Recently, I had the pleasure of reading Piotr Gorecki’s “The Early Piasts Imagined: New Work in the Political History of Early Medieval Poland,” published in The Mediaeval Journal, Vol. 1, No. 2 (2011) pp. 81-102. Gorecki provided an in-depth discussion of three extraordinary works, originally published in the Polish language and now available in English translations, which approach history from a different angle. He explained the trend as follows:
“From time to time, we are lucky to find ourselves in the midst of a historiographical conjunction: a moment of shared interest, among quite different communities of historians, in a major subject and in the concepts and methods through which that subject is best understood. Today, one such subject is a new kind of political history. Chronologically, it is centred in the late- and the post-Carolingian world. Substantively, it differs sharply from its older, ‘traditional’ variant, which was centred on formal institutions and conceptualized largely in terms drawn from late-modern statecraft. Its practitioners sometimes underscore the contrast in semantic terms, because in some scholarly vernaculars (though not in English), the earlier variant has a specifying name: Verfassungsgeschichte in German, historia ustroju (or historia panstwa i prawa) in Polish. The new variant of the discipline is defined, in part, through a rejection of such labels and of the conceptual baggage they supposedly carry.
However it is named, the new political history presumes that the realities of earlier medieval Europe cannot adequately be understood with concepts and categories drawn from late-modern law, politics, and administration. Therefore, the updated discipline examines, at least as a point of departure, an altogether different range of phenomena. These are fundamentally centred on power. Power, as it is actually pursued by individual historians, is a rather elastic subject, but can at its core be specified along two lines: first, as a set of resources available to its possessor, which that possessor can bring to bear upon a given set of circumstances; second, as its possessor’s capacity to impose his or her will upon other protagonists and thus to transform those circumstances.
Inquiry into those elements of power opens up several related subjects. One is the experience of power: the nature and the extent of its impact upon the people subjected to it. Another is the ‘representation’ of power, that is to say, a deliberate communication, directed at some significant audience, about power, by the possessor of that power or by someone else. Power may be ‘represented’ through a variety of media: words, spoken or written; pictures and other artefacts; gestures including, but not limited to, rituals or displays of emotion” (pp. 81-82).
Gorecki addressed the following three works in his article:
Zbigniew Dalewski. (2008). Ritual and Politics: Writing the History of a Dynastic Conflict in Medieval Poland. Brill.
Andrzej Pleszczynski. (2011). The Birth of a Stereotype: Polish Rulers and Their Country in German Writings c. 1000 A.D. Brill.
Przemyslaw Wiszewski. (2010). Domus Bolezlai; values and Social Identity in Dynastic Traditions of Medieval Poland (c. 966-1138). Brill.
Before moving away from Gorecki’s article, which I encourage you to read, I want to highlight two short paragraphs from the article that had particular resonance with me.
“The long Polish legacy of writing about ‘national’ (and, to a lesser degree, other types of) ‘consciousness’ closely resembles what in English has more recently been conceptualized as the study of collective or social memory, and of the identity (or the range of identities) grounded in such memory. Wiszewski’s explicit concern with memory, much reiterated in his book, is especially pertinent. For those same reasons, the work, especially in Poland, about świadomość narodowa closely resembles – is, in fact, an instance of – more recent inquiries in English work into medieval understandings of the past, medieval ‘origins of peoples’ (origines gentium), and medieval ‘ethnogenesis’, understood in today’s conceptually updated sense.
Perhaps the core of that conceptual updating, today, is the recognition that identity (or, to get closer to the original Polish term, ‘consciousness’) is historically contingent rather than an intrinsic notion. Identity is not a trait; it is a creation. All three books are major contributions to that proposition. Wiszewski, Pleszczynski, and Dalewski approach the early medieval notions about ‘the Poles’ – to those ‘Poles’ themselves, to their contemporary observers, and to historians today – in terms of an active production, interpretation, and negotiation of that and other organizing categories, by particular authors, over the three centuries that form the chronological time span of these books. Pleszczynski is especially emphatic in his strong rejection of any intrinsic association between ‘the Piasts’, ‘the Poles’, and ‘Poland’, as a kind of primeval package, but all three emphasize the historical and the contingent. Thus, when they are viewed from the longer perspective of Polish ‘national consciousness’, these works resolutely move away from even a suggestion of essentialism” (pp. 100-101).
From the above, I especially noted the nine words: “Identity is not a trait; it is a creation.” They were quite present in my mind when I subsequently read “Cod and Herring in Medieval Poland” by Daniel Makowiecki et al., which appeared in the following book:
Barett, J.H., & Orton D.C. (2016). Cod and Herring: The Archaeology and History of Medieval Sea Fishing. Oxbow Books.
