GOVERNMENT AND LAW IN MEDIEVAL MOLDAVIA, TRANSYLVANIA AND

WALLACHIA

GOVERNMENT AND LAW IN MEDIEVAL MOLDAVIA, TRANSYLVANIA AND

WALLACHIA

Edited by

MARTYN RADY AND ALEXANDRU SIMON

School of Slavonic and East European StudiesUCL

GOVERNMENT AND LAW IN MEDIEVAL MOLDAVIA, TRANSYLVANIA AND WALLACHIA

EDITED BY MARTYN RADY AND ALEXANDRU SIMON

Studies in Russia and Eastern Europe No. 11

ISBN: 978-0-903425-87-2

© Contributors, 2013All rights reserved.

The contributors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copies of this publication and others in the School’s refereed series can be obtained from the Publications Office, UCL SSEES, 16 Taviton St, London, WC1H 0BW.

Front Cover: The Battle of Posada (1330), from the Chronicon Pictum.

Typeset and printed in Great Britain by Flexpress6 Coal Cart Road, Interchange, Birstall, Leicester LE4 3BY

v

CONTENTSAcknowledgements vii

Contributors viii

Abbreviations used for Commonly Cited Sources ix

Historical Introduction 1 Martyn Rady

Constitutional Thought and Institutions in Medieval Transylvania 15 Romulus Gelu Fodor

Regnum Transilvanum: The Transylvanian Congregatio Nobilium and its Role as a Legal Community at the End of the Thirteenth Century 21 Tudor Sǎlǎgean

From Legislation to Practice: Some Aspects of Military Service in Medieval Hungary and Transylvania 29 Florin Nicolae Ardelean

Written Rules and Privileges: Fiscal and Military Obligations of the Transylvanian Saxons in the Middle Ages 37 Liviu Cîmpeanu

German Law and Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia 43 Laurenţiu Rǎdvan

Legal and Administrative Aspects of the North Transylvanian Road System in the Middle Ages 55 Oana Toda

Molendinis, piscinis et piscaturis: The Utilisation of Water Resources in the Banat in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods 65 Livia Magina

From Custom to Written Law: Ius Valachicum in the Banat 71 Adrian Magina

Changing Legal Procedures in the Context of Social Transformation: The Settlement of Disputes in Sixteenth-Century Wallachia 79 Mariana Goina

From Wallachia to Dacia: International Politics and Political Ideology

v

in the Last Decades of the Fifteenth Century 91 Alexandru Simon

A Late Fifteenth Century Controversy on the Moldavian–Wallachian Frontier: An Incident Analysis 101 Ovidiu Cristea and Marian Coman

Further Reading 120

Index 123

viivi

Acknowledgments

The International Medieval Congress, held at Leeds in 2012, was remarkable on account of the large number of mainly younger Romanian scholars who participated. This volume contains a selection of their papers, together with several others, which have been collected together under the broad theme of Government and Law in Medieval Moldavia, Transylvania and Wallachia. The majority of the contributors come from Transylvania and the Banat, and this preponderance is reflected in the topics that they address. The present collection of essays provides, nevertheless, not only an introduction to some of the themes of medieval Romanian history but also an indication of current trends in Romanian historiography and of the accomplishments of a new generation of historians.The editors are grateful for the assistance in preparing this volume of Christine Fernandes of the UCL SSEES Publications Office.The publication of this volume has been funded by the Research Council of Romania, Project no. TE 356/2010.

Martyn RadyAlexandru Simon

August 2013

viivi

Contributors

Florin Nicolae Ardelean is a Researcher at the Romanian Academy, Centre for Transylvanian Studies, Cluj-Napoca.

Marian Coman is a Researcher at the Romanian Academy, Nicolae Iorga Institute of History, Bucharest.

Liviu Cîmpeanu is a Researcher at the Romanian Academy, Centre for Transylvanian Studies, Cluj-Napoca.

Ovidiu Cristea is Director of the Nicolae Iorga Institute of History of the Romanian Academy, Bucharest.

Romulus Gelu Fodor is a PhD student at the Romanian Academy, George Bariţiu Institute of History, Cluj-Napoca.

Mariana Goina is Fellow of the Academic Fellowship Program of the Open Society Institute at the World History Department in Chisinau, Moldova.

Adrian Magina is a Researcher at the Museum of the Mountainous Banate, Reşiţa.

Livia Magina is a PhD student at the Romanian Academy, George Bariţiu Institute of History, Cluj-Napoca.

Laurenţiu Rădvan is Associate Professor at the Alexandru Ioan Cuza University, Iaşi.

Martyn Rady is Professor of Central European History at the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University College London.

Tudor Sălăgean is Director of the Transylvanian Museum of Ethnography, Cluj-Napoca.

Alexandru Simon is a Researcher at the Romanian Academy, Centre for Transylvanian Studies, Cluj-Napoca.

viii

ABBREVIATIONS FOR FREQUENTLY CITED SOURCES

DIR Documente privind istoria României. A. Moldova; B. Ţara Românească; C. Transilvania, Bucharest, 1951 etc.

DPIR Documente privitoare la istoria românilor, culese de Eudoxiu de Hurmuzaki, Bucharest, 1876 etc

DRH Documenta Romaniae Historica. A. Moldova; B. Ţara Românească; C. Transilvania; D. Relaţii între Ţarile Române, Bucharest, 1966 etc.

DRMH Decreta Regni Mediaevalis Hungariae, ed. János M. Bak, Bakersfield, CA, etc, 1989 etc.

EO Erdélyi okmánytár, ed. Zsigmond Jakó, Budapest, 1997 etc.

MCRT Monumenta Comitialia Regni Transilvaniae (Erdélyi Országgyűlési Emlékek), ed. Sándor Szilágyi, Budapest, 1875 etc.

UB Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Sibiu, 1892 etc.

ix

1

Historical Introduction

Martyn Rady

Like Caesar’s Gaul, the territory of modern-day Romania principally consisted in the Middle Ages of three parts. In the west lay Transylvania, which occupied a plateau surrounded on three sides by the arc of the Carpathians. From no later than the eleventh century, Transylvania constituted a part of the Hungarian crown lands. It nevertheless retained a considerable degree of self-government under the authority of a royally-appointed voivode. To the south of Transylvania, occupying the plain between the Carpathians and the Danube was the principality of Wallachia, which was established around 1300. East of Transylvania and north of Wallachia lay Moldavia, which was founded in the mid-fourteenth century. Its medieval territory enclosed the slopes of the Carpathians and extended to, and occasionally beyond, the River Dniester. Both Moldavia and Wallachia were independent principalities, although they often acknowledged the suzerainty of the kings of Poland and Hungary, and from the fifteenth century, the overlordship of the Turkish Sultan. In the sixteenth century, Transylvania separated from the kingdom of Hungary, becoming an independent principality, with its own elected ruler, although also too recognising the Sultan’s authority.

Turkish power was weaker in Transylvania, and the territory was re-joined to the Hungarian crown at the end of the seventeenth century. In 1859 Wallachia and the main part of Moldavia were united, subsequently becoming independent of the Ottoman Empire and, in 1881, the kingdom of Romania. In 1918–20, Transylvania was joined to Romania, although a portion of Transylvania briefly returned to Hungarian rule during the Second World War. We should note, however, that the north-eastern portion of Moldavia, often called Bessarabia and northern Bukovina, followed in the modern period its own trajectory, being variously occupied by Russia (1812–1918) and the Soviet Union (1940–1991). In 1991, Bessarabia and northern Bukovina gained independence under the title of the Republic of Moldova (which is the Romanian name for Moldavia), although a part of the newly independent state broke away to form an independent and unrecognised unit known as Transnistria. The three historic units addressed in this volume do not coincide, therefore, with current political boundaries.

Medieval frontiers were, however, equally subject to flux. Transylvania’s border with the main body of the Hungarian kingdom was for much of the Middle Ages uncertain and interstitial territories remained. The Dobruja, which lies east of Wallachia and includes the Danube Delta, was also contested between the medieval rulers of Wallachia and their Tatar and Bulgarian rivals, but passed under Turkish control in the fifteenth century. Individual portions of the three principal territories might also be reassigned,

1

2 Introduction

such as Făgăraș and Almaș in Transylvania, which for long periods belonged to the rulers of Wallachia. A block of territory, which lay in Hungary just across the south-western edge of Transylvania, was organised separately under the royally-appointed captain or ban of Severin (Szőrény). This area, later known as the Banat, was subsequently replaced by a network of interlocking castles and districts that were variously assigned to local chieftains, lords (ispáns) of neighbouring Hungarian counties and the rulers of Wallachia. The Banat itself was split between highland and lowland zones, and intersected by rivers and extensive marshland, which contributed to its splintering into separate political units.1

Nor do medieval boundaries coincide with national groups. The Romanians are the descendants of a mainly Thracian population, which was Latinised at the time of the Roman Empire. The medieval area of Romanian settlement extended, however, far beyond the reach of the old Roman limes frontier, reaching northwards from Thessaly as far as the principality of Halych and the Crimea, both of which are now in Ukraine.2 Although in the Middle Ages the densest concentration of Romanian-speakers lay in Transylvania, Moldavia and Wallachia, substantial groups of Romanians lived outside the historic boundaries of the three territories. Romanians were present in large numbers in the territory of the old Roman province of Moesia and were instrumental in the foundation of the Second Bulgarian Empire in the late twelfth century.3 Many of these Romanians were transhumance pastoralists, on which account the historical name of Vlach might refer in the Middle Ages and later either to a Romanian-speaker or to a shepherd. The name of Vlach was, and is, frequently rendered as ‘Wallachian’, which invites an obvious confusion with the population of the principality of Wallachia.

Transylvania included a notable medley of different population groups, most obviously Romanians and Hungarians but also, from the twelfth century, German migrants, who were known (misleadingly) as Saxons.4 Moldavia and Wallachia were more homogeneous. On this account, they were sometimes known in the Middle Ages as ‘the two Vlachias.’ Nevertheless, there were pockets of East Slavonic, Bulgarian, and Tatar settlement. As one of the contributions to this volume indicates, there was also a sizeable German community living in the nascent urban centres of Moldavia and Wallachia, whose civic institutions were modelled on those found in the Transylvanian Saxon towns.5 There was additionally a Hungarian minority in Moldavia, known as the Csángós.6 In the later fifteenth century, their numbers were augmented by Hungarian

1 See below, pp. 71–7, 65–9 (Adrian Magina and Livia Magina). 2 Victor Spinei, Moldavia in the 11th–14th Centuries, Bucharest, 1986, pp. 57–8; Gheorghe I. Brătianu,

Traditia istorica despre intemeierea statelor romanesti [The historical tradition of the establishment of the Romanian states], Bucharest, 1980, p. 170.

3 Robert Lee Wolff, ‘The “Second Bulgarian Empire”: Its Origin and History to 1204’, Speculum, 24, 1949, pp. 167–206.

4 The history of Saxon settlement is discussed in this collection by Liviu Cîmpeanu. See below, pp. 37–8.5 See below, pp. 43–53 (Laurenţiu Rădvan).6 Robin Baker, ‘On the Origin of the Moldavian Csángós’, Slavonic and East European Review, 75, 1997,

pp. 658–80.

Martyn Rady 3

Hussites fleeing persecution. It was, indeed, in Moldavia that the first Hungarian translation of the New Testament was completed, in 1466.7

There was certainly, even in the Middle Ages, awareness that the Romanians who lived in Moldavia, Wallachia and Transylvania shared a common language, which was ascribed to their descent from Roman colonists of antiquity. The Roman ancestry of the Romanians became a recurring motif among humanist historians, and acquired a political significance in the late fifteenth century.8 The Saxons of Transylvania, likewise, recalled their German descent, ascribing their arrival in the region to the Pied Piper or to a lineage that went back to the Goths and even the ancient Dacians.9 Among the Hungarians of Transylvania, there was certainly a sense of solidarity with the Hungarians who lived farther to the west, but also a growing Landespatriotismus that fostered a sense of regional belonging. Nevertheless, national identity was only one category of several and it competed with affiliations that rested on confession, legal status, membership of a privileged community, and loyalty to a common ruler. The advent of nationalist historiography in the nineteenth century sought to obliterate distinctions that rested on criteria other than nationhood and to present the peoples of the region as ‘state-forming’ elements, driven by a deep historic commitment to reify the nation as a political community. As a consequence, competing national schools developed that variously attempted to demonstrate the progress of the nation from antiquity to the modern day, and the nation’s role in founding or adapting institutions so as to comport with its mission to achieve statehood. Even today, there are two histories of Transylvania—a Hungarian that is primarily concerned with institutional, cultural and political continuities, and a Romanian that stresses the primacy of settlement and the struggle of a national community over time to forge a modern nation state.

In view of the contemporary association of state with nation, it is perhaps inevitable that national narratives should seek to impose a deterministic framework upon events that were neither predetermined nor continuous. One way of escaping the constraints of the national narrative is to break down the object of enquiry into its constituent political and geographical elements and to analyse these in terms of regional history. It is for this reason that the present volume is not called after Romania or the Romanian lands, but instead after the regions that existed historically, before the advent of the Romanian state. By addressing Moldavia, Transylvania and Wallachia as separate entities, the history of their institutions, government and laws may be discussed in a less procrustean and deterministic fashion. It is only by putting the nation state aside that the dynamics governing social relations and relations of power in the Middle Ages can be liberated from nationalist teleology.

Even so, it is plain that neither Transylvania, Moldavia nor Wallachia yield the most appropriate starting point from which to investigate the early history of the region. The eastern arc of the Carpathians and the lands that ran from their slopes towards the Dniester and the Danube were characterised for much of the Middle Ages by

7 Martyn Rady, ‘Jiskra, Hussitism and Slovakia’, in (eds) Eva Doležalova & Jaroslav Pánek, Confession and Nation in the Era of Reformations, Prague, 2011, pp. 88–9.

8 See below, pp. 98–9 (Alexandru Simon). 9 Karl Kurt Klein, Transsylvanica. Gesammelte Abhandlungen u. Aufsätze zur Sprach- und

Siedlungsforschung der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, Munich, 1963, pp. 11, 102–8.

4 Introduction

fragmentation. Partly this arose from geographic circumstances. The mountain valleys and wooded fastnesses of the Carpathians encouraged ‘cantonisation,’ while the bands of forest, waterways and flood plains that intersected the lowlands of Moldavia and Wallachia were an equal impediment to political growth. Beyond this, however, much of the whole region lay on the frontier of empires—the Avar khanate (sixth to ninth centuries); the Bulgarian khanate and kingdom (eighth to tenth centuries); the Pecheneg and Cuman tribal federations (ninth to thirteenth centuries); and, from the eleventh century, the Hungarian kingdom. The advance and retreat of empires threw up shards of short-lived statelets, dependencies and dwarf principalities, which flourished in the interstices of power. Around the end of the eleventh century, several small political formations were established on the Lower Danube, on the edge of what would become Wallachia. The names of their chieftains—Tatos, Sesthslav and Satza—may be variously interpreted as disclosing a Turkic or Romanian heritage.10 About a century later, Cuman tribes occupied a large part of the Wallachian plain, from which they launched assaults both into Transylvania and deep into the Balkans. The territory east of the Olt River was subsequently known by the name of Cumania. On its northern fringe, minor duchies were founded, the names of which are recorded in a charter of 1247—a terra Lytva (Litovoi) and a terra of the voivode Szenelaus, and several princedoms (called kenezatus) variously belonging to Johannes, Farkas and the voivode Lynioy.11 Several of these duchies were specifically recorded as being populated by Romanians or Vlachs, although the names of the chieftains contrastingly suggest a Hungarian and Slavonic admixture. Farther north, in what would later become Moldavia, principalities were formed in the shadow of fortified trading centres such as Khotyn, Suceava and Cetatea Albă (Akkerman, Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi). On account of their strategic and commercial location, these places were contested by Byzantium, Kievan Russia, the principality of Halych, the Genoese and the Tatars. Elsewhere in this region, we learn of territories belonging to short-lived fragments of peoples—Birlads, Brodniks, Berends and remnants of the old Khazar empire.

There was an equal shattering of authority in Transylvania. Originally, the southern part of Transylvania belonged to the Bulgarian khanate and empire, but its ruler was ousted by a Hungarian chieftain towards the end of the tenth century. He and his descendants are recalled in the surviving sources by the name of Gyula or Gylas, which was in origin a Turkic title. The centre of their power was most probably the old Roman city of Apulum, which was subsequently renamed Alba Iulia or Gyulafehérvár (literally, the white or stone castle of Gyula). They seem to have belonged to the Orthodox faith—one of their number was baptised in Constantinople, c. 950. The centre of Alba Iulia was also the site of a substantial church, built according to a Bulgarian Orthodox ground plan.12 The family of the Gyulas was overthrown by St Stephen (1000–1038) at the beginning of the eleventh century, after which their domains were incorporated in a territory that was apportioned to a royal officer who was variously known as a princeps

10 Victor Spinei, The Romanians and the Turkic Nomads North of the Danube Delta from the Tenth to the Mid-Thirteenth Century, Leiden & Boston, p. 119.

11 UB, 1, pp. 73–6. 12 The excavations were led by Daniela Marcu Istrate, and the findings press-released on 5 August, 2011.

Martyn Rady 5

or voivode. Farther to the north, one or more formerly self-governing principalities were by degrees brought under the sway of the Hungarian ruler. Possibly, the leader of one of these, a certain Gelou, duke of the Vlachs, is reported in the Gesta Hungarorum of Anonymus, which is Hungary’s earliest extant chronicle. Conceivably, his power was located in what would later become Dăbâca County.13 Anonymus composed his account around 1200, which was several centuries after the events he described, and the accuracy of his account is contested.

Transylvania was distant from the heart of the Hungarian kingdom, the core of which comprised the Esztergom—Visegrád—Székesfehérvár triangle, centred upon the Danube bend. Set at the westernmost limit of the Silk Road, Transylvania was, however, both an important entrepôt for trade and a border zone that needed defending. On the one hand, therefore, the Hungarian rulers encouraged the territory’s settlement by colonists, mainly from the Rhineland and Low Countries, whose agricultural and commercial expertise might advance the region’s prosperity and its international trade.14 On the other, they organised warrior folk to guard Transylvania’s defiles. The communities that were thus gathered were granted special privileges, both as incentives to settlement and as rewards for the loyalty that they demonstrated. Of these, the German Saxon community is the best known, but we should add to their number the Szekel communities on Transylvania’s eastern edge,15 the military orders of the Teutonic Knights and Hospitallers, and communities of Romanians, organised under their own voivodes and knezes (variously translated as chieftains and headmen, but also including in the earlier period the locatores who founded settlements).16 Although Transylvania was administered after the manner of the Hungarian kingdom, and divided into counties headed by a lord or ispán, its territorial organisation was intersected by a medley of privileged communities. In respect of their sense of belonging, these did, however, have a sense of regional identity, which makes it possible to consider Transylvania as a distinct territory within the complex of the Hungarian crown lands.17 This apprehension of distinctiveness would in the later Middle Ages make itself felt in terms of an institutional connectedness and, by degrees, contribute to the establishment of the independent Transylvanian Principality of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In token of its separate institutional and governmental arrangements, from the late thirteenth century Transylvania was referred to as a ‘realm’ or regnum. The notion of Transylvania as a regnum and of its political community as a subject of right survived into the early-modern period.18 The term regnum might thus still be employed as an alternative to

13 This identification is disputed. See Florin Curta, ‘Transylvania around AD 1000’, in (ed.) Przemysław Urbańczyk, Europe around the Year 1000, Warsaw, 2001, pp. 141–65.

14 For some of these international trading links, see below pp. 57–8 (Oana Toda). 15 The Szekels are discussed briefly below, p. 35 (Florin N. Ardelean). 16 The role of locatores is discussed more generally below, pp. 45–6 (Liviu Cîmpeanu). The literature

on knezes is extensive. See in particular, Maria Holban, ‘Deposedări şi judecaţi in Banat pe vremea Angevinilor şi ilustrarea lor prin procesul Voya (1361-1378)’, Studii şi materiale de istorie medie, 5, 1962, pp. 57–131 (esp. pp. 61–6).

17 See the contribution to this collection by Tudor Sălăgean, pp. 21–8. 18 See the contribution of Romulus Gelu Fodor to this collection, pp. 16–17.

6 Introduction

Principatus.19 This move towards a territorialised notion of political community was not, however, unusual in the later Middle Ages—the same trajectory and the vocabulary of rights based upon the concept of regnum may also be discerned in contemporary Slavonia.20

The territory of Wallachia and Moldavia comprised before the fourteenth century a medley of petty principalities, over which Cuman and Tatar lordship was only registered in the occasional payments of tribute. The decline of the Mongol-Tatar empire in Central Asia during the fourteenth century split the Silk Road and had as its immediate consequence the economic decline of Transylvania—construction of the new Saxon church of Sebeșul Săsesc (Szászsebes, Melnbach) was thus halted midway—but it also left a political vacuum on the western steppe and on the Lower Danube. Later histories would explain the emergence of separate polities in the lands that would later become Moldavia and Wallachia in dynastic fashion, after a family that would gather the principality around itself and contribute over centuries to the ruling line. In fact, there were many families or kindreds in each of these territories, any one of which might have provided the princely house. Their rights in land were subsequently acknowledged as allodial, as having been acquired by alleged right of original occupation, as opposed to being ceded by princely grant.21 The contest between the noblemen or boyars of Wallachia and Moldavia and the princely houses of these two lands would be a persistent political theme right through to the eighteenth century.

The foundations of Wallachia and Moldavia were explained in later chronicles as the consequence of two ‘dismountings’ or descents, whereby Romanian chieftains left Transylvania and the kingdom of Hungary, moving into the territory of what would later become the two principalities. The dismounting into Wallachia was thus described as having been organised by a Romanian prince, Radu Negru, from Făgăraș, in or around the last decade of the thirteenth century. For its part, the descent into Moldavia was supposedly led in the mid-fourteenth century by a certain Dragoş, who came across this land while hunting for aurochs. Both descriptions are of later provenance and may be regarded as mythological. In fact, there were several Romanian princedoms already established in the territory of Wallachia by the end of the thirteenth century, and thus prior to Radu Negru’s descent—most notably the voivodate of Litovoi in the western part of the region, called Oltenia, and a second around the city of Argeş in the area of Muntenia, which occupies the central part of Wallachia. Plainly also, there was for a time around 1300 a substantial Hungarian presence in the vicinity of Câmpulung in Muntenia.22 Likewise, the descent of Dragoş into Moldavia was preceded by a struggle on its border between the allies and adversaries of Louis the Great of Hungary, which involved the uprising of already settled population in the terra moldauana. It is likely that this rebellion was prompted by Louis’s attempts to enforce Catholicism upon the mainly Orthodox Romanian population.

19 National Archive of Romania, Cluj Branch, Fond 389 (Arhivă familiei Matskási), Box 7, no 722 (letter of George I Rákóczi, 1635).

20 Damir Karbić & Marija Karbić, The Laws and Customs of Medieval Croatia and Slavonia: A Guide to the Extant Sources, edited by Martyn Rady, London, 2013, p. 3. See also below, p. 19 (Romulus Gelu Fodor).

21 Vladimir Hanga, Les institutions du droit coutumier roumain, Bucharest, 1988, p. 62.22 See here the contribution of Laurenţiu Rădvan, below, pp. 47–8.

Martyn Rady 7

We may, however, observe that during the fourteenth century, more stable, ‘regnal communities’ emerged in the lands of Wallachia and Moldavia, and that they achieved some hegemony over the chieftains and princes who had formerly held sway in these territories. During the 1320s, effective power in Wallachia was held by a certain Basarab, son of Thocomer, who was probably of Cuman origin. To begin with, Basarab relied for support upon the king of Hungary, Charles Robert, even to the extent of supporting Catholic missionary activity in the region. Basarab, however, sought to counteract Hungarian influence by allying both with the Bulgarian despot of Vidin and with the Tatars that controlled the mouth of the Danube. As a consequence, Charles Robert marched into Wallachia, besieging Basarab’s capital at Argeş. Having failed to capture Basarab’s palace, Charles Robert retreated northwards, but his army was destroyed in an ambush by Basarab as it struggled through the southern Carpathians (the battle of Posada, 1330). Although a dozen years later, Charles Robert’s successor was able to press the Wallachian ruler into an act of homage, Hungarian authority was weak. Basarab’s successor, Nicholas Alexander, at first sought to obtain recognition of Wallachia as a self-governing realm from Avignon, but he was opposed in this by the diplomacy of Charles Robert’s successor, Louis I of Hungary. By 1359, however, Nicholas Alexander had won patriarchal recognition of an independent ‘metropolitan of all Ungrovlachia’, located at Argeş, the establishment of which freed Wallachia from outside interference in its ecclesiastical affairs. A second metropolitan see was established a decade later at Severin, possibly to minister to the Orthodox population of the Banat. Even so, Basarab’s heirs continued to define themselves as vassals, at least in name, of the Hungarian ruler.23

Just as Basarab relied upon Bulgaria and the Tatars as a counterweight to Hungarian power, so the earliest rulers of Moldavia looked towards Poland.24 In 1365, a ‘notoriously faithless’ rebel, Bogdan, fled the Hungarian county of Maramureş, where he had previously led a revolt, and overthrew the captains appointed by Louis of Hungary in the marches of Moldavia. Bogdan’s successors, in pursuing a pro-Polish policy, briefly embraced Catholicism, obtaining from the Pope an episcopal see at Siret (1371), which was the original capital of Moldavia. Moldavia followed the Catholic rite for only fifteen years. Although in 1387, the ruling prince became the vassal of the Polish king, he renewed his commitment to the Orthodox confession, subsequently extracting the title of autocrat from the Byzantine Patriarch as well as a metropolitan see at Suceava, which replaced Siret as the Moldavian capital. As in Wallachia, ecclesiastical relations with Constantinople were used to cement the power of the ruling dynasty. In both principalities, the princes gave lavishly to the church, founding monasteries and new sees, in return for which they received anointment as rulers, holding their power ‘by God’s grace.’ In consequence of the embrace of Orthodox Christianity, the written

23 Nicholas Alexander’s son, Vladislav, thus defined himself in his Latin intitulatio as Ladislaus dei Gratia et regis Hungariae gratia vajvoda Transalpinus. See DRH B, 1, p. 12 (1369).

24 On this subject, see now Ioan-Aurel Pop & Adinel Ciprian Dincă, ‘Témoignages sur les relations de suzeraineté-vassalité polono-moldaves à la fin du règne du premier roi Jagellon’, in (eds) Florin Ardelean, Christopher Nicholson & Johannes Preiser-Kapeller, Between Worlds: The Age of the Jagiellonians, Frankfurt a/M, 2013, pp. 157–76.

8 Introduction

language of government used in the princely chancelleries of Moldavia and Wallachia was principally Old Church Slavonic, written in the Cyrillic script.

Notwithstanding the titles that they held—most often lord (domn, gospodar, gospodin), but also ‘chosen prince’, autocrat, and voivode—the rulers of Moldavia and Wallachia had insufficient authority to lend continuity to their rule. Princes were overthrown with bewildering frequency, often returning after a few years to wrest power from their successors, sometimes bloodily. During the course of the fifteenth century, there were thirty-six separate periods of rule in Wallachia, shared among seventeen rulers, and an equal confusion of reigns in Moldavia. Partly this circumstance arose from uncertainties in the order of succession—whether by primogeniture or seniority within the ruling house, or by election and, if so, by whom. It was also the consequence, however, of the two principalities’ location between more powerful kingdoms and empires, which resulted both in political interference from abroad and in rivals and malcontents enlisting foreign support for their designs. The most enduring rulers were those, like Mircea the Elder of Wallachia, who managed to balance the external forces ranged against them, or like Alexander the Good of Moldavia, who committed themselves thoroughly to one side (in his case, the Polish-Lithuanian), and in return received extensive assistance over decades. The arrival of the Turks on the Danube, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, upset the uneasy balance of power relations. By degrees, Wallachia was converted from a contested territory to a satellite, whose rulers were replaced at will by the Sultan, and occasionally too by the Sultan’s Hungarian and Moldavian adversaries. The infamous Prince Vlad III, ‘the Impaler’, of Wallachia, who owed his appointment to the Turkish destruction of his predecessor, was overthrown three times—first by the Hungarians in 1448, then by the Sultan in 1462, and finally by an assassin’s knife, in 1476. Moldavia held out longer against the Turks, particularly under its prince, Stephen the Great, who in the last decades of the fifteenth century emerged as the corner-stone of an anti-Ottoman, regional alliance.25 Even he, however, was obliged to cede Chilia and Cetatea Albă, and eventually to accept the Sultan’s overlordship and the payment of tribute. It was during Stephen’s reign that the earliest chronicle account, explaining his dynasty’s unbroken descent from the mythical Dragoş, was composed. The nimbus of historical tradition compensated for the precariousness of princely power.26

The voivodes of Transylvania were appointed by the kings of Hungary. During the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, they frequently held office for one or more decades at a time. Thereafter, however, their periods of appointment were much shorter; altogether twenty-five voivodes held office during the fifteenth century. The rapidity of their movement partly had its origin in the royal fear that the voivodes would accumulate too great an independent power, but it was also due to their office constituting a reward for service, which encouraged Hungary’s rulers to distribute its fruits more equally. The voivodes spent little time in Transylvania, for they were usually landowners in Hungary and counted among the ruler’s most important councillors. As a consequence, much of

25 See below, pp. 91–100 (Alexandru Simon). 26 Rebecca Haynes, ‘Historical Introduction’, in (ed.) Haynes, Moldova, Bessarabia, Transnistria, London,

2003, p. 26.

Martyn Rady 9

the routine administration of affairs was handled by their deputies, who, like the lords of the Transylvanian counties and castellans of the major forts, were appointed by the voivodes. With each change of voivode, the administration of government and justice in the localities was reapportioned to new office-holders. Torda and Cluj Counties thus had over the course of the fifteenth century, thirty-five different sets of lords between them (usually two were appointed simultaneously to each county), and our list is plainly incomplete.27

Although a rapid turn-around of power-holders was characteristic of Moldavia, Transylvania and Wallachia, institutional growth proceeded at a different pace. Representative institutions appeared in Transylvania in the last decades of the thirteenth century, matching contemporary developments in Hungary.28 Thereafter, they tended to languish, with ‘general assemblies’ of the province being held only intermittently (1322, 1347, 1355, 1358, 1410 etc). They were replaced by judicial assizes, which drew upon a much smaller membership, and extraordinary assemblies of one or more counties, summoned mainly for the purpose of extirpating brigandage. From the 1430s onwards, however, representative institutions reappeared, forged originally out of a defensive alliance between the nobility, Szekel and Saxon communities, but urged on by the ruler as a way of coordinating military and fiscal policy. What began as a ‘fraternal union’ was thus converted by degrees into a congregatio generalis, the purpose of which was tractatus and colloquium in respect of its members’ mutual affairs. By the beginning of the sixteenth century, this new body was meeting at least annually and demanding for itself an increased share in the province’s governance, even to the extent of disregarding royal legislation.29 The assembly of the union of the three nations would subsequently become the diet of the independent Transylvanian Principality.

Moldavia and Wallachia inherited a model of authority that borrowed from the political theology of Byzantium. As a consequence, the development of representative institutions was muted to a degree that still needs to be determined. Certainly, there was a princely council, which lent the ruler advice in matters of government and justice. On occasions, the council might after 1421 be reinforced with noblemen from the countryside and with representatives drawn from individual villages. These ‘assemblies of all the land’ (adunări a toată ţara) were summoned mainly when matters of weight needed deliberation—defensive measures, new taxes, election of the prince’s successor during his lifetime, and so on. Where business was contentious, it made sense to broaden consultation and seek consensus. It is hard, however, to see these bodies as operating in the manner of representative institutions that stood in a dualistic relation to the ruler, with autarkically-derived rights that were considered self-generating and thus independent of the princely will. Not only did these assemblies depend upon the prince’s summons, but they also met too infrequently to constitute an institution as opposed to an event.30

27 See thus András W. Kovács, Az erdélyi vármegyék középkori archontológiája, Cluj, 2010, pp. 71–8, 86–9.28 See below, pp. 21–8 (Tudor Sălăgean).29 See below, p. 18 (Romulus Gelu Fodor).30 Ioan-Aurel Pop, ‘Romanians in the 14th–16th Centuries: From the “Christian Republic” to the “Restoration

of Dacia”’, in (eds) Pop & Ioan Bolovan, History of Romania: Compendium, Cluj, 2006, pp. 229–30. Cf Vladimir Hanga, Les Institutions du droit coutumier roumain, Bucharest, 1988, pp. 51–2.

10 Introduction

Representative institutions also emerged lower down the political ladder. Beside its division into counties, Transylvania included a number of districts and castellanies. These frequently generated expressions of Landschaft that was set against the authority or Herrschaft of an appointed office-holder. In Transylvania, representative assemblies, which provided counsel and consent as well as discharging judicial functions, thus gathered in the shadow of local royal officers, not only in the historic counties and through the institution of the congregatio generalis, but also in the semi-militarised districts on Transylvania’s frontier. The development of these local organisations of administration and justice in the territory of the Banat is discussed in one of the contributions to this volume.31 Similar institutions of counsel and consent also emerged in the castellany and district of Făgăraș, where an assembly of Romanian chieftains and warriors met to treat with the royally-appointed lord. In 1508, the district assembly of Făgăraș drew up the earliest extant body of local regulations to have survived from the medieval Hungarian and Transylvanian countryside.32

The extent to which analogous representative bodies met at a local level in Moldavia and Wallachia is disputed, even in the pages of this collection.33 As regnal communities, Moldavia and Wallachia had been constructed more recently and rapidly than their Polish and Hungarian neighbours and their institutional development lagged behind. The Moldavian and Wallachian rulers possessed only a veneer of power, which rested on top of older structures, most obviously of village communities and local arrangements of political brokerage and dispute resolution. Attempts to impose administrative cohesion from above, through the establishment of counties or districts, were resisted. In the struggle to make good their will, the princes were thus often compelled to negotiate. Political exchange generated in its turn an enlarged sense of political cohesion, prompting in turn further collective activity. The collision circa 1480 between Stephen the Great of Moldavia and the nobles or boyars of eastern Wallachia, who had hitherto been a marginal force in Wallachian affairs, may well therefore have propelled the nobles into active participation in the principality’s politics, resulting a few decades later in the events that installed Vlad VII (1532–35), and subsequently his son, Radu VII (1535–45), as the ruling princes.34

In the Middle Ages, there was little distinction between governmental, representative and judicial functions. Assemblies might in particular perform all three tasks, shaping the content of the law as well as determining its applicability to concrete cases. The law that was followed throughout this whole region was customary, in the sense that it developed out of non-statutory rules, was not codified and was to a large extent orally transmitted. From the early sixteenth century, a part of the law followed by the nobility of Transylvania derived from the text of Werbőczy’s Tripartitum opus iuris (1517), which purported to describe the laws and customs of Hungary.35 To the extent that its content never received the ruler’s formal approval, the authority of the Tripartitum rested on

31 See below, pp. 71–7 (Adrian Magina). 32 Corpus Statutorum Hungariae Municipalium, eds Sándor Kolosvári & Kelemen Óvári, vol. 1, Budapest,

1885, p. 169. 33 See thus the comments below of Alexandru Simon and of Ovidiu Cristea & Marian Coman, pp. 93, 109. 34 See below, pp. 110–1 (Ovidiu Cristea & Marian Coman).35 Published as DRMH 5, with an English translation and apparatus.

Martyn Rady 11

its customary use in the courts and in litigation. The Tripartitum was supplemented in the seventeenth century by two (heavily edited) collections of legislation that had been passed by the Transylvanian diet after 1541. We may note that in the medieval principalities, several Byzantine legal codes were published under the names of various princes. It is doubtful, however, that these ever passed into formal use in the courts, although some of their content may have influenced individual court decisions. Publication of these texts was primarily intended to advertise the legitimising claim put forward by individual rulers that they stood in the Byzantine theocratic tradition.36

For most of the medieval period, therefore, the law was not guided by textual instruments. The substantive law was determined, instead, by communal norms, while the procedural law followed in the tradition of the ecclesiastical courts, where legal review was seen as an essential device to protect all concerned. The law was, however, remedial in a twofold sense. First, it was concerned with establishing remedies to complaints, which often meant the court assuming a midway position between contending claims. Secondly, it had built-in procedures for the remedy of unjust decisions. This permitted in Transylvania a range of measures for review, all of which had the purpose of forcing a retrial, as well as mechanisms for the transmission and appeal of cases. In the districts of the Banat, a judgement to be effective needed the approval of three courts.37 In Wallachia, a court decision might be revisited and a double number of compurgators summoned to overturn a previous verdict. Restrictions on who might serve as a compurgator limited, however, the effectiveness of this procedural recourse.38

Although the law was for the most part unwritten and court procedures remedial in purpose, the substantive law retained considerable stability. Throughout the region, basic elements in the law of property and inheritance remained for the most part fixed in common practice. Land passed equally to male heirs, who might hold it undivided or partition it among themselves, and the daughters received a share of the inheritance, usually in movables (although the proportion differed from place to place).39 Property was considered to belong to the extended family of male landowners. Even where the land was not farmed collectively, relatives retained concurrent rights of ownership in respect of its inheritance through collateral branches and through rights of pre-emption. Land that was passed down within the family was called haereditates in Transylvania, ocina and ohaba in Wallachia, and uric in Moldavia (the term probably derives from the Hungarian örök). In Transylvania, all haereditates were deemed ultimately to derive from the ruler’s gift and were revertible in cases of treason or of default of heirs. In Wallachia and Moldavia, ocina, ohaba and uric were generally considered to be allodial, and thus to belong to their owners by right of ancestral occupation. Thus, only land that had been specifically ceded by the prince was revertible (although in practice, rulers often seized allodial estates).

Although the principles of noble land holding originally only applied to the noble elites, in all three territories they became the norms of peasant inheritance. Nevertheless,

36 See below, p. 79 (Mariana Goina). 37 See below, p. 77 (Adrian Magina).38 See below, p. 86 (Mariana Goina).39 See below, p. 76 (Adrian Magina).

