimis exortationibus initum convocatum, congregatum atque confectum est, illud splendidissimum, sanctissimum divinissimumque Constantiense concilium in quo cum bona fere infinita acta fuerint unum maximum totius christianitatis saluberimum culmen completum extitit.

  5. 5 Janeković Römer, “Oratio in funere Sigismundi imperatoris,” 52–83, here 62: Si enim ante oculos ponere libuerit omnes a nostris imperatoribus omnes ab ex terris gentibus potentissimisque populis omnes a regibus clarissimis res tractatas voluerimusque cum suis comparare palam videbimus nec diversitate regionum nec orbis circuiendi solicitudine nec perficiendi celeritate nec bellorum studio nec preliorum numero aut magnitudine nec pacis aut concordiarum confectione posse conferri.

  6. 6 On the political and religious context, see Kolditz, Johannes VIII.

  7. 7 Schlotheuber, “Bedeutung von Sprachen Luxemburgerherrscher”; Deutschländer, “Höfische Erziehung und dynastisches Denken.”

  8. 8 Hunger and Wurm, “Isidoros von Kiev,” with the critical edition of the speech at 154–63 and a German translation at 164–73. We refer to the last part of passage no. 6, in the German translation p. 170: “ganze Nächte in Sorge um den Staat [… und kümmerst] Dich vorausschauend um Völker, Städte und Menschen und alles, was diese betrifft […]! Wenn aber irgendwo Deine persönliche Anwesenheit nötig ist, dann gönnst Du Dir keine Ruhe, ohne auch nur im mindesten an Aufschub oder Erholung für den Körper zu denken. Wie auf Schwingen scheinst Du bald hierhin, bald dorthin zu fliegen [und] bist immer in Bewegung […].”

  9. 9 Hunger and Wurm, “Isidoros von Kiev” (as note 8), 171: “Wer hat schon so viel Macht und Herrschergewalt und wer gebietet über so viele riesige Völker […] wie Du, Majestät?”

  10. 10 We refrain from providing a comprehensive description of the current state of research and merely refer to a few particularly influential studies: Hruza and Kaar, Kaiser Sigismund; Takács, Sigismundus Rex et Imperator; Pauly and Reinert, Sigismundus von Luxemburg; Hoensch, Kaiser Sigismund.

  11. 11 For a conference report and summary, see Willert, “Tagungsbericht.”

  12. 12 Our text merges the introduction to the conference (J. Burkhardt) and the summary (P. Schweitzer-Martin).

  13. 13 For an introduction to various methodological approaches, see Vertovec, Routledge International Handbook; Krell, Diversity Studies.

  14. 14 On difference as an analytical category, see Ruby, “Security makes a difference”; Hirschauer, “Un/Doing Differences.”

  15. 15 See, for example, the quotation from Philip Diversi’s speech in note 5 above.

  16. 16 Berend, “Medieval diversity.”

  17. 17 Glare, Oxford Latin Dictionary, 617.

  18. 18 Klymenko, “Religious Diversity”; Müller, “Alterity and Self-Understanding”; Reinle, “Diversity and Divergence”.

  19. 19 E.g. Schneidmüller, “Unitas and Diversitas”.

  20. 20 Gaupp, “Epistemologies of Diversity”; Vertovec, Superdiversity, 125–39; Mounk, The Great Experiment.

  21. 21 Brauner, “Recht und Diversität,” 9–84, especially 9–16.

  22. 22 “In an era where there is so much focus on equity, diversity, and inclusion, Chybowski felt that bringing Chong to UConn would provide invaluable input, with his life’s work focused on exploring and dismantling history, geography, race, and culture.” Melanie Savage, Hartford Courant, February 2, 2023. “Rihanna has also made philanthropy part of her mission by championing diversity and inclusion through all of her brands and pledging $15 million towards climate justice through her Clara Lionel Foundation.” Cameron Jenkins, Good Housekeeping, February 2, 2023. “The Black History Month promotion comes as part of AMC’s work with groups like their in-house African American Experience Council, which is working to promote diversity and inclusion within AMC’s ranks and offerings.” Tim Chan, Rolling Stone, January 30, 2023. Merriam-Webster, “Diversity.” February 2, 2023.

  23. 23 And as the example of Rihanna, a popular artist, shows, diversity can involve huge amounts of money. Taylor, “Fenty Beauty’s Diversity-based Business Model.”

  24. 24 Various German universities offer special programs on “Diversity studies” (apart from regular MA/BA study programs). See, for example, the initiatives in Bamberg (https://www.uni-bamberg.de/diversity/diversity-in-lehre-und-studium/diversity-themen-in-der-lehre/), Munich (https://www.lmu.de/de/die-lmu/­­arbeiten-an-der-lmu/zusaetzliche-angebote/diversity/index.html), Bonn (https://www.gleichstellung.uni-bonn.de/de/universitaetskultur/gender-diversityvorlesungsverzeichnis) or Heidelberg (https://www.uni-heidelberg.de/diversity/genderlehre.html).