Before I suggest why “Cod and Herring in Medieval Poland” immediately struck me as relating to Piast power and the creation of Polish identity, I want to discuss two small, discrete sections from Pleszczynski’s The Birth of a Stereotype. In Chapter 2, Section 2.1.3., “Dominus [Sclaviniae] Sources on the Events of 1000,” the work discusses the events surrounding Emperor Otto III’s visit to Duke Bolesław I in Poland in 1000 A.D. (known as the Congress of Gniezno). During the visit, among other things, and most pertinent to our discussion, Otto III raised Gniezno to the rank of an archbishopric and created at least three subordinate dioceses: the bishopric of Kraków, the Bishopric of Wrocław, and the Bishopric of Kołobrzeg. In The Birth of a Stereotype, this event was discussed as follows:
“Let us now return to the interrupted analysis of the accounts by the annalists in order to examine how they commented on the establishing of the archbishopric of Gniezno, which was the most important event, from a historical perspective, associated with the emperor’s visit to the country of the Piasts in 1000. The already mentioned annalist of Quedlinburg did not write a single word about the fact that the Church metropolis was established following Otto III’s will. The only trace of his knowledge of the subject, which is obvious, could be the words that Otto III did not want to accept any presents from Boleslav, because he arrived in his country not to take, but to give. However, we will not find in the text the completion of the meaning of the phrase, as there is no mention what exactly the Piast ruler got from the generous emperor. Exceptions are the annals of Niederaltaich and of Hildesheim. Both these accounts in the form available today are secondary sources, as they are dependent on the older, lost texts, whose content must have been transformed. They also bear a very close resemblance to each other. These texts tell us the emperor organized the synod in the country of the Slavs, whose agenda was the establishing of the Church metropolis with seven bishoprics for Gaudentius, St. Adalbert’s brother. That is all. No other details concerning this event can be found in these accounts. At the same time, the latter of the mentioned annalists, who wrote his works before the mid-11th century in Hildesheim, most seemingly tried to introduce his own amendments to the older accounts whose content was unclear for him. Thus he associated the action taken by the emperor in year 1000 with Prague and mentioned Boleslav III from Bohemia as the ruler asking the German monarch for establishing the archbishopric in his country.
This was written, however, when the country of the Piasts found itself on the sidelines of the German elites’ sphere of interest, and the role of the empire’s ally in Central Europe together with the name of the Slavic territory linked with the empire had been taken over from the Polish rulers by the Premislids long ago. It is the chronicle by Thietmar which can serve, to a certain extent, as the key for the analysis of other sources that describe the events of 1000. The bishop of Merseburg, even though his text was also exposed to a certain tendency, tried diligently to collect facts and even mentioned tritely those issues that did not suit him” (pp. 130-131).
At this point, I will quote directly from the relevant portion of Thietmar’s Chronicon where Otto III establishes the Polish church, as Pleszczynski engages in a lengthy diversion and, when he does eventually quote Thietmar’s Chronicon, does not quote the whole of the relevant portion of the Chronicon:
“Without delay, he established an archbishopric there, as I hope legitimately, but without the consent of the aforementioned bishop to whose diocese this whole region is subject. He committed the new foundation to Radim, the martyr’s brother, and made subject to him Bishop Reinbern of Kołobrzeg, Bishop Poppo of Kraków, and Bishop John of Wrocław, but not Unger of Poznan. And with great solemnity, he also placed holy relics in an altar which had been established there” (Diethmar von Merseburg. (2001). Ottonian Germany: The Chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg. United Kingdom: Manchester University Press, pp. 183-184).
Next, I wish to recite a small portion of Chapter 2, Section 2.2.2., “Dux infaustus – an Evil Ruler and a False Christian.” The relevant section states: “The Piast, acting in the way described above, confirmed his status of an intermediary between Christ, the king of kings, a universal monarch, and the people subjected to his authority. The Polish monarch showed that he kept watch over the sacred peace and the order of his community. He also gave his people law, and made the impression of his actions even bigger by setting his own example. Besides, Boleslav revealed in his interpretation of the religious law his superior position in the sacred hierarchy, above the clergymen, and demonstrated his religious royal prerogatives. Thietmar confirms in another passage of his chronicle that the Piast’s practices were not only his passing fancy, but also formed part of a bigger, well-thought-out action. In his analysis, quite in-depth, at least as compared with the interest other chroniclers of the day took in the Slavic land, the bishop of Merseburg examines legal practices existing in his country and praises draconian penalties for breaking the taboo of marriage. Next the famous passage appears in his chronicle about breaking teeth of those sinners who did not fast when ordered to. What is the most important, however, is that the Piast, performing actions described by the chronicler, demonstrated for his Christian partners, especially German, that he was one of them and that he understood what the ruler’s duties were, also in the moral sphere. What is more, he tried to convince his observers that he was very good at was he was doing. Roman Michałowski has recently noticed that the initiative of extending the period of Lent to the maximum—the most radical idea in the whole of Europe pushed through by Chrobry—aimed to integrate the community and separate it from others. This sort of practice must have reached its goal in the long run, but the origins of the Piast ruler’s directive lie probably in his copying royal conduct, in a more intense form, known to us from the Frankish circles, which was also practiced in the Ottonian period” (pp. 175-176).