12 Introduction

differences remained in respect of the condition of the peasantry. In Transylvania, the peasantry were deemed to hold their property in usufruct from their lords. On this account, they owed their lords services and were in their affairs subject to his seigneurial jurisdiction. Although the authority of landowners over the tenant peasantry was defined earlier in Transylvania than in Hungary, it was generally less complete.40 Seigneurial jurisdiction seldom extended to the more serious criminal cases, which were instead usually moved before the county courts. Nevertheless, until the early-modern period, landowners retained in Transylvania and the Banat a monopoly over such vital resources as watermills.41 In addition, much of the road network in Transylvania constituted noble property and even sections of ‘royal roads’ were commandeered by unscrupulous nobles, who often established illegal tolls.42 The power of landlords to dispossess their tenants in Transylvania was circumscribed by customary law to the extent that peasant tenements were effectively mortmain, and the dues payable in service and kind that noble proprietors might exact were similarly restricted. Noble wealth rested mainly in Transylvania and the Banat upon the cash revenue that derived from privilege and not from the possession of land.

In contrast to Transylvania, many villages in Moldavia and Wallachia were ‘free’ in the sense that the land that was farmed belonged to the peasants and that did not have to provide rents or dues for it. The villages were administered through their own communal assemblies, but villages might come together, instituting regional confederations with their own ‘republican’ institutions.43 During the course of the sixteenth century, however, Wallachia and Moldavia went through an analogous process of legal Verwissenschaftlichung as affected rural communities in Central Europe more generally. The written word and proofs that rested on writing now tended to trump recollection and customs that had been orally transmitted. As a consequence, many free villages were unable to uphold their rights against avaricious noblemen and clergy, and their peasants were by degrees converted into servile tenants.44

Society in Moldavia, Transylvania and Wallachia was dominated by the nobility. These were called nobiles in Transylvania, and boyars, maiores terrae or potentes viri in Wallachia and Moldavia. The status of nobility was hereditary and conveyed not only privileges in respect of jurisdictional rights but also legal obligations, particularly in respect of military service.45 The partition of noble estates among heirs meant that many noblemen were reduced economically to a material condition that differed little from the peasantry—these became the squireens or ‘seven plum-tree nobles’ of Transylvania and the ‘petty boyars’ (boiernaşii) of the principalities, while still remaining noblemen. Noble status was, however, permeable. Although technically noble rank depended in Transylvania upon the ruler’s gift, in token of service, local standing often meant that commoners were treated as noble on the say-so of other noblemen and so came to

40 See below, p. 18 (Romulus Gelu Fodor).41 See below, p. 68 (Livia Magina).42 See below, pp. 62–3 (Oana Todor).43 Henri H. Stahl, Traditional Romanian Village Communities, Cambridge, 2008, p. 26 (first published in

1969).44 See below, pp. 85–9 (Mariana Goina).45 See below, pp. 34–6 (Florin N. Ardelean).

Martyn Rady 13

acquire the rights of gentlemen. Indeed, as we know from a later period, the personal affirmation of noble descent was sometimes considered of itself sufficient proof of status.46 In Moldavia and Wallachia, a similar lack of precision meant that the ranks of the nobility were also fluid in their composition, comprising both large landowners and the hereditary chieftains, headmen and knezes, who held their estates directly of the prince. By converting their free property into land held ostensibly by donation of the ruler, men of petty means were able to advance into the ranks of the Moldavian and Wallachian nobility.47

Because the ranks of the nobility were relatively porous, many Romanian chieftains and others were able to acquire noble status in Transylvania and the Banat, forming in several counties an absolute majority of the noble population.48 In the areas subject to the Hungarian crown, however, noble status generally depended upon the acceptance of Catholicism. As a consequence, most Romanians received the status of ‘conditional nobles’, which gave more circumscribed rights in return for defined services. The grant of nobility more Walachorum allowed the recipients the right to judge by their own law and to administer their affairs in their own assemblies. It fell short, however, of giving them unimpeded access to the courts of the king and voivode or a role in the counties and in the emerging Transylvanian diet of the three nations. The exclusion of adherents of the Orthodox faith from Transylvania’s most important political institutions became a source of contention in nationalist historiography from the late eighteenth century onwards.

Readings of history that have as their starting point the development of the state and the nation over time are often compelling but they also act as a distorting lens on the distant past. The present collection of essays suggests the ways in which history may be written without recourse to a teleological framework. Some of the essays included here are concerned with institutions and with the close reading of a specific set of sources. Others are predicated on understanding terms as they were used at the time and on the local organisation of government and the law. Text, language and locality—including townscapes, watermills and roads—are thus foregrounded as subjects of investigation and analysed in their own terms, but with a concern for the larger circumstances in which they arose. The consequence is a range and depth of scholarly enquiry that is neither reliant on grand, over-arching ideas nor so microscopic in its field of study as to be without any comparative significance. Accordingly, the present volume may serve not only to introduce contemporary Romanian scholarship to a larger audience but also to enable the medieval history of Moldavia, Transylvania and Wallachia to be understood in a fuller, European context.

46 Romanian National Archive, Cluj Branch, Fond 3 (Protocollum Marchalis Congregationis), no. 16, fol. 8v (1808).

47 The process is described by Ioan-Aurel Pop, ‘Romanians in the 14th–16th Centuries’, p. 218. 48 Ioan Drăgan, Nobilimea românească din Transilvania, 1440–1514 [Romanian nobility in T.] , Bucharest,

2000, p. 331.

Constitutional Thought and Institutions in Medieval Transylvania

Romulus Gelu Fodor

The ideology that for many centuries underpinned the legal, historical and political thought of the Hungarian nobility was rooted in Werbőczy’s Tripartitum. Werbőczy was proficient in Roman and Canon Law as well as in the largely unwritten customary law of the kingdom. He was also a well-known politician who was active in the diet. On account of his expertise and political connections, he was commissioned to compose a compendium of Hungarian law. Werbőczy presented this at the diet of 1514 and published it, at his own expense, in Vienna in 1517. Although it never received the royal seal, and thus lacked the status of statute law, the Tripartitum rapidly acquired a customary authority, and it became very much the ‘Holy Bible’ of the Hungarian nobility.1 Werbőczy himself came from the common nobility of the kingdom. His work reflected his origins insofar as it created the formal, legal framework for noble hegemony and promoted the idea that the government of the kingdom rested with the noble estate.

According to Werbőczy’s scheme, the nobility represented the Hungarian natio, while ‘Scythia’ constituted the ancestral mother land.2 Among all nations unsurpassed in bravery, the Hungarians represented the shield and bastion of Christianity.3 Werbőczy maintained that according to Scythian law, each member of the nation had been free and all had been possessed of equal rights. On account, however, of their failure to attend the martial summons, many Hungarians were condemned to servitude and became separated from the elite of noblemen.4 From this starting-point, Werbőczy went on to explain that the king and the political nation of the nobility were united by their membership of the Holy Crown.5 Because the community was the true owner of the Crown, the identity of the monarch rested upon his election by the community and was not determined by hereditary succession.6 In the noble republic, as envisioned by Werbőczy, the king was little more than the agent of the noble estate, which in turn owed its allegiance not to him but rather to the Holy Crown, which embodied the kingdom and thus the political

1 Martyn Rady, ‘The Prologue to Werbőczy’s Tripartitum and its Sources’, The English Historical Review, 121, no 490, 2006, pp. 104–5.

2 Stephen Werbőczy, The Customary law of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary: A Work in Three Parts (Tripartitum), eds & trans. János M. Bak, Péter Banyó and Martyn Rady (=DRMH 5), Budapest & Idyllwild, CA, 2005, I. 3 [1].

3 Pál Engel, Regatul Sfântului Ștefan. Istoria Ungariei Medievale 895-1526 [The Realm of Saint Stephen: History of Medieval Hungary], Cluj, 2006, p. 366.

4 Tripartitum, I. 2 [1].5 Ibid, I. 4 [1].6 Ibid, I. 3 [7].

15

16 Constitutional Thought and Institutions

community of the realm. From this it followed that the king was not empowered to make legislation on his own, but only with the agreement of the nation, to which all legislative acts had to be referred.7 In this way, Werbőczy elaborated the mutual dependence of king and nobles, as embodied in the Holy Crown, and the rights that belonged to the political community or ország to select the ruler and to participate in government through the institutions of the noble county and the diet.8

The legal ideas contained in Werbőczy’s Tripartitum were expressed through the political mechanisms that were put in place by the Hungarian diet and by the diet in Transylvania. Werbőczy’s Tripartitum additionally granted Transylvania, along with Croatia and Slavonia, a special status within the kingdom. These lands operated autonomously within the kingdom and Werbőczy recognised that their laws and customs might diverge from those practised elsewhere in the realm.9

In respect of Transylvania, we should note that this part of the kingdom evolved differently from the rest of the kingdom, as a consequence of which it enjoyed a measure of self-government. Transylvania was conquered in stages and over a prolonged period. Under the rule of St Stephen (who died in 1038), the Hungarian conquerors advanced as far as the River Someș in Transylvania. Then, during the reign of St Ladislas (1077–1099), they advanced further to the valleys of the Mureș and Târnava. The last phase of the conquest took place during the reign of Géza II, around the middle of the twelfth century, when the southern part of the country was incorporated in Hungary.10 In order to fully occupy this natural stronghold, the Hungarian kings had to resort to colonisation; hence the Szekels were established in the south-eastern part of Transylvania beside the Carpathian mountain rim, where they kept their ancestral rights and autonomy. Similar rights were granted by the Hungarian kings to the Transylvanian Saxons, a population brought from different regions of Germany, first as agriculturalists and later as craftsman and merchants. The earliest Saxon group was established in Transylvania around the mid-twelfth century by Géza II.11 Saxons, Szekels and nobles worked together to preserve their rights from royal interference, which eventually impelled them towards political union.

The weakening of the Hungarian central power after the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century, and especially that of 1241, gave the Transylvanian nobles in particular and the estates in general the opportunity to strengthen their power and to constitute a congregatio, separate from the Hungarian diet. Since Transylvania already constituted an autonomous territory, the emergence of representative organs corresponded with its developing institutional identity.12 The term of regnum that attached to Transylvania at this time reflected the growth of the Transylvanian noble estate as represented through

7 Ibid, II. 3 [3].8 Robert W. B. Gray, Land Reform and the Hungarian Peasantry c. 1700-1848, unpublished PhD thesis,

London UCL, 2009, p. 22 (online versions).9 Ioan Drăgan, Nobilimea românească din Transilvania 1440-1514 [Romanian nobility of T.], Bucharest,

2000, p. 60.10 (eds) Ioan-Aurel Pop & Thomas Nägler, Istoria Transilvaniei [History of T.], 1, Cluj, 2003, pp. 212–213.11 UB, 1, p. 34.12 Gheorghe I. Brătianu, Adunările de Stări în Europa și în Țările Române în Evul Mediu [Estates Assemblies

in Europe and the Romanian Lands in the Middle Ages], Bucharest, 1996, p. 208.

Romulus Gelu Fodor 17

the congregatio.13 It was this term that was later picked up by Werbőczy and included in the Tripartitum.

The Transylvanian estates first met at the end of the thirteenth century, under the name of the congregatio generalis nobilium regni Transilvaniae. As elsewhere in Europe, the congregatio or diet consisted of the privileged orders, and it was summoned by the king or voivode, mostly for purposes of counsel and consent, especially in regard to such general matters as taxes, local administration and justice. The Transylvanian diet also had the right to legislate in matters affecting the territory, thus deepening the sense of Transylvanian identity and hastening a difference of political discourse. Although the diet exercised its legislative function only sporadically, for most important decisions were still taken by the king or the Hungarian diet, the idea that the Transylvanian diet might discharge a role in law making was a decisive factor in its subsequent development.14

The first gathering of the Transylvanian nobility took place in 1288. On this occasion, the diet was summoned by the vice-voivode, in the name of the voivode, Roland Borșa.15 In March 1291, the last Árpád king, Andrew III, summoned a diet in Alba Iulia, in which, for the first time those called to attend the assembly were described as universis nobilibus, Saxonibus, Syculis et Olachis in partibus.16 The summons of 1291 enumerated the groups that would subsequently constitute the political nations of Transylvania—the nobles, Saxons and Szekels. Alongside these, the charter of summons also mentions Romanians as participants. Because of their Orthodox confession, Romanians would, however, be subsequently excluded from the high political and judicial life of the country.

The institutional and jurisdictional development of the Transylvanian estates took a further step with the rebellion of the unprivileged peasantry in 1437. The three nations (as they became known)—the nobles, the Saxons and the Szekels—initially joined forces in a union against the peasantry and the Turks, but then extended their confederation into a mutual defence pact in 1459. In 1467, this alliance formed the backbone of the Transylvanian noble revolt against Matthias Corvinus.17 This union of the three nations was designated a fraterna unio and was consolidated in the following century under the weak Hungarian kings of the Jagiello dynasty.18 The fraterna unio, which was later called the unio trium nationum, acquired increasing power and authority, and provided the basis of the reconstituted diet of Transylvania. During the second half of the fifteenth century, the diet of Transylvania emerged as a unicameral but triune parliament, being attended by delegates drawn from the three political nations of the territory. The diet of the three nations became in the sixteenth century the parliament of the independent principality of Transylvania (although after 1544, the diet was also attended by representatives of the several Hungarian counties that lay west of Transylvania).

13 Tudor Sălăgean, Transilvania în a doua jumătate a secolului al XIII-lea. Afirmarea regimului congregațional [Transylvania in the second half of the thirteenth Century. The instauration of the congregational regime], Cluj, 2003, pp. 235–237.

14 Pop & Nägler, Istoria Transilvaniei, p. 259.15 Ibid, p. 258.16 Ibid, p. 259.17 Drăgan, Nobilimea românească, p. 89–90.18 Vladimir Hanga, Ioan Ceterchi (eds), Istoria Dreptului Românesc [Romanian legal history], Bucharest,

1980, I, p. 266.

18 Constitutional Thought and Institutions

Transylvanian politics was dominated by two trends. On the one hand, forces ranged around the king sought to hem in the nobility and privileged orders, and thus the independence of the diet. On the other, the Transylvanian estates attempted to carve out a political space and thus to constitute the regnum as not only a constitutional but also a territorial entity. Certainly, much of the business of the diet was humdrum regulation, affecting the courts, taxation and administration. Nevertheless, the legislative capacity of the diet was acknowledged in matters affecting Transylvania, even to the extent that it might modify a statute issued with the authority of the Hungarian diet.19 Thus, for instance, a congregatio that took place in 1342 under the presidency of the voivode gave the nobility of Transylvania the right to judge and punish their peasant tenants, even though this right exceeded the powers generally granted at this time to noblemen in Hungary.20 In 1463, King Matthias Corvinus authorised a general mobilisation (exercitus generalis) across the kingdom to meet the Turkish challenge and instructed Transylvania’s compliance. 21 Nevertheless, the three privileged nations of Transylvania gathered in their own diet and modified these measures in the sense that landless nobles and Hungarian peasants (jobbagiones Hungarici sanguinis) should remain behind in order to guard the territory’s castles and protect the homes of the nobility.22 In 1494, the Transylvanian diet refused to levy the additional taxation instructed by Wladislas II, obliging the king to come personally to Transylvania and summon a diet at Sibiu, at which he presided.23

The readiness of the Transylvanian diet and of its privileged orders to defy the king and to promote a separate legislative agenda illustrates the degree to which the idea of self-government had become entrenched in Transylvanian responses, even to the extent of spilling over into defiance. In this respect, the creation in the sixteenth century of an independent Transylvanian principality was not an event born out of a chance constellation of circumstances but the outcome of political and institutional developments that took place over several centuries.

If we compare the relationship of the estates to royal power in the kingdom of Hungary during the course of the Middle Ages, we can strongly assert that political life was dominated by the estates. With some exceptions during the reign of a few powerful rulers, like Charles Robert, Louis the Great and Matthias Corvinus, the political and legislative initiative rested with the nobility.24 Royal authority repeatedly foundered on the shoals of noble power and representative institutions were able to carve out a space of their own. This was the context in which the Transylvanian institution of the diet developed and consolidated its power and special character within the kingdom of Hungary. The weak dynasty of the Jagiellos, which ruled over the last decades of medieval Hungary, facilitated and consolidated the power of the estates as the ruling

19 Drăgan, Nobilimea românească, p. 98.20 Gheorghe Bichicean, Congregațiile generale în Transilvania voievodală [General congregations in

medieval T.], București, 2008, p. 333; DIR C, p. 86, doc. 82; EO, 3, no 91. 21 Ioan Lupaș, ‘Individualitatea istorică a Transilvaniei’ [The historical individuality of T.], in Scrieri Alese

[Selected Writings], 1, eds Ștefan Pascu & Pompiliu Teodor, Cluj, 1977.22 DPIR, 2, p. 147, doc.126.23 Bichicean, Congregațiile Generale, p. 391; Lupaș, ‘Individualitatea istorică’, p. 48.24 Drăgan, Nobilimea românească, p. 99.

Romulus Gelu Fodor 19

class. No wonder that Werbőczy’s own rhetoric emphasised the superior authority of the noble estate and was predicated on the principles of noble republicanism. His ideas were rapidly taken up in Transylvania where a similar drive towards republicanism, based on the rights of Transylvania’s three privileged communities, had developed over the course of the preceding centuries.

Werbőczy’s noble republicanism applied not only to Hungary. The Tripartitum recognised the separate political status not only of Croatia and Slavonia but also of Transylvania, to each of which Werbőczy attached the title of regnum. In this way, Werbőczy recognised that Transylvania also constituted a noble republic, existing within and yet set apart from the noble republic of Hungary. His account thus recognised Transylvania’s political divergence and the separate constitutional course that it had taken over the preceding centuries. In so doing, however, he confirmed the power of the estates and thus the right that adhered to the nobility to elect the ruler. In the principality of Transylvania that emerged during the course of the sixteenth century, these ideas would come to the fore. On the one hand, constitutional thought in the principality promoted the notion that political authority rested with the privileged orders; on the other, it conceived that the right to determine the prince rested with the estates. In this way, the doctrine of the Holy Crown, as a symbol of the political community and of the estates’ right of election, was carried into Transylvanian legal and constitutional thought.

21

Regnum Transilvanum: the Transylvanian congregatio nobilium and its role as a legal community at the end of the thirteenth

century

Tudor Sălăgean

In the late thirteenth century, some of the extant sources refer to Transylvania as a regnum, apparently different from regnum Hungariae but, nonetheless, a part of it. Until recently, this term was understood by Romanian historians as disclosing a territorial, state-like entity or, by Hungarian historians, as evidence of the ‘oligarchic’ power exerted by the voivodes Roland (Lorand) Borsa and Ladislas Kán in the later thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. The difficulties in interpretation diminish once we eliminate the ideological misconceptions that underlie them and review the description of regnum in its contemporary sense. Certainly, the expression regnum nostrum Transsilvanum, as given in a document of 1266, issued by the ‘young king’ (iunior rex) Stephen, duke of Transylvania, unmistakably refers to a distinct political unit subordinated to the Transylvanian voivode. Nevertheless, further references to the regnum Transilvanum from 1288 to 1291 have no connection whatsoever to the voivode Roland Borşa and his territorial authority. As we will argue, the milieus that sustained them belonged not to the voivodal chancellery, but to the Transylvanian noblemen’s congregatio, the structures of which started to crystallise in exactly the same period. The congregatio of Transylvania operated in a manner akin to its counterpart in Hungary. It functioned as both an assembly for receiving petitions and as a court of law. The earliest reference to a congregatio is from 1288. Whereas, however, the Hungarian diet languished in the period after 1300, the Transylvanian congregatio continued to meet frequently, more or less every year. It might be attended by all noblemen, but usually they appointed delegates. In addition to the nobility, the bishop of Transylvania and representatives of church institutions were present.

The re-establishment in 1257 of the ducal institution in Transylvania (ducatus Transilvaniae) under the authority of the heir of the Hungarian crown marked the beginning of a decisive period for the social and institutional history of the region, which was also combined with the increased role that Transylvania played in the politics of the kingdom. The history of Transylvania between 1272 and 1282 may be divided into four main stages: the rule of Nicholas Geregye as voivode (1272–74), the domination of the Csák kindred (1274–77), the Saxon rebellion (1277–79) and the domination of

21

22 Regnum Transilvanum

the Aba kindred (1279–82). During these years, Matthew Csák, who was voivode on four separate occasions during the course of the 1270s, attempted to formally restore the Transylvanian dukedom as his own patrimony. A few years later, the Aba kindred reconstructed the political system of the dukedom without re-establishing the institution itself. Acting as dukes in all but name, scions of the house of Aba exercised full control over all of Transylvania, including the areas of Saxon and Szekel settlement, thus extending their power beyond the confines of the voivode’s authority, which otherwise reached only to Transylvania’s seven historical counties.

Following the eclipse of the Csák and Aba kindreds, Roland Borsa was installed in 1282 as voivode of Transylvania. Borsa’s position was weak, as he faced double competition from the ruler, Ladislas IV, and from the emerging noble congregatio of Transylvania. In his fight against the domination of the aristocratic kindred, King Ladislas sought allies from among the Transylvanian lesser nobility as well as from the ruling families of the Saxon, Szekel and Romanian communities. Along with elements recruited from Cuman nomads, they supported the king’s party in the last years of his reign (1287–90), which Ladislas spent almost exclusively in Transylvania and in its surrounding areas. In view of Borsa’s weakness in the face of the political might that Ladislas had gathered, it cannot be that the regnum Transilvanum, mentioned in the sources of this period, was the rhetorical counterpart of Borsa’s own territorial lordship. It is far more plausible that the term, as deployed between 1288 and 1291, was connected to the emergence of the noble congregatio. The political community of the Transylvanian nobles increasingly saw itself as a subject of right, vested with an authority of its own, analogous to a legal country, Land or Landschaft, or ország in Hungarian, to which the Latin term of a regnum was now attached. In this way, the term of regnum amplified the separate status that Transylvania was considered to have within the Hungarian kingdom, having its own recognisable space, people, historical traditions, customs and institutions. By imagining regnum as an indication of oligarchic lordship, historians have understood the term in the directly opposite sense in which it was intended—as an expression of political community.

We can go further. Not only was Borsa’s authority insufficient to justify the term of regnum, but the term was also never used in relation to the power he discharged. In what follows, we give three columns. The first is the author of the term; the second is the date when used; and the third is the expression itself.

Tudor Sălăgean 23123

Ladizlaus vicevoyouoda transsiluanus

June 8,1288

Petrus de Nyr, comes de Kulus, Michael comes, filius Laurencii, [Petrus comes?] filius Muron, et comes Petrus, filius Clementis, iudices per regnum Transsilvanum constituti ...1

Andreas (III.) rex Hungariae

February 22, 1291

... nobiles regni nostri et Saxones Transilvani predia tenentes et more nobilium ...... nobiles regni nostri et predicti Saxones regni Transilvaniae ...2

Comes Benedictus gerens vices Ladizlai vicevaivode Transsiluani

May 8, 1291 Nicolaus de Gumbas et Gregorio de Sancto Rege comitibus per regnum Transsilvanum iudicibus deputatis ...3

All the references, therefore, to the regnum occur in the context of judicial functions discharged by noblemen on behalf of the congregatio (June 8, 1288; May 8, 1291) or with rights and duties associated with the noble status (February 22, 1291). All are, moreover, closely bound up with the operation of the Transylvanian congregatio. The two diplomas of the vice-voivode Ladislas and of his deputy Benedict were issued during sessions of the congregatio. The royal diploma of King Andrew III concerned measures adopted at the 1290 assembly in Buda, which were put the next year before the congregatio in Alba Iulia, so that they might obtain concurrent legal authority in Transylvania. Plainly, none of these references has anything to do with the territorial lordship of Roland Borsa. As a consequence, we would subscribe to Martyn Rady’s view that the meaning of regnum should be located in the legal community of the Transylvanian nobles, as represented in the congregatio nobilium.4

This legal construction leaves out, however, an important part of the historical equation. Certainly, regnum may be considered in terms of a political community and constitutional subject of right, and as an expression of the Doppelpoligkeit that is typical of the medieval polity. Once, however, we have thrown out territorial lordship as the instrument of its birth, we must necessarily ask what the bonding agent of the regnum was. Legal communities analogous to the one in Transylvania existed throughout the Hungarian kingdom; none, however, earned the description of a regnum. The exceptions were Croatia (which was a kingdom) and Slavonia (which was not, although always treated as one). Moreover, in the other territories controlled by the Borsa kindred in the last two decades of the thirteenth century, there is ample evidence of representative institutions at work—in Bihor (Bihar) and the other six neighbouring counties, Solnoc, Sătmar (Szatmar), Crasna, Békes, Zarand and Szabolcs. In 1279, noblemen from these seven counties met together to deliberate with Borsa on their common concerns, and an

1 Georgius Fejér, Codex diplomaticus Hungariae ecclesiasticus ac civilis, Buda, 1829–44, 11 vols in 40 parts, vol. 5, part 3, pp. 434–436; DPIR, 1, part 1, pp. 474–475 (hereafter: HD); EO, 1, no. 437.

2 Fejér, Codex diplomaticus, vol 7, part 2, pp. 139–147; DPIR, 1, part 1, pp. 172–176; EO, no. 470.3 Fejér, Codex diplomaticus, vol 6, part 1, pp. 163–164; UB, 1, pp. 178–179; EO, no. 479.4 Martyn Rady, ‘Voivode and Regnum: Transylvania’s Place in the Medieval Kingdom of Hungary’, in (ed.)

László Péter, Historians and the History of Transylvania, Boulder & New York, 1992, pp. 87–101.

24 Regnum Transilvanum

assembly of this type lingered on into the next century.5 The region shared a prehistory, in the sense that its parts broadly formed the ducatus Byhariensis that is mentioned in Hungary’s earliest chronicle as having an existence at the time of the Magyar conquest.6 (Or, to put it another way, the region was at least sufficiently delineated around 1200 for it to be thought by the chronicler that its parts might have had a common past). Nonetheless, its territory was never considered sufficiently integrated to qualify as a regnum. The region functioned instead as an integral part of the regnum Hungariae, without ever acquiring a separate legal identity.

Transylvania was, however, different. Its separate status and identity was part and parcel of administrative discourse, as may be illustrated by the following examples: 7891011,121314

Bela, rex primogenitus 1231 ... inutiles et superfluas donationis ... destrueremus, positi in Transilvanis partibus...7

Bela IV, rex Hungariae 1243 ... cum fidelem nostrum Laurencium vaivodam post conflictum Tartarorum ad partes Transsilvanas misissemus...8

Bela IV rex Hungariae 1256 Possessiones ... in partibus Transilvanis sunt hec ...9

Stephanus, iunior rex Vngariae, dux Transilvaniae

1263 ... quasdam terras udvarnicorum nostrorum in Transsilvanis partibus existentes...10

Idem 1267 ... possessiones avi sui Julae magni in partibus scilicet Transsilvanis existentes ...11

Idem 1267 Et cum Ladyzlaus woyuoda et Jula frater eiusdem venissent cum Cumanis contra nos ad partes Transsilvanas ...12

Capitulum ecclesie Varadinensis

1278 ... porcionem suam de terra Hasadad ipsum contingentem in partibus Transsilvanis existentem ...13

Ladislaus IV, rex Hungariae

1285 ... cum Lorandus filius Mark per suam infidelitatem terram nostram Scepusiensem, unacum Gylnuchbana et terram Nyr ultra partem de Tyzael usque ad partem Transsilvanam contra nostram regia maiestatem potentialiter ocuparent ...14

This selection of documentary sources makes clear that Transylvania was understood as being in some way separate from the rest of the Hungarian kingdom. Its population

5 An early general congregatio of the nobles living in these counties is mentioned on January 30, 1279. See Gusztáv Wenzel (ed.), Codex diplomaticus Arpadianus continuatus, 12 vols, Pest–Budapest, 1860–78, 12, pp. 250–253. In the first decades of the 14th century the configuration of the ‘province’ was still almost unchanged. In 1317 Dózsa Debreceni held at Sălacea an assembly of the counties of Bihor, Szabolcs, Sătmar, Solnoc and Crasna. See Fejér, Codex diplomaticus, vol. 8, part 2, pp. 52–53, 98–100; DIR C, 3, pp. 276, 280–281.

6 Ferenc Makk, in Korai magyar történeti lexikon (9–14. század) [Early Hungarian hist . lexicon (9th to 14th c)], eds Kristó Gyula et al., Budapest, 1994, p. 261.

7 UB, 1, pp. 54–55; DIR C, 1, pp. 32–33, 394–395; EO, 1, no. 163.8 UB, 1 pp. 70–71; EO, 1, no. 195.9 DIR C, 2, pp. 21–23, 494–496.10 Fejér, Codex diplomaticus, vol. 4, part 3, pp. 158–159; UB, 1, pp. 89–90; DIR C, 2, pp. 51–52; EO, no. 24111 UB, 1, pp. 528; DIR C, 2, p. 97–98; EO, no. 261.12 Fejér, Codex diplomaticus, vol. 4, part 3, pp. 407–410; DIR C, 2, pp. 94–95; EO, no. 262.13 DIR C, 2, pp. 196–197.14 DPIR, 1, part 1, pp. 452–459; DIR C, 2, pp. 271–273; EO, 1, no. 406.

Tudor Sălăgean 25

was similarly conceived of as constituting a distinct people, with a status of their own as ‘Transylvanians’: 151617181920212223

Andreas II, rex Hun-gariae

1224 ... fideles hospites nostri Theutonici Ultrasilvani...15

Bela, rex primogenitus 1231 ... milites nostros Saxones Ultrasilvanos ...16

Ladislaus IV, rex Hun-gariae

1273 ... Saxones et alii homines regionis Transsilvane ad patrem redierunt, eum naturalem terre dominum cognoscentes17

Stephanus archiepiscopus Colochensis

1277 ... quidam Saxo, vite detestabili, nomine Gaan filius Alardi /.../ congregata multitudine sue nationis novissime de partibus Trans-silvanis... ... universos gentis Vngarice in ducatu commorantes Transsilvano in quibuscumque latibulis ...18

Ladislaus IV, rex Hun-gariae

1285 ... contra Gyan filium Alardi in partibus Transsilvanicis pro conser-vatione incolarum partis illius ...19

Idem 1285 Insuper cum nostros homines fideles Transsilvanos unacum Cuma-nis nostris contra Dormanum et Bulgaros misissemus, magistrum Georgius exercitus capitaneum preficientes ...20

Idem 1289 ... quas universi Nobiles partis Transsilvaniae tunc in ipsa expedi-tione nostra nobiscum existentes ...21

Lodomerius, archiepisco-pus Strigoniensis

1288 ... nobilibus Ungarorum, Saxonibus, Syculis et Volachis de Cybiniensi et de Burcia comitatibus Transil(v)anis...22

Andreas III rex Hun-gariae

1291 ... cum nos universis Nobilibus, Saxonibus, Syculis et Olachis in partibus Transilvanis apud Albam Jule pro reformatione status eorundem congregationem cum eisdem fecissemus ...23

The ‘Transylvanians’ mentioned in the first five examples belonged to the category, of German colonists who had settled after the middle years of the twelfth century. The increasing number of references to ‘Transylvanian nobles’, starting with the reign of Ladislas IV, is connected to their threefold function as warriors, members of the political elite and landowners. The rise of the Transylvanian nobles’ individual and group identity, together with their aim to constitute a distinctive noble order and an assembly of their own, were underpinned by their sense of difference. They were not alone in sensing this, for the same apprehension also guided the developing Saxon identity, which equally drew on notions of a separate Transylvanian belonging.

Not only was the Transylvanian space and identity considered different, but it was sometimes even counter-posed to Hungarian:

15 UB, 1, pp. 32–35; DIR C, 1, pp. 208–210, 383–384.16 UB, 1, pp. 54–55; DIR C, 1, pp. 32–33, 394–395; EO, 1, no. 163.17 Wenzel, Codex diplomaticus Arpadianus, 4, pp. 23–27; EO, 1, no. 325.18 EO, 1, no. 351.19 DPIR, 1, part 1, pp. 447–448; DIR C, 2, pp. 254–255; EO, 1, no. 405.20 DPIR, 1, part 1, pp. 452–459; DIR C, 2, pp. 271–273; EO, 1, no. 406.21 Fejér, Codex Diplomaticus, vol. 5, part 3, pp. 457–460, and ibid, vol. 7, part 4, pp. 211–213; DIR C, 2, pp.

306–308; EO, 1, no. 455.22 Századok [Centuries], 44, 1910, pp. 8–11; DIR C, 2, pp. 296–299; EO, 1, no. 436.23 DIR C, 2, pp. 369, 509; EO, 1, no 477.

26 Regnum Transilvanum

242526

Conventus Monasterii beati Hypoliti Martyris de Zobor

1256 ...occupatione... iurium... monasterii Sancti Benedicti de Grana ... tam in hoc regno, quam in parte Transylvana...24

Stephanus, iunior rex Vngariae, dux Transilvaniae

1268 et cum ipsum castrum (Feketeuholm // Codlea) ... exivissemus, et paulatim ad nostrum regnum accessissemus domino permittente25

Ladislaus (IV.), rex Hungariae

1279 ... cum dominus rex Bela, avus noster carissimus ... dictum patrem nostrum de suo regno miserabiliter ad partes Transilvanas effugasset26

Transylvania (or the ‘Transylvanian parts’) is, according to these sources, a distinct ‘country’ that was on the one hand inside of Hungarian kingdom but, on the other, quite separate from it. Even if not defined explicitly as a regnum, these examples suggest, by introducing the antithesis of regnum Hungariae, an implicit indication of Transylvania’s status as such.

There are, moreover, a number of charters issued by the royal chancellery, which actually precede those dating from 1288–91, that explicitly recognise Transylvania as having the quality of a regnum.2728

Andreas (II.), rex Hungariae

1206 ...primi hospites regni de tribus villis Ultrasilvanis Karako videlicet, Crapundorph et Rams...27

Stephanus, iunior rex Vngariae, dux Transilvaniae

1266 ipsum vaivodam debita sollicitudine invigilantem defensionem et remediis regni nostri Transsilvani ...28

In respect of the first charter, given to the German settlers of Cricău, Ighiu and Romos, the regnum referred to here is unlikely to have been the regnum Hungariae. German colonisation had been long underway in Hungary and so the designation of the newcomers as primi hospites regni most probably, as Thomas Nägler has argued, refers to the regnum of Transylvania.29

Any possible uncertainty in this matter is dispelled by the diploma of the ‘young king’ Stephen (1266). Its neat and explicit assertion is testimony to the existence of a regnum nostrum Transsilvanum, which is depicted as one of the countries belonging to the Hungarian crown. Moreover, in this charter, Stephen coupled the region’s separate status with its distinct governmental organisation, apportioning its defence to the voivode, who traditionally represented the monarch in Transylvania.

24 Fejér, Codex Diplomaticus, vol. 4, part 2, pp. 405–407; EO, 1, no. 220.25 DIR C, 2, pp. 108–110; EO, 1, no. 273.26 UB, 1, pp. 137–139; DIR C, 2, pp. 213–215; EO, 1, no. 368.27 UB, 1, pp. 9–10; DIR C, 1, pp. 31–32, 368–369.28 UB, 1, pp. 96–98; DIR C, 2, pp. 79–80; EO, 1, no. 260.29 Thomas Nägler, Aşezarea saşilor în Transilvania [Settlement of the Saxons in Transylvania], 1981, p. 164.

Tudor Sălăgean 27

In our analysis, we come close to the formulation of Ştefan Pascu, who conceives of regnum in the sense of an ‘autonomous state formation’.30 Transylvania’s development in this direction had nothing, however, to do with Roland Borsa, but was underpinned by a much longer process that affected its institutions and determined the outlook and identity of its population. At the heart of this development lay the office of the voivode, who functioned as a royal locumtenens, exercising, as a representative of the sovereign, control over military, administrative and judicial matters on this territory. His status was in some ways similar to that of the Palatine in Hungary proper or of the ban of Slavonia. The lordship that the voivode exercised had its counterpart in the noble congregatio, with the two institutions interacting in such a way as to promote Transylvania’s autonomy. The right of self-government implicit in this arrangement is signalled by Andrew III’s separate treatment in 1290–1 of Transylvania in the matter of legislation. The unique legal status enjoyed by Transylvania is well summed up by Elemér Mályusz’s formulation, ‘the exceptions in Hungary were rules in Transylvania.’31

The counterpart of the voivode’s authority was the congregatio. Once having been summoned into existence, the congregatio rendered the nobility a political community and gave the title of regnum a new meaning, in the sense of a ‘legal country’, a juridical community with its own privileges and the right of collective self-government. As part of this evolution, Transylvania’s separate and distinct identity became increasingly a part of political discourse, thereby embedding still further its quality as a regnum set both within and apart from the kingdom of Hungary. In time, this quality would spill over to affect the laws of the region, contributing to the construction of a special body of customary law. It would also manifest itself in political acts, whereby the nobility asserted their independence and endeavoured to combine together to thwart aristocratic intrusions.

The emergent sense of Transylvanian separateness and its distinctive quality as a regnum further affected its institutional character. We will note that many voivodes increasingly staffed their administration with Transylvanian noblemen. By the earliest years of the fourteenth century, the sense of Transylvanian noble identity was sufficiently strong for Ladislas Kán to present himself as the leader of Transylvania in his struggle against the Angevin Charles Robert. His claim was plausible, for over three generations his family had amassed property there and built up a strong body of local support. To the side of the noble congregatio came representatives of the Romanian, Saxon and Szekler communities, thereby broadening the notion of regnum and rendering it no longer exclusively noble. Notwithstanding Charles Robert’s violent subjugation of Transylvania in the wake of Ladislas Kán’s death in 1315, its traditions of self-government survived.

Even in the fourteenth century, however, Transylvanian ‘exceptionalism’ began to garner its own mythic history, lending the authority of the past to more recent political developments. The Hungarian chronicles of this time thus recorded the victory of St Stephen over the Transylvanian duke, Gyula, in the early eleventh century as a clash of regna—and ‘he joined to the regnum of Transylvania to the monarchy of Hungary’

30 Ştefan Pascu, Voievodatul Transilvaniei [The Voivodate of Transylvania], 4, Bucharest, 1989, p. 421.31 Martyn Rady, ‘Voivode and Regnum’, p. 88.

28 Regnum Transilvanum

(et ipsum regnum Erdewel monarchie Vngarie adiunxit).32 In this way, the ideology of Transylvanian statehood acquired not only a political but also a literary formulation that would be built upon in the centuries that followed.

32 Imre Szentpétery, Scriptores rerum hungaricarum tempore ducum regumque stirpis arpadianae gestarum, 2, Budapest, 1938, p. 36.

