Teutonic Knights

by William Urban

  Painting was less important and therefore less innovative than architecture for several reasons. Firstly, the officers of the Teutonic Order were less interested in religious art than were their bishops. Secondly, the order was relatively puritan in its attitude toward decoration. Poverty was the first vow taken by the members, a pledge shared by the Franciscans and Dominicans, the two dominant orders in Prussia. The Cistercians, the major order in northern Poland, relied heavily upon whitewash to give a mood of simplicity and austerity to their churches. And thirdly, the cultural imperialism by which the grand masters hoped to impress visiting crusaders, neighbouring princes, and enemy chieftains was best accomplished through monumental castles, not with delicate paintings or graceful statuary (and even less with poetry and music). Painting and carving had to take a secondary role in the cultural life of the convents.

  This emphasis on the military arts might have been even stronger had the rules of the order permitted tournaments. Although grand masters often ignored the letter of the rules, in this case they chose not to engage in the expensive and distracting pastime of jousting; tournaments would not have escaped papal notice, nor could they be justified as training for warfare, and would hardly enhance the reputation of the order should its best knights fall before the lances of French, English, or Polish warriors!

  Periodisation of Art and Architecture

  The art and architecture of Prussia is simple to catalogue. There was the era 1300 – 50 that has been described above. A second distinct era lasted from 1400 to 1450, years of defeat and financial hardship for the Teutonic Order. Patronage in this later period came from the cities. Danzig became the cultural centre of all Prussia, followed by Thorn, Marienburg, Elbing, and Königsberg. A third era, 1500 – 50, reflected the dominance of humanistically trained scholars and the Protestant Reformation. This was also the period that saw the loss of many Gothic treasures. Riots accompanying the abandonment of Roman Catholicism ended with many of the finest paintings and sculptures of the fourteenth century destroyed in bonfires.

  Further losses of cultural treasures came in the Thirty Years’ War, when Swedes carried away everything they liked, and during the wars of Frederick the Great and Napoleon. General neglect was perhaps even more destructive. Restoration efforts by nineteenth-century nationalists were often ill-conceived, telling us more about their artistic tastes than about the Middle Ages. Lastly, World War Two brought devastation to many castles, churches, and cities; much that survived was evacuated from Prussia and never returned. Happily, Polish restorers have made modern Danzig (Gdańsk) and Marienburg (Malbork) into tourist centres.

  Coinage an Expression of Chivalry

  The art of the mintmaster made its first great strides during the reign of Winrich von Kniprode. Although the Teutonic Order had pursued a careful monetary policy for over a century, this had been confined to assuring that the various civic mints produced a uniform currency of 720 pence to the Mark. Many foreign pennies circulated in the cities, and only slowly did the order produce large quantities of its own bracteats (as the thin silver coins were called, a coin impressed so strongly on one side as to carry the pattern onto the reverse). Although we cannot determine the age or provenance of the majority of the bracteats, we know that mints existed in Culm, Thorn, Elbing, and other cities. Presumably those bracteats showing the order’s cross on a shield reflected a deliberate effort to publicise the crusade. That seems to be part of Winrich von Kniprode’s currency reform, which introduced the Schilling in about 1350. The Schilling was a large coin with the grand master’s shield and his name on the face, and a crusader’s cross on the reverse. A beautiful coin, minted twenty to the Mark, it was a propaganda triumph for the order, a visible reminder of the wealth of the state.

  It comes as a surprise that the grand masters did not put their personal coats of arms on their coins, as the Livonian Masters did. That seems to be a concession to tradition, to avoid personal ostentation and sinful pride, and perhaps to emphasise the motto on the reverse, that each coin was ‘money of the Teutonic Order in Prussia’ and, therefore, could be relied upon.