  25. 25 Universität Münster, Lehrkraft für besondere Aufgaben, January 18, 2023.

  26. 26 “Lehrtätigkeit im Bereich Diversität (u.a. Kultur, Religion, Weltanschauung, ethnische oder soziale Herkunft, Geschlecht, Alter, Behinderung) als gesellschaftliches Phänomen sowie als geschichts­wissen­schaftliches Schlüsselkonzept und Forschungsfeld.” Quote from the advertisement as in note 25.

  27. 27 Some of these aspects are also touched upon by the papers in this special issue. Gender, age, and disability are not at the core of the case studies, but they are discussed to a certain degree. But these aspects certainly have been studied and are studied for the Middle Ages. See, for example Neumann, Old Age before Modernity; McDonagh et al., Intellectual Disability; McNabb, Medieval Disability Sourcebook; Nolte et al., Dis/ability history der Vormoderne.

  28. 28 See, for example: Echevarría et al., Religious Plurality; Baumann et al., Religion – Migration – Integration.

  29. 29 On this methodological problem, see Strack and Knödler, “Einleitung,” 8–16 and (for a diachrone perspective) Wiese, “Religiöse Positionierung.”

  30. 30 Merriam-Webster, “Diversity.”

  31. 31 Merriam-Webster, “Plurality.”

  32. 32 Merriam-Webster, “Variety.”

  33. 33 See, for example, Ehrich and Oberste, Pluralität – Konkurrenz – Konflikt, and Borgolte, “Mittel­alter­wissenschaft.”

  34. 34 Kaufmann, “Mind the Gaps.”

  35. 35 “Wir leben im Zeitalter der Diversität. Das heißt nicht unbedingt, dass die Gegenwart durch ein höheres Maß an sozialen Unterschieden gekennzeichnet ist als frühere Zeiten, sondern dass Diskurse über Diversität in der heutigen Zeit allgegenwärtig sind.” Vertovec, Diversität, 21. See also Vertovec, Superdiversity.

  36. 36 “In der Vormoderne war kein Kontinent religiös und auch kulturell so einheitlich wie Europa.” Bauer, Die Vereindeutigung der Welt, 10.

  37. 37 “Verschiedene Vorstellungen von sozialer Differenz” and “die Anerkennung sozialer Differenz”: Vertovec, Diversität, quotes 21 and 23.

  38. 38 “System von Differenzierungen”: Florin et al., Diversity – Gender –Intersektionalität, 9.

  39. 39 See also Hirschauer, “Telling People Apart.”

  40. 40 Burkhardt, “Frictions and Fictions.”

  41. 41 There are various profound studies on mechanisms of inclusion/exclusion in the Middle Ages. We refer only to some works, without any claim of exhaustiveness: Goetz and Wood, Otherness; Folin and Musarra, Cultures and Practices; Tolan, Expulsion and Diaspora; Eisenbeiß and Saurma-Jeltsch, Images of Otherness; Reichlin, “Ästhetik der Inklusion”; Borgolte and Dücker et al., Integration und Desintegration.

  42. 42 Louthan et al., Diversity and Dissent.

  43. 43 Terkessidis, “Komplexität und Vielheit.”

  44. 44 See, for example, Murray, “From Jerusalem to Mexico”, and Sère, L’invention de l’Église.

  45. 45 On new forms of communication and publishing in the Late Middle Ages, see Schweitzer-Martin, Kooperation und Innovation; Brockstieger and Schweitzer-Martin, Between Manuscript and Print.

  46. 46 Pleszczyński et al., Imagined communities; Stouraitis, War and Collective Identities; Hovden et al., Meanings of Community.

  47. 47 Burkhardt, “Argumentative Uses”; see Hübner, “Impossible Propaganda” and Adde, “League of Lords.”

  48. 48 On the question of medieval “alterity,” see Jaspert, “The Mediterranean Other”; Srodecki, “Antemurale-based Frontier Identities,” and the discussions in Braun, Wie anders war das Mittelalter.

  49. 49 See, for example, Mersch and Ritzerfeld, Lateinisch-griechisch-arabische Begegnungen.

  50. 50 Jaspert and Kodlitz, Entre mers – Outre-mer; Jaspert, “Iberian Frontiers Revisited”; Ehrich and Oberste, Städtische Räume.

  51. 51 Burkhardt, “Assemblies Holy Roman Empire.”

  52. 52 See, for example, Opacic, Prague and Bohemia; Schlotheuber and Seibert, Böhmen und das Deutsche Reich.

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