29

From Legislation to Practice: Some Aspects of Military Service in Medieval Hungary and Transylvania

Florin Nicolae Ardelean

Military service and other aspects of military organisation had a special place within the legal framework of medieval Hungary. All Hungarian monarchs were faced with the problem of recruiting and organising their armed forces. The estates also had an interest in this matter, but their position was not always the same as the king’s. Some of the most common military aspects established by royal decrees were recruitment, mobilisation, war taxes and weapons. Other issues, such as supplying and disciplining the army, are less frequently mentioned in the legislation of the period. From the end of the fourteenth century, there was increasing interest in matters of military organisation as the Turkish menace became more pressing. Sigismund of Luxemburg and his successors were concerned mainly with the defence of the kingdom through a system of border fortresses, manned by permanent garrisons.1

When the borders of the kingdom were attacked by an enemy, the most urgent concern was to muster, as quickly as possible, the different elements of the army so as to counter the threat posed. Since 1222, when the Golden Bull was issued by Andrew II, the nobility was compelled to join the army only in the event of defensive campaigns, fought inside the borders of kingdom. If they chose to follow the king on foreign campaigns they were supposed to receive payment from the royal treasury. Although the content of the Golden Bull was confirmed several times during the next centuries, some of its articles were often ignored, including those referring to the military obligations of the nobility.2 For example, during the reign of Louis I, Transylvanian nobles regularly joined the royal army in the Wallachian and Moldavian campaigns, mostly at their own expense. Going to war, especially outside the borders of the kingdom, was a costly endeavour. On the eve of the 1368 campaign in Wallachia, the Transylvanian noble Nicolas of Giula, had to pledge two of his estates for the sum of eighty florins, in order to join the banner of the Transylvanian voivode.3 This particular case shows that in practice the privilege of the nobility to fight only in defensive wars was ignored both by the king and by the

1 László Veszprémy, ‘Les premières traces de la pensée militaire hongroise avant la bataille de Mohács (1526)’, in La pensée militaire hongroise à travers les siècles, eds Hervé Coutau-Bégarie & Ferenč Tóth, Paris, 2011, pp.16–17.

2 András W. Kovács, Voievozii Transilvaniei şi evoluţia instituţiei voievodale până la începutul secolului al XV–lea [The voivodes of T. and the evolution of the institution of voivode from the fifteenth century], unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Bucharest, 2005, p. 118.

3 DRH D, 1, p. 29 doc. 52.

29

30 Aspects of Military Service

nobles themselves, who took this opportunity to increase their social standing or to gain access to an important office as a reward for their fidelity.

The advance of the Ottomans in South-Eastern Europe compelled Hungary’s rulers to radical measures. At the diet of Timișoara in 1397, the matter of noble obligations at time of war was once again brought up. In principle at least, the nobles maintained their right to fight only in defence of the country, but King Sigismund suspended this privilege for the length of the Turkish war.4 The noblemen’s commitment to ‘rise up’ (hence the term ‘insurrection’ or insurrectio) was also more sharply defined. If a noble was unable to attend the campaign personally, due to illness or old age, he had to send a replacement. If two or more brothers shared a common residence (curia), only one of them had to join the army.5 The recruitment of a militia from among the inhabitants of noble estates was also established at the Timișoara diet. Every noble was expected to bring one archer for every twenty peasants living on his property. This has always been considered an important innovation, caused by the increasing Turkish threat, but there is evidence that Hungarian nobles were accompanied in previous centuries by auxiliary archers, probably recruited from amongst the peasants living on their estates. A document from 1368 referring to two Transylvanian nobles, mentions that they were leading sixty heavy horsemen (in the document simply referred to as armatos) and the archers (pharatrariis) that usually accompanied them.6 In this respect, the so-called militia portalis should probably be seen as an example of an existing custom becoming an official form of recruitment, established by a royal decree.

During the fifteenth century and at the beginning of the sixteenth, there are several decrees referring to the recruitment of a militia in the territories of the Hungarian kingdom. Although it is not always clear whether these soldiers were actually peasants living on the estates of the nobility or mercenaries employed by the officials of the county, it is obvious that they were conceived as an auxiliary force to be mobilised in cases of extreme necessity.7 The efficiency of this military structure has often been questioned by historians. Although in respect of Hungary there is no clear evidence for the presence of these peasant soldiers on the battlefield, European history in the late medieval and early modern history offers several examples of peasant militias. It was not uncommon, therefore, to recruit levies from among rural or urban communities—as the examples of England, Venice, France and Spain demonstrate. 8 Moreover, peasants in Hungary were not unfamiliar with the use of weapons. The defence of Belgrade in 1456 was principally undertaken by an army of crusaders recruited mostly from among

4 1397: 6. See DRMH, 2, p. 22.5 Ibid. Similar provisions were issued in a decree from 1454. See DRMH, 3, p. 127. 6 DRH, D, doc. 53, p. 93.7 For the evolution of this military structure, see András Borosy, ‘The Militia Portalis in Hungary Before

1526’, in From Hunyadi to Rákóczi. War and Society in Late Medieval and Early Modern Hungary, eds János M. Bak & Béla K. Király, New York, 1982.

8 See thus Michael Powicke, Military Obligation in Medieval England, Oxford, 1962, pp. 119–122; M.E. Mallett & J.R Hale, The Military Organization of a Renaissance State. Venice c. 1400 to 1617, Cambridge, 1984, pp. 75–79, 167, 350–363; Maurice Keen, ‘The Changing Scene: Guns, Gunpowder, and Permanent Armies’, in (ed.) Keen, Medieval Warfare: A History, Oxford, 1999, pp. 283–284; James Casey, Early Modern Spain: A Social History, London & New York, 1999, p. 24.

Florin Nicolae Ardelean 31

Hungarian peasants.9 Conscription was also a common method of recruitment during the reign of Matthias Corvinus, a king otherwise well known for his mercenary army.10 The Szeged diet (which concluded on 5 of January 1459) was concerned mainly with an anti-Ottoman campaign project, in alliance with Bosnia, and with the detailed regulation of conscription and of conscript armies.11 The recruitment was planned with great thoroughness and drew in a large part of society. All boroughs and royal possessions were obliged to supply the royal banderia with one soldier for every twenty peasants. Ecclesiastical possessions were also subject to the same conscription, on the same ratio as royal possessions, but the soldiers recruited from the church’s land fought under the flags of their lords. An exception applied to nobles living on ecclesiastical land, known as praediales ecclesiastici, who were expected to perform their traditional military duties by personally accompanying the royal army. The high clergy also stuck to their usual military obligations, meaning a banderium apiece with a specified number of lances (a basic military unit consisting of ten soldiers). Abbots, chapters and convents also had to comply with the proportional recruitment of peasant soldiers.12 In addition to their obligation to provide banderia made up of their retainers, the barons were obliged to furnish troops gathered from their estates on the ratio of one warrior for every twenty peasants. The soldiers raised from their lands were organised in county contingents. These were led either by the lord of the county (comes) or by a royally-appointed captain. The recruits were instructed to join the army of the county in which they were conscripted, not in the county where their landlord had his main residence.13 By this measure, Matthias tried to diminish the power of baronial banderia, which were harder to control by central authority, and instead endeavoured to create a royal army led by royal officials that would be more responsive to his will. From a tactical point of view, the conscript army was intended as an autonomous fighting force, capable of deployment in hand-to-hand combat, but also able to contribute to firepower. The conscripted soldier fought on horseback with sword, shield, quiver and bow, or lance—cum uno armigero equite bene armato, gladio, clipeo, pharetra et arcu vel lancea fulcito exercituare teneantur.14

The articles of the diet were also very specific about the way in which conscription should be made, and who should be in charge of the process. The connumeratores, chosen from the county nobility, were instructed to collect fines of up to fifty marks from those who failed to respect the measures imposed by the royal decree. Nobles were also punished if they sent insufficient soldiers or if these were not properly armed. The captains were directly named by the king, from his loyal supporters. If the captains or the connumeratores were found guilty of bias in applying the rules, they were punished with payment of their man price (homagium).15 The lesser nobility was also obliged to

9 Norman Housley, Crusading and the Ottoman Threat 1453–1505, Oxford, 2012, pp. 108–117.10 Gyulá Rázsó, ‘The Mercenary Army of King Matthias Corvinus’, in From Hunyadi to Rákóczi, pp. 125–

40.11 András Kubinyi, Matthias Rex, Budapest, 2008, p. 68.12 1459: 3 (DRMH, 3, p. 9); Ioan Drăgan, Nobilimea Românească din Transilvania [Romanian Nobility of

T.], Bucharest, 2000, p. 153.13 1459: 4 (DRMH 3, pp 9–10). 14 1459: 5 (DRMH 3, p. 10). 15 1459: 14 (DRMH 3, p. 11).

32 Aspects of Military Service

participate in the conscription by means of association. A group of poorer nobles had to unite their efforts in order to provide one horseman for every twenty peasants as well as an amount of money sufficient to pay the soldiers’ wages for three months. The soldiers of the conscripted army were thus paid like mercenaries. We can estimate the sum paid by the nobles at about nine florins as the monthly wage of an ordinary horseman was at least three florins.16

The rules of conscription also applied to Vlachs, Tatars and Ruthenes living inside the kingdom’s borders; only the Cumans, Saxons, and Jazygs (Philistei) were exempted from the conscription in return for performing their traditional military obligations. Exemptions also applied to magistrates, and to officials in the royal service. These were released from having to join the army in person, but they had to send a well-armed mercenary at their own expense.17

This ample legislation referring to the conscript army shows the king’s intention to organise an army that was independent of the military structures dominated by the nobility. We should additionally note that the royal banderia grew significantly in size at this time owing to the increased size of the royal and private domain inherited by Matthias (it represented about ten per cent of the kingdom’s land mass). Unlike the other parts of the army, the militia portalis was, moreover, expected to follow the king in external campaigns.

In 1463, the draft level regarding the militia portalis was doubled. Nobles who had more than ten peasant tenants living on their estates had to prepare at least one horseman for the conscript army. In contrast to the 1459 decree, the conscripted peasants had to fight alongside their lords.18 The inhabitants of the towns and other royal possessions were included in the system of conscription but all ecclesiastical landowners had to go to war according to earlier arrangements, bringing with them banderia and lances appropriate to their status.19 When compared to the provisions of 1459, the decree of 1463 demonstrates a retreat on the part of royal government. The conscripted troops were, in effect, reabsorbed within the military structures dominated by the nobility and their contribution to the king’s own army was accordingly diminished.

A new round of reorganisation followed in 1464. The ratio of peasants to conscripts was now fixed at one horseman for every twelve peasants. Those who were unwilling to send their peasants to war could pay instead ten florins for every recruit. This sum was at the time sufficient for three months’ wages for a horseman and about five months’ wages for a foot soldier.20 In each county, one baron, one prelate and one representative of the county nobility were chosen to supervise the conscription. These connumeratores had to count the peasants on each estate, thus establishing the number of recruits expected from each member of the nobility, after which they inspected the weapons and equipment of the conscripts, imposing penalties where necessary. This military regulation was issued in the context of the Ottoman campaign in Bosnia, in 1463. Matthias avoided a pitched

16 Kubinyi, Matthias Rex, p. 38.17 1457: 23–5 (DRMH 3, pp. 11–12).18 1463: 2 (Decreta Regni Hungariae. Geszetze und Verordnungen Ungarns 1458–1490, eds György Bónis,

Géza Érszegi & Zsuzsanna Teke, Budapest, 1989, p. 134) (hereafter GVU). 19 1463: 4 (GVU, p. 135).20 1464 (Supplementum): 1 (GVU, p. 153).

Florin Nicolae Ardelean 33

battle with the superior Turkish army, waiting for the winter to drive back the Ottoman soldiers. With the main Turkish force out of the way, the Hungarian king captured the northern parts of Bosnia and the main fortification at Jajce.

The examples analysed above demonstrate the interest of both king and estates in the matter of military conscription. One of the main achievements of Matthias in this respect was the enlargement of the recruiting base. In most of his decrees, conscription included the burgeoning royal domain and sometimes also church property. Moreover, conscription applied to all, both the possessionati, which included barons and common nobles, and the unisessionati, those noblemen who held only a single plot. Nevertheless, there remained a weakness in the system of recruitment. The great lords continued to try and take control of the system, making the soldiers levied through the ratio from their estates serve in their own retinues and banderia, thus subverting the idea of a royal militia portalis. In similar fashion, the counties endeavoured to maintain their own autonomy, maximising the size of the contingents that they sent to war. As in 1464, Matthias sought to play these two interests off against one another, charging representatives of both groups with the task of listing obligations and working out the number of troops that each landowner was expected to provide.

From a military point of view, the Hungarian nobility was divided into two main groups—the barons and the county nobility. The barons included the largest landowners, the high clergy and the main office-holders. They all had the right to raise their own private armies, the so-called banderia. By the end of the fifteenth century, the military retinues of the lay and ecclesiastical aristocracy comprised (at least on paper) around 22,000 light and heavy cavalry.21 The remainder of the nobility formed the so-called exercitus generalis that was gathered only at the express order of the monarch. The troops gathered under these circumstances lacked proper equipment and homogeneity. Usually each county received a direct order of mobilisation. In spite of the numerous decrees that requested the nobles to be always ready to join the king’s army, this system of mobilisation was not very efficient. When faced with a large-scale Turkish offensive, such as in 1521 or 1526, the Hungarian king was unable to muster his full strength.

The nobility usually performed their military duties as heavy cavalry, although it was acknowledged that not all were able to arm themselves in the same manner. The royal decree of 1463 makes a clear distinction in this matter. Only those with more than fifty peasants on their estates were expected to wear chain mail, a collar, helmet, breastplate, shield and lance; they also had to bring at least two retainers (familiares) armed in the same manner.22 The lesser nobles, who formed the exercitus generalis, were far from able to reach these standards. In the fifteenth century they were often so impoverished that some contemporary observers compared them to a bunch of beggars rather than a proper army.23

21 1498: 20-22 (DRMH 4, pp. 101-5); András Kubinyi, ‘Politika és honvédelem a Jagellók Magyarországában’ [Politics and Defence in Jagiello Hungary], Hadtörténelmi Közlemények [Journal of Military H.], 111, 2000, p. 405.

22 1463: 12 (GVU, p. 136). 23 Joseph Held, ‘Military Reform in Early Fifteenth Century Hungary’, East European Quarterly, 11, 1977,

p. 132; Martyn Rady, Nobility, Land and Service in Medieval Hungary, Basingstoke & New York, 2000, p. 146.

34 Aspects of Military Service

Some measures, although inconsistently laid, were aimed at reducing the damaging impact of the army on the rest of the population. Most of the problems were caused by billeting and provisioning. Nobles and priests were exempted from giving shelter to members of the royal army, but all other inhabitants of the kingdom were supposed to accommodate soldiers passing through their region.24 Normally, if the soldiers were lacking food supplies or fodder for their horses they had to buy them at a fair price from the local population, but apparently they often failed to do so. In 1427 King Sigismund of Luxemburg had tried to enforce procedures for remedy in respect of abuses committed by soldiers. Those who had suffered any kind of damage at the hands of a royal soldier were supposed to call two noble judges who had to assess the value of the damage done and estimate the compensation due. Those found guilty had to show up personally when the royal court was in session and pay for the damage they had caused; if they failed to do so they had to pay a fine four times greater. Those who committed homicide, rape, or were found guilty of plundering churches or noble estates, were sentenced to death. The soldiers were allowed to request shelter only during winter. Provisions were to be sold according to a pre-established price list.25 Another major problem was that at the end of campaigns groups of armed soldiers refused to disband and acted as brigands. Nobles whose estates were menaced had the right to arm their peasants in order to defend their property or, if necessary, they could ask for the assistance of the county officials.26 Leaving the royal army before the end of the campaign was considered treason and was punishable by death in the case of commoners or by the confiscation of all property in the case of a nobleman.27

In practice these royal decrees were hard to apply. One of the reasons for this was that they sometimes contradicted local customs or even written privileges and local regulations. Such a case is provided by the Transylvanian voivodate, which maintained several particular features including a distinct military organisation. Since the defence of Transylvania was achieved mainly through local resources, its army reflected the particular social structure of the territory. The Transylvanian nobility was mobilised usually for defensive purposes or for campaigns into the neighbouring regions. Like their peers elsewhere in the Hungarian kingdom, they fought mostly on horseback. An account from the second half of the fifteenth century mentions about 10,000 Transylvanian ‘men-at-arms’ mustered for a major confrontation with the Turks and we must suppose that a good number of these comprised noblemen.28 Nobles were also obliged to conscript peasants from their estates, but not according to the same rules as the rest of the kingdom. In 1463 King Matthias Corvinus issued a specific regulation concerning the obligations of the nobility and also the conscription of peasants in this province. The insurrection of both peasants and nobles was conceived as an almost general insurrection (per capita), as the defensive necessities of this border area were very demanding. When the Transylvanians were summoned to join the royal army a fifth

24 1463: 13 (GVU, p. 136).25 1427 (a): 7 (DRMH 2, p. 58). 26 1486: 31 (DRMH 3, pp 55–6); 1492: 23 (DRMH 4, p. 15).27 1454: 13 (DRMH 2, p. 128). 28 Fontes Rerum Transylvanicarum, 4 (Acta et Epistolae Relationum), ed. Endre Veress, Cluj, 1914, pp.

33–34 (doc. 31).

Florin Nicolae Ardelean 35

of all peasants and a quarter of the nobles were left behind to defend the borders. An exception was made in the case of Hunedoara County, where one third of the nobility was left behind to protect the frontier. The responsibility for conscripting and mustering the troops was given to the lords (comites) of each county. At least some of the peasants were expected to have guns, but other weapons were accepted as well. The lesser nobles owning a single land plot (nobiles unius sessionis) personally joined the army, on horseback or on foot according to their means. The voivode had the authority to proclaim a general insurrection in Transylvania by sending a written order or, in a more traditional and symbolic manner, by sending round a bloodied sword (ense cruento, or gladio sanguine tincto).29

The Szekels (Siculi) constituted a distinct natio of its own in Transylvania, with special military obligations. Settled in the south-eastern parts of Transylvania, they were exempted from most taxes in return for special military duties. Their main role was to protect the south-eastern border. They were partially mobilised for external campaigns as well, especially for those taking place in neighbouring Wallachia and Moldavia.30 Before the fifteenth century, the Szekels mostly provided light cavalry for the Hungarian royal army. During the reign of Mathias Corvinus their military organisation changed. Three distinct military groups emerged within their community. The leaders (primipili, primores, lófők), constituting the social and military elite of the Szekels, performed their military duties in the same manner the other nobles of the kingdom, going to war as armoured cavalrymen. The other two groups constituted light horsemen and foot soldiers.31

Transylvanian troops fought under the command of the voivode. After 1462, the office of voivode was merged with that of Count of the Szekels, thus broadening the voivode’s military authority. As an important office holder of the kingdom, the voivode was entitled to a small retinue of mercenaries paid for by the central royal treasury. During the second decade of the fifteenth century, his retinue was listed as including 225 lancers.32 According to a document issued in 1513–14 by the royal treasury on the military expenses of the kingdom, the banderium of the Transylvanian voivode consisted of 300 horsemen.33 The voivode Andrew Báthory, invested by Ferdinand of Habsburg in 1552, maintained a similar number of soldiers (200 cavalry and a hundred infantry), for which he received 15,000 florins for the first year of his office.34 In fact, it is likely that the Transylvanian voivodes were able to muster considerably larger forces under their personal command as they were usually chosen from among the great landowners of the

29 Károly Szabó, Szekely Okleveltar 1211–1519 [Szekel Documents] , 1, Cluj, 1872, p. 196–199; Elemér Mályusz, Az erdélyi magyar társadalom a középkorban [Transyl. Hung. Society in the MA], Budapest, 1988, p. 53; Drăgan, Nobilimea, p. 377–378.

30 Károly Vekov, Structuri juridico-militare și sociale la secui în evul mediu [Military, legal and social structures of the Szekels in the MA], Cluj, 2003, p. 84.

31 Nathalie Kálnoky, ‘L'organisation militaire de la nation sicule à la fin de Moyen Âge’, in La pensée militaire hongroise à travers les siècles, eds Hervé Coutau-Bégarie & Ferenč Tóth, Paris, 2011, pp. 31–32.

32 Sigismund Jako, ‘Despre numirea voievozilor Transilvaniei’ [Appointments of the Transyl. Voivode], Acta Musei Napocensis, 26–30, no 2, 1989–1993, p. 38.

33 András Kubinyi, ‘The Battle of Szávaszentdemeter–Nagyolaszi (1523): Ottoman Advance and Hungarian Defence on the Eve of Mohács’, in eds Géza Dávid & Pál Fodor, Ottomans, Hungarians and Habsburgs in Central Europe: The Military Confines in the Era of Ottoman Advance. London 2000, pp. 71–75.

34 Jako, ‘Despre numirea voievozilor’, p. 42.

36 Aspects of Military Service

kingdom. It was estimated that in 1456 John Hunyadi was able to field around 10,000 men.35 Of course, we might consider him an exceptional character in an exceptional situation, but it is safe to assume that the banderium of a Transylvanian voivode usually consisted of several thousand mercenaries and familiares.

Conclusion

The ability of Hungary’s kings to recruit and mobilise armed forces was very much dependent upon the good will of the estates. The responsibility for the defence of the kingdom was divided between the king and the most influential members of the aristocracy, who were also the main office holders. The lesser nobility also kept a certain degree of authority in regard to the conscription and mustering of troops, although their military capacity was much less.

In matters of military service and recruitment, Hungary was not very different from other European states. In spite of the many divergences of practice found within the same kingdom, three basic forms of military service or methods of recruitment may be distinguished—military service as feudal obligation (or in other words military service based on privileges and tax exemptions), mercenary service (meaning soldiers hired for money, for a determined period of time) and conscription (meaning in theory a partial or general levy of the non-privileged strata of the society). In practice the methods mentioned above were often combined as it was not uncommon for nobles to receive wages in return for service, hire mercenaries, or even be hired themselves as mercenaries.

35 Housley, Crusading and the Ottoman Threat, pp.108–109.

37

Written Rules and Privileges: Fiscal and Military Obligations of the Transylvanian Saxons in the Middle Ages

Liviu Cîmpeanu

Although known as Saxons, the Germans of Transylvania did not originate in Saxony, but were of diverse composition. Most came from the region of the Lower Rhine but some were from France and Italy. The name of Saxon was attached to them because the newcomers were initially vested with the rights belonging to Saxon settlers and miners, not only in the territory of Saxony but also in Silesia and Bohemia. The name of Saxon thus had in medieval Transylvania a legal meaning rather than indicating a distinct cultural or linguistic group.1

The first group of German settlers arrived in Transylvania around the mid-twelfth century, having been called in by the Hungarian king, Géza II. A document from 1206 mentions the first hospites regni as established in three settlements in the southern part of Transylvania.2 The main charter given to the Transylvanian Saxons was issued by King Andrew II in 1224 (the so-called Andreanum) and it attests to the German settlers as having been summoned by the Andrew’s grandfather, Géza II.3 Unfortunately, no other information is given regarding the early settlement of the Transylvanian Saxons. We do know that in the second half of the twelfth century they were already organised in a powerful community, which was able to pay important amounts of money as tax to the king, and that in the end of the same century they had a praepositus and thus their own church organisation. Several documents from the beginning of the thirteenth century indicate German communities in the southern part of Transylvanian, mainly situated in the royal county of Sibiu. 4

By the end of the twelfth century other German groups had established new settlements in the Rodna (Rodenau) valley, in the north-eastern part of Transylvania. The main settlement of Rodna was destroyed by the Mongols in 1241. After this event, the administrative centre of the Germans in this part of Transylvania moved to the settlement of Bistriţa (Bistritz, Noesen)5.

1 Konrad Gündisch & Mathias Beer, Siebenbürgen und die siebenbürger Sachsen, Munich, 2005, pp. 29–33.2 UB, 1, pp. 9–10.3 Ibid., 1, p. 34.4 Liviu Cîmpeanu, ‘De la comitat la scaun principal. Evoluţia administrative-juridică a provinciei aferente

în Evul Mediu’ [From royal county to main seat. The administrative and juridical evolution of Sibiu and its province in the Middle Ages], in Acta Musei Napocensis, 47, no 2, 2010, pp. 81–90.

5 Konrad Gündisch, Das Patriziat Siebenbürgischer Städte im Mittelalter, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 1993, pp. 47–48; Michael Kroner, Geschichte der Nordsiebenbürger Sachsen. Nösnerland und Reener Ländchen, Nuremberg, 2009, p. 24; Historische Stätten. Siebenbürgen, gen. ed. Harald Roth, Stuttgart, 2003, p. 154.

37

38 Obligations of the Transylvanian Saxons

At the beginning of the thirteenth century, a third region of Transylvania was colonised by newcomers, who were in the main also Germans. This was the so-called Burzenland or Ţara Bârsei, situated in the south-eastern part of Transylvania in the vicinity of the Carpathian Mountains. The founders of the German settlement in this part of the country were the Teutonic Knights, who were invited by King Andrew II in 1211 to secure the borders of the realm against the raids of the Cumans, and to expand them eastwards, if possible, over the Carpathians. The knights established a commandery in the Ţara Bârsei, where they began a policy of German colonisation. They defeated the Cumans and pushed southwards across the Carpathian rim. The increasing power of the knights and the self-government to which they aspired (although still bound to the ruler by the obligation of fidelitas, they were directly subject to the Pope) led to a political confrontation, which ended with the Order being banished, manu militari, from the realm. The knights’ possessions were occupied by the king’s men, and the Ţara Bârsei was put under the authority of the royal count of the neighbouring Szekels. The main part of the German population remained in Ţara Bârsei. Soon after their departure, a new wave of settlers entered the region, taking over the region previously vacated by the Teutonic Order, who founded what would later become the city of Braşov (Kronstadt).6

As may be observed from this sketch, the earliest Saxon settlements were founded in the southern part of Transylvania, centred upon the settlement of Sibiu, which would later become the Saxon capital. A royal count of Sibiu is first mentioned around 1210. The charter of privileges, issued by Andrew II in 1224, confirms the existence of a royal county of Sibiu, which included all German settlements around it.

The charter of 1224 lists the main privileges and obligations of the hospites Theutonici of Sibiu. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, these rights and duties were extended to all Saxons of Transylvania.7 First, as mentioned above, the king recognised the local autonomy of the German settlers of Sibiu, placing them under his direct authority. He exercised his authority upon his German subjects through a royal count who was subsequently appointed, more or less every year, from the ranks of his courtiers. The king gave to his hospites the right to elect their priests and judges, who also discharged an administrative authority. They also had the right to use their German customary law (which was in fact based on the law of the Saxon miners of Silesia and Bohemia). The county of Sibiu was permitted use its own seal, which implied recognition of its corporate right of self-government. The Saxons were additionally empowered to petition the king for redress should he alienate any of their lands. They might also use several forests, lakes and neighbouring lands, which theoretically belonged to the king, but which were at that time inhabited by Romanians and Pechenegs. Also, the German settlers received the right to freely extract, once a year, salt from the king’s salt mines. The most important right granted to them was the liberty to trade free within the whole realm,

6 For a brief synthesis of this theme and the main bibliography, see Liviu Cîmpeanu, ‘König Vladislav II., der Kronstädter Distrikt und die Törzburg. Aus den Beziehungen des Jagiellonenkönigs mit seinen siebenbürgisch-sächsischen Untertanen am Anfang des 16. Jh.’, in Eastern and Central European Studies, eds Christian Gastegeber & Alexandru Simon, Volume 2: Between Worlds: The Age of the Jagiellonians, Frankfurt a.M., Berlin etc, 2013, pp. 48–53.

7 The relevant privileges are given in UB, 1, pp. 315–6; UB, 2, pp. 249–50; UB, 4, pp. 164–5.

Liviu Cîmpeanu 39

without paying any taxes or tolls, which subsequently contributed to their community’s commercial and material success.

In exchange for these privileges the king imposed some very specific obligations on the hospites of Sibiu County. They were obliged to pay a tax of five-hundred silver marks a year (mark refers here not to a coin but to a unit of weight). Secondly, they were obliged to send under the banner of the king five-hundred men-at-arms, but only if the king headed the army personally, within the borders of the realm. If the king’s army was led inside the borders of the realm by one of his commanders, the Saxons had to send only a hundred men-at-arms and if the army undertook a campaign outside the borders of the realm they had to send only fifty.8

Apart from the military obligations that were laid on the free settlers, the German nobles from the terra Saxonum had commitments of their own, which were imposed upon them according to the principle of auxilium et consilium. These German nobles, who were called Graeven or comites, were originally members of the lesser nobility of the German Empire and ministeriales. It was they who led the settler groups into Transylvania, acting in the capacity of locatores. One such nobleman is known by name, Anselm von Braz, who sold his lands in the Ardennes to settle in Hungary together with his sons. After the arrival of the German settlers in Transylvania these noble locatores continued to retain leadership over the newcomers. Later on, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the German communities of Transylvania freed themselves from the authority of the nobles. Some of the Graeven families were banished by their communities; others moved voluntarily to the towns or other counties of Transylvania, either becoming citizens or joining the ranks of the Hungarian nobility. Some of the Graeven perished without heirs and their lands were redistributed.9 We do not know if these Graeven gathered together with the other settlers under the banner of the king to form the five-hundred men-at-arms mentioned in the 1224 privilege or whether they formed a separate unit.

Those free communities which lay outside the authority of the Graeven also had the obligation to maintain and send men-at-arms to the king’s army. As an example, three free communities, who benefited from the same privileges, had to arm and maintain four armoured horseman, and to send them under the king’s banner.10

It is possible, however, that these obligations remained only on paper. There is no historical evidence that the newcomers actually provided troops for the king’s army. We do not know for certain whether the five-hundred German men-at-arms joined King Béla IV’s army in 1241, at the battle of Sajó, against the Mongols.11 The Hungarian chronicles of the time do not specifically record any participation by Transylvanian Saxons at the event, mentioning only the great army of the king. Although it is plausible

8 See the charter of Andrew II for the Transylvanian Saxons, issued 1224, in UB, 1, pp. 32–35; a detailed commentary is given in Gündisch & Beer, Siebenbürgen, pp. 38–43.

9 Gündisch, Das Patriziat, pp. 101–120; and the older, yet still valid study of Georg Eduard Müller, Die Gräven des Siebenbürger Sachsenlandes, Sibiu, 1931; see also Dirk Moldt, Deutsche Stadtrechte im mittelalterlichen Siebenbürgen, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 2009, pp. 119–125.

10 Ibid, p. 120.11 For the Mongol invasion, see James Chambers, The Devil’s Horsemen: The Mongol Invasion of Europe,

1979, esp. pp. 101–104.

40 Obligations of the Transylvanian Saxons

to think that the Saxons of Sibiu took part at the disaster, there is only one known charter of donation rewarding Saxons for their role in the fighting. The two Germans for whom it is given are, however, recorded as serving under the banner of the Transylvanian voivode, Laurentius.12 Nonetheless, German hospites were drawn into the contest with the Mongols, in particular in the defence of Rodna. Following the town’s capture, the German count of Rodna, Ariscaldus, joined the Mongol side, contributing six-hundred men-at-arms who plundered the neighbouring settlements.13

The German settlers in the Ţara Bârsei, in the south-eastern part of Transylvania, were too weak to oppose the Mongols. In the wake of the invasion, King Béla IV reorganised the defensive system in Transylvania, building a series of royal castles that were garrisoned with so-called ‘castle warriors’ (iobagiones castri). These strongholds proved their worth on the occasion of the Mongol invasion of 1285, led by Nogai and Tula Buga. The warriors intercepted the Mongol army and destroyed it almost entirely.14

Other areas of Saxon settlement were also invested with corporate rights, although these were less detailed and less generous than those awarded to Sibiu. The districts of Mediaş (Mediasch) and Şeica Mare (Grossschelk) received in 1315 and 1318 respectively the same privileges and obligations, which were modelled on those previously given to Sibiu. In exchange, the inhabitants had to pay four-hundred silver marks but no military obligations were laid. The district of Bistrița (Bistritz or Noesen) or Noesnerland also received the rights, privileges and obligations of the county of Sibiu, in 1366. The charter mentions that military services be performed and certain taxes be paid. Against the backdrop of the Ottoman invasions of southern Transylvania,15 Braşov received its own privilege in 1422, which extended to the Ţara Bârsei.16 At this time, Sigismund of Luxemburg issued several orders to build the fortification around the city of Braşov (1422, 1432)17.

Enjoying analogous privileges, the Saxons of Transylvania had by the fifteenth century become a mighty judicial community, with their capital in the city of Sibiu. Although, the four smaller regions of self-government (Ţara Bârsei, Mediaş, Şeica Mare and the Noesnerland) kept their own financial and administrative competencies, they recognised the comes of Sibiu as their supreme judge, their political deputy in public affairs, and the officer responsible for tax collection. The count of Sibiu was first

12 UB, 1, p. 70–71.13 Harald Zimmermann, ‘Weltgeschichtliche Ereignisse im Jahre 1241’, in Zimmermann, Siebenbürgen und

seine Hospites Theutonici. Vorträge und Forschungen zur südostdeutschen Geschichte, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 1996, pp. 102–113; Gündisch &Beer, Siebenbürgen, pp. 43–45.

14 Tudor Sălăgean, ‘Transilvania şi invaza mongolă din 1285’ [Transylvania and the Mongol Invasion of 1285], in Românii în Europa Medievală (între orientul bizantin şi occidentul latin). Studii în onoarea profesorului Victor Spinei [The Romanians in Medieval Europe (between the Byzantine East and the Latin West). Studies in honour of Professor V.S.], eds Dumitru Ţeicu and Ionel Cândea, Brăila, 2008, pp. 271–282.

15 Maja Philippi, ‘Die ersten Türkeneinfälle in Siebenbürgen’, in Philippi, Kronstadt, Heidelberg, 1996, pp. 84–87; Gustav Gündisch, ‘Siebenbürgen in den Türkenabwehr’, in Gündisch, Aus Geschichte und Kultur der Siebenbürger Sachsen. Ausgewählte Aufsätze und Berichte, Cologne & Vienna, 1987, p. 36–6.

16 See back, footnote 7.17 G. Gündisch, Türkenabwehr, p. 43; UB, 4, p. 162.

Liviu Cîmpeanu 41

appointed by the king but, after a rebellion of the Saxons of Sibiu in 1324, freely elected by them, out of their ranks. He was also the supreme commander of the Saxon militias.18

In performing their military obligations, the Saxons sent troops to all the major military encounters of the fifteenth century, including Varna in 1444 (their presence is attested in the account of the Transylvanian Saxon Hans Mägest),19 and the battle of Brodefeld-Câmpul Pâinii in 1479, where the Saxons were led by their Count, Georg Hecht.20

In addition to the obligation to send men-at-arms to serve under the king’s standard, the Transylvanian Saxons were also bound to secure their fortified towns. Once their settlements had acquired permanence and developed into towns, they began therefore to organise their own urban militias. The first Transylvanian Saxon militia is mentioned in 1432 during the Turkish siege of Braşov; next in 1438 on the occasion of the Turkish-Wallachian siege of Sebeş (Mühlbach); 21 and again in 1491 in Braşov in what is Transylvania’s first surviving siege statute.22 The urban militias were formed out of craftsmen of the guilds and mercenaries. They consisted of Reissigen (armoured horsemen), Trabanten (footmen) and gunners. The militiamen had to ensure the watch of the towers, walls and gates.23 The militias were also sent along with banner, drummer and commander to the gathering place of the royal army.24 Even some villages are known to have had their own militias, although the number of soldiers in each was in the sixteenth century usually less than half a dozen.25

ConclusionHungary’s kings called in German settlers to defend and expand the borders of the

realm. In this respect, it is surely no accident that the inscription of Sibiu’s seal reads, ad retiendam coronam26. The newcomers were given privileges that permitted self-government and which were aimed at developing the areas of settlement commercially. As the settlements developed into cities, they became the capitals of royal counties and districts. In exchange for these privileges, the German subjects of the Hungarian

18 Georg Eduard Müller, Stühle und Distrikte als Unterteilungen der Siebenbürgisch–Deutschen Nationsuniversität 1141–1876, Sibiu, 1941.

19 Hans Mägest told the story of the campaign to Michael Beheim. See Colin Imber, The Crusade of Varna, Aldershot, 2006, pp. 167–180.

20 Gündisch & Beer, Siebenbürgen, p. 62.21 See the extract in ibid., p. 63.22 Published by August Ludwig Schlötzer in Kritische Sammlungen zur Geschichte der Deutschen in

Siebenbürgen, facsimile edition of the 1795 edition, ed. H. Zimmermann, Cologne & Vienna, 1979, pp. 76–80

23 Ibid.24 See, for example, the case of the militia of Bistriţa, during the events of the mid-16th century, in Friedrich

Kramer, ‘Bistritz um die Mitte des 16. Jahrhunderts. Auf Grund eines Rechnungbuches für die Jahre 1547 bis 1553‘, Archiv des Vereins für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 21, 1887, pp. 54–62.

25 Liviu Cimpeanu, Universitatea Saxoă şi districtele româneşti aflate sub jurisdicţia ei în Evul Mediu şi Epoca Modernă. Teză de doctorat [The Transylvanian-Saxon University and the Romanian districts under its jurisdiction in the Middle Ages and in the Modern Age. Unpublished PhD. Thesis], University of Cluj, 2011, p. 176 (I used the town accounts of the Bran domain, belonging since 1498 to the city of Braşov, from the second half of the 16th century).

26 Gündisch & Beer, Siebenbürgen, p. 52.

42 Obligations of the Transylvanian Saxons

king had well established obligations towards their sovereigns, especially in fiscal and military matters. Whereas at first, the interest of the ruler had been the defence of the kingdom (hence the invitation to Teutonic Knights in 1211), in time the economic contribution of the Saxons came more to the fore. Often, therefore, military obligations were commuted to payment. Nevertheless, in order to defend their space, the Saxons organised urban militias and they continued to serve in the royal army.

Andrew II’s privilege of 1224 remained in force, at least in part, until the last decades of the nineteenth century. The obligations, however, of the Saxons were not, however, fixed in stone but were adjusted according to circumstance throughout the medieval period.