  The Decline of Chivalry

  Winrich von Kniprode lived at the right time to acquire a great international reputation. His era had honoured individual heroes such as the Black Prince, Bertrand du Guesclin, and Sir John Chandos, all of whom had served in the Hundred Years’ War. Perhaps contemporaries had honoured those knights because there were so few heroes left. New tactics introduced during the fighting between England and France had made it more difficult to become famous, with archers and gunners shooting down potential champions at long distance. War had become a serious business where knights were actually killed rather than held for ransom, where low-born soldiers thirsted more for booty than for glory. Even in the tournament professionals were discouraging amateurs from participating. Developments in Italy were just as disturbing. Towns and princes were hiring mercenaries to fight their wars, and many noble knights became no better than military merchants peddling their wares and services; and, because mercenaries wanted to live to earn a salary later, they avoided pitched battles and refused to defend inadequate fortresses to the utmost. Where was the hero who spent carelessly, indulged in gay song and banquets, and entered light-heartedly into battle against heavy odds, with little thought of the morrow so long as glory could be earned now?

  The medieval concept of chivalry was declining as the calendar approached 1400. Where it still flourished it was becoming exaggerated and unreal, a reflection of literature, not of life. It did not matter that chivalry had rarely existed outside the minds of a few kings and poets; it had remained real to nobles and commoners who honoured its ideals and aspirations. Those men had dreamt of a great crusade in which their deeds would extinguish everything that was shoddy and commonplace in their lives, and would leave behind stories of valour to be remembered for all time.

  The best a crusader could do now was to make an armed pilgrimage to Spain or Prussia, where at least the spirit of the crusades was still alive. Even if the goal lacked the emotional impact or the religious importance of reconquering the Holy Sepulchre, there was at least some satisfaction in striking a blow against enemies of the cross and protecting endangered Christians from strange and powerful foes. The Spanish crusade had the advantage of being easily reached by knights from Italy, France, and the British Isles. But the Spanish hit-and-run tactics were uncongenial to northerners. The tragic fate of the Scots bearing the heart of Robert de Bruce against the Moors was well known. Advancing steadily, the Scots had found themselves abandoned by their allies and surrounded by a sea of Moslem light cavalry. This was a weighty argument in favour of campaigning in Prussia.

  The Teutonic Knights were fortunate in the growing wealth and trade of Prussia. Policies to encourage immigration and trade were now paying handsomely in taxes and cheap produce. Winrich von Kniprode never lacked for money to build great castles, to fill banquet halls with furniture and food, or to hire the services of entertainers. He offered the visitor an opportunity to meet great men from all parts of Europe, even dukes and heirs to crowns. A young knight might make valuable friendships. Most of all, he would return home with exciting stories of men and deeds to enliven the long winter evenings for decades to come. If the forays into Samogitia were manhunts, they were hunts for armed men of exceptional skill and tenacity. It was an honour to fight and defeat such noteworthy and valiant foes. Lastly, Winrich offered young noblemen a way to serve God by defending Christians against barbaric foes who threatened Germans and native converts with death and slavery. This world was slowly passing away. A new and more practical society was emerging.

  The chivalric tradition was not altogether for the good. As knights succumbed to secular temptations, grand masters issued repeated injunctions against modish dress, against long hair, and against riding around the countryside to hunt or frequent inns. Nevertheless, despite such efforts and in spite of the ban on private property and money, individual knights acquired fur
coats, pointed hats, and buckled shoes. Some even decorated their scabbards and painted their shields. The knights’ inability to maintain the outward traditions of their monastic calling was only a reflection of their inward failings.

  Moreover, class traditions made the Teutonic Knights feel they were better than their subjects. As they behaved arrogantly toward their citizens (slighting their contributions to the crusade, raising new taxes, and quarrelling over the extent of their self-government), they slowly exhausted their moral capital and left behind a reputation for haughtiness and ambition. Among the nobles of the chivalric tradition, however, these very characteristics were proof of their superiority and worth. The Teutonic Knights were more concerned with the opinion of the visiting nobles. What their subjects thought, and what bourgeois historians of the future might write, were of little importance. Courage, prowess, and honour were all that really mattered.