As Pleszczynski did not cite the language from Thietmar’s Chronicon regarding fasting, and some of the relevant surrounding language, I shall provide it here. “In her [Oda, wife of Boleslaw] husband’s kingdom, the customs are many and varied. They are also harsh, but occasionally quite praiseworthy. The populace must be fed like cattle and punished as one would a stubborn ass. Without severe punishment, the prince cannot put them to any useful purpose. If anyone in this land should presume to abuse a foreign matron and thereby commit fornication, the act is immediately avenged through the following punishment. The guilty party is led on to the market bridge, and his scrotum is affixed to it with a nail. Then, after a sharp knife has been placed next to him, he is given the harsh choice between death or castration. Furthermore, anyone found to have eaten meat after Septuagesima is severely punished, by having his teeth knocked out. The law of God, newly introduced in these regions, gains more strength from such acts of force than from any fast imposed by the bishops” Chronicon, pp. 361-362.
The above, then, consistent with the ideas of power, image, and representation, with which we began, and the notion of the creation of identity, both the creation of the Piast monarchial identity and identity as Christian people, are seen in the creation of an archdioceses and dioceses coterminous with the Piast polity and the vigorous enforcement of Church law by a pious Piast monarch. These notions were buttressed, explicitly and implicitly, when I read “Cod and Herring in Medieval Poland” and noted how the most salient portions underlined, as you will shortly see, how trade/exchange interests reinforced monarchial and religious interests and identity viz-a-viz the diocese of Kołobrzeg, herring, and fasting from meat. In the following selection from “Cod and Herring in Medieval Poland” I have deleted parenthetical references.
“Turning to historical evidence, the first records of herring trade in Poland were written in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries – with some reference to earlier, eleventh-century events. The most important sources are Herbord’s Life of Otto (written AD 1158–59) and the early twelfth-century chronicle of Gallus Anonymous. The latter includes a description of the siege of Kołobrzeg by the army of Bolesław Krzywousty of the Piast dynasty from Wielkopolska: ‘salted and stinking fish suffices for our forebears, we come for fresh ones splashing in the ocean’. This passage is illuminating insofar as it implies the trade of salted herring to the Polish interior. Its emphasis on access to fresh fish is less significant. The Piast dynasty had already conquered Wolin – which has archaeological evidence of early herring fishing, as noted above – in AD 967. Moreover, most herring must have been salted for storage, transport and/or trade rather than eaten fresh – as implied by the consumption of what may have been cured herring at Kołobrzeg-Budzistowo itself.
The socio-economic context of the growth in herring trade to the Polish interior would appear to be the formation of the Polish state and the adoption of Christianity. Almost all of the early inland herring finds are from strongholds or settlements that are part of stronghold complexes in Wielkopolska (Giecz, Grzybowo, Dziekanowice, Poznań, Kruszwica and Ujście, plus Krosno Odrzańskie in Lubuska Land). The creation of state infrastructure presumably combined increased demand for surplus goods with improved opportunities for long-range exchange (be it market trade or substantivist redistribution). Moreover, the adoption of Christianity by Mieszko I in AD 966 probably led to the adoption of Christian fasting practices among at least some elements of the population.
The conquest of Wolin and then Kołobrzeg by the Piast dynasty is indicative of the relationship between Polish state formation and the development of the herring trade. Wolin was a major port of trade in the tenth century, with abundant evidence of fishing for herring and related herring family (Clupeidae) species. Kołobrzeg was a stronghold settlement and community of fishermen at this time, rather than a trading emporium. Nevertheless, its salt springs were clearly critical to the development of long-range trade in herring. Given the relationship between fish trade and Christian fasting practices, it may not be a coincidence that Kołobrzeg was one of three bishoprics of the Polish state created in the year AD 1000” [emphasis added] pp. 190-191.
Wiszewski, in Domus Bolezlai, would presumably see the same power and image representations related to herring and the city centered on herring from the above reading as, in his work, he noted, after discussing Thietmar’s Chronicon, that Duke Bolesław I was keen to project images related to the authority of the Church in Poland and his role in ensuring Christianity’s successful introduction among a resistant population (pp. 53-54).