43

German Law and Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

Laurenţiu Rădvan

The assumption that German law (or elements of it) was adopted in medieval towns in the Romanian principalities is generally rejected in Romanian historiography. Historians have been reluctant to accept that this was so, arguing an insufficiency of evidence. Once we take into account that some researchers claim the towns in the Romanian area to have developed along a path of their own—the so-called ‘autochthonist’ theory, which, unsurprisingly, found many supporters in the Communist era—it is not hard to understand why German law has not found a place of its own in studies of urban history over the past century.

Even so, some historians, mainly before the Second World War, embraced the idea that German law did have a role. These historians accepted the presence and the significant role played in urbanisation by those German settlers whom we may consider to have been the carriers of a specific pattern of organisation, typical of Central Europe as a whole. Nicolae Iorga, a self-declared supporter of the theory of the foreign origin of Romanian towns, wrote: ‘We are nowadays certain that our towns were not established by Romanians.’1 Iorga’s ideas were further developed by Petre P. Panaitescu, who emphasised the role of foreign colonists in promoting trade in the region’s emerging towns before the rise of the Romanian principalities.2 Historians of this school argued that, with the support of the kings of Hungary or of the rulers of the Romanian principalities, foreign colonists arrived in the regions south and east of the Carpathian Mountains, laying the foundations for some of the oldest towns in the country. The settlers introduced elements of administrative, legal and economic organisation specific

1 N. Iorga, ‘Negoțul și meșteșugurile în trecutul românesc’ [Trade and Craftsmanship in Romanian History], in Iorga, Opere economice, ed. Georgeta Penelea, Bucharest, 1982, pp. 83–84 ; N. Iorga, Istoria românilor, vol. 3, ed. Victor Spinei, Bucharest, 1993, pp. 137–139.

2 P. P. Panaitescu, Interpretări românești, eds. Ștefan S. Gorovei and Maria-Magdalena Székely, Bucharest, 1994, pp. 141–149.

43

This work was supported by a grant of the Romanian National Authority for Scientific Research, CNCS - UEFISCDI, project number PN-II-ID-PCE-2011-3-0562.

44 Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

to Central Europe.3 After the Second World War, Marxist interpretations became paramount. Romanian historians were expected to draw their inspiration from Soviet historians, whose fundamental thesis was that the Middle Ages was a period fraught with feudal dissension and intense class struggle. The idea that medieval towns had a foreign origin was apparently unacceptable to the ever-growing nationalist bias of the Romanian Communists. The Communist regime favoured interpretations which detracted from, or even refuted, the importance of foreign settlers in the emergence of towns. Instead, it supported a perspective which assigned a fully local character to the entire medieval society in the Romanian principalities and to the towns as well, which had apparently evolved on their own path, safe from outside influences. This may serve as an explanation of why research into the process of urbanisation took a different path, which did not even allow for discussion of the presence or absence of elements of German law in the towns of the Romanian principalities.4 In the past years, however, I have begun to review the evidence anew. As a starting point, I consider it to have been a mistake to conceive of references to German law as indicating only a narrowly legal phenomenon. In fact, the adoption of the German law called for the adoption of a system of rules that sought to organise the community as a whole and to ensure a degree of autonomy for it as well as a status that differed from other groups. In short, legal difference arose out of a sense of communal exceptionalism that rested on the separate identity of the newcomers.

A similar debate to the one in Romania also took place in Poland over the meaning of German law. The pre-war German school emphasised that, until the Germans arrived in Poland as part of their vast colonisation of the East, there were no towns, and so they had to be created by outsiders. German historians grounded their theories in a definition of the town as a self-reliant settlement with a foundation charter.5 After the war, a new trend in Polish historiography argued that towns predated the arrival of the Germans and functioned as centres of trade, although the extent to which they were self-governing communities was debated.6 Some Polish historians, considered that, ever since the twelfth century, the inhabitants of these settlements, and probably visitors as

3 Emil Vîrtosu, ‘Din sigilografia Moldovei și Țării Românești’ [Sigillography in M. and W.], in Documente privind istoria României, Introducere, vol. 2, Bucharest, 1956, pp. 437–501; Emil Lăzărescu, ‘Despre piatra de mormânt a comitelui Laurențiu și câteva probleme arheologice și istorice în legătură cu ea’ [The tombstone of Count L. and its related archaeological and historical problems], Studii și cercetări de istoria artei [Studies and Investigations in Art History], 4, nos1–2, 1957, pp. 124–126; see also Pavel Binder, ‘Din nou despre comes Laurentius de Longo Campo’ [Once more on Count L. de L. C.], Studii și cercetări de istoria artei, series Artă plastică, 22, no 1, 1975, pp. 186–187; D. Ciurea, ‘Noi contribuții privind orașele și târgurile din Moldova în secolele XIV–XIX’ [New contributions on the towns and markets of M. in the 14th to 19th c.], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie și Arheologie Iași, 7, 1970, pp. 22–23.

4 A. Oțetea (ed.), Istoria României, vol. 2, Bucharest, 1962, pp. 289–290; P. P. Panaitescu, Introducere la istoria culturii românești. Problemele istoriografiei române, ed. Dan Horia Mazilu, Bucharest, 2000, pp. 263–275.

5 Paul W. Knoll, ‘The Urban Development of Medieval Poland, with Particular Reference to Krakow’, in Bariša Krekic (ed.), Urban Society of Eastern Europe, Berkeley, CA, 1987, p. 64, 70. For the trend in historiography that discards any possible continuity between towns before the German colonisation and those afterwards, see Richard Koebner, ‘Dans les terres de colonisation: Marchés slaves et villes allemandes’, Annales d’Histoire économique et sociale, 9, 1937, pp. 547–567.

6 Benedykt Zientara, ‘Socio–Economic and Spatial Transformation of Polish Towns During the Period of Location’, Acta Poloniae Historica, 34, 1976, pp. 57–60.

Laurenţiu Rădvan 45

well, received certain rights under the provisions of a certain market law (mir = ‘peace’) enacted by the duke.7 Other historians focused on the significance of the moment when local dukes supported the introduction of German law in these settlements, wishing to ensure a better economic environment for incoming foreigners, and to obtain a reliable source of income.

Benedykt Zientara has seen the legal emergence of the towns as starting with the grant of autonomy to foreign traders who came to the burgeoning commercial centres.8 German and Polish historians use the term locatio civitatis to refer to the foundation of towns between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, as part of a larger process of German colonisation. The Latin locare has two meanings: that of ‘locating,’ but also of ‘renting.’ It was thus possible to have the new settlement on the ‘rented’ and resized site of an older settlement. This multi-faceted term led Zientara to claim that locatio had three separate meanings in Poland: (1) the actual foundation of a settlement (in most cases, settlers were unable to take up residence on a site already occupied by the local population); (2) the layout of the settlement, regularised according to a pattern already established between the Elbe and the Oder; (3) the legal status of the settlement, which would change when a deed of settlement was granted by the sovereign to an enterpriser (scultetus, advocatus). The settlement then shifted from being subject to ducal jurisdiction to being governed by German law.9 The complex process of locatio is not specific only to Poland, since this mode of evolution, both urban, as well as rural, is encountered all across Central Europe.10

Hungary was in a relatively similar situation. Here, however, it was the king who took the lead in bringing settlers from Western Europe. Newcomers were granted vast privileges, which involved a status of autonomy relying on the same German law. Settlers were granted the right to found a settlement (locatio civitatis), as well as privileges, which imitated the rights of a ‘mother town’. Whereas Poland and Bohemia adopted the Nuremberg, Magdeburg or Lübeck laws, in Hungary the model most often invoked was at first the one introduced by Walloons at Székesfehérvár. Magdeburg law was eventually adopted in Banská Štiavnica, but only partially in Buda. Later on, Buda’s law gained the upper hand, but there was considerable variety throughout the kingdom.11

If we take as our basis the situation in Poland and Hungary, we can arrive at the following principles of urban organisation. (1) legal principles: the inhabitants enjoyed personal freedom and the right to organise their community as they saw fit; relationships with the ruler were regulated; (2) topographic principles: the townscape was planned,

7 Alexander Gieysztor, ‘Les origins de la ville slaves’, in La citta nell’alto medioevo, Settimane di studio del centro Italiano di studi sull'alto medioevo, no. 6, Spoleto, 1959, pp. 298–301; Aleksander Gieysztor et al. (eds), History of Poland, Warsaw, 1979, pp. 76, 83–84; Gerard Labuda, ‘Villes de droit polonais’, in (ed.) Pierre Francastel, Les origines des villes polonaises, Paris & The Hague, 1960, pp. 53–67. Further details are given in Karol Buczek, Targi i miasta na prawie polskim (okres wczesnośredniowieczny), [Markets and towns following Polish law (in the MA)], Wrocław, 1964.

8 Zientara, ‘Socio–Economic and Spatial Transformation’, pp. 67–69.9 Ibid, pp. 62–66; Knoll, ‘The Urban Development’, pp. 71–73, 78–80.10 An interesting case study is provided by Richard C. Hoffmann, Land, Liberties, and Lordship in a Late

Medieval Countryside. Agrarian Structures and Change in the Duchy of Wrocław, Philadelphia, PA, 1989, pp. 62–73.

11 György Györffy, ‘Les débuts de l'évolution urbaine en Hongrie’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, Xe–XIIe siècles, 12, no. 2, 1969, pp. 144–145.

46 Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

usually with a rectangular square in its centre and plots of land surrounding it; (3) economic principles: tax exemptions were instated, as well as the right to hold a market or fair.

Conditions obviously varied between communities, since those granting the foundation charters took into account the aspirations of the settlers and the specifics of the place.12 The award of these charters did not necessarily lead to complete self-determination for those communities. In Poland, we see that the settlement was headed by a scultetus (Germ. Schultheiss/Schulze, Pol. sołtys) or advocatus (Germ. Vogt, Pol. wójt), who was (at least to begin with) subordinated to the duke and often appointed by him.13 An institution closer to the inhabitants than to the duke was ‘the citizens' community’ (communitas civium), which appointed its own administrative and representative body, the city council. The council was the first exclusively urban institution, having no obvious counterpart in the countryside, although some villages later aped its organisation. The council sought to extend urban self-government, mainly by reducing the capacity of the duke to interfere in the internal affairs of the town. In Hungary, the community (universitas) would yearly elect a judge (judex/iudex, maior villae or villicus) as its representative, while the local comes (lord or ispán) lost all jurisdiction over the townspeople and the land granted to them. Along with the judge, the townspeople elected a council made up of twelve sworn men (iurati). The combined authority of the two institutions extended over all matters affecting the legal and administrative affairs of the community. Afterwards, some towns instituted a larger or ‘outer’ council, made up of one hundred or so members, which took over the right to pick the judge and sworn men.14

We have digressed into this comparative investigation in order to pick out the most salient features of German law. By this method we will be able to demonstrate the contention that German law was also present south and, especially, east of the Carpathians. This leads us, however, to a major problem faced by every researcher interested in the history of towns in the Romanian principalities—the state of the sources. Only one complete privilege survives for any town in Wallachia or Moldavia. Also, only a handful of documents illustrating urban organisation exist for the period of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. No ‘town books’ (Rom. catastif, cartea orașului) have been preserved from this period either, although they do survive for later centuries.

The exception mentioned is however notable and relates to the town of Câmpulung in Wallachia.15 The provisions of this privilege had two main components, legal and

12 For a detailed study of this topic, see Piotr Górecki, ‘German Law Within the Polish Duchies: Variation and Routine’, in Piotr Górecki, Economy, Society, and Lordship in Medieval Poland, 1100–1250, New York & London, 1992, pp. 236–261.

13 Aleksander Gieysztor, ‘From Forum to Civitas: Urban Changes in Poland in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’, in La Pologne au XIIe Congres International des Sciences Historiques a Vienne, Warsaw, 1965, pp. 23–24; Zientara, ‘Socio–Economic and Spatial Transformation’, pp. 76–77.

14 See Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen. A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526, London & New York, 2001, pp. 251–253.

15 In 1747, at Prince Nicolae Mavrocordat’s behest, all the documents of this town that still existed were gathered and copied on a scroll that ran several meters in length: Pânza orașului Câmpulung [Roll of the town of C.], with 39 documents; see Ioan Răuțescu, Câmpulung–Muscel. Monografie istorică, Câmpulung–Muscel, 1943, p. 32.

Laurenţiu Rădvan 47

financial. The legal component states that: ‘and their trials shall be so conducted that no one mingle with them, but all the law and their judicature are as their covenant earlier, by the custom of old, in the days of those old rulers.’ This guaranteed that the trials took place in the town and that they might follow a law separate from the rest of the country. The inhabitants had the right to full control over the town and its domain: ‘only the townsfolk are to use as they see fit these places, as domain in the town, or as a house or plot in the field or vineyard.’ Prădalica (the local version of the jus spolii) did not apply in the town or on its domain. If any townsman died without heirs, his share was transferred to the town. If he died in debt, his creditors might only sell off his goods to other townspeople. This situation was unique in Wallachia. In respect of taxation, various exemptions were granted to the citizens.16 The privilege includes, therefore, some very ample provisions and we may ask whether there is any connection between this document and the presence in the town of a large group of Germans, as identified in documents surviving from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries.

The correspondence we have highlighted is even more striking when we look at the status of Germans in Transylvania, just across the mountains. The Andreanum, granted to the Saxons in 1224 by King Andrew II, stated specifically that: ‘none of our noblemen should ever dare to claim any village or parcel from the Royal Majesty’,17 making it clear that Hungarian noblemen were not entitled to property in the Saxon land. A confirmation of the privilege of Câmpulung, from 1636, stated that, ‘no boyar and no subject of mine are to ask of me the places or domain of these townsfolk, no house, no land in the town, no ford for a mill, no parcel in a field, no vineyard, nothing whatsoever, but let the townsfolk employ these domains as they see fit.’18 On the basis of all this, we believe that the Câmpulung privilege to have been granted in relation to the settling of Saxon ‘guests’, who arrived in Wallachia from the kingdom of Hungary in the latter half of the thirteenth century.19

Since the Saxons from Transylvania followed German law, we may assume that members of their group, who crossed the mountains, introduced and retained inside their communities structural elements typical of this law. We should expect to find the same in other communities south of the Carpathians (where Germans also settled), such as Târgoviște, Argeș or Râmnicul Vâlcea. Unfortunately, no privileges survive but only small fragments relating to the internal organisation of these towns. These reveal that they were led by a judeţ (coming from Lat. Judex), who was elected annually, each of whom held office in tandem with a council made up of 12 pârgari (derived from Germ. Bürger). This type of organisation seems to have prevailed throughout Wallachia, but such cannot be taken to mean that German communities were present in each town that adopted this scheme. It is more likely that the pattern from Transylvania, implanted directly by the Saxons in Câmpulung, became in its turn a model for all other towns, being adopted by other communities with the prince's consent. Save for these few elements, the sources betray little else, except for some topographical information. The

16 DRH B, 25, p. 469, no. 425.17 DIR C, 1, p. 210, no. 157.18 DRH B, 25, p. 262, no. 250.19 Istoria Țării Românești, 1290–1690. Letopisețul Cantacuzinesc [Hist. of W. The Chronicle of C.], eds. C.

Grecescu and D. Simionescu, Bucharest, 1960, p. 2.

48 Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

central area of such towns as Câmpulung, Târgoviște, Râmnic and Pitești seems to have been regulated. Their arrangement is similar to towns in Transylvania (parallel streets, and a central marketplace flanked by a church). Other towns display in their arrangement a more organic evolution, not following any specific layout. We may conclude that there were differences between older towns—where German settlers brought components of the German law—and newer towns, which borrowed from their older counterparts a generic system for organising the community.

If we turn our attention to Moldavia, we find that the sources paint a much better picture. Moldavian towns were multi-ethnic in structure. Along with the indigenous Romanian population, Germans, Hungarians, Armenians, Ruthenians (called ‘Russians’ in the local sources) and, later, Greeks settled in the Moldavian towns. With the ruler’s consent, each national community kept its own method of organisation, as a sixteenth-century account confirms: ‘[in Moldavia], each nation uses and abides by the laws and its customs of their own choosing;’ ‘[…] each group or people follow its rites and laws as they see fit.’20 The large number of settlers in Moldavian towns led Nicolae Iorga to believe that Magdeburg law was early on in force in such towns as Siret, Suceava, and Roman.21 Other historians contended that the sources did not support this,22 while others preferred a compromise, pointing to the existence of a ‘law of the place,’ which allegedly combined elements of local and non-local origin.23 Even so, there is no significant evidence for the existence of a specific ‘Romanian law’ being applied in Moldavia’s late medieval towns. By contrast, it is evident that some features of German law were present here, although their place of origin (Magdeburg, Nuremberg etc) is hard to pin down.

The rich historiography on the towns east of the Carpathians is fraught with misconceptions on the status of the settlers that resided here, and on the powers of those elected as representatives of the community. The vast presence of non-local elements in some towns was reflected in their control over the leadership and representation of the town. Not accepting the numerical significance of such communities in older Moldavian

20 Călători străini despre țările române [Foreign travellers in the Rom. Lands], vol. 1, ed. Maria Holban, Bucharest, 1968, p. 193, 196–197; Dimitrie Cantemir, Descrierea stării de odinioară și de astăzi a Moldovei [Description of the previous and current state of M.], vol. 2, eds. Dan Slușanschi, Valentina Eșanu & Andrei Eșanu, Bucharest, 2007, p. 297.

21 N. Iorga, Istoria românilor prin călători [Hist. of the Romanians through travellers], ed. Adrian Anghelescu, Bucharest, 1981, p. 115; Iorga, Negoțul și meșteșugurile, p. 83; Hugo Weczerka, ‘Die Stellung der Rumänischen Stadt des Mittelalters im Europäischen Städtewesen’, in Heinz Stoob (ed.), Die Mittelalterliche Städtebildung im Südöstlichen Europa, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 1977, pp. 245–247.

22 Panaitescu, Interpretări românești, pp. 137–138; Constantin C. Giurescu, Târguri sau orașe și cetăți moldovene din secolul al X–lea până la mijlocul secolului al XVI–lea [Markets, towns and cities in M. from the 10th to mid-16th c.], Bucharest, 1997, pp. 169–170.

23 Previously, D. Ciurea had agreed that Magdeburg law was applied in Moldavian towns as well, ‘with several deviations from the traditional statute’ (D. Ciurea, ‘Sigiliile medievale ale orașelor din Moldova’ [Medieval Seals of Moldavian towns], Studii și Cercetări Științifice [Studies and Scientific Investigations], 7, 1956, pp. 158–159; later, he only accepted the existence of some ‘elements in the life of the Polish towns’ in Moldavian towns in the 15th century (Ciurea, ‘Noi contribuții’, p. 25).

Laurenţiu Rădvan 49

towns, some Romanian historians attempted to explain them away. The leaders of the townspeople were supposedly ‘recruited from among the foreign merchants and artisans in the town administration,’ reflecting the economic power that the non-Romanian minority held, being thus only ‘a reflection of the place that their ethnic communities of origin held in the economic life [of the town].’24 There are several difficulties with this. First of all, ethnic communities are only foreign when arriving and settling in Moldavian towns. After a generation or two, they became a natural part of the town. In Lviv’s documents, German merchants from Suceava or Siret are not mentioned as ‘Germans,’ but rather as ‘from Moldavia.’ Moreover, the notion of equal membership as citizens of a privileged community prevailed, while religion and ethnicity came only second. The annual election of the townspeople’s representatives was done by all the members of the national groups. Outcomes were determined by material status and prestige. If the Saxons were more numerous and richer, the chances were that the leader of the community would be selected from among their number; a similar situation prevailed in towns where the Romanian element predominated. Where different ethnic communities were roughly equal, a compromise was sometimes reached. In towns such as Bacău, Huși, Adjud and Trotuș, the leader of the townspeople was elected one year from among the Hungarians, and the next from among the Romanians.25 Once elected, the leader was under the obligation to consider equally all the townspeople's interests, irrespective of religion or nationality. A spirit of solidarity pervaded the town community, which transcended ethnic divisions.

The names lent by the sources to representatives of the town communities vary from one ethnic group to the other. The term prevailing in local documents is that of șoltuz, which entered via Poland and is remotely related to the Latin scultetus. The representative of the Armenians is usually called a voit, a term derived from a Polish word as well, with its root in the Latin advocatus or possibly the German Vogt.26 We will also find this term applied in towns outside the context of the Armenian community.27 Where Saxons and Hungarians were more numerous, local terms were used, showing

24 Mircea D. Matei, Civilizație urbană medievală românească. Contribuții (Suceava până la mijlocul secolului al XVI–lea) [Romanian Urban Civilization in the MA. Contributions (S. to the mid-16th c.)], Bucharest, 1989, p. 152; Mircea D. Matei, Studii de istorie orășenească medievală (Moldova, sec. XIV–XVI) [Studies of med. urban history (M. in 14th to 16th c.)], Târgoviște, 2004, pp. 64–65.

25 Marco Bandini, Codex. Vizitarea generală a tuturor bisericilor catolice de rit roman din Provincia Moldova, 1646–1648 [General visitation of all the Roman Catholic churches in the province of M.], ed. Traian Diaconescu, Iași, 2006, p. 92, 132, 174. For a similar situation in Hungary or Transylvania, in Buda and Cluj, see Martyn C. Rady, Medieval Buda: a Study of Municipal Government and Jurisdiction in the Kingdom of Hungary, Boulder & New York, 1985, pp. 43–54, 106–109; (ed.) Ștefan Pascu, Istoria Clujului [Hist. of C.], Cluj, 1974, pp. 95, 103.

26 N. Grigoraș, Instituții feudale din Moldova, I, Organizarea de stat până la mijlocul sec. al XVIII–lea [Feudal institutions in M.: Organisation of the state to the mid-18th c.], Bucharest, 1971, pp. 320–321; Olha Kozubska-Andrusiv, Urban Development and German Law in Galician Rus’ during the Thirteenth–Fifteenth Centuries, unpublished PhD dissertation, Central European University, Budapest, 2007, pp. 210–213.

27 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 203, no. 366.

50 Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

their oral use: Graf / Groff, Richter and, less frequently Greben for Saxons,28 and biró for Hungarians.29 In Latin documents, town headmen were called iudex or advocatus.30

In respect of the pârgari, Latin documents refer to them as cives jurati, scabini or consules,31 while German ones as Geschworenen Bürger or Purger,32 and Hungarian ones as polgar.33 The only feature specific to Moldavian towns is the emergence of a grand pârgar, whose duties are not all too clear. He probably acted as deputy to the șoltuz.34 Grand pârgari have been so far identified in Baia, Botoșani, Cotnari, Neamţ, Bacău, Trotuș, all of which initially had substantial colonist communities.35 The șoltuzes, the voits and the twelve pârgari held office for a year. The first documented șoltuz is from 1421, when the șoltuz and the pârgari in Baia wrote to Lviv, acknowledging the grant of an inheritance by the municipality there.36 As in Wallachia, the pârgari were always twelve in number. They are mentioned as a group and, with several exceptions, their individual names are not given.37 On some occasions, they are collectively designated by the German Rat (council).38

Unlike Wallachia, several documents make explicit reference to an assembly place for the townspeople. In Șcheia, a later document from the early seventeenth century, mentions the townspeople gathering before the ‘seat’ of the șoltuz to decide on a matter that was significant for the community.39 In Trotuș, Baia, Roman, Cotnari, Suceava or Vaslui, people came before the ‘seat’ (Old Slav. stol) of the șoltuz and the pârgari.40 A document passed by the șoltuz and the pârgari in Baia, in 1527, even goes as far as to

28 Akta grodzkie i ziemskie z Czasów rzeczypospolitej Polskiej z archiwum tak zwanego bernardyńskiego we Lwowie [Deeds relating to the city and land of Cz. of the Polish Commonwealth in the Bernardine archive in Lv.], vol. 4, Lviv, 1873, p. 108, no. LIV; DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 78, no. 135–136; p. 113, no. 203; p. 158, no. 239; p. 226, no. 408; Mihai Costăchescu, Documente moldovenești de la Ștefăniță voievod (1517–1527) [Mold. Documents of the Voivode S.], Bucharest, 1943, p. 567, no. 120.

29 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 751, no. 1454; Al. Rosetti, Scrisori românești din Arhivele Bistriței (1592–1638) [Writings in the archive of B.], Bucharest, 1944, p. 32, no. 5.

30 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 55, no. XCV; p. 203, no. 366; p. 642, no. 1192; N. Iorga, Studii și documente cu privire la istoria românilor [Studies and Documents relating to the hist. of the Romanians], vol. 23, Bucharest, 1913, p. 331, no. 126; p. 365, no. 222.

31 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 55, no. XCV; p. 203, no. 366; p. 642, no. 1192; Iorga, Studii și documente, vol. 23, p. 331, no. 126; p. 365, no. 222.

32 Iorga, Studii și documente, vol. 23, p. 304, no. 39; DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 113, no. 203; p. 158, no. 239; pp. 292–293, no. 534–535; Costăchescu, Documente moldovenești de la Ștefăniță, p. 567, no. 120.

33 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 751, no. 1454.34 Grigoraș, Instituții, pp. 323–324.35 Iorga, Studii și documente, vol. 5, p. 72, 75; vol. 7, p. 374; Gh. Ghibănescu, Surete și izvoade, vol. 4, Iași,

1908, p. 290, no. 255; DIR, XVII, A, 5, p. 364, no. 483; Ștefan S. Gorovei, ‘Note de istorie suceveană’ [Notes on the hist. of S.], Suceava. Anuarul, 10, 1983, p. 197.

36 Akta grodzkie, 4, p. 108, no. 54.37 DIR, XVI, A, 3, p. 310, no. 376; p. 368, no. 454; Iorga, Studii și documente, 5, p. 69.38 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 113, no. 203; p. 293, no. 535; p. 715, no. 1314; Suceava. File de istorie. Documente

privitoare la istoria orașului, 1388–1918, [S. Historical materials. Documents on the hist. of the town], vol. 1, eds. Vasile Gh. Miron et al., Bucharest, 1989, p. 134, no. 31.

39 Alexandru Băleanu, ‘Documente și regeste moldovenești’ [Documents and Registers of M.], Cercetări istorice, 8–9, no. 2, 1932–1933, p. 147, no. 52.

40 DPIR, 15, part 1, p. 293, no. 535; DIR, XVI, A, 3, p. 378, no. 469; 4, p. 238, no. 292; XVII, A, 5, p. 64, no. 80; Ghibănescu, Surete, vol. 16, p. 71, no. 103; vol. 21, p. 109, no. 82; vol. 24, p. 133, no. 119; D. Constantinescu, ‘Documente moldovenești din secolele XV–XVII’ [Mold. Documents of the 15th to 17th c.], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie și Arheologie Iași, 7, 1970, p. 338, no. 3; Suceava. File de istorie, 2, p. 200, no. 78.

Laurenţiu Rădvan 51

mention the German name of the ‘seat’—Stuhl.41 In its primary meaning, as a ‘seat of judgement’, it could refer to the house of the șoltuz or to a separate building, but it could also mean a town hall.42

The șoltuz or the voit and the pârgari council had ample authority, but it only covered the community they ruled, unless they were instructed by the prince to perform a specific function on his behalf (determining boundaries, hearing a will etc). Within the town, they performed legal, administrative, fiscal, and military duties. They arbitrated all matters regarding the townspeople, whether they were cases involving the town or its domain. They had the right to confirm sales and purchases made by townspeople in town. They also intervened on behalf of the townspeople in any commercial disputes they had with foreign merchants.

The legal duties of the șoltuzes were extensive. To clarify their legal authority, we must rely on later documents. A șoltuz in Trotuș presided over the case of a woman who gave birth to a child out of wedlock, and that of a Gypsy horse thief.43 Seventeenth-century sources reveal that the șoltuz in Baia was invested with the power to judge the most serious matters. This right was probably a concession to the Saxons who settled here in the fourteenth century and may have been included in a formal privilege. Bishop Marco Bandini relates that a privilege still existed in the town archive and included a special provision—the right to commute the death penalty laid on criminals who had taken refuge in the town cemetery.44 A 1660 document shows the șoltuz and the pârgari in Baia even using restraints (‘we shackled him’) when investigating a Gypsy accused of theft. One phrase in the document refers to an exceptional right held by the șoltuz, namely, passing the death penalty (ius gladii): ‘we led him to perdition, by the law of the country and how it well becomes a thief.’ We do not know whether all the șoltuzes in Moldavia’s towns had this right. Two later documents, undated (but probably from the seventeenth century) reveal the șoltuzes, the pârgari, and the well-to-do in Bacău and Trotuș judging cases of theft.45 In these cases, compensation was usually sought to cover the loss.46 These sources confirm that șoltuzes in some towns were allowed to judge offences, less serious than murder, but still liable to capital punishment. Murderers, however, might be sent to be tried by high officials of the ruler or even by the ruler himself.47 Still, their power over life and death hints at a right conveyed by privilege, perhaps similar to the ones granted to royal towns in Hungary and Transylvania.48 A point of interest is that the towns we have mentioned all lay west of the Siret river, in the area that belonged to Hungary in the mid-fourteenth century. Conceivably, their privileges were granted at this time.

41 Suceava. File de istorie, 1, p. 151, no. 45.42 Ștefan S. Gorovei, ‘La începuturile orașului Bacău’ [Origins of the town of B.], Carpica, 18–19, 1986–

1987, p. 267.43 DIR, XVII, A, 5, p. 64, no. 80; Ghibănescu, Surete, 24, p. 133, no. 119.44 Bandini, Codex, p. 218.45 Ghibănescu, Surete, vol. 26, p. 33, no. 49; vol. 34, p. 133, no. 119.46 Dan Horia Mazilu, Lege și fărădelege în lumea românească veche [Law and lawlessness in Old Rom.]

Iași, 2006, pp. 124–125.47 Ovid Sachelarie, Nicolae Stoicescu (eds), Instituții feudale din Țarile Române. Dicționar [Feudal

institutions in W. Glossary], Bucharest, 1988, pp. 203, 299–300.48 Rady, Medieval Buda, pp. 19–20; Engel, The Realm of St Stephen, pp. 112–113, 251–252.

52 Medieval Towns in Moldavia and Wallachia

Along with the officials of the ruler, the șoltuz and the pârgari oversaw the safety of the town by managing the town watch, called in Romanian strajă or priveghi.49 This duty was named viglu in Wallachia and usually applied to the night watch.50 Its name comes from the Latin vigilia, which otherwise designated the night spent by monks in prayer or in watch over the dead.51 As the number of Saxons and Hungarians decreased, the term viglu was later replaced by paza or straja.52 All townspeople were expected to take part in the watch, but sometimes the șoltuzes abused their rights and called in people who had exemptions from service or who were part of monastic communities, leading to complaints and interventions by the prince.53

The town authorities distributed the taxes they took from the townspeople according to their wealth.54 They are even mentioned levying duties, including the right to collect the impost on wax.55 They were also committed to managing the town marketplace. A trade privilege from 1408 tells us that, while ‘they paid with the town’, the Polish merchants were ‘allowed to keep a house in Suceava’, but they might not turn it into a tavern and brew beer and mead or into a butchery or bakery, provided that ‘they paid with the town.’56 This provision is very similar to the Bannmeile, a ban which prevented foreigners from doing business or building a tavern on a one-mile radius outside the town. It is typical of Poland and Ruthenia and is a notable feature of communities that rested on German law.57

The șoltuzes and the pârgari also had duties on the town domain. They carried out the public division of land for agriculture. Niccolò Barsi recounts that ‘when the time to sow comes, all the townsfolk go out on the field and the șoltuz along with the pârgari divide the fields, and, as many souls are there in a house, as many fields this begets them: for eight souls, eight fields.’58

As in Wallachia, all the towns in Moldavia had seals, granting authenticity to the documents issued by the authorities. The right to hold seals was usually given by the ruler at the same time as a grant of privilege. We emphasise the fact that the oldest seals have a Latin legend and belong to towns with substantial Saxon and Hungarian communities: Baia, Roman, Neamţ and Cotnari.59 It is likely that other towns had Latin seals, but they were lost and the legend later inscribed into Old Slavonic or Romanian.

49 Suceava. File de istorie, 1, p. 272, no. 143.50 DRH, B, 1, p. 82, no. 39.51 J. F. Niermeyer, Mediae latinitatis lexicon minus, ed. C. Van de Kieft, Leiden, 1976, pp. 1100–1101.52 N. Stoicescu, ‘Despre organizarea pazei hotarelor în Țara Românească în sec. XV–XVII’ [Organisation

of border guards in W. in 15th to 17th c.], Studii și materiale de istorie medie, 4, 1960, p. 193; Sachelarie & Stoicescu, Instituții feudale, p. 501.

53 DIR, XVII, A, 5, p. 44, no. 48; p. 88, no. 121.54 Călători străini, 5, p. 23–24; Grigoraș, Instituții, p. 342.55 DRH A, 2, p 108, no. 75.56 M. Costăchescu, Documentele moldovenești înainte de Ștefan cel Mare [Moldavian documents before S.

the Great], 2, Iași, 1932, p. 630, no. 176.57 Kozubska-Andrusiv, Urban Development, p. 215.58 Călători străini, 5, p. 80.59 Vîrtosu, ‘Din sigilografia’, pp. 461–465, 475–476; Ștefan S. Gorovei, ‘Am pus pecetea orașului’ [I put the

seal of the city], Magazin istoric, 12, no. 2, 1978, pp. 35–36; Renate Möhlenkamp, ‘Die Ältesten Siegel Moldauischer Städte’, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Ost Europas, 29, no. 3,1981, pp. 337–365.

Laurenţiu Rădvan 53

No full privilege survives in Moldavia, but only fragments from confirmations of property and of tax exemptions that were granted for the two towns of Bârlad and Vaslui. The two privileges mention the law (Old Slav. zakon) or the custom (Old Slav. obiciai) of old. The ‘custom’ is also mentioned when the privilege granted to Polish merchants by Petru Aron was renewed in 1456. Foreign merchants were allowed to have a dwelling in Suceava, provided they observed the same ‘custom of the town,’ (Old. Slav. torgovschim obîceaem, with the above-mentioned Bannmeile provision) as the other townspeople.60 One later document mentions the ‘law of the fortress of Hotin’ in 1604. Even though it refers to the fortress at Hotin, and not the town, the fact that a law is specifically mentioned shows that a special status pertained.61

Our conclusion is that there was a law specific to the towns of Moldavia. The inhabitants and the ruler were familiar with it and took it into account. The system of organisation in the towns prove that this law definitely had elements of German law, with a șoltuz, a council of pârgari, the right to trial, to full ownership over lands in the town, a Latin seal, exemptions, and so on. The law was initially applied to the groups of settlers, but was later extended to include the rest of the population in those settlements. There were however limits to the introduction of this new order, which have to do with how Moldavia evolved along its political and economic lines. As everywhere in Central Europe, towns continued to rely on their lord, and in this case, the lord was the prince. Wishing to have stable sources of income or even workers in their residence, the rulers continued to force the inhabitants to labour for them and pay more taxes. Town autonomy was, therefore, blunted and, in contrast to Poland, we will not notice here the establishment of ‘outer councils’ of a hundred or so citizens. Even though the rulers of Moldavia had fostered the adoption of German law, and permitted the towns to organise themselves separately, there were limits to the self-government that the towns were allowed to enjoy.

60 Costăchescu, Documentele moldovenești înainte, vol. 2, p. 788, no. 231.61 DIR, XVII, A, 1, p. 140, no. 202.

55

Legal and Administrative Aspects of the North Transylvanian Road System in the Middle Ages

Oana Toda

IntroductionWe will not understand regulations related to medieval traffic flow in northern Transylvania without taking into account both the geographical and economic context of the area. While the geographical features of the region (mostly comprised by the water catchment areas of the two Someş Rivers) contributed to the evolution of some major communication arteries, the economic changes of the Late Middle Ages also shaped the establishment of routes, by integrating them into the developing system of settlement. Nevertheless, various other factors, such as administrative structures, also contributed to the way the road network developed.

One particular problem that complicates research is that Transylvania had no designated military roads or routes of pilgrimage. Much of what we know about roads in general in Europe derives from accounts relating to the passage taken by armies and pilgrims. Nonetheless, medieval charters referring to the donation of estates and of toll-collection points, commercial privileges and the records of judicial disputes between various ecclesiastical and secular owners, yield valuable information on the legal and administrative aspects of roads in the northern counties of Cluj, Dăbâca, Inner Solnoc and the Bistriţa District.1 The archival information relates to such matters as the ownership of roads, their maintenance, and criminal offences committed on them, contributing to our understanding of roads and the ways in which they may be grouped. This sort of enquiry is vital for our understanding of the hierarchy and legal classification of routes, for in Hungary there was, unlike elsewhere, no formal attempt to classify routes or to impose a specific terminology on the different types of road in use.2

1 Their former territory is nowadays divided between the Counties of Sălaj, Cluj, Bistriţa-Năsăud and Mureş.

2 For a discussion of Western European rules dealing with roads from the 11th to 12th centuries (Leges Henrici Primi, Sachsenspiegel and Coutumes de Beauvaisis), see Magdolna Szilágyi, Árpád Period Communication Networks: Road Systems in Western Transdanubia, unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, Central European University, Budapest, 2012, pp. 41–4.

55

This work was made possible with the financial support of the Sectoral Operational Program for Human Resources Development 2007–2013, co-financed by the European Social Fund, under project number POSDRU/107/1.5/S/76841, with the title ‘Modern Doctoral Studies: Internationalization and Interdisciplinarity’.

56 North Transylvanian Road System

Almost all the communication routes and road tracks of northern Transylvania have been recorded from the Angevin period onwards. For the preceding period, the records are much thinner. Nevertheless, it is possible to establish that the roads first mentioned in the extant sources represented the ‘spinal cord’ of the area’s late medieval communication network. These were mostly related to the extraction and transportation of salt,3 from Dej, Sic (Szék) and Cojocna (Cluj County), and silver4 from Rodna (Bistriţa-Năsăud County). In the centuries that followed, there is a rapid growth in the number of documents attesting to the existence of roads, crossing points and settlements, a few of which evolved into market towns or major centres of trade, production or extraction. With the development of trade, the toll-collection system of the area becomes more visible and so do the communication routes, thus allowing one to look into the various legal and administrative aspects of the road system.