  The International Crusade

  Prussia was easy to reach by either land or sea, but it lay at sufficient distance to escape the turmoil of Western political struggles. Neither the Hundred Years’ War, the vicissitudes of the empire, the advance of the Turks, nor the troubles of the papacy disturbed it. It was an island of peace with a war on one coast (Samogitia), and it was winning that war with the help of the constant stream of crusaders from the West.

  No longer was this just a German crusade, as it had been after the mid-thirteenth century when armies of Polish knights ceased to participate. Many Englishmen came, as did an Orsini duke from Naples and numerous French princes. Although the kings of Poland abstained, Poles from Silesia and Masovia came, as did Bohemians, some Hungarians, and a few Scots. It was indeed an international crusade.

  The ceremony of knighthood lay near the heart of this crusading ardour. Each expedition into Samogitian forests and swamps was an opportunity for poor squires to win their spurs honourably and cheaply, and for rich nobles to earn respect by lavish hospitality and courage. The Austrian poet Peter von Suchenwirt described one expedition to seek knighthood in 1377. He concluded his narrative with this exhortation: ‘One counsel I give to noble folk: he who will become a good knight, let him take as companion Lady Honour and St George. “Better knight than squire!” Let him bear that word in his heart, with will and with good deeds; so shall he defy slander, and his name shall be spoken with honour.’

  Many squires took that admonition to heart. So did experienced campaigners. Prussia became a major showplace for fourteenth-century chivalry, visited by knights from Scotland, England, France, and Italy, men who had seen every monarch and tournament champion. Such knights came back for a second, third, and fourth crusade.

  International Popularity

  Polish assertions that the Teutonic Order was evil in its intents, practices, and theology eventually lost credibility with mainstream churchmen and the Western public by the mid-1350s. Partly this was due to the hyperbole of the era, in which the slightest fault would be magnified into a chasm. But more importantly, it ran against the experience of eyewitnesses. Knights and prelates who had been in Prussia and Samogitia, who had seen holy war first-hand, who had met clerics and nobles while travelling across Germany and Poland, were able to make judgements for themselves. Their verdict was almost unanimously in favour of the crusaders.

  The situation would be different in the 1400s. First of all, the crusade was effectively suspended from the 1390s on. Lithuania had been converted to Christianity and tied closely to the Polish state; and Samogitia was occupied by the Teutonic Order. Secondly, the advance of the Turks into the Balkans diverted crusading energies in that direction; that was a field in which Polish participation was potentially important. Thirdly, the balance of power was slowly shifting, and Poland, despite finding it hard to believe that the long nightmare of disunity and weakness was at an end, emerged from the battle of Tannenberg (1410) as the dominant power of the region. Public opinion always respects power.

  Grave marker at Holm, one of the first two churches in Livonia, showing a thirteenth-century warrior with a kite-shaped shield.

  Charging German knights on an early thirteenth-century metal casket from the Cathedral Treasury, Aachen, Germany. All German kings were crowned in this church, after which they would proceed to their election as Holy Roman Emperor and the coronation.

  A manuscript illustration of crusaders in combat against eastern warriors. The helmet of the commander later reappears in the movie Alexander Nevsky, but it should be noted that he does not wear the order’s cloak. Also, the Russian troops bear coats of arms, which was not yet common for them.

  Jousting knights. Note the pot helmets and the musicians. A fourteenth-century frieze in Marienburg castle in Prussia.

  Knights in combat from a capital in Marienburg castle. The coat of arms indicates that this is a secular knight. The lion rampant is a common devise, but many crusaders came from Meissen and Flanders, where this was used. Interestingly, Teutonic Knights did not joust – too secular and vainglorious.

  Knights in combat, from a capital in Marienburg castle.

  Knights jousting, victory going to the rider with the griffon coat of arms, a common motif. Chansonnier Manesse, from the fourteenth-century Manesse Liederhandschrift, Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg.

  Romantic drawing of the ruins of Doblen, a major castle in Kurland that protected the communications route to Prussia. Like most castles it was constructed on a natural rise where water obstacles increased attackers’ difficulties in achieving surprise or prosecuting a siege.