Mostly following the course of rivers and streams, or moving from one area to the other through low depressions, river chutes and mountain passes, these roads often turned out to be of regional importance, and sometimes long-distance trade routes. This circumstance favoured the later economic rise of certain settlements, located at vital crossing points or near crossroads, such as Huedin, Dumbrava, Cluj and Turda (Cluj County) in the south, Bonţida, Gherla and Buza (Cluj County) in the central part, Bistriţa, Teaca (Bistriţa-Năsăud County) and Reghin (Mureş County) in the east, and Zalău (Sălaj County), Dej and Rodna in the north.5 Some not so fortunate locations have, in time, proved to be fatal for early territorial centres, leading to their decay. This was the case with the fortifications of Dăbâca6, along with the presumed early medieval

3 For information on the medieval salt trade of the region, see Alexandru Doboşi, ‘Exploatarea ocnelor de sare din Transilvania in evul mediu (secolele XIV-XVI) [Exploitation of salt mines in T. in the MA (14th to 16th c.)]’, Studii şi Cercetări de Istorie Medie [Studies and Investigations in med. hist.], 2, no 1, 1951, pp. 125–166; Petre Iambor, ‘Drumuri şi vămi ale sării din Transilvania în perioada feudalismului timpuriu’ [Roads and salt tolls in T. in feudal times], Acta Musei Napocensis, 19, 1982, pp. 75–85; Cornelia Măluţan, ‘Drumurile sării în Transilvania’ [Salt roads in T.], Acta Musei Porolissensis, 8, 1984, pp. 249–255; István Draskóczy, ‘Só a középkori Maghyarországon’ [Salt in med. H.], in (eds) András Kubinyi, József Laszlovszky, Péter Szabó, Gazdaság és gazdálkodás a középkori Magyarországon: gazdaságtörténet, anyagi kultúra, régészet [Economy and Exploitation in medieval Hungary: economic history, material culture and archaeology], Budapest, 2008, pp. 150–4.

4 See: György Györffy, Az Árpád-kori Magyarország történeti földrajza [Historical Geography of Árpád Hungary], 1, Budapest, 1987, pp. 555, 562; Thomas Nägler, ‘Transilvania între 900 şi 1300’, in (eds) Ioan-Aurel Pop & Thomas Nägler, Istoria Transilvaniei, 1 (până la 1541) [Hist. of T. (up to 1541)], Cluj, 2003, pp. 220–1.

5 For a systematic outline of the medieval roads in northern Transylvania see for example: Otto Mittelstrass, Beiträge zur Siedlungsgeschichte Siebenbürgens im Mittelalter, München, 1961, pp. 48–50, or the works of Györffy György (Az Árpád-kori Magyarország történeti földrajza, 1987, 1, p. 555; 2, pp. 55–7; 3, pp. 337, 508); Radu Boc (Vămile şi legislaţia vamală în trecutul românesc [Tolls and legislation on tolls in med. Rom], unpublished PhD. Thesis, Babeş-Bolyai University, Cluj, 2010, pp. 96–7, 76–80) and Paul Niedemaier (Habitatul medieval in Transilvania [Med. Environment in T.], Bucureşti, 2012, pp. 259–262, 264, 269–272).

6 Adrian A. Rusu, Castelarea carpatică. Fortificaţii şi cetăţi din Transilvania şi teritoriile învecinate (sec. XIII-XIV), [Carpathian Castle: Fortifications and forts of T. and its neighbouring territories (13th to 14th c)], Cluj, 2005, p. 336.

Oana Toda 57

salt road it controlled,7 Moldoveneşti, which was superseded by the castle of Liteni8 and, possibly, from the later Middle Ages Unguraş, which was in the sixteenth century demolished and used as building material for the castle of Gherla.9

From an administrative point of view, two main types of appellation pertaining to the legal character of the road and its importance can be retrieved from medieval charters10. Caution must, however, be observed since some medieval road names hold various meanings and a road might, moreover, fulfil several functions.

TYPES OF ROADS MEDIEVAL APPELLATIVES

Distance and hierarchyLong distanceRegional

Local

- via/strata publica/regia, via magna, Sahtusuth (‘salt road’)- via forensis, Vasorosuth (‘market road’), Zaazwut (‘Saxons’ road’),

Zekulhuth , (‘Szeklers’ road’), Bleschenweg (‘Romanians’ road’)- semita, via graminosa/mediocris, Wagaaswuth (‘cross-cut road’), Várút (‘castle’s road’)

Legal aspectsPublic CommonPrivateIllegal

- via magna/publica/libera/regia/Woyadauta (‘Voivode’s road’)- via communis- via/strata privata- via/semita falsa/illicita/sinistra; ant. recta

Hierarchy of roadsWith respect to distance coverage and the general hierarchy of roads, one can clearly

identify long-distance routes such as the roads connecting the urban centre of Cluj to Oradea (1377)11 in the west, Turda (1411)12 in the south, and Sânnicoară (1381)13 in the east, which are called viae publicae. These small segments and many others that are mentioned formed part of the network of main roads that connected Transylvania to some of the continental trade routes.

The term magna, which normally refers to long-distance routes (thus placing them at the top of the hierarchy), seems nonetheless to have been extensively used. This may be because variations in the route were also given the same appellation as the main route itself. One road in the north-eastern part of our area was not just magna but a magna via regalis. It connected the town of Cluj to eastern Hungary and is mentioned several

7 Ştefan Pascu, Mircea Rusu, Petre Iambor, Nicolae Edroiu, Paul Gyulai, Volker Wollmann & Ştefan Matei, ‘Cetatea Dăbâca’ [The fort of D.], Acta Musei Napocensis, 5, 1968, p. 157; Tudor Sălăgean, Ţara lui Gelou. Contribuţii la istoria Transilvaniei de nord în secolele IX-XI [Lands of G. : Contributions on the hist. of northern T. in 9th to 11th c.], Cluj, 2006, p. 151.

8 Sălăgean, Ţara lui Gelou, pp. 133–4.9 Rusu, Castelarea Carpatică, p. 541.10 A complete outline of the medieval terms used for the roads of western Hungary is given by Magdolna

Szilágyi in Árpád Period Communication Networks, p. 38, table 1.11 DRH, C, 15, no 157, pp. 214–227.12 Magyarország történelmi földrajza a Hunyadiak korában [Historical Geography of Hungary in the

Hunyadi Period], (ed.) Dezső Csánki, 5, Budapest, 1913, p. 305.13 UB, 2, pp. 544–6.

58 North Transylvanian Road System

times after 1283 as being in the vicinity of the village of Sumurduc.14 The magnae viae certainly held great importance. Many of those mentioned during the Middle Ages may also be found on one of the earliest detailed cartographic representations of Transylvania, published at the end of the seventeenth century by Morando Visconti.15 During the later Middle Ages, the term publica was also used for roads that ran along these main routes, suggesting that magna and publica may have been synonymous.16

The regional routes of northern Transylvania were called by such terms as Vasorosuth,17 Zaazwut18 and Zekulhuth.19 Some of these, however, are also referred to in official records as magna. This may be because they linked into the long-distance routes or because they were regarded as ‘great’ by the people who lived in their vicinity. Either way, it demonstrates that there was no exactness in the vocabulary applied at the time. The use of such terms as ‘market road’, as for instance the Vasorosuth that connected the villages of Măcicaş, Deuş and Chinteni to Cluj, suggests both how the road was perceived by the local population and the economic pull exerted by the city of Cluj.

The local importance of some routes is most often suggested by the recurrence of the common name via/strata. This is the form by which a striking majority of roads were recorded in charters. Far less frequent were terms that described the road’s insignificance—its narrowness (semita),20 its second-rate character (mediocris),21 the growth of vegetation on its surface due to under-use (graminosa),22 or the poor way it had been maintained (possibly thus the Sahrusuth or muddy road, near Vârşolţ). 23 Another suggestive name (Wagaaswuth) was given to a local connection joining the magna via regalis at Măcicaş to the village of Deuşu in the east, probably referring to a shortcut between the two settlements.24

In some cases, the economic importance of a road contributed to its name, even though the road itself only served the local population. Such examples can be found among agricultural roads, which connected villages to pastures, fields, fishponds and other places of exploitation. In northern Transylvania, we know of the ‘millers’ road’ (via molendinatorum), which was used as a landmark for the borders of Jucu and Bărăi

14 ‘…magna via, quae videlicet, via regis vocatur…’, see: Georg D. Teutsch & Friedrich Firnhaber, Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte Siebenbürgens (hereafter UBSieb), 1, Vienna, 1857, pp. 132–4; DIR C, XIII, 2, no. 185, pp. 251–3. Another reference using the same terminology (viam magnam regalem) dates back to the year 1379 (see: DRH C, 15, no. 442, pp. 685–8).

15 ‘Mappa della, Transilvania, e Provintie contique nella qualesivedano li Consini dell’ Ongaria eli Campam fatti dall’ Arpate Cesaree in quelte ultime guere’, Sibiu, 1699, scale 1:350 000, in (ed.) Annamária Jankó, Az Osztrák Császárság, az Osztrák-Magyar Monarchia és Magyarország térképei a Hadtörténeti Térképtárban 1566-1918, Budapest, 2008, DVD 1, B IX a 487/15.

16 ‘…strata publica de Gyalow in Zuchak...’: Csánki, 5, p. 304 (1391).17 Csánki, 5, p. 375 (1418).18 DIR C, XIV, 3, no. 195, pp. 326–7 (1334).19 DRH, C, XIII, no. 422, pp. 636–642 (1369).20 UBSieb, I, p. 94 (1269); DRH C, 15, no. 368, pp. 571–5 (1379); András W. Kovács, A Wass család cegei

levéltára , Cluj, 2006, no. 354, pp. 318–9 (1419). 21 As mentioned in the perambulation of Cluj from 1377, which listed all the roads reaching the town and

distinguished between them both by making topographical reference to physical features and in several cases using a specific terminology. See DRH C, 15, no. 157, pp. 214–227.

22 Ibid.23 DRH C, 14, no. 415, pp. 566–8 (1375).24 Csánki, 5, p. 375 (1435).

Oana Toda 59

estates (Cluj County).25 Another charter documents the opening of a new road at Cozma (Mureş County), which was intended for easy access to woodland lots, for exploitation.26

Proprietorship and legal aspects of roadsThe terminology applied to roads provides the best evidence available for

proprietorship. It can be broadly stated that all roads were at some point the property of the king. Nonetheless, due to the large-scale donation of estates and the granting of privileges, certain road segments or features, such as the crossing points, fell into the hands of his subjects, who were in return bound to maintain them in a good state. As a result one can distinguish three legal categories of communication ways in the territory of Transylvania—the public roads, the common roads and the private roads.

The first of these is well represented in documents. The main highways were publica and magna.27 They were publica because they were open to all the king’s subjects, and magna because they occupied the top place in the hierarchy of the kingdom’s roads. 28 The public character of these types of route is also expressed by the adjective libera, which emphasises their legal aspect. It was mostly used to demonstrate that the use of the road might not be legally impeded—hence from a charter of 1377, ille via semper et ab antiquo tute et libere fuissent ac secure.29 Use of the term regia for roads has been interpreted as meaning that the ruler guaranteed their open and safe character.30

The unusual term, Woyadauta, mentioned in 1366 for the road connecting the settlements of Cluj and Turda,31 could hide several meanings related to the authority of the Transylvanian voivode. Conceivably, it is a variation on regia, since the voivode acted as the king’s representative. Or it might refer to the road’s original military function. Its public character is also emphasised by the word magna used for it in fourteenth-century perambulations.32 It is, however, well known that this route was one of the area’s main communication arteries.

Despite the lack of information relating to the roads that were described as ‘common’ or communis, it is plain that the term held several meanings. It could be simply a synonym for public,33 but it might also indicate that the road belonged to several owners, each of

25 Ştefan Pascu, Voievodatul Transilvaniei [Voivodate of Transylvania], 2, Cluj, 1979, p. 319; Györffy, Az Árpád-kori Magyarország történeti földrajza, 3, p. 337.

26 DRH C, 15, no. 162, pp. 241–4.27 See for example, the road connecting Cluj to the nearby settlement of Gheorgheni, called a magna et

publica via in 1377 (DRH C, 15, no. 157, pp. 214–227), or the route connecting Cluj to Huedin and eastern Hungary, recorded as a publica et magna via in the year 1501, in the sector between Gilău and Căpuşul Mare (see: Csánki, 5, p. 304).

28 Szilágyi, Árpád Period Communication Networks, p. 45.29 DRH C, 15, no. 120, pp. 152–4.30 Szilágyi, Árpád Period Communication Networks, p. 46.31 DRH C, 13, no. 98, pp. 170–4: ‘…Infra ad supradictum berch, ad guandam viam, que vocatur Woyadauta,

iacentem ad plagam septentrionalis infra ad unum montem, qui apelatur <Vajda>hegefee…’.32 DRH C, 15, no. 157, pp. 214–227; ibid, no. 172, pp. 255–8 (1377).33 An obvious example is that of the road connecting south-eastern Transylvania to Banat, mentioned in a

late fifteenth century charter as ‘via communis et publica […] de Hacsak versus Zazwaras’. See Adrian A. Rusu, ‘Pons Augusti nel Medioevo’, in (ed.) Marius Porumb, Omaggio a Dinu Adameşteanu, Cluj, 1996, p. 252.

60 North Transylvanian Road System

whom enjoyed a right in common to its use.34 In the territory of the medieval county of Cluj, we thus learn of the construction of a common road with two owners, as recorded in an agreement between the heirs of the Cozma estate in 1377.35 In order to reach a woodland lot, which had been divided among the heirs, a new access way was opened by cutting through the middle of the initial lot, so that both landlords might have equal entry using the same road.36

Medieval written sources relating to this part of Transylvania often mention local roads crossing from one estate to another, although they are seldom explicitly called private roads. Nevertheless, they sometimes indicate that sections belonged to a local proprietor, thus falling under his jurisdiction. We know of a case from the village of Deuşu, where agricultural roads were together with their adjacent lots leased out as part-payment on a debt incurred by their owner.37 These roads were private property and might therefore be alienated by their owners. We imagine that this legal situation applied to most roads on private estates. Indeed, it is likely that all roads, with the exception of the public roads that lay under royal jurisdiction, were the property of the landlords through whose estates they ran.

Illegal roads and the toll collection systemThe authorities often encountered difficulties on account of misuse of the traffic

system. This was particularly the case with what were called illegal roads that were a way of bypassing toll-collection points or of moving illicit goods and merchandise. Problems also arose out of the creation of fake toll-collection points,38 or from the disregard shown by genuine toll collectors for privileges of exemption, awarded either to individuals or to whole communities.39

Nonetheless, even though terms such as via/semita falsa/illicita/sinistra occur but rarely in northern Transylvania, there are some documents that use the opposite term (the so-called viae rectae) for the routes that should be followed for trade purposes.40 Royal or county officers might issue letters pointing out that such and such a road had a public character,41 or was the most legally suitable for moving goods between centres.42 Such interventions were often related to toll collection and the monitoring of traffic flows. Tolls were not only an important source of revenue for the authorities but also provided the economic wherewithal by which bridges and ferries, as well as the road’s surface, were maintained.

34 Szilágyi, Árpád Period Communication Networks, p. 53, n. 241–5.35 DRH C, 15, no. 162, pp. 241–4.36 ‘… per mediam eiusdem silve per lingorum exstirpaciones quandam viam fecissent…’.37 DRH C, 10, no. 354, pp. 378–9; DRH, C, 11, no. 356, pp. 353–4 (1359); ibid, no. 453, pp. 470 (1360).38 DRH C, 14, no. 288, pp. 431–3.39 DRH C, 11, no. 512, pp. 534–5; DRH C, 14, no. 305, pp. 445–6; DRH C, 15, no. 120, pp. 152–4; ibid, no.

144, pp. 194–5.40 DRH, C, 12, no. 62, pp. 46–7.41 ‘...ille vie semper et ab antiquo tute libere fuissent ac secure…’ (1377); for the roads connecting Cluj to

Huedin and Almaşu, see DRH C, 15, no. 120, pp. 152–4.42 In 1361, a charter established the two lawful trade routes of Cluj towards the east: DRH C, 12, no. 62, pp.

46–7; ‘…nunquam in eadem possessione supradicta (Bogata de Sus, Cluj County) sinistra via fuisset ad tributa Rethegh et Ewr…’, in Wass Levéltára, no. 390, p. 328 (1429).

Oana Toda 61

The first records of toll collection points in northern Transylvania are closely related to the development of salt extraction and its trade. For the period of the Árpád rulers, toll points are indicated at Meseş (1165)43 and Zalău (1281),44 Hidig-Lompirt (1217),45 Crasna (beginning of the thirteenth century),46 Dej, Unguraş, Gherla (1291),47 and Dumbrava (1296).48 All of these were connected to the salt trade. The routes of the salt trade continued to provide the backbone of Transylvania’s long-distance roads during the later Middle Ages. They are sometimes referred to with the name Sohtusuth (salt road).49 Additional collection points were later reported at Bistriţa (1287),50 Apahida and Cluj-Mănăştur (1296),51 Românaşi (1310),52 Bonţida (1321),53 Zimbor (1360),54 Sânicoară (1361),55 Târguşor (1368),56 Baciu (1371),57 Turea (1373),58 Bologa (1377, 1445),59 Răscruci (1405),60 Şomcuţa (1412),61 Rodna (1412),62 Reteag and Urişor (1429)63, Gilău (1486)64 and Var (1492).65

Many toll-collection points were placed next to or in the immediate vicinity of castles (especially the royal ones at Bologa, Crasna, Floreşti, Unguraş). Others were situated at river crossings (Apahida, Bonţida, Gherla, Reteag, Zimbor, Var), at crossroads (or in contiguous villages: Sânnicoară, Baciu, Bonţida, Târguşor, Răscruci, Var), and on the political border of Transylvania (Lompirt, Meseş, Crasna, Bologa) or of the Hungarian kingdom (Rodna, Bistriţa), thus indicating the direction of travel and trade. This consequently led to the development of regional and local trade centres, located

43 King Stephen III was the first to grant the St. Margaret Convent a part of the salt toll revenues collected at the Meseş Gate: DIR C, 1, no. 8, p. 4.

44 During the 12th and 13th centuries two documents make reference to the same toll, placing the collection point at Zalău. See UBSieb, 1, pp. 123–4; Dicţionarul mănăstirilor din Transilvania, Banat, Crişana şi Maramureş [Encyclo. of the monasteries of T., B., C., & M.], ed. Adrian A. Rusu, Cluj, 2000, p. 171.

45 EO, 1, no. 90; see also, DRH C, 10, no. 83, pp. 84–88 (1351).46 Gyula Kristó, Ardealul timpuriu (895-1324) [Early Trans.], Szeged, 2004, p. 282.47 DIR C, XIII, 2I, no. 390, pp. 354–5.48 UBSieb, 1, p. 195; see also Csánki, 5, p. 358 (1363); DRH C, 12, no. 159, pp. 134–135.49 1326: ‘…perveniet ad viam magnam dictam Sahtus…’, see DIR C, XIV, 2, no. 361, pp. 373–4; DRH C, 15,

no. 368, pp. 571–5 (1379). The term, ‘salt roads’, has been extensively used in Romanian historiography for all road segments that sustained the medieval salt trade (Cluj–Huedin–Bologa, Cluj–Dej–Bobâlna–Meseş, Cojocna–Turda, or Cojocna–Cluj–Zimbor, and Sic–Bonţida).

50 UB, 1, pp. 157–8.51 EO, I, no. 549.52 DIR C, XIV, 1, pp. 180–1.53 DIR C, XIV, 2, no. 51, pp. 19–20.54 DRH C, 11, no. 512, pp. 534–5; ibid, no. 514, pp. 535–6; see also DRH C, 15, no. 45, pp. 55–7 (1376).55 DRH C, 12, no. 62, pp. 46–7. 56 This seems to have been a market toll collected at Târguşor for the castle of Unguraş, but it is difficult to

tell if it is identical with the one mentioned in 1291. See DRH C, 13, no. 337, p. 530.57 DRH C, 14, no. 34, pp. 32–3.58 Ibid, no. 288, pp. 431–3.59 Tolls were collected near Huedin during the fourteenth century (DRH, C, XV, doc. 144, pp. 194–5),

while for the next century one document locates the collection point in suburbiis castri Sebes (Bologa) (Mittelstrass, Beiträge zur Siedlungsgeschichte, p. 49)

60 Mittelstrass, Beiträge zur Siedlungsgeschichte, p. 49.61 UB, 3, p. 525.62 Ibid, pp. 526–7.63 Wass levéltára, no. 390, p. 328.64 UB, 7, no. 4678.65 A kolozsmonostori konvent jegyzőkönyvei, ed. Zsigmond Jakó, 2 (1289-1556), Budapest, 1990, no. 2806.

62 North Transylvanian Road System

on the main routes, and to the emergence of secondary roads that connected market places and market towns to neighbouring villages.66 There were sometimes attempts by the crown to direct traffic in a certain direction. During the fourteenth century, the authorities issued two orders compelling merchants from Cluj to pass by the toll points of Baciu and Huedin on their way to the Great Hungarian Plain. It was also laid down that their routes to and from the market towns of Buza, Teaca, Reghin and Târgu Mureş, should pass by the toll collection point of Sânnicoară, while, when going to Bistriţa, the via recta was set through Bonţida.67

This sort of guidance was intended to benefit the Saxon community and to foster the continued commercial development of the Saxon cities. Nevertheless, it frequently happened that the economic interests of merchants and cities were damaged by abuses perpetrated by individual noblemen or local royal officers. There are complaints of illegal tolls being exacted, of excessive dues being charged, and of a disregard for privileges that exempted the holders from payments on roads or in markets. Offences of this type were recorded at Turea,68 Huedin, Zimbor or Sânnicoară, and they often required direct royal intervention on behalf of the plaintiffs.69

These abuses were sufficiently widespread to prompt several laws and regulations on the establishment of tolls and their collection. In the Árpád period, we can refer in this context to the orders given by Ladislas IV70 and Andrew III71 that sought to abolish all new toll places established since, respectively, the reigns of King Béla IV and King Stephen V. It was only during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that detailed regulations were issued by the ruler that laid down the obligations of toll collectors and merchants on the major royal roads. The most important of these belong to Louis the Great, Sigismund of Luxemburg and Matthias Corvinus.72 Their provisions were often repeated more or less verbatim in subsequent legislation.73 All these measures were aimed at removing nonsensical and abusive toll-collection points and culminated in the establishment of assemblies of sworn men who were tasked with periodically

66 Such as the one connecting the settlement of Măcicaş to Cluj. The local economic function of the road connecting the village of Pata to Cluj is suggested by the toponym Wasarrew (‘market ford’) (DRH C, 15, no. 157, pp. 214–227).

67 This document was meant to ease the difficulties of making a detour through Bonţida, in order to reach the central and eastern parts of Transylvania, thus creating a more advantageous taxation point near Cluj, at Sânnicoară. See DRH C, 12, no. 62, pp. 46–7.

68 In 1360 an illegal toll was levied by a nobleman on this episcopal estate. See DRH C, 14, no. 288, pp. 431–3.

69 The control point from Sânnicoară had been abolished by King Sigismund in 1405 due to complaints being raised against the royal toll collectors (UB, 2, pp. 360–1).

70 The existence of such instructions often has to be inferred from descriptive sources. See, for example, DIR C, XIII, 2, no. 298, pp. 261–2, which is a charter conjointly issued by the bishop of Oradea and the voivode of Transylvania ordering the king’s subjects to abide by his decree.

71 DRMH 1, pp. 46, 51 (1290: 11; 1298: 9). 72 DRMH 2, pp. 10–12, 26, 74–76 (1351: 7, 15, 17; 1397: 58; 1435: 20–21); DRMH 3, pp. 24, 27 (1464: 9,

15; 1471: 25). 73 See thus DRMH 2, pp. 86 (1439: 31), 102 (1444: 20); DRMH 4, pp. 16–7 (1492: 27), 70–1 (1495: 28),

106–13 (1498: 29–37).

Oana Toda 63

inspecting all the tolls in operation in any one county.74 Special emphasis was put on ‘dry tolls’ (namely, ones that did not support a bridge or ferry), which seem to have been particularly problematic. Since the legal existence of these often rested on customary use rather than a charter, it was often difficult to prove whether the toll was authorised. Even then, the toll might be regarded as no longer relevant to circumstance and thus an abusus.75 Attempts to reconcile matters in such a way as to protect the interests of nobility and clergy were often thwarted by the royal grant of new privileges. Special chapters were introduced into the law code of 1517, the Tripartitum, in order to bring clarity to the confusion of rights.76

Only a little information survives relating to the physical condition of the roads, their upkeep and construction. For the medieval period, the north Transylvanian counties lack the sort of detail later given in the account books of urban magistracies. Some scattered references are all we have—the obligation of nearby villagers to repair the road leading up to a hill south of Cluj,77 a bridge devastated by a flood at Var (in 1496),78 and the private road at Cozma, which we mentioned previously. Some streets within towns were kept in repair.79 We can cautiously assume that the same applied to other routes, and that they benefited from at least some basic construction and maintenance, especially at river crossings,80 or where they had a strategic importance or were located on steep slopes.81

ConclusionThe royal interest in the road network was first demonstrated in respect of the salt

trade and the arteries of this commerce continued to play an important role in shaping the road network. During the late medieval period, increasing interest was shown in organising traffic on the other major routes in Transylvania and in integrating this into the long-distance trade routes. The salience given in the surviving material to the so-called great or royal roads suggests the confluence of royal and commercial interests. Nevertheless, on the ground there was a lack of control, prompting the establishment of

74 First established under the rule of King Sigismund, these assemblies were entitled to verify the legal basis for proprietorship over toll locations, the amount of fees collected and the existence of lawful or unlawful roads, and settle judicial matters. See DRMH, 2, pp. 74–6 (1435: 20–21), p. 119 (1445: 22); DRMH 4, pp. 156–7 (1500: 40–41).

75 Stephen Werbőczy, The Customary Law of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary: A Work in Three Parts (Tripartitum), eds & trans. János M. Bak, Péter Banyó & Martyn Rady , Idyllwild, CA, & Budapest, 2005 (=DRMH 5), pp. 57, 237–41 ( I: 9 [5], II: 9 [1], 10, 12 [3]).

76 Werbőczy, Tripartitum, II. 10 [1–4] (DRMH 5, p. 239).77 In 1377 local villagers were exempted from paying the twentieth in exchange for repairing the public

road going up the Feleac Hill. See DRH C, 15, no. 204, pp. 331–2. See also David Prodan, Iobăgia în Transilvania în secolul XVI, [Serfdom in T. in the 16th c.], 2, Bucharest, 1968, p. 734.

78 Andrea Kiss, Floods and Long-Term Water-Level Changes in Medieval Hungary, unpublished PhD. thesis, Central European University, Budapest, 2011, pp. 319–320.

79 A paved street was mentioned in 1403 in the town of Bistriţa, in 1403 (in via lapidea sicut de foro transitur ad beatam virginem). See UB, 3, pp. 296–7.

80 The toponymic evidence points to the existence of bridges at Cluj (platea pontis, porta pontis), Gerla (-hida), Apahida, Bonţida, Hida (all of them bearing names derived from the Hungarian word for bridge: híd).

81 See for example, the roads carved in the mountain bedrock around Râşnov Castle (Braşov County, south-eastern Transylvania). Discussed in Oana Toda, ‘Reconstructing historical landscapes: The road network of Râşnov castle’, Annales Universitatis Apuliensis. Series Historica, 16, no 1, 2012, pp. 141–162.

64 North Transylvanian Road System

illegal tolls and other abuses. The actions of government were not always sufficient to halt these adverse developments.

Map: Medieval regional routes of northern Transylvania

65

Molendinis, Piscinis et Piscaturis: The Utilisation of Water Resources in the Banat in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods

Livia Magina

The Banat is an island among rivers and the gift of water has been historically controlled by technology. During the Middle Ages, human intervention upon the aquatic landscape took the form of adjustment rather than transformation, involving in the main the construction of mills, ponds and fishponds. Thereafter, however, the human impact upon the hydraulic environment became more profound, being marked on the one hand by a more systematic exploitation of resources, and on the other by laws on water utilisation, mill location, and the types of channel that might be constructed. The distinction between working hand in hand with the natural environment and controlling it, is a source of contention right through to the present day.

In the medieval context, where sources of energy were finite, the utilisation of aquatic resources was obvious. The value of any estate increased with the potential energy of the waters that it possessed from rivers, rivulets, springs and even floods. A very great number of charters recording gifts or sales note, therefore, the presence of mills, ponds and fish pools, since these were considered an important economic resource. Described in the extant records as piscinis, piscaturis or molendinis, these also conveyed a financial boon to their owners. Mills and potential sites of mills (molendinis et molendinorum locis) had sufficient economic significance to be mentioned in the standard formulae recording royal grants. Mills belonging to nobles, towns or even peasant communities were an important asset, but they also represented a significant investment. The importance of waters, mills, fishponds and fish weirs can be found in Stephen Werbőczy`s Tripartitum of 1517: ‘under the word “appurtenances” is commonly meant and included everything that belongs to a city, town, or village: such as […] waters, rivers, fishponds, fish weirs, waters channels, mills and sites of mills […] .1 Not only mills but also millers had an important function in the community, and millers enjoyed a higher status than simple peasants. Before the seventeenth century, the miller was generally a tenant, not the owner of the mill. In 1542 and 1552, the laws published under the name of John II Sigismund, who would become Transylvania’s first prince, stipulated that the mill should support the miller and pay tax beyond a certain threshold.2 In 1657, however, the Transylvanian diet regarded the miller as enjoying a usufruct of the resources that he had, on account

1 Stephen Werbőczy, The CustomaryLlaw of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary: A Work in Three Parts (Tripartitum), eds & trans. by János M. Bak, Péter Banyó & Martyn Rady, Idyllwild, CA, & Budapest, 2005 (=DRMH 5), pp. 82–3 (I, 24 [8]).

2 MCRT, 1, pp. 87, 408.

65

66 Water Resources in the Banat

of which he should pay three talers: two for the right to use water and one for the mill house.3 A few years later, the law of 1661 provided that millers were bound to contribute in taxes a certain amount of wheat.4 They were additionally obliged to pay out of their own income for maintenance, carriage and blacksmithing. On the other hand, being a miller had certain advantages. Many millers made a fortune selling products of the mill, including even pigs and other animals fattened with the leftovers of milling.

One of the most important resources of Banat was water. An estimate of the number of mills operating in the Middle Ages in just the highland and piedmont parts of the Banat, suggests the presence of about a hundred such establishments.5 For the lowland area, where the rivers present a larger flow but a slower slope, and where grain predominated, milling needs were greater, leading us to suppose that we should double or triple the number of mills overall. On the Chery estate alone, in the vicinity of Timisoara, for example, twenty-two mills were registered in 1459, two of them being specifically noted as stone buildings.6 This is an important observation, since it suggests that the others were made of wood—the territory lacked quarries. We should reckon that this contributed to the mills’ ephemeral quality. They were in time abandoned and replaced either upstream or downstream, but no vestige of their history is left in the archaeological record. Stone buildings are very much a nineteenth-century phenomenon.

According to the water flow and the utilisation techniques involved, mills might be vertical-axle mills or so-called spoon-paddle mills, which relied upon a horizontal axle, or mills built on boats. These floating mills, sometimes called the Danube type, were used not only on the Danube and Tisa rivers but also on the Mureş.7 Flood-water utilisation gave rise to mills that were specially built and worked only during periods of heavy rain. The value of these mills was based on their seasonal functionality. So an undershot mill which worked at times of drought was considered more productive and estimated at ten marks, but one that did not was estimated at only six marks. An overshot mill, because its force and grinding capacity was less, was estimated at five marks and the site of a mill at between one-and-a-half and three marks. The same criteria applied to fishponds. One which did not dry out cost ten marks, but one that did was worth half as much. The big fishponds on the important rivers (the Danube or Tisa, for example) were valued at fifty marks.8 The obligation to clean these ponds was often fastened on the tenant peasantry, as for instance on the private estates of the princes of Transylvania.9

In the mountainous areas, mills were supplied by water that was diverted along specially dug channels or ieruga. This meant either altering the course of the river, or

3 Ibid, 13, p. 527.4 Ibid, 13, pp 85–86.5 Octavian Răuţ, Mori medievale din Banat [Medieval mills in the Banat], Banatica, 12, no 1, 1993, pp.

25–43.6 Frigyes Pesty, Documente privind istoria comitatului Timiş şi a oraşului Timişoara/Oklevelek Temes

vármegye és Temesvár város történetéhez, vol. 2 (1430–1470) [Charters concerning the history of Timiş county and town of Timişoara], eds Livia Magina & Adrian Magina, no. 278 (forthcoming, new edition).

7 For the different types of mills, see Zsófia Vajkai, ‘Malomtipusok és a molnár mestersége a XIX. századi Magyarországon’ [Types of mills and the milling craft in 19th-century Hungary], A Magyar Mezőgazdasági Múzeum Közlemenyei [Proceedings of the Hungarian Agricultural Mus.], 1981–1983, pp. 349–369.

8 Tripartitum, p. 220 (I, 123 [36–41]).9 MCRT, 18, p. 319.

Livia Magina 67

digging a parallel channel, or exploiting a tributary in such a way as to bring water to the mill. A typical example is furnished in Caransebeş, where a supply channel or ieruga that was frequently mentioned in documents of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has survived (albeit covered in part by a modern road).

An older historiography considered that the building of a mill did not disturb the local ecological environment, but plainly it did. Mill building involved bank clearing, digging a channel or diverting part of the river’s course, cutting a road to the mill house, and problems of flooding, both upstream and downstream. Water diverted to the mill has to return to the river; otherwise, it collects and renders fertile ground a swamp. Likewise, mill pools have to be churned lest they become marshy. In the seventeenth century, swamping was severely fined. Mills that produced stagnant water or caused damage to plough land, bridges and roads by overflowing their banks might be pulled down. Resistance was punished with a 200-florin fine.10 In the Banat, in 1376, the inhabitants of Căvăran dug a ditch from the Timiş River to the Mâtnic valley in order to assure their mills’ continued operation. Alongside the channel, they cut a road, in what may be considered an integrated scheme of water-management and communication. The diverting of the water course is also mentioned in respect of the Bârzava River in Gherteniş area, involving dykes and adjustments to the river bed, as may be noted in 1408 and 1414, when these alterations led to royal intervention.

The idea, therefore, of a harmonious relationship between man and nature in the Middle Ages does not fit the facts, at least as far as the hydraulic environment is concerned. Let us give the example of Remetea estate belonging to the nobleman, Stefan Himfy, where twenty-four mills worked in 1408 on a length of seven kilometers between Bocşa and Gherteniş, on the lower course of the Bârzava.11 We may imagine how the river and its bank were changed, albeit temporarily. Thus, the works connected to building a mill generated larger changes in the landscape. For its part, the building of ponds also required the digging of supply channels, raising dams and the construction of a weir and sluices to feed the pool. The construction of pools moved a part of the river off its bed and, where the stream was only partly diverted, converted some of the terrain into islands and eyots. In places, the old course of the river might become either a swamp or ox-bowed. The construction of new mills might, moreover, have an adverse effect lower down the river, slowing its course and contributing to silting or even converting that part of the river into a dead-end, without any flow at all. One such case in which an old mill was threatened by another built upstream is mentioned in 1588. Francisc Basarab appeared before the city council of Caransebeş and claimed that George Dragna intended to build a mill that would rob water from his mill. The council decided that Basarab had the right to destroy Dragna’s mill, should it be proved

10 Constituţiile aprobate ale Transilvaniei 1653 (The Approved Constitutions of the Transylvanian Principality), translated by Al. Herlea, V. Şotropa et al., ed. Liviu Marcu, Cluj, 1997, P. III, tit. 40. On mills, see art. I, p. 137.

11 Răuţ, Mori, pp. 28–29, 35.

68 Water Resources in the Banat

damaging to his property.12 In order to avoid misunderstanding, however, it was decided to measure the flow of water.13

Mill ownership was a noble monopoly from the view point of legislation, but from the beginning of the eighteenth century, new statutes recognised that peasants might also be proprietors. Mills were, of course, particularly important where grain was cultivated intensively. In respect of nutrition, it should, however, be noted that peasants did not consume pure wheat products, but ones based instead on a mixture of barley, oats and rye.14 The importance of mills for the local economy and sustenance is shown by the occasions on which enemy troops set them on fire. The water energy that moved the wheels might also be used for the grinding of beech nuts, pressing seeds for oil, beating hemp, washing wool, filling the bellows of smithies, sawing wood, cloth manufacture (for example, the cloth factory in eighteenth-century Caransebeş)15 and in mining industry. The large number of mills in the territory of the Banat indicates significant agricultural production and the major consumption of cereals. The number of whirlpools (busnita) can also be an indicator of woollen industry, as they are used in making cloth.16

The mill enters mental geography with a strongly sacral and symbolic sense. Together with the church and fortress, the mill is a sheltered place. The mill is a place to meet, to socialise, as while grinding grain, news may also be circulated. An unsuitable place to dwell in given its construction, the mill anthropologically became a place of concourse. Here people spoke, exchanged information and communicated their concerns. The mill was also a crossing place for travellers, strangers, thieves or vagabonds, who caused the establishment to be seen in the community as a place of passage, liminality and possible conflict.

Mills and pisciculture were interlinked, especially in the Banat, although the surviving information from the Middle Ages relates only to the plain. The first complexes of mills are recorded in the Tisa area at the beginning of the fourteenth century. They were of such significance to the local economy that the fate of individual mills could set in train complicated lawsuits.17 In the Principality of Transylvania, and elsewhere, the theft of fish from fishponds was punished by law with a twelve-florin fine and compensation. Two parts of the fine went to the plaintiff and one part to the officer of the court.18

Following the Banat’s incorporation in the Habsburg Empire (1718), the imperial administration sought to regulate the income due from mills. Some mills were eliminated or forced to close by taxation. Although most mills were valued at only twenty florins,

12 Andrei Veres, Documente privitoare la istoria Ardealului, Moldovei şi Ţării Româneşti [Documents concerning the history of Trans., M. and W.], vol. 3, Bucharest, 1931, pp. 119–121.

13 Vajkai, Malomtipusok, p. 35114 Sándor Takáts, ‘A magyar malom’ [The Hungarian mill], Századok [Centuries], 41, 1907, pp. 141–160;

236–249.15 Lajos Bároti, Adattár Délmagyarország XVIII. századi történetéhez [Material on the history of southern

Hungary in the 18th century], 2 vols, Timişoara, 1893–1904, vol. 1, p. 185.16 Whirlpools were made by diverting part of the channel down a drop, so that the water pounded the cloth

in the pool below. 17 Adrian Magina, Câteva documente privind comitatul Torontal în prima jumătate a secolului al XV-lea

[Some documents on the county of T. in the first half of the 15th century], Banatica, 22, 2012, p. 62; Juhász Kálmán, Die Stifte der Tschanader Diözese im Mittelalter. Ein Beitrag zur Frühgeschichte und Kulturgeschichte des Banats, Münster, 1927, pp. 268–270.

18 Constituţiile aprobate, P. III, tit. 36. On the status of lakes, see p. 134.

Livia Magina 69

taxes were still imposed at a rate of six florins for a whirlpool, and a further fifty or seventy florins, or even 150 florins, depending upon its production, plus a twenty-four-florin tax should the mill be sold.19 Even within the articles of Karlowitz Treaty of 1699, there was a stipulation that mills should be anchored in such a way as not to disturb navigation. Vienna also sought to regulate arrangements of fishing. In 1727, the destruction of the mills on the River Bega was ordered so that ponds for fish and turtles could be built.20

The Austrian administration ordered in 1719, 1734, 1743, 1744, and 1750 that the floating mills be demolished and forbade that new ones be built or the old ones repaired without the authorities’ agreement. Two mills were demolished in 1750, one at Chesinţ, the other at Neudorf by Lipova, both on the Mures River, because they interfered with the transport of salt, which was considered economically more important.21 The removal of floating mills and of fish weirs was often also requested, as they were serious impediments to navigation. In order to clarify what sort of hindrances to shipping there were, lists of potential obstacles were drawn up. The administration of Vrsac registered in 1774 the existence of ninety-one mills and two whirlpools in the area.22 In view, however, of their economic importance, many of these were permitted to continue operating.

The establishment of new mills required permission, and the terms imposed could be onerous. A prospective miller from Medveş area, called Weber, had in order to obtain the necessary permit, to agree to buy the land adjacent to the mill, up to a distance of a hundred yards, and pay for the construction of roads to the mill. In the nineteenth century, new building regulations came into force, requiring that before a mill could be built, the owner had to provide documentation detailing the technical aspects of the mill house, the supply channel, the dam, and the type and size of the mill wheel, as well as the impact that the mill was likely to have on the local environment, including flooding.

Although regulating water use, these new arrangements served, nevertheless, to limit the building of new mills. Up until the eighteenth century, several hundred mills and ponds are reported in the area of the Banat, but their number subsequently went into decline during the nineteenth century. Inventories drawn up in the 1950s indicate that complexes of mills were still operating in the highland part of the Banat, especially in those places where electric power was unavailable. More than half, however, had disappeared by the 1980s. At the present time, there are no mills working on the Banat plain, and only a dozen or so in the Banat highlands that maintain their original function.23

To conclude: water constituted a precious resource in the Banat, which was exploited by mills or for pisciculture. Their presence had an effect upon the environment, but was considerably less than modern interventions. The traditional mill, however, lost ground in the face of modernisation.

19 Bároti, Adattár, 1, pp. 123, 238–239.20 Ibid, 1, pp. 455–456.21 Ibid, 2, p. 567.22 Ibid, 2, p. 528.23 Dumitru Ţeicu, Watermill in the Banat, Brăila, 2012.

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From Custom to Written Law: Ius Valachicum in the Banat

Adrian Magina

During the course of the fourteenth century, the expression appears in documents issued in Hungary, ius, lex or more valachicum or valachorum, referring to a type of law followed by the Romanian population in the kingdom. The presence of this term aroused at an early stage the interest of Romanian historians, and it rapidly became one of the most investigated topics in the medieval history of the Romanians in Hungary.

Sources of Romanian lawIn the medieval Hungarian kingdom, unwritten law—custom or customary law (consuetudo)—coexisted with the written law (as communicated in royal decrees), had the same authority, and was accordingly applied in the courts. The classic exposition was given in Stephen Werbőczy’s Tripartitum, published in 1517. This systematised the legal customs of the kingdom and, influenced to a degree by Bartolus of Sassoferrato, it recognised the importance of custom alongside the written law. In reality, unwritten, customary law had even more impact on legal practice than the written laws of the kingdom, a circumstance that continued beyond the Middle Ages.1 Romanian legal and historical writing was particularly interested in the issue of the old law used by the Romanian population of medieval Hungarian kingdom. A Romanian jurist from the inter-war period defined customary law as a legal norm that was not a part of the written law, being orally transmitted, but obeyed by all the inhabitants of an area and recognised by them as normative. This type of law consisted of a system of rules of conduct and social life that were intended to provide a framework for social organisation.2 In its essence, Romanian customary law was passed on orally. In respect, therefore, of the Romanians living in the Hungarian kingdom, it necessarily follows that no corpus or collection of legal texts may be found. It was only in the seventeenth century that the first law codes were printed in Wallachia and Moldavia, but these were modelled on South Slavonic and Byzantine legislation. The only information on the content of the ius valachicum comes from documents issued by various authorities of the kingdom, which state that a particular issue was resolved by the principles of Romanian law.

1 For Werbőczy’s Tripartitum, see The Customary Law of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary: a work in three parts, Tripartitum, ed. & trans. János M. Bak, Péter Banyó & Martyn Rady, Idyllwild, CA, & Budapest, 2005 (=DRMH 5). For the impact of Werbőczy’s work, see Custom and Law in Central Europe, ed. Martyn Rady, with an introduction by János M. Bak, Cambridge, 2003.

2 Quoted by Ştefan Pascu, Voievodatul Transilvaniei (The Voivodate of Transylvania), 4, Cluj-Napoca, 1989, p. 135.

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72 Ius Valachicum in the Banat

It is on the basis of these stray references that legal historians have attempted to establish the content of the ius valachicum and its contribution to the development of Romanian society in the Hungarian kingdom. Romanian law, although not integrated into Hungarian law, was admitted in legal practice and acknowledged in the courts. Certain cases where Romanians were directly involved were thus judged ‘according to the ancient and recognised law of Romanians’ (iuxta antiquam et aprobatam legem valachorum), which is an indication that the ius valachicum was seen as constituting a set of normative rules. An older Romanian historiography over-exaggerated the importance and salience of these rules in order to demonstrate the endurance of Romanian legal autonomy in the kingdom. This trend was exemplified by Ştefan Pascu in his book, Voievodatul Transilvaniei (The Voivodeship of Transylvania).3 The most complete presentation of customary law came, however, from the legal scholar, Vladimir Hanga. In his book, published in the late 1980’s, Hanga systematised and synthesised all aspects of customary practice, using mostly documents relating to Wallachia and Moldavia.4

The spread of Romanian customary lawReferences to Romanian law occur in both Moldavia and Wallachia, as well as among the Romanian population of the Hungarian kingdom. Cases adjudicated according to the ius valachicum are more common in the marginal areas of the kingdom: Transylvania, Maramureş, the Banat and Zarand, which were also those parts of Hungary where the Romanian population was most dense. Romanian customary law is connected to the presence of the so-called Romanian districts (districta Valachorum). Districts themselves are not specific to a Romanian population, being encountered throughout the kingdom, although the term differed in its meaning, depending upon context. For the most part, however, Romanian historians have been content to itemise the districts rather than investigate their institutional content. Nevertheless, it can be said that Romanian districts were those areas that had some sort of legal autonomy, where people might use Romanian customs and customary law. The first Romanian districts are mentioned in the fourteenth century, after which they become more visible in the extent record. Many were, however, given away to members of the Hungarian elite or absorbed into the counties, thereby losing their self-governing status and legal exceptionalism.5 By the sixteenth century, the only area where they survived and were able to preserve their rights was in the Banat.

On the outskirts of the kingdom: the Banat regionThe Banat covers an area of approximately 28,500 km2, which is geographically situated between the River Mureş to the north, the Tisa on the west, the Danube in the south, and the Carpathian Mountains to the east. The area is currently divided between Romania (60%), Serbia (39%) and Hungary (one per cent). In the Middle Ages, the territory lay at the southern limit of the medieval Hungarian kingdom, being administratively divided

3 Ştefan Pascu,Voievodatul, 4, pp. l34–148.4 Vladimir Hanga, Les institutions du droit coutumier roumain, Bucharest, 1988.5 The historiography on the districts is summarised by Stefan Pascu, Voievodatul, 4, pp. 13–68.

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between Timiş, Torontal and Caraş counties (later Severin), parts of Arad and Cenad counties, and also a structure with military functions, the Banat of Severin (replaced in the sixteenth century by Caransebeş-Lugoj). The Banat exemplifies the use of Romanian law for several reasons. First, the area had a large Romanian population and, secondly, the area south of the Mureş is recorded as having altogether some thirty-three districts. Many of these had an almost anonymous existence, being made up of only a few villages and from early on being taken over by a noble family. Legal autonomy was preserved mainly by those districts that were set on crown estates, on the border of the kingdom, where they were entrusted with a defensive role. As early as 1430 there is reference to the people of these districts having the right to be summoned only before the king.6 On account of their participation in the anti-Ottoman campaigns, King Ladislas V recognised in 1457 a number of privileges belonging to eight districts in the mountainous area of Banat (Caransebeş, Lugoj, Mehadia, Almaj, Caraşova, Bârzava, Comiat and Ilidia), confirming supposedly older rights. In brief, the act stated that the eight districts would remain together (and not be alienated piecemeal); that the king could not make donations of property in the districts without the approval of the local nobility; that the nobles and knezes (a Romanian elite category, legally assimilated into the nobility) were exempt from of any contributions; that nobles and knezes could only be judged by their lord (comes, ispán) and could appeal against sentences directly to the king; and that the execution of these judgements would only be made by Romanian noble judges.7 By requesting the confirmation of these earlier rights, the Romanian community of Banat was probably trying to organise itself as a single political community or universitas, the term that was applied only a little later to the Saxons of Transylvania (1486, Universitas Saxonum). It is also from this region that we have the most cases being judged according to the ius valachicum. Political autonomy thus went hand in hand with the growth of legal autonomy. In the sixteenth century, a part of the districts were conquered by the Ottomans and the remaining ones were merged with those of Caransebeş and Lugoj, which was in turn overlaid by Severin County. Although the names changed, in respect of functionality Severin County and the district of Caransebeş were one and the same institution. This explains the persistence of ius valachicum in the Banat highlands until the middle of the seventeenth century (1658), when the area was conquered and occupied by the Turks.

Judicial procedure When we speak of Romanian customary law, we have first to take into account the institutions and officials in those regions—the lords (comites, ispáns) of Timiş, who were holders of the castles in the districts and, often, vice-bans of Severin. It was they

6 The nobility of some districts refused to recognise the authority of Teutonic knight, Nicholas von Redwitz, appointed ban of Severin, arguing that based on custom, only the king had the right to judge them.

7 This charter was published by Pesty Frigyes, A Szörény vármegyei hajdani oláh kerületek [The former Romanian districts of Severin County], Budapest, 1876, pp. 73–75. For analysis of the document, see Ioan-Aurel Pop, Instituţii medievale româneşti. Adunările cneziale şi nobiliare (boiereşti) din Transilvania în secolele XIV–XVI [Romanian medieval institutions. Knezial and aristocratic assemblies in Transylvania in 14th–16-th centuries], Cluj, 1991, pp. 135–136.

74 Ius Valachicum in the Banat

who convened and chaired the assemblies of Romanians that were called to administer the law. Cases went to law in the respective district—in congregatione nostra generali universitati nobilium kenezyorumque ac alterius status districtus nostri Myhald, as we may find in a document of 1428 referring to the district of Mehadia, or, from 1439, the universitas nobilium et kenesiorum districtus Sebes. The principal assembly was at Caransebeş, called the sedem scilicet iudiciariam principalem septem sedium nobilium valachicalium and this heard not only cases from the district but also appeals or matters of particular importance that were moved before it. Assemblies in Caransebeş were possibly held weekly, on Thursdays, to coincide with the market, a practice which remained stable until the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.8 The presence of the lord at these assemblies did not affect the type of law followed. As in the Hungarian counties, where justice was administered by the lord or his deputies, local and Romanian law might still be followed.

In investigating this phenomenon, Ioan-Aurel Pop has counted about thirty such assemblies meeting during the fifteenth century, although not all of them judged according to Romanian law. Their membership was usually reserved for the noble elite, but there were many cases when other people of various conditions attended (alterius status homines). The members of the assembly elected some of their number (usually six to twelve) as assessors (probi homines), who collectively judged the case and passed sentence, with the approval of the assembly. The decision so obtained had complete judicial validity. The system of assessors was not unique to Romanian adjudication, as it is also found in Hungarian judicial practice, from which it may have passed into Romanian use. The oath was decisory in Romanian procedural law, being probative and also employed as a means of reaching a decision. The oath-making ceremony was simple enough. The parties swore, by putting their hands on a cross or on a saint’s relics in a church, before the assessors or the assembly, and made their respective oaths.

Parties that were dissatisfied with the outcome could appeal directly to the king, as the 1457 privilege allowed. So, in 1503 two inhabitants of Caran, a small town near Caransebeş, declared themselves dissatisfied with the district’s decision and appealed to the king’s court.9 But such instances were rare, most parties abiding by the decision of the ius valachicum. The role of the king was in the main confined to confirming judgements or hearing cases transmitted directly to his court on account of their special features.

Cases judged by ius valachicumCases within the scope of the ius valachicum were of two types, criminal and civil, although the distinction between these categories does not coincide with modern norms. Generally, representatives of district meetings tried to resolve differences peacefully. They noted the testimonies of those involved, and the evidence of the witnesses brought

8 Pop, Instituţii, pp. 127–163. The practice survived because it is mentioned in 1581 that the trial proceedings in Severin county were on a Thursday: szek Napian czeterteökön (Magyar Országos Levéltár [Hungarian National Archive], Gyulafehérvári Káptalan Országos Levéltára, F 2 Protocolla, vol. I, p. 52).

9 Frigyes Pesty, A Szörényi Bánság és Szörény vármegye története [History of Severin Banat and Severin County], vol. 3, Budapest, 1878, pp. 144–148.

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at the assessors’ behest. The procedure involved took into account the nature of the case and the seriousness of the deed.

Criminal cases.10 The first mention of the ius valachicum in the Banat is from the late fourteenth century (around 1390–1392), when Nicholas Perényi, ban of Severin, asked the noble Ştefan Himfy about a man from Bogdan’s estate (Bogdan was a knez in the district of Cuieşti), who had been accused of a crime and who should be judged according to Romanian law (iuxta legem olachorum). We do not know what happened in this instance, but during the fifteenth century the ius or more valachorum formula became increasingly frequent, determining the procedures used. In 1477, for instance, the assembly of Caransebeş district had to debate a criminal case, namely the arson of a mill. The accused, George Gaman of Bizere, a noble of Romanian origin, did not acknowledge the crime, so the assembly referred to the old law as recognised within all the Romanian districts (iuxta antiquam et aprobatam legem districtum Volachicalium universorum), asking him to take an oath together with twelve compurgators who were to certify his innocence. After the oaths had been made, the assembly declared Gaman not guilty. In a further example, from 1494, the noble John Porkolab accused the residents of Caran of having fished in his ponds, hunted on his land and killed his watchman, causing a loss to him of 200 florins. The noble lost the case because the people of Caran swore that they had not committed the acts of which they were accused and the witnesses brought by him to swear were declared unsatisfactory by the assembly. It is was undoubtedly a rough and ready system, based only on oral testimony, without recourse to written proof or inquests, but probably the only one that could work in a society that had largely developed its norms on the basis of tradition and custom. Another example comes from 1503, when the people of Caran (again!) came into conflict with the noble Nicholas Măcicaş. The inhabitants were accused of entering the nobleman’s estates and causing damage there as well as serious injuries. Eight judges were elected to settle the dispute but the citizens of Caran did not agree with their decision and appealed to the royal court. Other cases coming before the assemblies included murder and wounding. The aim of the proceedings was less to impose punishments or sanctions as to reach a negotiated solution. Penalties were usually only financial.

Civil cases.11 Examples of this type survive only from the end of the fifteenth century. One of the most common issues encountered in cases judged by Romanian law related to inheritance or the sale of properties, and mostly concerned the right of inheritance in the female line. In 1499, some nobles of Zorlenţ village (situated between Caransebeş and Resiţa, today in Caraş-Severin County) came before the district court in Caransebeş. They had been sued by Dorothy (Doroteea), the daughter of one of their relatives, who demanded her dowry and wedding gifts, due from her father’s estate, which her kinsmen had retained after his death. The two sides were reconciled by means of arbitration, with the nobles agreeing to pay, following Romanian tradition (iuxta ritum Volachie), twenty

10 All examples are taken from Gheorghe Ciulei & Gheorghe G. Ciulei, Dreptul românesc în Banatul medieval [Romanian Law in the medieval B.], Reşiţa, 1997, pp. 57–87.

11 Ibid, pp. 30–56.

76 Ius Valachicum in the Banat

gold florins. As the nobles did not have the necessary sum, they pledged to Dorothy the land that they had inherited from her father’s estate. An almost identical case occurred in 1500 in respect of an unpaid dowry and wedding gifts. In this case, the important Romanian nobles of the Bizere-Gaman family were involved. The amount that was due was sixty gold florins, which they paid on the spot in the court’s presence.

These two cases may be put in the larger context of Hungarian law, which stipulated that girls could inherit a quarter of their fathers’ estates, the so-called quarta puellaris. The quarter was, however, to be discharged in cash and mobilia, not in land. In Romanian law, however, the percentage taken by the daughters was often greater, and it could reach a third or even a half of the father’s estate—but only given in cash and mobilia, since land went exclusively through the male line. It may be that the origins of the two schemes, which otherwise seem so close, have different roots. The Hungarian scheme of female inheritance may have had its origin in the lex Falcidia, mediated by canon law, while the Romanian custom derived from Novella XVIII of Justinian’s Corpus, as transmitted through vulgar Byzantine law.12 Whatever the distant sources of the two practices, in the Banat the ius valachicum clearly retained its pre-eminence.

A further civil case arose in 1500, when the same George Gaman, whom we have seen before being charged with burning down a mill, was accused by his relatives of having appropriated muskets (pixides) from their castle. As neither the accusers nor the accused could bring proof as to how the weapons changed hands, the case was judged by Romanian law (iure Volachie requirente). George Gaman won his case because he made an oath in front of the assembly that he had honestly bought the arms, while his accusers refused to take the oath. These illustrations demonstrate Werbőczy’s assertion that where the written law provided no solution, customary practices might prevail.13 In analysing the ius or ritum Volachie, Ioan-Aurel Pop has noted that the legal institutions of the Romanians were explained not by reference to the Banat or Wallachia but instead generically, as the type of law that Romanians followed, irrespective of where they lived.14

Pledging and selling.15 In terms of the pledging and sale of land, Romanian law did not differ much from the legal traditions of the Hungarian kingdom. Under the influence of the larger ius commune, whether in its Romano-canonical or vulgar Byzantine forms, the ius valachicum adopted the protimissis system of pre-emption. Sellers had first to ask their relatives and neighbours; if they refused to buy, the estate could be sold to others. In this way, estates remained in the family or in the community. An interesting case was brought to court in 1489. Nobles of the Măcicaş family had given a belt or girdle to one of George Gaman’s peasant tenants, as security on a loan. The peasant had

12 Martyn Rady, Nobility, Land and Service in Medieval Hungary, London, 2000, pp. 103–107; Ioan Aurel Pop, ‘Judecăţi după dreptul “Ţării Româneşti” în Banat în jurul anului 1500’ [Judgments using Wallachian law in the Banat around 1500], in Vilaietul Timişoarei (450 de ani de la întemeierea paşalâcului) 1552–2002 [The vilayet of T.: 450 years after the founding of the pashalik], Timişoara, 2002, p. 31.

13 Tripartitum, Prologue, 10, (DRMH 5, pp. 30–31): consuetudo est ius quoddam moribus institutum, quod pro lege suscipitur cum deficit lex.

14 Pop, Judecăţi, p. 31–33.15 Ciulei & Ciulei, Dreptul românesc, p. 88–163.

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died without heir and his belongings, including the belt, came into possession of his master, who asked the Măcicaş family to return the money in exchange for the belt. After three judgment meetings (in tribus sedibus iudiciariis), the Măcicaş family agreed that the pledge should remain permanently in the possession of George Gaman. A similar situation occurred in 1503 when a petty nobleman showed his neighbours and kinsmen the judgements of three assemblies that permitted him, in accordance with Romanian custom (in tribus sedibus iudiciariis, iuxta ritum Volachie), to pledge some of his estates in Comiat district and the Banat of Severin. Reference to three assemblies conveying an authority for sale or pledge continued in the Banat highlands until the late seventeenth century. So, even if a legal contract was acknowledged by the judicial authorities in Caransebeş, Lugoj or Severin district, it had nonetheless to go before three assemblies (in tribus sedibus nostrorum), and be approved by these, in order to obtain a complete legal authority. Later documents mention that proceedings followed the tradition in that region (regy dicziretes zokassa zerinth), but that the final decision was only taken after the presentation of the matter before three courts, where those involved either appeared in person or were represented through agents.16 In order, thus, for the unwritten ius valachicum to be effective, it needed the acknowledgement of the courts, and for their decisions to be fastened in written form.

In conclusion, the ius valachicum was a type of ‘common law’, used by the Romanian population in the late medieval Hungarian kingdom, but also cognate with the law used in the other Romanian lands. Until the late seventeenth century, the Banat highlands preserved specific legal practices that were accepted and recognised by officials of the kingdom and, subsequently, by the autonomous Principality of Transylvania. Having its roots in both the Romano-Byzantine legal tradition and influenced by the Hungarian customary law, the ius valachicum demonstrates a self-generating and pragmatic form of law, as well as one that borrowed from larger legal traditions.

16 See, for example, the action between Margaret Gaman and Sigismund Fiat in 1628 (Serviciul Judeţean al Arhivelor Naţionale Cluj [Romanian National Archive, Cluj branch], fond Macskási of Tincova, Box 8, no. 812) or the one between the authorities of Caransebeş and the former mayor of the town (in Costin Feneşan, Documente medievale bănăţene 1440–1653 [Medieval documents from Banat 1440–1653], pp. 135–141).

79

Changing Legal Procedures in the Context of Social Transformation: The Settlement of Disputes in

Sixteenth-Century Wallachia

Mariana Goina

In the following article, I will analyse procedures of dispute resolution in sixteenth-century Wallachia. I will trace how legal procedure changed over the century in the context of the social and economic instability that both engendered a higher circulation of land estates and triggered a vigorous defence by small land holders to preserve their possessions against encroachment.

The administration of justice in medieval Wallachia was based on customary law. Unfortunately, there is no surviving source that lays down what procedures were to be followed in medieval Wallachia.1 Up to the nineteenth century, the sole source of Wallachian written law consisted of compilations based on Byzantine religious and legal codes. These canonical compilations barely ever describe the procedures to be followed in resolving disputes. Commissioned by the Wallachian princes, these law codes were intended as instruments expressing the princes’ claim to be guardians of the Byzantine tradition rather than as a body of reference for actual disputes.2 As far as we can observe, the law codes were hardly ever put to use in litigation. Thus, in what follows, I will primarily use descriptive evidence, mainly princely charters issued in the course of, or at the conclusion of, judicial proceedings. I will focus on the charters that survive up to the end of the sixteenth century.

Procedures of dispute settlementCharters produced as a result of dispute settlement first appear in the extant record at

the end of the fifteenth century (1490). They are almost exclusively related to land. As elsewhere, the main reason for producing and retaining these early documents was to consolidate legal title, especially to landed property.3

1 See for instance the case of neighbouring Hungary: Martyn Rady, ‘Hungarian Procedural Law and Part Two of the Tripartitum’ in Rady (ed.) Custom and Law in Central Europe, Cambridge, 2003, pp. 41–71.

2 Cf. Simon Keynes, ‘Royal Government and the Written Word in Late Anglo-Saxon England,’ in (ed.) Rosamond McKitterick, The Uses of Literacy in Early Medieval Europe, Cambridge, 1990, p. 28.

3 Cf. Paul Fouracre, ‘“Placita” and the settlement of disputes in later Merovingian Francia’, in (eds) Wendy Davies & Paul Fouracre, The Settlement of Disputes in Early Medieval Europe, Cambridge, 1986, pp. 23–45 (p. 23).

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80 Settlement of Disputes in Wallachia

In the first half of the sixteenth century, the number of surviving deeds is very few, although they feature disproportionately in the slender records of this time. The procedure involved is barely described. The charters produced were intended to confirm the ownership of the contested estate, not to relate how the decision was reached. These early charters are so schematic that it is hard to grasp whether the deed was issued as a result of a suit and the identities of the parties involved, whether plaintiff or adversary. The procedural practices involved have to be reconstructed piecemeal, and so much must necessarily remain obscure.

Most of the surviving deeds were issued after determination at the princely court, which was the highest judicial forum in Wallachia. It remains unclear how often these courts were held, how the plaint was presented and taken up, and how adversary parties were notified. Fragmentary information from the end of the sixteenth century suggests that plaints were delivered orally. Apparently, customary practice allowed plaintiffs, regardless of their status, to present their suit to the prince directly, either at his place of residence or during the course of princely peregrination. A later saying, cu jalba în proţap (‘hanging a plaint’), suggests that in the subsequent period the written word either complemented or substituted for oral procedure. Apparently, plaintiffs hung their written plaints on the top of tall sticks, so that they could be spotted in the crowds that gathered to salute the prince.4

From no later than the mid-sixteenth century, however, summonses seem to have been delivered in writing. Presumably, once the prince had been notified by the plaintiff, letters of summons were sent to the adversary informing him that he had to come at a certain date to the princely court and take an oath there accompanied by oath helpers: ‘With the God’s grace, I, prince Pătru [...], Our Highness are writing to you, Dragomir, and to you, Cristea, from Vodiţa, and to all of your companions (cetaşi), that you have a suit with the monks of Tismana over the village of Blesniţa and the estate Varonicu […]. And I, My Highness, say to you that in the very hour you see this book [charter] of My Highness, in that hour you shall come and uphold the oath with the monks in front of My Highness, as it is the wish of the monks, and also your wish, so that you shall not deceive yourselves […].’5

The procedural steps are uncertain. Apparently, after the complaint was made to the prince and the adversary notified, a day was appointed when he should undertake the oath (together with his oath helpers) to prove himself. Up to the mid-sixteenth century, collective oath-taking appears as almost the only method of proof used. The court was presided over by the prince, who was surrounded by the high dignitaries. The prince judged ‘according to justice and law’ (meaning the customary law) together with all his ‘impartial servants.’6 The collective oath (called ‘law’) was delivered by the parties, but the number of compurgators could vary, depending upon the difficulty of the case. As a rule, twelve oath helpers were required in a property dispute, but each retrial of the case required a doubling of the previous number. The procedures involved in oath taking

4 See also Henry H. Stahl, Contribuţii la studiul satelor devălmaşe româneşti [Contributions to the study of Romanian Village Communities], vol. 2, Bucharest, 1998 (first published, 1959), p. 97.

5 DRH B, 5, no. 183 (before 1 June, 1560).6 See, for instance, DRH B, 1, no. 221 (1490). The monks provided 24 witnesses while the laymen only 12.

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become more transparent in the last quarter of the sixteenth century. The ritual could take place in, or in front of, a church, at the princely court or, if the dispute involved the boundary of an estate, on the very site of the contested property. It was taken on the Gospels, before the clergy and always involved a great gathering of people.7

Nevertheless, the outcome of a suit might often be challenged. Any party that was dissatisfied could ask for a retrial and override the previous decision by providing a double number of oath helpers. The first case of a retrial, albeit an unsuccessful one, comes from a case that involved Detco, the high lord steward, and monks from Ehsinoh monastery. Although the monks tried to override the oath taken by Detco and his oath helpers, they were unable to provide the double number (twenty-four) of oath helpers and so lost the case. This instance provides one of the few examples when monastic institutions were unable to convince the Wallachian princes of the justice of their claim.8 Although it is hard to be firm on this point, the extant record seldom shows evidence of agreements being reached or of the parties being reluctant to take oaths.9

The duration of a case could extend to weeks. If one party ignored the summons, then the other might have to wait for him to come to court to take the oath. It seems that the parties were given three summonses; only if they failed to respond to the third was the case awarded against them. As a charter from 1594 explained:

‘[…] Petru, the constable, requested that the chamberlain, Stănila, take the oath with twelve noblemen [...] and fixed the day on the feast of Saint Mary’s birth. And the chamberlain Stănilă thus came with twelve noblemen two weeks in advance of the day of retrial, to take the oath. Then, Petru, the constable, when he saw that the chamberlain, Stănila, was waiting with his oath helpers to take the oath, ran home, not wanting to see the oath; and the chamberlain Stănilă waited with those noblemen for a whole week. Then the chamberlain Stănila informed His Highness [the prince] that he had been waiting a week to take the oath and that Petru did not want to take the oath. So, His Highness sent the chamberlain, Drăghici, to Petru, the constable, to come and witness the oath of those noblemen; and if he wanted he could bring twenty-four noblemen [to overturn their oath]. But he refused to come. And for a second time, His Highness sent the governor, Dobre, and he again refused to come. And for a third time [the prince sent] Stan, but Petru again refused to come, and ran away. Then, His Highness saw that, due to Petru’s villainy, the chamberlain Stănilă was not able to take the oath. So His Highness called for the chamberlain, Stănilă, and his twelve noblemen and he appointed Iane, former high master of ceremony, to witness the oath of those twelve noblemen, taken in the church, on the Holy Gospel, that his aunt, Caplea, had not endowed Dragomir governor [father of Petru, the constable]. And Petru, the constable, lost his case in front of Prince Stephan.’10

7 See for instance DRH B, 7, no. 242 (1575).8 DRH B, 4, no. 75 (1539).9 For one of the few instances see DRH B, 11 no. 153, in which it is mentioned that the ‘good people’ had

not allowed the oath to be taken but made an agreement. 10 DRH B, 11, no. 40.

82 Settlement of Disputes in Wallachia

Suits involving land could extend across generations. For instance, the first surviving dispute, in which a certain land owner, Roşca, together with the sons of a certain Risipa, disputed a part of their landed property with the Tismana monastery, lasted for more than half a century. The first plaint of the laymen was recorded in 1493.11 As they lost the case, succeeding generations took up the suit and made a further three unsuccessful attempts to gain the estates from Tismana.12 One of the most extended descriptions of a protracted case comes from 1575, although unfortunately in an eighteenth-century version. The sons of Lal and Dragomir, together with their companions (cetaşi) entered into a dispute with the village communities of Şoptani and Mălureni. After two successful trials, held during the reign of Petru the Young (1559–1568), in which twelve noblemen took the oath in favour of Lal, the outcome was reversed by a team of twenty-four oath helpers, provided by the other side. Lal accordingly lost the case and his landed estates. But he did not give up and approached the successor of Petru the Young, Prince Alexandru Mircea (1568–1577), three times to reclaim his and his brothers’ land. After a total of six trials, Lal’s side eventually regained the villages.13 It is worth noting that, despite the protracted nature of the conflict, no written evidence was submitted to court, the whole process relying instead upon oral and sworn submissions.

Use of written evidenceThe first charters brought as evidence in a dispute date from the end of the fifteenth century and belonged to the Tismana monastery. Wallachian religious houses were very active in defending their landed estates. As in early Western Europe, monastic institutions were pioneers in commissioning written records of their property and using these records in the course of subsequent disputes. By contrast, charters belonging to laymen are seldom mentioned in the course of litigation during the first half of the sixteenth century.14

Up to the mid-fifteenth century, the written word had little evidential value, even if it was produced in the course of litigation. Charters had to be endorsed by oral testimony and the party who was unable to provide the oath helpers lost the process, irrespective of whether he could prove written title. Thus, initially charters were perceived as inconclusive proof of ownership, while traditional oral testimonies were seen as more reliable and trustworthy. 15

Written evidence as an aid to memoryThere is for the reign of Mircea the Shepherd (regn. I, 1545–1552; II, 1558–59), a surge in the number of surviving charters produced as a result of dispute settlement. Certainly,

11 DRH B, 1, no. 239.12 See DRH B, 2, no. 106 (1512), no. 236 (1525). DRH B, 4 no. 222 (1547). See also, among many others, the

suit of Utmeş and his offspring with Cozia monastery over the lie of their boundaries. Recorded in 1557, it claims to go back to the time of Vlad the Monk (c. 1482–1495). DRH B, 7 no. 57.

13 DRH B, 7, no. 201 (1575).14 DRH B, 2, no. 55 (1508).15 Cf. Wendy Davies, ‘Charter-writing and its Uses in Early Medieval Celtic Societies,’ in (ed.) Huw Pryce,

Literacy in Medieval Celtic Societies, Cambridge, 1998, p. 102.

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this surge should be read in the larger context of Wallachian documentary survival. Out of 154 deeds surviving from Mircea’s first period of rule, 65 record disputes over land. By contrast, for the reign of Radu the Great (1495–1508), we have 99 deeds altogether, only fourteen of which record disputes over property. Moreover, the surviving records may disclose material relating to previous disputes. We will also notice at this time certain changes in judicial procedure and a higher legal regard for the written word. Oath helpers were appointed by a letter issued in the princely court that told the defendants whom they should bring to court.16 The criteria of choice are uncertain. There is no indication of how selection was made other than rhetorical references to status and age and the consistent requirement that they be noblemen. Secondly, besides oral testimony, written evidence began to be referred to during the proceedings. Written records relating to previous disputes were consulted during the decision making process and the outcomes of former cases considered as reliable evidence for granting the land anew to the party that produced them, even to the extent that a further round of oath taking was not required.

At first glance, many cases appear to have been resolved on the basis of written evidence. However, the former oral procedures, including oath taking and the laying of an anathema, were singled out as constituting legal grounds for the decision. The princes often invoked the binding force of anathema as a reason for their decision. For instance, in 1560, Mircea the Shepherd awarded a piece of disputed land to the Tismana monastery, since ‘[…] in early princes’ charters [as provided by the Tismana Monastery], it was testified by numerous noble and old men that those landed estates had belonged to the Holy Monastery. And those early princes cursed in those charters with a mighty and great anathema, so that My Highness was frightened before God to disregard them and destroy the charters of the early princes.’17 Thus, the former decisions based on oath taking and a binding anathema, were adduced as compelling evidence. In some cases, the earlier deeds had to be endorsed by a further round of oath taking, and the party that was unable to provide the requisite number lost the case. Under these circumstances, the charters he had produced were deemed to have been proven as false by the superior testimony of the oath, and struck through by the prince.18 Thus, it seems that charters, even when used as evidence, functioned more as aids to recollection than as legal evidence. Although the appearance of a new formula, ‘I have read “the books”’, suggests that charters were read or listened to by the court, the authority of ‘the books’ still rested upon the oral evidence they disclosed.

The stages of court procedure indicate the priority given to oral testimony, which was considered first, and only subsequently reinforced by recourse to written evidence.19 Charters, where they are mentioned, were invoked towards the end of the proceedings, mostly to display the continuity of princely justice. Judges and disputants may have by degrees become accustomed to the importance of written proof, but the older ways and the salience of oral testimony continued to prevail.

16 DRH B, 4, no. 268, no. 269 (c. 1559–60). 17 DRH B, 5, no. 184 (1560).18 See for instance DRH B, no. 160 (1578).19 See among many others, DRH B, 8, nos 208 (1579), 222 (1579).

84 Settlement of Disputes in Wallachia

The lesser value accorded to written deeds in legal proceedings may explain the relative infrequency with which they were invoked in court. Some charters that survive even to this day were not referred to in the course of litigation, even though their content touched upon the matter in dispute. For instance, we have from 1557 a private will made by Neacşa (a noblewoman), who left her land to her mother and sister. In 1558, her mother commissioned a royal charter to record the will. We know, however, that by 1578 a certain Păcală had made two approaches to the princely court, contesting Neacşa’s will. The surviving record of the dispute does not mention any written record used during the trial, despite the fact that the charter commissioned by Neacsa’s mother still survives. It is, nevertheless, hard to draw firm conclusions from this single case. It may be that the princely charter was not considered compelling, or that the scribe simply left it out of his terse account of the court’s decision. Either way, though, the omission of any reference in the court record to the written evidence supporting the plaint of Neacsa’s mother suggests the lesser evidential value given to charters.

Charters as legal proofWritten evidence seems to have acquired a firmer foothold in judicial procedure towards the last quarter of the sixteenth century. Some cases were decided on the basis of the written evidence alone, although it seems that it was still the record of a previous decision that proved persuasive. In some instances, however, the lack of any written record was employed as an argument and could result in the case being lost. Developments were uneven—some cases were resolved on the basis of the written record; others by oath taking alone. For instance, a record from around 1593 shows that the Wallachian prince, Michael the Brave, read and compared several charters that had been adduced in the course of litigation and that he apparently decided the case on their evidence alone.20 Yet, another cases from the same period points to an outcome that was decided exclusively by oral testimony.21

On a few occasions, it appears that charters were the first type of evidence to be asked of a plaintiff even, or perhaps especially, if he was of a lower status. For instance: ‘And then, a certain man, named Dan fell in front of My Highness and complained that the holy monastery had seized a share of his land. And My Highness, I have asked him whether he has a book [charter] for this estate, and he answered that he does not have, and I gave him oral law, to bring twelve noblemen, but he could not bring them and he lost the suit in front of My Highness.’22 In this case, therefore, we may note that the rank order of evidence has been effectively turned on its head—oral testimony is only referred to in the absence of written records.

The Social ContextWhat prompted this change with regard to the type of evidence that might be given in court and the new value attaching to the written record? The evidence from the surviving

20 DRH B, 11, no. 19 (1593).21 DRH B, 11, no. 20 (1593), no. 31 (1594).22 DIR B, 5, no. 201(1588).

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records suggest that it was related to a larger contest over rights to property that was being fought out at this time, including the struggle of free village communities to prevent encroachment and their slide into serfdom. The number of village disputes grew especially during the reign of Michael the Brave (1593–1601) and they constitute one third of the surviving charters that deal with disputes over land (18 out of 51 charters).