  Romantic drawing of the ruins of Wenden, the seat of the Livonian master in the Livonian Aa River valley.

  Marienburg castle from the Nogat River, with the water gate at the left, then the grand master’s residence, and finally the high castle with the Priests’ Tower in the center of the fortress. There was little chance for a successful assault on the walls from the narrow beach, and generally the Teutonic Order’s allies (Danzig and other commercial centers) guaranteed naval superiority.

  Marienburg castle from the southeast. Successive lines of defense sheltered the high castle from attack, while the high tower provided the defending commander with a good view of enemy activity.

  Marienburg castle walls and warehouse facade, showing the covered walkways that protected the garrison from rain and hostile arrows.

  The great hall in Marienburg castle. Unfortunately, the nineteenth-century restorers told us more about their artistic tastes than about the medieval era. Still, the elegant vaulting of the ceiling remains impressive even after the restorations following World War II.

  Marienburg castle’s middle courtyard, as reconstructed after World War II. Every comfort was provided for the garrison and visitors so that they did not suffer from the long cold and wet winters.

  Jan Matejko’s sketch for his large scale painting of the Battle of Tannenburg (1878). Vytautas holds the viewers attention, while Jagiełło watches from a distant rise. In the left foreground Grandmaster Ulrich von Jungingen falls.

  Werner Peiner: The Siege of Marienburg (1939). In this battle between the Teutonic Knights and the Poles beneath Marienburg castle, the Teutonic Knights are obviously winning; in reality, the Poles simply marched away.

  The ruins of the great castle at Wenden, where the Livonian master usually resided. This was destroyed in the Livonian War by Ivan the Terrible.

  Banners hanging inside Marienburg castle. The battle flags captured at Tannenburg were taken to Cracow and put on public display. These are faithful copies.

  8

  The Lithuanian Challenge

  Lithuanian Expansion

  In the mid-thirteenth century Teutonic Knights had brought about the conversion of a deadly enemy, Mindaugas, and crowned him as the first king of Lithuania. They did this in the traditional manner for the region, by persuading him that it was to his advantage to have the crusaders as allies rather than as enemies. With help from the Teutonic Knights – or, more to the point, perhaps, without the Teutonic Knights striking i
nto his territories from the north and west – Mindaugas could expand his realm into Tatar-threatened Rus’ian lands in a wide arc from his north-east to his south-west.

  For Mindaugas, the only unpleasant aspect to the reversal of religious orientation – other than having to explain his change of heart to his priests and boyars – was to have a few drops of water sprinkled on his head and having to listen to an occasional strange ritual with exotic music. Being already monogamous and not much impressed by any religious doctrine, pagan or Christian, he changed his behaviour and attitudes very little. This scepticism was not a good sign for the Teutonic Knights – conversions based solely on Realpolitik are rooted in sandy soil, and in the early 1260s Mindaugas began to see more disadvantages in being a Christian than advantages. Consequently he returned to paganism with about as much enthusiasm as he had embraced Catholicism – it seemed the best way to placate those nobles who admired the way the Samogitian pagans were crushing crusader armies. The change of heart saved Mindaugas only a short while, however, his enemies assassinating him anyway, but his rejection of Roman Catholicism altered the seemingly predetermined history of the Baltic region. His successors were to remain pagan for more than a century, largely because their important subjects believed that the native gods brought victories in battle, but also because their Rus’ian subjects were more willing to tolerate pagans ruling over them temporarily than to accept Roman Catholic help. Gediminas (b.1257, grand prince 1316 – 41) was an eminently practical ruler, and so were his many descendants; perhaps nowhere else in Europe did a dynasty exist which operated more consistently by the rules of self-interest than did these talented and resourceful men. They were not about to put their Rus’ian policies at risk by conversion to Roman Catholicism, but they were quite willing to allow Western Christians to believe what they wanted – that only the Teutonic Order’s aggressions stood between them and salvation.