Several economic changes were occurring at this time. First, more goods, and especially cattle, were being produced for the market, with the result that more cash was available in the local economy.23 Secondly, estates that had once been farmed collectively were breaking up, their parts being subtracted from the commune, and sold off, thus contributing to the mobility of the land market. We also know of severe subsistence crises occurring in the late fifteenth century and, again, in the mid-sixteenth century, as a result of excessive taxation and harvest failure. We learn of people selling their land, ‘some during a period of bad famine, while others sold their children to the Ottomans, and others were starving on the roads.’ Such descriptions are recurrent in the surviving charters contesting transfer of land, from the reigns of Vlad the Monk (1482–1495), Radu the Great (1495–1508), and, later on, Mircea the Shepherd (I, 1545–1552; II, 1558–59).24

Social unrest intensified around the mid-sixteenth century, after which the tribute requested by the Ottoman Empire consistently rose, growing tenfold by the end of the century.25 The economic dislocation contributed to social instability. Property was sold off, accumulating by degrees in the hands of just a few landowners, who built up large latifundia, particularly during the course of the later sixteenth century. The main losers were the free communities of peasants and the lower noblemen, who were gradually annihilated as social categories. The process is described by Filitti: ‘In the same class of noblemen, one can note a painful and continuous process of impoverishment of some and the rise of others.’26

Although some were able to resist the trend, changes in the ownership and concentration of estates, together with increased commercial activity, pushed most free village communities into serfdom. Hence: ‘[…] in the above-named village, all the villagers fell into a deep poverty and distress due to high taxation and tithes and much hardship, and all the villagers put their land up for sale and they themselves came, willingly, in front of My Highness’s dignitary, Jupan Radul, high steward, and they

23 Henri H. Stahl, Traditional Romanian village communities, Cambridge, 1980, p. 159.24 See among many others, DRH B, 7, no. 129 (1573); DRH B, 8, nos 271 (1579), 325 (1580).25 Bogdan Murgescu, România şi Europa. Acumularea decalajelor economice (1500-2010) [Romania

and Europe: the growth of economic differences], Bucharest, 2010, pp. 38–9, note 62; Murgescu, ‘Plăţi externe, fiscalitate şi economie monetară în Ţara Românească la sfârşitul secolului al XVI-lea’ [Foreign dues, taxes, and monetary economy in Wallachia at the end of the sixteenth century], in Murgescu, Ţările Române între Imperiul Otoman şi Europa creştină [The Romanian lands between the Ott. Empire and Christian Europe], pp. 81–93 (pp. 81, 90), Bucharest, 2012.

26 Ioan Filitti, ‘Evoluţia claselor sociale’, [Evolution of social classes], Arhiva pentru ştiinţă şi reformă socială [Archive for science and social reform], 1924, noted in Gheorghe Brătianu, Sfatul domnesc şi adunarea stărilor [The prince's council and the estates’ assembly], Bucharest, 1995 (first edition, 1977), p. 51.

86 Settlement of Disputes in Wallachia

submitted themselves and all of them sold all their land so that the entire village shall become serfs of the above-named dignitary of My Highness.’27

Since the supply of land was limited and its alienation was not supposed to occur without the right of pre-emption being offered to kinsmen and neighbours, there was often forcible dispossession, particularly of smaller properties.28 As the status of freeman depended on the possession of land, many villagers struggled to preserve a portion of their property in order to safeguard their position.29 By the middle years of the sixteenth century, many of these dispossessions and forced sales were acrimoniously contested, both by individual peasants and by whole communities.

One of the bitterest struggles involved the village of Radovanul. Fourteen out of the twenty-four surviving charters, commissioned by free village communities during the reign of Michael the Brave (1593–1601), belong to the community of Radovanul village. The charters were preserved in the cartulary of Bucovăţu monastery, which explains their survival, but they may nonetheless be considered illustrative of more general trends. The Radovanul case involved members of the village community, both individually and collectively, challenging the sale of their land to the Coşuna monastery. The village estate had been previously sold to a high dignitary, as we learn in 1558, when 37 villagers repurchased their land from the chamberlain, Marcea, for 217 cows and 8500 aspers.30 Clearly, some conflict was already involved, as is suggested by the village commissioning four charters to show evidence of its land rights.31 A generation later, the villagers, some apparently burdened by high taxation, sold their estate ‘willingly’ for 24,000 aspers to Coşuna monastery.32 Apparently, not all the villagers were involved in the sale, on account of which they resisted surrendering their land to the monastery. For instance, Oprea, one of the village’s priests, struggled for more than two years to have his estate returned, making three plaints before the regional governor and one in front of the prince.33 However, in the end, all he received was a larger purchase price. Left landless, he became a serf of the monastery.

The case of Radovanul village is illustrative of larger trends. We see in sequence here the sale of land to a high dignitary, the repossession of the sold land by the community, and then a further round of forced sales and dispossessions. Many peasants were forced by circumstance to sell, but a few, like the priest Oprea, had sufficient resources to choose not to. The pressure applied by the landowner, in this instance the monastery, was sufficient to overcome his resistance.

As it turned out, Oprea was asked to support his plaint, together with others who disputed their dispossession, with an oath that was to be sworn with twelve compurgators. He was never able to provide the requisite number, although a charter

27 DRH B, 11, no. 131 (1595). See also among many other surviving cases DRH B, 11, no. 189 (1596). For more information, see Stahl, Traditional Romanian village communities, pp. 182ff.

28 DRH B, 11, no. 87, no. 230.29 Stahl, Traditional Romanian village communities, p. 181.30 DRH B, 5, no. 116 (1558).31 DRH B, 6, no. 52 (1568).32 DRH B, 11, no. 60 (1594).33 His complaints are recorded three times before the ban of Craiova (DRH B, 11, no. 152 (1596), no. 153

(1596), no. 202 (1596), and once before Prince Michael the Brave: no. 279 (1598). For other villagers, see DRH B, 11, no. 186 (1596), no. 225 (1597).

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from 1596 specifically records that he had not sold his share with the others.34 The question thus arises: who could act as oath helpers in Wallachia and why were most villagers unable to provide them? The evidence of the charters suggests that oath helpers had to be noblemen. In this respect, we should note that Wallachian customary law stood closer to Transylvanian than Serbian practice. The fourteenth-century Serbian laws, as recorded in Dushan’s code, indicated that witnesses should be of equal status to the party on whose behalf their evidence was put.35 Werbőczy’s Tripartitum states, however, that ‘[…] the oath of a non-noble person or a peasant, being of inferior status, has no force and is not admitted as evidence for or against a noble.’36 The Wallachian record indicates almost without exception that village communities while struggling with state dignitaries or monastic institutions were unable to provide oath helpers, or even that the oath helpers provided by the villagers testified against them.

Moreover, the surviving records of the dispute make no mention of the charters belonging to Oprea and his fellow villagers, even though we have them, preserved in a monastic cartulary. In the proceedings, the written evidence provided by the Coşuna monastery is mentioned, but not those of their adversaries. Possibly, this was a scribal oversight, or it may be that the evidence of the villagers’ charters was declared inadmissible, possibly on account of the court’s own partiality. Whatever the explanation, the case of Radovanul demonstrates the struggle of Wallachian free village communities to preserve their land and status in difficult economic circumstances. In this struggle, increased reliance was put upon the written word, even if it might be disregarded by the court for reasons that are uncertain.

The second case of a protracted suit involving a village community, although coming from the same period, is structured around written records. Four surviving charters attest that the Pleniţa villagers had at least four disputes with the high equerry, Radu, between 1585 and 1596 over the possession of its property:

[…] and the village of Pleniţa complained before My Highness that their village belonged to them from their ancestors. And in view of this, My Highness, I enquired and requested from the Pleniţa villagers whether they possess books [charters] for this village, that they should show them during the case and their litigation with the above named dignitaries of My Highness [with whom they disputed the village], and they did not have. And they fixed a date in front of My Highness [to provide the written evidence]. And when that day came, which had been fixed before My Highness, these villagers from Pleniţa could not provide any book to show during the proceedings, neither of endowment, nor of purchase. Since I, My Highness, saw the village had no other way, they fixed another day when they could retrieve their books so to litigate with the above-named dignitaries of my highness. But again these villagers failed to bring books in front of My Highness and the villagers from Pleniţa lost the case for the second time before My Highness […].

34 DRH B, 11, no. 147 (1596).35 Dushan’s Code: The Code of Serbian Tsar Stephan Dushan. The Bistritza transcript, ed. Đurica Krstić,

Belgrade, 1997, p. 91, no. 147.36 See Stephen Werbőczy, The Customary Law of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary: A Work in Three Parts

(Tripartitum), eds János M. Bak, Péter Banyó, & Martyn Rady, Idyllwild, CA, 2005, p. 292 (II. 33 [3]).

88 Settlement of Disputes in Wallachia

But the villagers did not give up. Two more cases are recorded when they received four other requests to produce the ‘books.’ By contrast, the prince’s dignitaries were able to bring a plethora of charters, which were read during the proceedings and which convinced the prince to hand the disputed village to them. Nevertheless, according to the surviving record, the prince did not want to let the villagers from Pleniţa ‘struggle in vain’, and he gave them the opportunity to uphold their claim with the oaths of twelve noblemen. Unsurprisingly, they could not bring the necessary oath helpers.37

Up to this point, we have tended to assume that peasants owned fewer written titles to their land than noblemen. Yet, in one of the subsequent retrials of the Pleniţa case, the scribe rehearsed what had happened in an earlier phase.38 Apparently, when before Prince Petru Ear-Ring (1583–1585), the villagers had provided titles of endowment, while the noblemen presented titles of inheritance.39 Quite why this evidence had no bearing on the case must remain uncertain, unless in the years after 1585 there was a sudden flight to the written record. One possibility is that the villagers did have written evidence, but that it was compromised, either because it had been previously struck through or had been faked (they subsequently presented in 1597 a forged charter, which was found by the prince to be ‘bad and false, and not at all trustworthy.’).40 All in all, however, the most likely explanation is that, as elsewhere in Europe, the court came to its decision based on political rather than legal considerations.41

The new importance attaching to the written record and the superior access that the privileged classes had to the culture of writing might suggest that they were using charters as a way of reinforcing their social and political hegemony. The numerous cases where the charters of peasants are reported as having been struck through suggest that the value of the written word depended upon the status of the possessor.42 We should also recall that peasants did not qualify as oath helpers in cases involving monastic institutions or noblemen, which put them at a stark disadvantage in litigation. Nevertheless, the surviving record is laconic, schematic, and even poorly written, so it is hard to make any definitive claims as to the arbitrariness of Wallachian justice.

It is, nevertheless, remarkable that princes were keen to emphasise that procedures be properly observed both rhetorically and in formal fact. Peasant communities were repeatedly invited to recruit oath helpers, even though they were usually unable to find sufficient noblemen to swear on their behalf.

ConclusionI have tried in this article to reconstitute the procedure in Wallachia for dispute settlement, as far as it may be ascertained from the surviving laconic evidence. Dispute settlements appear to have been based solely on customary law. The legal evidence was confined to

37 DRH B, 11, no. 170 (1596). 38 DRH B, 11, no. 176 (1596).39 DIR B, 5, no. 190 (1585).40 DRH B, 11, no. 266 (1597).41 Cf. Patrick Wormald, ‘Charters, law and the settlement of disputes in Anglo-Saxon England’, in Settlement

of Disputes, pp. 149–169. See also Stahl, Traditional Romanian village communities, p. 189. 42 See, for instance, DRH B, 6, no. 190.

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the rituals of oath taking and to previous court decisions relating to the dispute. It is only at the end of the sixteenth century that we may detect an increased importance laid on the written record. I attribute this change to an acute struggle for land in a context of far-reaching economic and social transformation. The growing number of land transactions was, more often than before, endorsed by a written title. Apparently, land shortage and the struggle for landed property gave a boost to written evidence. Moreover, it seems that social unevenness in access to written documents was used by privileged social groups to their advantage. Nevertheless, the pre-eminence accorded to written evidence was limited. Oral testimony continued, therefore, to be used as a means of legal proof in dispute settlement in the following centuries.

91

From Wallachia to Dacia: International Politics and Political Ideology in the Last Decades of the Fifteenth Century

Alexandru Simon

In early July 1480, Matthias Corvinus and, his queen, Beatrix of Naples, announced from Buda the victories achieved by their forces not only in Wallachia but also in the former territories of Bulgaria. Letters were duly sent to the cities of the German Empire and to Modena.1 The victories described in this correspondence had been won by troops led by Stephen Báthory, voivode of Transylvania, and Stephen III (the Great) of Moldavia, whose forces constituted over almost three decades Rome’s only Greek-rite crusaders (1475–1500).2 The victory seemed part of a string of successes that had begun the previous year with the Hungarian defeat of Ali Mihaloğlu, Bey of Smederevo and Vidin, and Basarab IV Ţepeluş (‘the little Impaler’) at Câmpul Pâinii (the ‘Field of Bread’, Kenyérmező). Moreover, it suggested that the Hungarian-Moldavian alliance, of 1475, had indeed been revived, and that a sustained offensive against Turkish power might be expected.3

1 Stadtarchiv Augsburg, Augsburg, Rats- und Ämterwesen, Oberste Instanzen: Rat, Literaliensammlung (Ratskorrespondenz), I. Abteilung, 11 July 1480 (this letter to the city of Augsburg is calendared by Karl Nehring, ‘Quellen zur ungarischen Außenpolitik in der zweiten Hälfte des 15. Jahrhunderts’ (2 parts), Levéltári Közlemények [Archival Studies], 47, 1976, pp. 87–120; ibid, 2, pp. 247–268, no. 107, p. 104); Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Vienna (HHStA), Reichshofkanzlei (RHK), Fridericiana, Karton 4. 1476–1480, fasc. 5/2. 1480, f. 82r (to Nuremberg; from the same day; almost identical to the letter sent to Augsburg); Iván Nagy, Albert B. Nagy (eds.), Magyar diplomácziai emlékek. Mátyás király korából 1458–1490 [Records of Hungarian Diplomacy. The Age of King M.; hereafter, MDE] Budapest, 1876, nos. 288–289, pp. 436–440 (letter of Queen Beatrix, 9 July 1480, to her sister, Elenore, and her husband, Ercole I of Este, duke of Modena). Romanian historians have often dated the second letter to 1481, despite the fact that the context in which it arose clearly indicate an origin in 1480 (or, at the latest, 1482).

2 Some of the relevant sources are given in Alexandru Simon & Cristian Luca, ‘Documentary Perspectives on Matthias Corvinus and Stephen the Great’, Transylvanian Review, 17, no. 3, 2008, pp. 85–113.

3 The supplementary ‘index’ of the registers of the Venetian Senate (Archivio di Stato di Venezia, Venice (ASVe), Senato Secreti (S.S.), Deliberazioni) are important here. From March 1477 (the date the register was closed), events relevant to Hungary and Moldavia that took place between March 1475 (reg. 27, 1475–1476 [more Veneto 1477]), and March 1481 (reg. 29. 1479–1480 [more Veneto 1481], which was the month of the Hungarian–Moldavian agreement of March 1481, as well as events occurring between July and August 1482, which significantly altered the nature of the relation between Matthias and Stephen, were jointly indexed under Hungaria et Valachia. This choice of subject in the index for all matters affecting Hungary and Moldavia reflected the importance ascribed by the compilers to the crusade in which the two rulers were involved and the treaty of July–August 1475 that lay behind it. The formula is missing from reg. 30. 1481-1482 [more Veneto 1483]). The formula itself had not only a practical, bureaucratic value, but also a political and even symbolic function, which allows us to grasp how Venice saw the importance and place of Moldavia in its international diplomacy (Cf. imperator et tota Germaniae, and one that lasted for three decades: Hungaria, Polania, Dacia et Croatia, for which see below).

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92 International Politics and Political Ideology

There was certainly some sympathy of interests between Matthias and Stephen. Both were at this time anxiously canvassing their illegitimate sons—John Corvin and Alexander, respectively—as their future heirs. Nevertheless, relations between Matthias and Stephen were strained and mutual suspicion would ultimately weaken their common purpose. At the heart of their quarrel was the nature of power-relationships on the Lower Danube and, in particular, the territorial structure of the principality of Wallachia. Under the impact of repeated Turkish assaults and Hungarian and Moldavian campaigns, the population of Wallachia had decreased by more than a third between 1456 and 1476.4 Economic dislocation exposed the unevenness of Wallachia’s political and institutional development, and threatened to sunder the principality apart, reducing it to its constituent elements—Oltenia, Muntenia, and the ‘eastern parts’ (in particular the semi-circle of territory below Brasov). Eastern Wallachia in particular was only loosely connected to the rest of the principality and its boyars followed a largely independent course.5

Only a few months before, Stephen III had fallen out with the boyars in the Wallachian border areas of Buzău, Râmnic and Brăila. Their correspondence survives and bears eloquent testimony to the mutual recrimination that was felt.6 The Wallachian boyars resented in particular Stephen’s attempt to foist on them a certain Mircea as

4 Şerban Papacostea, ‘Populaţie şi fiscalitate în Ţara Românească în secolul al XV-lea: un nou izvor’ [Population and Fiscality in Wallachia in the 15th Century: A New Source], Revista de Istorie, 33, no. 9, 1980, pp. 1779–1786. In respect of Moldavia (see here, Alexandru Simon, ‘Populaţie şi cruciadă în Moldova în primăvara anului 1475’ [Population and Crusading in the Summer of 1475], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie A.D. Xenopol, 47, 2010, pp. 143–148), half of its urban population (at best ten per cent of the total population, which after the conflict of 1475–76 probably numbered less than 500,000) was concentrated in the southern harbours, which were conquered in 1484 by Bayezid II.

5 Alexandru Simon, În jurul Carpaţilor. Formele şi realităţile genezei statelor româneşti [Around the Carpathians: The Forms and Realities of the Genesis of the Romanian States], Cluj, 2002, pp. 431–439; Marian Coman, ‘Boierii de margine şi puterea domnească în Ţara Românească medievală’ [Border Boyars and Princely Authority in Medieval Wallachia], in (eds) Ovidiu Cristea, Petronel Zahariuc & Gheorghe Lazăr, Aut viam inveniam, aut faciam. In honorem Ştefan Andreescu [Festschrift for Ş. A.] , Iaşi, 2012, pp. 35–58.

6 Except for Stephen’s proclamations of 15 March [1480], the correspondence is undated, but (as I have argued in, ‘În jurul bătăliei de la Vaslui (1474–1475). Consideraţii asupra relaţiilor dintre Moldova, Ţara Românească şi Regatul Ungariei’ [On the Battle of V. (1474–1475): Notes on the Relations between M., W. and the Hung. Kingdom], Studia Universitatis Babeş Bolyai. Historia, 49, no. 2, 2004, pp. 3–26) 1480 is the only acceptable year of issue. The correspondence is kept in Direcţia Judeţeană a Arhivelor Naţionale–Braşov [National Romanian Archives–Braşov County Branch], Braşov, Archiv der Stadt Kronstadt, Familienbestände, Stenner, nos. 447–448). Several editions have been published, principally by Stoica Nicolaescu (in Documente slavo–române cu privire la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti şi Moldovei cu Ardealul în secolele XV şi XVI. Privilegii comerciale, scrisori domneşti şi particulare din archivele Sibiului, Braşovului şi Bistriţei din Transilvania [Slavonic-Romanian Documents regarding the Rels of W. and M. with Trans. in the 15th–16th Centuries. Commercial Privileges, Princely and Private Letters in the Archives of Sibiu, Braşov and Bistriţa in Trans.], Bucharest, 1905, nos. 56–59, pp. 138–145).

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their ruler, who apparently had no right of descent to the princely throne.7 Between Matthias and Stephen, there was no consensus over who should be the new Wallachian ruler. These tensions spilled over to affect the way the two sides described their mutual relations, with Queen Beatrix describing the Moldavian ruler as owing ‘obedience’ to Matthias on account of their alliance.8 The Hungarians, therefore, championed the cause neither of Mircea nor of the existing ruler Basarab IV (even though he was related to the Hunyadis), but of Vlad IV Călugărul (‘the Monk’), who was the son of Vlad II Dracul and had for long periods been resident in Hungary.

Stephen had invaded eastern Wallachia about fifteen times over the last twenty years, and the boyars were not favourably disposed towards him. In his proclamations to the boyars of eastern Wallachia, Stephen emphasised the legality of his rule and the community of interests that bound the boyars to him. He thus called himself by the title of ruler of Moldo-Vlachia, rather than of Moldavia, which was his usual title. By deploying this term, which had hitherto been almost exclusively ecclesiastical, he emphasised the bond between Moldavia and Wallachia, and the right which belonged to him, as ruler of Moldavia, to determine events in Wallachia.9 At the same time, his address to the boyars studiously avoided description of the common people as rumâni, which had at this time an almost pejorative meaning.10 He used instead the term siromahi. On the one hand, by his actions, propaganda and contemporary narratives and reports, Stephen was one of the principal exponents of the romanity of the Wallachians, as well as a highly hegemonic figure, who accumulated titles, rights and promises (Venetian or

7 Matei Cazacu’s hypothesis (‘La Valachie médiévale et moderne: esquisse historique’, Cahiers Balkaniques, 21, 1994, pp. 95–121, at p. 110), according to which the ‘responses’ to Stephen’s proclamations of 1480 were the result of regional assemblies (of estates), seems perfectly logical. Unfortunately, there is a reluctance on the part of some historians to credit Wallachia and Moldavia with any representative institutions. In fact, the earliest extant codification of local customs in Transylvania comes from an assembly in Făgăraş (1508), which was not so far away from the area of conflict in 1480 (see Martyn Rady, ‘Transylvania in the Medieval History of the Hungarian Kingdom’, lecture held at the Babeş-Bolyai University of Cluj-Napoca, on the 28 May 2013, and above, p. 10). The relevant information for Transylvania as well as for Wallachia and Moldavia is analysed by Ioan-Aurel Pop, Instituţii medievale româneşti. Adunările cneziale şi nobiliare (boiereşti) din Transilvania în secolele XIV-XVI [Medieval Romanian Institutions: Knezial and Noble (Boyar) Assemblies in Trans. in the 14th–16th Centuries], Cluj, 1991.

8 MDE, 2, nos. 288–289, pp. 436–440.9 For Moldo-Vlachia, see Şerban Papacostea, ‘Byzance et la création de la Métropole de Moldavie’, Études

Byzantines et Post–Byantines, 2, 1991, pp. 133–150. More generally, Emil Vîrtosu, Titulatura domnilor şi asocierea la domnie în Ţara Românească şi Moldova până în secolul al XVI–lea [The Titles of the Rulers and the Association to the Throne in Wallachia and Moldavia until the 16th Century], Bucharest, 1959, pp. 229–230; Ştefan S. Gorovei, ‘Titlurile lui Ştefan cel Mare. Tradiţie diplomatică şi vocabular politic’ [The Titles of S. the G.: Diplomatic Tradition and Political Vocabulary], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 23, 2005, pp. 41–78 (pp. 62–64).

10 Ştefan Ştefănescu, ‘Despre terminologia ţărănimii dependente din Ţara Românească în secolele XIV–XVI’ [On the Terminology of the Serf Peasantry in W. in the 14th–16th Century], Studii. Revistă de Istorie [Studies. Review of Hist.], 15, no. 12, 1962, pp. 1155–70; Stelian Brezeanu, Romanitatea orientală în Evul Mediu [Eastern Romanity in the Middle Ages], Bucharest, 1999, pp. 229–246.

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Roman), ranging from Serbia to the Crimea.11 On the other hand, we know that Stephen had previously shown little regard for the Wallachians of Wallachia, even to the extent of describing them as ‘being for us like the Turks.’12

Stephen’s probable purpose was to take over eastern Wallachia, which would allow him to restore the so-called Angevin corridor of the 1350s that had connected Hungary, via Buzău and Oituz, to the line of the Danube between Târgul de Floci and Brăila.13 Despite Stephen’s use of the term of Moldo-Vlachia and his avoidance of the description of rumâni, his proclamations to the boyars were couched in uncompromising language, demanding nothing less than their submission to him. The consequence was inevitable. With Stephen III and Matthias backing rival candidates, and with Stephen having antagonised the east Wallachian boyars, the schemes of both fell apart. Vlad IV fled to Transylvania, the next year throwing in his lot with Stephen. Mircea, after a couple of months as nominal ruler, was by no later than November, ousted by Basarab IV, who with the support of the Ottomans recaptured all Wallachia. He fled to Moldavia and to obscurity.14

The same chain of events was repeated in July 1481. Despite the support shown on this occasion by Stephen for Vlad IV, the Moldavian–Hungarian campaign failed to keep him on the throne for more than a couple of weeks. In a letter written in August 1481 to Pope Sixtus IV, whose athleta Stephen remained ever since the winter of 1475–1476, Matthias argued that the cruelty of the Moldavians had led to this failure.15 Nevertheless, relations did not deteriorate completely to the level of 1474 when the armies of the two leaders had upon entering Wallachia started fighting each other rather

11 See, for instance, Matei Cazacu, ‘Un voyageur dans les pays roumains et son Histoire de la Moldavie: Leyon Pierce Balthasar von Campenhausen (1746–1808)’, in (eds) Ovidiu Cristea, Gheorghe Lazăr, Naţional şi universal în istoria românilor. Studii oferite profesorului Şerban Papacostea cu ocazia împlinirii a 70 de ani [National and Universal in the History of the Romanians: Festschrift for Prof Ş. P. on his 70th Birthday], Bucharest, 1997, pp. 402–417 (for documents in the old princely archive of Moldavia at pp. 401–402); Alexandru Simon, ‘Să nu ucizi o pasăre cântătoare: soarta unui fortissimus rei Christiane athleta în ochii Veneţiei’ [To Kill a Mocking Bird: The Fate of a fortissimus rei Christiane athleta in the Eyes of Venice], in (eds) Susana Andea, Ioan-Aurel Pop & Alexandru Simon, Pe urmele trecutului. Profesorului Nicolae Edroiu la 70 de ani [On the Tracks of the Past: Festschrift for Prof N. E. on his 70th Birthday], Cluj, 2009, pp. 159–169; Simon, ‘Langage et chantage: discours et idéologie croisées à Venise’, Ephemeris Dacoromana, 14, 2011, pp. 145–164. For how much has yet to be discovered, another example might be relevant. Apparently, the tradition (Gheorghe Asachi, ‘Valea Albă’ [The White Valley], in Asachi, Cântecul cignului [The Song of the Swan], ed. Elena Chiriac, Khishinev, 1998, pp. 280–320, here p. 302) that Stephen III was planning to retake Caffa with maritime support from the ‘Portuguese knights’ (i.e. the Order of Christ, the sole legitimate survivors of the Templar knights) can seemingly be confirmed on the basis of Milanese reports from Venice (e.g. Archivio di Stato di Milano, Milan (ASM), Archivio Ducale Sforzesco (A.D.S.), Potenze Estere, Venezia, cart. 365. 1477, fasc. 11. Novembre, nn; 14 November 1477).

12 MDE, 4, Appendix, no. 12, pp. 308–309 (1475). 13 Şerban Papacostea, ‘Începuturile politicii comerciale ale Ţării Româneşti şi Moldovei (secolele XIV–

XVI)’ [Genesis of the Commercial Policies of W. and M. (14th–16th Centuries], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 10, 1983, pp. 16–49 (pp. 25–31); Papacostea, ‘Politica externă a lui Ştefan cel Mare: opţiunea polonă (1459–1472)’ [The Foreign Policy of St. the Great: The Polish Option (1459–1472)], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 15, 2007, pp. 13–28.

14 Alexandru Simon, Ştefan cel Mare şi Matia Corvin. O coexistenţă medievală [S. the G. and Matthias Corvinus: A Medieval Coexistence], Cluj, 2007, pp. 304–305.

15 Actae et epistolae relationum Transylvaniae Hungariaeque cum Moldavia et Valachia (=Fontes Rerum Transsylvanicarum, IV, VI) ed. Endre Veress, 1, Budapest, 1914, nos. 26–27, 34, pp. 36–37; Ştefan Andreescu, ‘Autour de la dernière phase des rapports entre la Moldavie et Gênes’, Revue Roumaine d’Histoire, 21, no 2, 1982, pp. 257–282 (pp. 275–280).

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than the Turks.16 The 1475 ‘crusader treaty’ of Iaşi–Buda, which was the subject of extensive renegotiation between 1479 and 1481, was still held to be operable. In fact, it was a necessity since neither ruler had any other regional allies upon which to rely—since 1479, Venice, which had been Stephen’s main protector in the mid-1470s, was at peace with the Porte.

In order to understand the conflicting aims of 1480–1481, we need to revisit the political and institutional character of the principalities. As a consequence of the piecemeal way that they had been put together in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the territorial cohesion of the Romanian principalities was hard to maintain (their ‘statal age’ was that of Hungary and Poland in the early eleventh century, or at best the late twelfth).17 This made them potential targets for dismemberment. In the late 1460s, Matthias had attempted to partition Moldavia by ‘re-enforcing’ the so-called ‘Lower Country’, with the aim of securing the route to the Danube and Dniester.18 A decade later, he had aimed to divide Wallachia between Basarab IV and Vlad III Ţepeş (the Impaler), so as to bring Oltenia firmly into the Hungarian orbit (an older Hunyadi policy).19 In 1480–81, it seems that Stephen III was pursuing a similar policy, which was directed at the partition of Wallachia (it is uncertain whether this scheme was a personal initiative of his own or one that was worked out in collaboration with Matthias).

The Moldavian and Hungarian failures after the summer of 1480 were not the only setbacks at this time in the struggle against the Turks. In July 1480, the Ottomans captured Otranto, which belonged to Matthias’s father-in-law, Ferrante I of Naples. Meanwhile, both Matthias’s and Stephen’s negotiations with Mehmet II over the terms of a truce, broke down.20 These reverses opened the way for a new treaty between Stephen and Matthias, which was reported by Antonio Bonfini as part of a wider anti-Ottoman scheme.21 It was probably concluded in late March. In correspondence relating to the

16 Alexandru Simon, ‘The Arms of the Cross: Stephen the Great’s and Matthias Corvinus’ Christian Policies’, in (ed.) Simon, Between Worlds (=Mélanges d’Histoire Générale, NS, I), 2 vols, in (eds) László Koszta, Ovidiu Mureşan & Simon, 1. Stephen the Great, Matthias Corvinus and their Time, Cluj, 2007, pp. 45–86 (pp. 67–72);

17 This aspect of political growth in the two principalities might be useful to consider when discussing their subsequent ‘backwardness’.

18 For the Lower Country, see Şerban Papacostea, ‘Aux débuts de I'état moldave. Considerations en marge d' une nouvelle source’, Revue Roumaine d’Histoire, 12, no. 1, 1973, pp. 139–158; Alexandru Simon, ‘Moldova intre Vilnius si Moscova. Anii trecerii de la Roma la Constantinopol (1386–1388)’ [Mold. between Vilnius and Moscow: Trading Rome for Constantinople (1386–1388)], Studia Universitatis Babeş Bolyai. Series Historiae, 48, nos 1–2, 2003, pp. 3–56 (pp. 7–12, 20–21).

19 For Oltenia and Hunyadi policy, see Ştefan Andreescu, ‘L’action de Vlad Ţepeş dans le sud-est de l’Europe en 1476’, Revue des Études Sud-Est Européennes, 15, no. 2 1977, pp. 259–272 (pp. 265–269); Matei Cazacu, Dracula, Paris, 2004, esp. pp. 32–42; Alexandru Simon, Pământurile crucii: românii şi cruciada târzie [The Lands of the Cross: The Romanians and the Later Crusades], Cluj, 2012, pp. 129–216, 225–254.

20 For the Ottoman–Hungarian and Ottoman–Moldavian negotiations in the 1470s and 80s, see Sándor Papp, ‘Ştefan cel Mare, le roi Mattias et l”Empire ottoman’, in (eds) Faruk Bilici, Ionel Cândea & Anca Popescu, Enjeux politiques, économiques et militaires en Mer Noire (XIVe–XXIe siècles). Études à la mémoire de Mihail Guboglu, Brăila, 2007, pp. 363–390; Alexandru Simon, ‘Truces and Negotations between Bayezid II and Matthias Corvinus (1482–1484): Archival Notes’, Revista Arhivelor [Archives Review], 86, no. 2, 2010, pp. 39–45.

21 Antonius de Bonfinis [Bonfini], Rerum Ungaricarum decades, eds József Fógel, Béla Iványi & László Juhász, 5 vols, Leipzig, 1936–76, 4, p. 124.

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recovery of Otranto, Matthias wrote to the pope in April, portraying Stephen as the key to any anti-Ottoman offensive.22 The new treaty was, from Stephen’s point-of-view, far better than its predecessor of 1475 (for Bonfini too, the treaty of 1481 was a foedus between King Matthias and Stephen, the prince of Wallachia, not an act of obedience), but it did, nevertheless, imply his recognition of Vlad IV as the future ruler of Wallachia.

The omens for the new campaign were good, for in the wake of Mehmet’s death in May 1481, his sons had fallen to fighting over his legacy and thus there was a power vacuum in Constantinople. Even so, the new offensive in Wallachia, which started in July 1481, turned out to be a greater failure than that of 1480, and Basarab IV proved at first impossible to dislodge. In March 1482, Stephen took Crăciuna on the Moldavian–Wallachian border and, together with the forces of the voivode, Stephen Báthory, he pressed deep into Wallachia, overthrowing and killing Basarab. But a stunning Ottoman counter-offensive reduced these achievements to nought. Matthias now twisted the knife, ‘graciously’ aiding his ‘vassal’ Stephen and promising him shelter in Hungary.23

Stephen III’s position and relations with Hungary began to recover in the winter of 1482–1483 through the wedding of his daughter Helena to Ivan Ivanovici, heir to the Muscovite throne.24 The marriage contributed to the conclusion of an anti-Jagiello alliance between Matthias, Ivan III of Moscow and Stephen III (one of its aims seems even to have been the partition of Poland-Lithuania).25 Stephen, however, lacked the international context necessary to build on this success. His relations with the Papacy, caught in the War of Ferrara (1482–84) had deteriorated after the events of 1481; Stephen’s Venetian support had faded away after the Ottoman-Venetian peace of 1479; Matthias and Emperor Frederick III were once again at loggerheads; and the conclusion of the Moldavian–Hungarian–Muscovite alliance had increased Polish hostility towards Stephen.26 His ambitions in Wallachia similarly foundered. Vlad IV came to terms with

22 Actae et epistolae, I, no. 33, p. 34.23 This important correspondence is given in Masarykovy Universitni knihovny, Brno, Mk. 9. Mikulovsky

rukopis [The Mikulov MS], ff. 276r–277r (20 August 1482, and soon after that date). Copies are available: Magyar Országos Levéltár [Hungarian National Archive], Budapest, Filmtár [Microfilm Archive], Nehring Karl gyűjtése [Karl Nehring Collection], rolls. 30173–30174, unnumbered frames; Direcţia Judeţeană a Arhivelor Naţionale–Cluj [Nat. Romanian Archives–Cluj County Branch], Cluj, Documente medievale din Regatul Ungariei [Med. Documents from the K. of H.], rolls. XV–XVI, unnumbered frames. Matthias’ two letters to Stephen III (the first and most important is from 20 August 1482, while the second, which is basically an ‘appendix’ to the first, must have been issued before September) have been edited several times, but usually under 1475. See Vilmos Fraknói, Mátyás király levelei. Külügyi Osztály [Foreign Corr. of King M.], 2, Budapest, 1895, nos. 220–221, pp. 313–314.

24 See more generally on this, Matei Cazacu, ‘Aux sources de l’autocratie russe. Les influences roumaines et hongroises XVe–XVIe siècles’, Cahiers du Monde Russe et Sovietique, 24, nos 1–2, 1983, pp. 7–41; Dan Sluşanschi, ‘Princess Olena’s Safe-Conduct through Poland and Lithuania (1482)’, Revue Roumaine d’Histoire, 34, nos 1–2, 1995, pp. 195–199.

25 Nehring, ‘Quellen zur ungarischen Aussenpolitik’, no. 202, p. 118. See also P. P. Panaitescu, ‘Ştefan cel Mare în lumina cronicarilor contemporani din ţările vecine’ [S. the G. in the light of contemp. chronicles from neighbouring countries], Studii şi Cercetări Ştiinţifice. Istorie [Scientific Studies and Researches. History], 11, no. 2, 1960, pp. 199–226 (pp. 211–212, 219–220).

26 For an overview of the context, see also the information in Ovidiu Cristea, Acest domn de la Miazănoapte. Ştefan cel Mare în documente inedite veneţiene [That ruler from the North-West: St. the G. in unedited Venetian documents], Bucharest, 2004, pp. 89–98; Şerban Papacostea, ‘De la Colomeea la Codrii Cosminului (poziţia internaţională a Moldovei la sfârşitul secolului al XV–lea)’ [From Col. to Cod. Cos.: The Int. Position of M. at the End of the 15th Century], Romanoslavica , 17, 1970, pp. 525–554

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Sultan Bayezid, acknowledging his suzerainty, while the boyars in eastern Wallachia drew closer to the Wallachian throne.27 In 1484, Stephen was defeated by the Turks, losing Moldavia’s maritime frontier, which apparently at the time spread from the mouths of the Dniester and Danube to those of the Dnieper. He was forced for the time being to acknowledge the suzerainty of the Polish king, Casimir IV (1485). Pope Innocent VIII, however, soon freed him from the oath, for he wanted him to participate in a new crusade. In early 1489, Stephen made a new alliance with Matthias, the terms of which brought him substantial estates in Hungary.28

Yet what he did not achieve as the ruler of Moldo-Vlachia (1480) or as prince of Wallachia (1481), Stephen III accomplished in quite different fashion. Back in 1458, Matthias had on account of his Romanian descent been sneeringly referred to as the ‘regulus of the Wallachians’.29 Matthias had, however, embraced the title, to which humanists added the lustre of Roman ancestry. During the early 1490s, Stephen aided Wladislas II of Hungary against Tatar and Turkish incursions, in return for which he not only received from the king property in Transylvania but also the title of regulus Valachorum that had previously belonged to Matthias. The title was more than honorific, for it spoke to the resources that Stephen had at his command, which consisted of more than just those of Moldavia. What we will notice over the succeeding decade is how the notion of a unified regional power-bloc, incorporating Hungary, Poland, Wallachia and Moldavia30 entered into political discourse and how the Moldavian contribution to this new configuration began to be conceived even in the terms of the reconstitution of Roman Dacia. Partly, this arose from contingent circumstances, which had brought the former parts of Dacia back together again. In 1473, Frederick III appointed Stephen as his nominal governor or captain in Wallachia (for much of his reign, Stephen claimed the Wallachian throne either as his own or at his disposal). 31 In 1490, after Matthias’s

27 See Ovidiu Cristea & Marian Coman, ‘A Late Fifteenth Century Controversy at the Moldavian–Wallachian Frontier: An Incident Analysis’, in this volume, pp. 101–19.

28 Alexandru Simon, ‘The Contested Sultan: The Backgrounds of Bayezid II’s Moldavian Campaign of 1484’, Eurasian Studies, 7, 2009, pp. 127–134.

29 Alexandru Simon, ‘Crăişorii valahilor din a doua jumătate a secolului al XV–lea’ [The King-pins of the Wall. from the 2nd Half of the 15th Century], Crisia, 40, 2010, pp. 159–67.

30 E.g. at the turn of the century, during the new Venetian-Ottoman war (1499–1503), papal ‘crusader lyrics’ customised ‘the kingdoms of Hungary and Poland, and the Wallachians’ as the anti-Ottoman attacking force in the East (for instance: Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City, Miscellanea, Armadi, [reg.] II-30, ff. 136 (141)v–146 (151)v; 28 November1500; edited based on the copy in [reg.] II-7, ff. 616 (620)r–639 (643)r, under 18 November, by Edgár Artner, ‘Magyarország mint a nyugati keresztény művelődés védőbástyája’: a Vatikánai Levéltárnak azok okiratai, melyek őseinknek a Keletről Europát fenyegeto veszedelmek ellen kifejtett erőfeszitéséire vonatkoznak (cca. 1214–1606) [H., the Bulwark of Western Christ.: Documents from the Sec. Vat. Arch.], eds Kornél Szovág et al., Budapest & Rome, 2004, no. 123, pp. 147–156.

31 See here Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Wien, Handschriftensammlung, Hs. W[eiss]. 529, f. 261r (6th of November 1473; in (eds) Heinrich Koller, Paul-Joachim Heinig & Alois Niederstätter, Regesten Kaiser Friedrich III. (1440–1493). Nach Archiven und Bibliotheken geordnet (=J[ohannes]. F[riedrich] Böhmer Regesta Imperii, XIII), (eds) Paul-Joachim Heinig & Ines Grund, supl. 2/1. Das Taxregister der römischen Kanzlei 1471–1475 (Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv Wien, Hss. weiss 529 & weiss 920), Vienna-Cologne-Graz-Weimar, 2002 (Regesten Friedrich), no. 3539, p. 523).

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death, Frederick III and his son, Maximilian, invested Stephen with Transylvania.32 The idea of a revived Dacia was particularly promoted in the Venetian administration (Stephen resumed in 1492 the Venetian title of ‘eastern captain’),33 through the formula, Hungaria, Polania, Dacia et Croatia (Croatia was added as an afterthought, mainly under Habsburg pressure).34 The name of Dacia was, indeed, to remain a feature of Venetian diplomatic discourse for three decades, until it was overtaken by events.35 It fell on fertile soil. Whereas in Wallachia, political discourse tended to revolve around which principality was the ‘Greater’, in Moldavia a more historicised identity was in the process of formation. This was understood at the time. When, therefore, Matthias’s men ‘excavated’ the old capital of Roman Dacia at Sarmizegethusa Ulpia Traiana, the king sent some of the stones that had been dug up there to Stephen III, who subsequently incorporated them in the rebuilt princely palace at Suceava.36

Following the triumph or ‘conspiracy’37 of Stephen III and Maximilian over the Jagiellons in 1497, the revived Dacia seemed to have transcended its mythic construction. Moldavia, Greater Wallachia (Muntenia) and Little Wallachia (Oltenia) were now considered a potential power-bloc that might be used to further Habsburg ambitions.

32 Friedrich Firnhaber, ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte Ungarns unter der Regierung der Könige Wladislaus II. und Ludwig II. (1490–1526)’, Archiv für Kunde Österreichischer Geschichts-Quellen, 2, no. 2 (3), (1849), pp. 375–551, at no. 10, pp. 410–411 (also in Actae et epistolae, no. 38, p. 42–43).

33 Monumenta Historica Slavorum Meridionalum vicinorumque populorum e tabularis et bibliothecis italicis derompta, 1/2. Genua, Mantua, Mediolanum, Panormus et Taurinum, ed. Viaceslav Makusev, Belgrade, 1882, no. 15, p. 137

34 The formula Hungaria, Polania, Dacia et Croatia (ASVe, S.S., Deliberazioni) first appeared in reg. 37. 1496–1497 (but including events up to 1 March 1498, when the new Venetian year began). The formula is therefore subsequent to Stephen III’s and Maximilian I’s ‘conspiracy’, which saved Stephen III’s throne (he was to have been deposed and replaced with Sigismund, the future king of Poland, who was the youngest of Casimir IV’s sons), and which nearly brought down the house of Jagiello. A regional compromise was reached only in the summer of 1499. It is therefore noteworthy that initially the formula had only three components, Croatia being added afterwards by means of an atque: Hungaria, Polania et Dacia <atque Croatia>. Bohemia and, initially, Croatia were omitted because they were conjoined to Hungary through the person of the ruler; Lithuania is also not mentioned, presumably it was subsumed within Poland.

35 Dacia disappeared from the Venetian registers after the Hungarian (and Moldavian) events of 1526–1529. At first, in March 1528 (ASVe, S.S., Deliberazioni, reg. 52. 1527 [more Veneto 1528], the formula was diluted (Hungaria, Bohemia, Polonia, Datia et Crovatia et Moscovia), and then, in March 1530 (reg. 53. 1528–1529 [more Veneto 1530), contracted for good (to Hungaria, Dalmatia et Croatia). Meanwhile, in 1529, Peter IV Rareş of Moldavia had come to John Zápolya’s aid in Transylvania (thus severing the link between Suceava and Vienna) and the Ottomans had besieged Vienna.

36 Inscripţiile Daciei Romane [The Inscriptions of Roman Dacia], ed. Ioan I. Russu, 3, part 2 (Dacia Superior), Bucharest, 1980, pp. 11, 253; no 416. The ‘special gift’ was made by Matthias to Stephen III, either at the time of the 1481 foedus, or in 1489, following the Hungarian-Moldavian treaty, perhaps on the occasion of the marriage between Alexander, Stephen’s Moldavian heir, and Mary, the daughter of Bartholomew Dragffy, Matthias’s trustee and future voivode of Transylvania, as well as the descendant of Dragoş family from Maramureş, who, loyal to the Angevines, had been chased away from Moldavia by Bogdan I, Stephen III’s ancestor, in the 1360s. (It is noteworthy that after the death of Bogdan III in April, in September 1517, the influential cardinal Thomas Bakócz tried to gain control not only of the estates of Alexander’s and Mary’s daughter, but perhaps also of Moldavia).

37 ‘Conspiracy’ was the designation used in the entourage of the influential Venetian-educated Hungarian prelate, Thomas Bakócz, leader of the royal party in the kingdom (Ioan-Aurel Pop & Alexandru Simon, ‘Moldova şi celălalt Imperiu: Preliminariile şi consecinţele conspiraţiei lui MaximilianI de Habsburg şi Ştefan cel Mare (1497)’ [M. and the Other Empire: The Preliminaries and the Consequences of the Conspiracy of Max. I of Habsburg and S. the G. (1497)], in (eds) Ovidiu Cristea & Gheorghe Lazăr, Vocaţia istoriei. Prinos profesorului Şerban Papacostea [The Vocation of History: Festschrift for Prof. Ş. P.], Brăila, 2008, pp. 331–406.

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This at least was the understanding in Vienna and in Maximilian’s own subsequent designs. 38 If we are to trust Milanese and Spanish reports from 1498 that declared the Wallachians (meaning most likely Stephen’s men, and not the actual Wallachian or Romanian nobility in the kingdom) controlled ‘half’ of Hungary, then the new Dacia may also have included Transylvania.39 After Stephen’s and John Corvin’s deaths (1504), Jagiellon Cracow feared that the Wallachian nobility of Transylvania would generally adhere to a pro-Habsburg orientation,40 although they would after 1526 often throw in their lot with Zápolya. Maximilian certainly regarded Stephen as ‘his man’ in eastern Hungary (after all, he was one of the greatest landowners of the realm through the Transylvanian estates granted to him and his heirs by Matthias and confirmed by Wladislas II) 41 and thus a counterweight to Jagiellon power in Central and Eastern Europe. The problem was, however, that Wallachia did not convincingly fit this scheme. Reborn under Vlad IV and Radu IV, and pushed further by Neagoe Basarab, Wallachia under the rule of its newly-confident princes undermined the ‘Dacian’, hegemonic construct that emanated from Suceava and Vienna.42 The aim of the princes of Wallachia was to make good their claims in Transylvania and render Moldavia an annex of their own power, as a new ‘Little Wallachia’. After 1523, Stephen IV of Moldavia sought in

38 E.g. HHStA, Reichsregisterbücher, reg. JJ, f. 265r–v [March–July 1495; calendared in (ed) Hermann Wiesflecker, Ausgewählte Regesten des Kaiserreiches unter Maximilian I, 1493-1519 ((=J[ohannes]. F[riedrich] Böhmer Regesta Imperii, XIV). 2nd series, Österreich, Reich und Europa, (eds) Christa Beer, Manfred Hollegger, Kurt Riedl, Hermann Wiesflecker, Ingeborg Wiesflecker-Friedhuber, 1. 1493–1495, Vienna–Cologne–Weimar, 1989 (Regesten Maximilian), no. 1481, p. 159; ibid, 3. 1499–1501, same eds, place, date, no. 9638, p. 134; no. 10865, p. 315; no. 12404, p. 513; ibid, 4, 1502–1504, (eds) Hermann Wiesflecker, Christa Beer, Manfred Hollegger, Vienna–Cologne–Weimar, 2004, no. 18144, p. 406; HHStA, Reichshofkanzlei (R.H.K.), Maximiliana, Karton 41. Undatiert, fasc. 34–III. Auswärtige Staaten.12.Türken, ff. 23r–24v, 40r–41r [after the 14th of May 1501].

39 ASM, A.D.S., Potenze estere, Illiria, Polonia, Russia, Slavonia, cart. 640, fasc. [1.] Iliria, nn (4 March, 27 May 1498); Regesten Maximilian, 1/2. 1496–1498, (eds) Manfred Hollegger, Kurt Riedl & Ingeborg Wiesflecker-Friedhuber, Vienna–Cologne–Weimar, 1993, no. 5898, p. 293 (22 February 1498). Based on the few solid evidences surviving from the end of the 1400s (see Johann-Christian Engel, Geschichte des Ungrischen Reiches und seiner Nachbarländer, I, Halle, 1797, p. 149; András Kubinyi, ‘Die Bevölkerung des Königreichs Ungarn am Ende des 15. Jarhunderts’, in Kubinyi, König und Volk im spätmittelalterlichen Ungarn. Städteentwicklung, Alltagsleben und Regierung im mittelalterlichen Königreich Ungarn, Herne, 1998, pp. 148–83), the Wallachian population of Transylvania is unlikely to have exceeded 20–25% of the whole, yet up to half of this population, whether as individual Wallachian noblemen, or as communities, enjoyed a series of privileges, especially those given by John Hunyadi and Matthias Corvinus. For this nobility, see Ioan Drăgan, Nobilimea românească din Transilvania. 1440–1514 [The Romanian Nobility in Trans.], Bucharest, 2000, pp. 331–332.

40 Acta Alexandri Regis Poloniae, magni ducis Lithuaniae, etc. (1501–1506) (=Monumenta Medii aevi res gestas Poloniae illustrantia, XIX), ed. Fryderik Papée, Krakow, 1927, no. 305, p. 515.

41 See, for example, Ignácz Ácsády, Régi magyar birtokviszonyok 1494–1598 [Old Feudal Hungarian Relations. 1494–1598] (offprint of Értekezések a Történelmi Tudományok Köréből [Proceedings of the Historical Section <of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences>], XVI, 3), Budapest 1894, pp. 24, 32, 38.

42 E.g. Alexandru Simon, ‘Descreşterea Moldovei sub Bogdan III şi ridicarea Ţării Româneşti sub Neagoe Basarab’ [The Decline of Moldavia under Bogdan III and the Rise of Wallachia under Neagoe Basarab], in (ed) Nicolae Caba, Sfântul voievod Neagoe Basarab. 1512–2012 [The Holy Voivode Neagoe Basarab], Bucharest, 2012, pp. 431–460; Papacostea, ‘Politica externă’, pp. 22–24.

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Vienna’s name to resurrect the days of his grandfather.43 The collapse of the kingdom of Hungary in 1526 and Stephen’s own death the next year put paid to these ambitions.

43 For Vienna’s links to Stephen IV, see for instance HHStA, R.H.K., Grosse Korrespondenz, Karton [fasc.] 25a. 1523–1563, fasc. 5. Andrea de Burgo an Erzherzog Ferdinand, ff. 24r–v, 41r–42v, 76r, 217r, 286r–287r, 300r–301r; fasc. 6. Johann Schneitpeck an Erzherzog Ferdinand], ff. 152r–153r, 333r–334r (11, 16 April, after 5 May, 12 May, 24 June, 4 July 1523; 1, 29 May 1524).

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A Late Fifteenth Century Controversy on the Moldavian-Wallachian Frontier:

An Incident Analysis

Ovidiu Cristea and Marian Coman

This article aims to scrutinise one of the most intriguing late medieval Romanian sources: two letters sent by the Moldavian prince, Stephen, to the Wallachian border communities in order to gain their support for his protégé, Mircea, who claimed the Wallachian throne. Stephen’s proposal fell on deaf ears, as the Wallachians rejected their powerful neighbour’s request, writing a harsh and ironic rebuff on the verso of Stephen’s own letter. This four piece correspondence actually consists of two texts, as both Stephen’s two letters and the Wallachians’ two replies, share an almost identical content. Although this correspondence is well known—it has already been edited four times—an in-depth analysis of its content, especially of its rhetoric of building and contesting legitimacy, is still to be done.1

There are several reasons why previous historians have been so reluctant to comment on these sources.2 Firstly, modern Romanian scholarship felt uneasy about engaging a source that brought to light medieval conflicts between Moldavians and Wallachians.

1 The authors are most grateful to Bogdan Florin Popovici of the National Archives in Braşov for his kindness in providing facsimiles of the four letters. The letters are preserved in the Stenner collection, the Slavonic-Romanian section, docs 447 and 448. The letters are edited in: Stoica Nicolaescu, Documente slavo-române cu privire la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti şi Moldovei cu Ardealul în secolele XV şi XVI [Slavonic Romanian docs on relations between W., M. and Trans. in the 15–16 c.] Bucharest, 1905, nos. 56–59; Ioan Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească în secolele XV şi XVI [Docs on rels between W. and Braşov and the Hung. lands in the 15–16 c], Bucharest, 1905, no. 229; Ioan Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan cel Mare [Docs of S. the G.], vol. 2, Bucharest, 1913, no. 162; and Grigore G. Tocilescu, 534 documente istorice slavo–române din Ţara Românească şi Moldova privitoare la legăturile cu Ardealul 1346–1603 [534 Slavonic Romanian docs from W. and M. on relations with Trans.], Bucharest, 1931, nos 397, 398, 492, 493.

2 The only attempt at analysing this correspondence, and a rather disappointing one, belongs to Aneta Boiangiu, ‘Scrisoarea lui Ştefan cel Mare către buzoieni’, [Letter of S. the G. to Buzau], Mousaios, 3,1981, pp. 73–76. Other historians, such as Ioan Bogdan, Nicolae Iorga, Gheorghe Brătianu, Matei Cazacu, Ştefan Gorovei, Leon Şimanschi, Constantin Rezachevici and Bogdan Murgescu, have also touched on these letters. For reference to these, see the subsequent footnotes.

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A preliminary version of this paper was presented at the 12th Putna Colloquia (Putna, July 2012). The authors thank the organisers and the participants at this conference, especially Ştefan Gorovei and Maria Magdalena Székely for their insightful comments and suggestions. This article was written with the support of the research grant Romanian Principalities as ‘Frontier Societies’ and the Later Crusades (15th–16th c.) awarded by the Romanian National Research Council (CNCS – UEFISCDI, IDEI, project PN–II–ID PCE–2011–3–0309).

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Furthermore, most historians identified the Moldavian lord that was explicitly mocked by the Wallachians in their reply, with Stephen the Great, a national hero, who has in addition recently become a saint.3 Nevertheless, national bias is only a part of the answer. Even those historians who have approached this correspondence from a different interpretative framework have found it difficult to grasp all its connotations and implications.

To put it bluntly, these letters are particularly odd. Not only are they the sole extant pieces of a presumably far more extensive, fifteenth-century Wallachian–Moldavian correspondence, but also the sarcastic style of the Wallachians’ reply makes them even more unusual. In addition, successive attempts at placing the letters in a convincing, factual chain of events have failed, as they are undated. Consequently, most of the controversies have focused on the problem of their dating. The names mentioned in the letters, Stephen, Mircea and Basarab, are hardly of any use, as several Moldavian and Wallachian princes and pretenders to the throne in the fifteenth and early sixteenth century bore these names. Thus, the Wallachian lord Basarab could have been Basarab II (1442–1443), Basarab III (1473–1477), Basarab IV (1477–1482) or Basarab V (1512–1521).4 Similarly, the Moldavian prince, Stephen, could equally have been Stephen II (1434–1447), Stephen III (1457–1504) or Stephen IV (1517–1527). Certainly, a close reading can invalidate some of these hypothetical identifications, all of which have been suggested by different historians. Nonetheless, the sole reliable criterion in assessing these hypotheses is the palaeographic one. As Ioan Bogdan has convincingly argued, based on their external features, the letters can be dated in the last decades of the fifteenth century.5 Yet, this still leaves the matter unsettled and dependent upon the precise chronology of Stephen III’s relations with Wallachia, which is in itself a highly controversial subject.

Throughout this article we will try to find a way around the problem of dating and focus instead on the actual content of the letters. Our claim is that even without a precise dating, which sometimes proves to be a deceptive desideratum,6 the texts reveal both the stakes at play, as well as different means of building and contesting legitimacy. Methodologically, we aim to use incident analysis7 in order to explore the legitimising strategies, with a special focus on the similarities and differences between Moldavian

3 Stephen the Great was canonised by the Romanian Orthodox Church in 1992. For an overview of the national bias in modern Romanian scholarship, see Lucian Boia, History and Myth in Romanian Consciousness, Budapest, 2001. For Stephen the Great’s legacy as a Romanian and Moldavian ‘ethnosymbol’, see Jonathan Eagles, The Reign, Culture and Legacy of Ştefan cel Mare, Voivode of Moldavia: a Case Study of Ethnosymbolism in Romanian Societies, 2 vols, unpublished PhD dissertation, University College London, 2011 (online version available through UCL Discovery portal).

4 This list could easily be extended by including lesser known figures, such as the Wallachian lord, also named Basarab, who fought alongside the Ottomans in the battle of Baskent. See Ovidiu Cristea & Nagy Pienaru, ‘Ţara Românească, Moldova şi bătălia de la Başkent’ [W., M., and the battle of B.], Analele Putnei, 8, 2012, pp. 17–36.

5 See Ioan Bogdan’s comments on the two editions of the letters, from 1905 and 1913, given above.6 One should remember that not even dated documents can escape controversy. To give only one example

from approximately the same period, see Nicolae Iorga’s sound scepticism with regard to the accurate date of Queen Beatrix of Hungary’s letters from 9 July 1480, in Nicolae Iorga, Studii și documente cu privire la istoria românilor [Studies and docs on the hist. of the Romanians], vol. 3, Bucharest, 1901, p. xxxix.

7 For the use of ‘incident analysis’ as a methodological tool, see William J. Connell & Giles Constable, Sacrilege and Redemption in Renaissance Florence: The Case of Antonio Rinaldeschi, Toronto, 2005.

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and Wallachian political discourses. At the same time, our approach investigates the main political actors that shaped the relationship between the two neighbouring realms in the late fifteenth century. Since the names mentioned in the letters do not entirely correspond to the real agents that had a part in these events, we have decided to set apart, from the very start, the nominal actors from the actual makers and doers.

For instance, Basarab, the ruling prince of Wallachia, is only a distant presence in these events. Although he was nominally brought into play by his nobles, there is no sound evidence that he was personally involved in any way in the events described. Moreover, as we shall further argue, the border nobles were less attached to their ruling lord than has been previously thought. It was therefore decided not to include him in the analysis. Similarly, the pretender’s mother seems to play an important part in this controversy, but only as a caricature of ‘an easy woman’. Thus, her figure is simply a tool in the hands of his son’s adversaries, who attacked her morals in order to challenge Mircea’s dynastic legitimacy. The only two historical references to her—the pejorative nickname, Călţuna, and the sarcastic innuendo about her sexual reputation among the fishermen from the port of Brăila—come from the Wallachian nobles’ reply. Obviously, Călţuna was not a player, but rather a victim in this game. In contrast to Basarab and Călţuna, whose names are clearly mentioned, other participants are less visible, but, nevertheless, far more important. Firstly, there are the nameless scribes, unfairly ignored, as they have been regarded as simple tools writing down the words of the men who actually wielded power. Nevertheless, as we shall see, the scribes had a power of their own. Thus, an investigation on how these letters were physically written, and by whom, may serve to elucidate their true meaning. Last but not least, the discrete, but ubiquitous presence of Saxons from Braşov should be taken into account. Although there is no specific reference to them in the content of the letters, this correspondence has miraculously survived only due to the Saxons’ archive. Placed in the immediate vicinity of the Wallachian–Moldavian borderland, the Saxons from Braşov carefully surveyed this region, in which they had major economic interests. Hence, they represent the most hidden and enigmatic player in this drama.

To summarise, our analysis will focus on the five major, individual and collective, players: Stephen III of Moldavia, the Wallachian border nobles, Mircea the pretender, the scribes and, finally, the Saxons of Braşov. Our goal is to view these players through the prism of two opposing discourses of legitimisation: the Moldavian one arguing for and the Wallachian one arguing against Mircea’s claim to the throne.

Stephen III, the lord of MoldaviaStephen’s attempt to install one of his own protégés on the Wallachian throne is perfectly consistent with his strategy during the 1470s and early 1480s. Historians have usually viewed Stephen’s successive attempts to control Wallachia as a part of his larger anti-Ottoman policy and his support of Mircea’s claim to the throne to be in this respect unexceptionable. Although this hypothesis is reasonable enough, it is nothing more than speculation, as no reference to the Ottomans is made either in Stephen’s letters or in the Wallachian nobles’ replies. Thus, instead of pursuing this line of interpretation, we have decided to stick as closely as possible to the text. Accordingly, our analysis focuses

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on the terms used by the Moldavian lord to define his power and his interests before a Wallachian audience.

Given this context, the absence of any reference in Stephen’s letters to his previous interventions in Wallachia should be underlined.8 This omission is perfectly understandable, as the record of Stephen’s interference in Wallachian politics, which was sometimes directed specifically at the borderland regions, is violent and bloody. There is, however, a sentence that could be read as a reference to recent events in Wallachian–Moldavian relations. In the proposal he had made to his Wallachian neighbours, the Moldavian lord felt the need to include a formal guarantee of security: ‘thus you shall know that I mean no harm and no injury to anyone, but you shall continue to live and nourish yourselves peacefully.’ Although, the letters make no explicit threats, they could scarcely be considered an exercise in captatio benevolentiae. They look more like a bald statement of fact, which partly explains the vehemence of the Wallachian replies.

The title Stephen assumed for the letters was a standard one, except for the name of the realm itself: ‘by the grace of God, ruler and lord of the entire Moldo-Vlachian realm.’ This choice of name, instead of the usual one of ‘Moldavian realm’, was certainly no accident. The Wallachian nobles’ reply was unceremoniously addressed to the ‘Moldavian lord,’ which implicitly suggests the deliberate rejection of Stephen’s self-assumed title.9 As for the possible meanings of the name ‘Moldo-Vlachian realm’, the most useful guide is Ştefan S. Gorovei’s systematic analysis of Stephen the Great’s intitulatio.10 The name of Moldo-Vlachia is of Byzantine origin and was assigned to the ecclesiastical province of Moldavia at the beginning of the fifteenth century. The name of ‘the Moldo-Vlachian realm’ (zemlia moldovlaska) was intermittently used in fifteenth-century Slavonic charters issued by the Moldavian chancellery and, according to Gorovei, might have its equivalent in Latin charters as terrae Moldaviae.11 Gorovei’s hypothesis is that both the Slavonic and the Latin names echo the making of the Moldavian state through the merging of several, different, polities. Coming back to the letters addressed by Stephen to the Wallachian border communities, the key question is whether ‘Moldo-Vlachian realm’ did mean something more than just Moldavia. The question is entirely justified, as the two neighbouring realms had already been in dispute over the name of ‘the Greater Wallachia’. Thus, one might even suppose that Stephen’s

8 For comparison, see Stephen the Great’s correspondence with a noble criminal, Mihul, in which the Moldavian lord overtly states that he will erase ‘all memory of wrong doing’. See Ioan Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan cel Mare, vol. 2, no. 123. Obviously, Stephen used a double standard, erasing the moments when he was the aggressor, but magnanimously forgiving, and thus reminding, those when he was the injured party.

9 Although the adjectival form of the intitulatio—the Moldavian lord instead of the lord of Moldavia—might seem disparaging, one should remember that the Wallachian lords themselves frequently assumed such a title in their correspondence. See Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul, nos 189, 200 et seq.

10 Ştefan S. Gorovei, ‘Titlurile lui Ștefan cel Mare. Tradiţie diplomatică și vocabular politic,’ [The titles of S. the G. Diplomatic tradition and political vocab.], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 23, 2005, pp. 41–78.

11 This was only the third name given by the Byzantine patriarchy to the Moldavian diocese, as the first two, mentioned in document from 1395, had been Ruso-Wallachia and Mauro-Wallachia. For a comparative analysis of the Wallachian and Moldavian use of the Byzantine names of the two dioceses, see Marian Coman, Putere şi teritoriu. Ţara Româneascǎ medievalǎ (sec. XIV–XVI) [Power and Territory: Med. W.], Iaşi, 2013, pp. 55–63.

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goal was to settle once and for all the rivalry between the two Valachiae, Moldavia and Wallachia. Throughout the late medieval period the Moldavian lords repeatedly claimed the name of Wallachia for their own realm, and implicitly denied it to their neighbours. Moreover, no later than two decades after Stephen’s death, the Wallachian lord, Radu V, and the Moldavian one, Stephen IV, overtly disputed the title of ‘great voievode of Wallachia’.12 In this respect, the Mircea affair seems to have been only one episode in a much longer history of rivalry between Moldavia and Wallachia.

Suggestively, in the letters sent to the Wallachian border communities, the Moldavian lord also chose an unusual label to name the neighbouring realm: Vlaska zemlia. This name, although it was frequently used in the Wallachian sources, is hardly ever attested to in the Moldavian ones.13 One might suppose that by opting for a name that was familiar to his audience, instead of employing the usual Moldavian names for Wallachia—the Basarab Realm or the Mountain Realm—Stephen simply made a compromise. Nevertheless, this assumption scarcely stands closer examination, as the overall tone of the letter is hardly concessionary. The key to the understanding of the unusual choice of names given to the two realms in these letters is precisely their pairing: zemlia moldovlaska/ vlaska zemlia. As we shall further see, this pairing corresponds to the symbolic father/son relation that Stephen aimed to establish between himself and his protégé, the would-be Wallachian lord. Accordingly, the Wallachian nobles’ decision to address their reply to the ‘Moldavian lord’ showed that they were not willing to accept the idealised relationship between a Moldo-Vlachia, ruled by the father, and a Wallachia, ruled by the son. Furthermore, the sarcastic references to Călţuna’s low morals seriously disturbed the filial bond between Stephen and Mircea. Thus, the parallel could be pushed even further, with the Wallachian nobles viewing Stephen’s political suggestion to be as equally illegitimate as Mircea’s bastard origins. Interestingly, the Wallachian nobles did not question the symbolic filiation between Stephen and Mircea. They only pointed out that, if there really was such a strong bond between the two, Stephen should simply designate Mircea as his successor to the Moldavian throne. This, undoubtedly, ironic suggestion emphatically rejected Stephen’s claims to being acknowledged as the ‘father’ of the Wallachian lord, and, implicitly, of the realm.

The symbolic filiation proposed by Stephen and dismissed by the Wallachian nobles was a rhetorical device used in political Wallachian discourse. In the same period, the last decades of the fifteenth century, the Wallachian archbishop wrote to the Transylvanian voivode, Stephen Báthory (1479–1493), using similar terms.14 In contrast to the border nobles’ rejection of the Moldavian lord’s claims, the archbishop fully acknowledged the symbolic filiation between Stephen Báthory and Basarab IV. To quote the archbishop’s words, the two neighbouring realms could ‘enjoy peace’ as a direct consequence of this bond. Therefore, a legitimate and rightful bond between two rulers might lead to

12 See Şerban Papacostea, ‘Politica externă a lui Ştefan cel Mare: opţiunea polonă (1459–1472)’ [Foreign policy of S. the G.: Polish alternatives], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 25, 2007, pp. 13–28.

13 See Marian Coman, ‘Terminologie statală medievală şi rivalitatea moldo-munteană (secolele XV–XVI)’ [Med. terminology of statehood and Mold.–Wall. Rivalry, 15th–16th c.], in Vocaţia Istoriei. Prinos Profesorului Şerban Papacostea [Festschrift for Ş. P.], eds Gheorghe Lazăr & Ovidiu Cristea, Brăila, 2008, pp. 407–422.

14 See Grigore G. Tocilescu, 534 documente, no. 371.

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peaceful times, while a bastard and unlawful one could only bring turmoil and confusion. And, according to the Wallachian border nobles, the connection between Stephen of Moldavia and Mircea fell into the second category.

A key question in understanding Stephen’s correspondence with the Wallachian borders communities relates to the number and the identity of the addressees. Why did Stephen send a single message, by means of two letters, to three addressees? According to Nicolae Iorga, and more recently Constantin Rezachevici, the two letters are only the extant part of a considerable larger correspondence, as Stephen had probably sent similar proposals to all the Wallachian nobles in each of the counties of the realm.15 There are, however, at least two major objections to this hypothesis. Firstly, sending out more than a dozen letters would have implied much higher costs, not to mention the actual difficulties of reaching the addressees. Moreover, the logistical impediments were far more important than the potential advantages that Stephen could have hoped for. For instance, it is hard to believe that the Moldavian lord was actually hoping for some support from the nobles in western Wallachia, such as those from Mehedinţi. Secondly, the naming of the addressees given in the two extant letters invalidates the hypothesis of a standardised form. Stephen sent one of the letters to the community in the Brăila region, while the other was sent to those in Râmnic and Buzău. Obviously, if Stephen had sent identical letters to all Wallachian communities, than each addressee would correspond to a specific county community. Therefore, in his undertaking to install Mircea on the Wallachian throne, it seems more plausible that the Moldavian lord made an attempt at gaining the support of the border communities. His decision to address two different letters, one to Brăila and the other to Buzău and Râmnic, could have two possible explanations. Firstly, it might well be that Stephen was expecting different reactions from the two borderland regions. Unfortunately, the sources are scarce, but one might assume that Stephen was far closer to Buzău and Râmnic than he was to Brăila, especially considering that he had set the town of Brăila on fire in 1470.16 Secondly, Stephen was probably addressing his letters to the gathering groups of the border nobles, which constituted the eastern march army of Wallachia—hence, his explicit injunction to ‘return to your homes.’ Certainly, at the time of the border nobles’ reply, the army had already been gathered, which explains why the two Wallachian replies are almost identical.

Surprisingly, Stephen makes almost no effort to advocate Mircea’s claims to the Wallachian throne. Instead of a carefully elaborated argument, Stephen brashly asserts Mircea’s rights by stating that ‘God knows, as you well know, that Wallachia is his lawful inheritance.’ This rhetorical appeal to divine knowledge is typical of Moldavian and Wallachian sources from the later Middle Ages. Thus, the stock phrase, ‘God knows’, has a twofold meaning. On the one hand, it might refer to the limits of the human

15 See Nicolae Iorga, Istoria românilor [Hist. of the R.], vol. 4, eds Stela Cheptea & Vasile Neamţu, Bucharest, 1996, p. 146; Constantin Rezachevici, Cronologia critică a domnilor din Țara Românească și Moldova 1324–1881 [Critical Chronology of the rulers of W. and M.], vol. 1. Secolele XIV–XVI, Bucharest, 2001, p. 123.

16 Instead, Stephen financed the building of a church in Râmnicul Sărat, probably in the 1480s. See Alexandru Lapedatu, O biserică a lui Ştefan cel Mare în Ţara Românească [The church of S. the G. in W.], Buletinul Comisiei Monumentelor Istorice, 3, 1910, pp. 107–109.

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knowledge. On the other, the phrase might be read as a call upon God, who was the fundamental source of all human knowledge. The two meanings may be distinguished according to the tense used in the subordinate clause that usually follows. When the subordinate clause refers to the past or to the present, as is the case in Stephen’s letters, the predominant meaning is the second one. Thus, God is summoned, both as a witness and a judge, to confirm Stephen’s assertion.17 Consequently, the Moldavian lord called a halt to any discussion of Mircea’s legitimacy before it had even begun.

This rhetorical strategy further demonstrates the imperative tone of the letter, which becomes unambiguous when Stephen sets an immediate deadline for the Wallachian nobles: ‘the moment you read this letter of mine, that very moment, you shall return to your homes.’ In contrast to these explicit requests, Stephen’s promises to provide benefits to those nobles who were willing to join him in his attempt to raise Mircea to the throne, are vague and equivocal: ‘those of you that come to me and to Mircea, voivode, my son, will be rewarded by me and by my son, Mircea, voivode, and we will give them gifts; we will feed them and honour them.’18

To conclude, Stephen, who styled himself lord of Moldo-Vlachia and father of the rightful lord of Wallachia, addressed the border nobles from the neighbouring realm as if they were his own subjects. Thus, Stephen’s letters represent not only an attempt to elicit support for his protégé, but also to highlight the unequal relationship between the two realms, with Moldavia having the superior standing.

The Wallachian border noblesUnlike the Moldavian lord, whose character and personality are well known, the other chief player in this drama, the Wallachian border nobles, remain a mystery. Not a single name of those nobles who so insolently replied to Stephen’s proposal is documented. Nonetheless, they can still be analysed as a group, starting with the different descriptions assigned to them, both in the Moldavian proposal and in the Wallachian reply.

Thus, Stephen addressed his letters to ‘all noblemen, greater or lesser,’ to ‘all sheriffs and judges’, and to ‘all commoners, from the least to the greatest’, ‘living in the entire county of Brăila’ or, in the second letter, ‘in the entire county of Buzău and Râmnic’. Although the Wallachians’ reply preserved this threefold structure, the last two social categories were differently named. Thus, the answer was written in the name of ‘all the nobles from Brăila (Buzău and Râmnic), from all the knezes and from all the Wallachians.’ Therefore, if we place in a mirror the Moldavian and Wallachian socio–political terminology used in this correspondence, we get the following three pairs: (1) ‘all the noblemen, greater or lesser’/ ‘all the nobles’; (2) ‘all sheriffs and judges’/

17 For similar examples in Wallachian sources, see the phrase ‘God knows and He believes me’, to be found in a noble’s letter sent to the Saxons from Braşov, in 1435. See DRH D, 1, no. 211. For similar examples in fifteenth-century Wallachian sources, see Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, nos. 224, 226. For two Moldavian examples from the end of the sixteenth century—‘God knows what is happening’ and ‘God knows that, from the very beginning, I didn’t want to be involved in the torments of this realm’—see Ilie Corfus, Documente privitoare la istoria României culese din arhivele polone. Secolul al XVI–lea [Docs on the hist. of Rom. from Polish archives. 16th c.], vol. 1, Bucharest, 1979, no. 182; DIR A (veacul XVI), 4, no. 121.

18 Compare this with the different formulas for promises more frequently used by Stephen. See Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan, vol. 2, nos 127, 136, 138.

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‘all knezes’; (3) ‘all commoners, from the least to the greatest’/ ‘all Wallachians’. A comparative analysis of this terminology enables us not only to better grasp the background of this correspondence, but also to pinpoint some of the socio-political dissimilarities between late-fifteenth-century Moldavia and Wallachia.

We should note to begin with that Stephen’s letters used almost exclusively a Moldavian terminology. ‘Sheriff’ (syndic), ‘judge’ (jude) and ‘county’ (darjava), as well as the stock phrases ‘greater or lesser’ or ‘from the least to the greatest’, are well documented in Moldavian documents from the fifteenth century, but are completely lacking in the Wallachian.19 Thus, it is even more surprising to find in the Moldavian lord’s proposal a word such as ‘commoner’ (siromah). This term, whose etymological meaning is ‘poor’, is never otherwise found in medieval Moldavian sources. In contrast, it was quite commonly used by the Wallachian chancellery, which had probably borrowed it from Serbia.20 We can find no other possible explanation for the use of this term by Stephen’s chancellery, except for the existence of a previous, no longer extant, correspondence between the Moldavian and the Wallachian lords. It seems very plausible that the Wallachian lords had sent to their Moldavian neighbours letters that were similar in content to those addressed to the Saxons from Braşov, in which they had frequently interceded for their ‘commoners’.21 If this was the case and the Moldavian scribe simply took over this term from previous letters sent by the Wallachian lords, then he failed to understand that siromah had a limited currency. Thus, in their reply, the border nobles must have simply replaced this term, a rather odd chancellery term, with the far more familiar ethnonym for ‘Wallachians’ (vlasi). In sources from the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, both these terms, ‘commoners’ and ‘Wallachians’, were used as a generic label for those of ignoble origins. For instance, in a parenetic text from the early sixteenth century, attributed to the Wallachian lord, Basarab V, the

19 The responsibilities of the Moldavian sheriffs have aroused scholarly controversy. For the most convincing interpretation so far, see Ioan Bogdan, ‘Despre cnejii români’ [The Romanan knezes] Analele Academiei Române Memoriile Secţiei Istorice, Seria A, II–a, 26, 1903, p. 16. For the Moldavian counties, see Constantin Burac, Ţinuturile Ţǎrii Moldovei pânǎ la mijlocul secolului al XVIII-lea [Territory of Moldavia since the mid-18c], Bucharest, 2002. The Wallachian equivalent to the Moldavian county was the district. For the stock phrase, ‘all noblemen, greater or lesser’, in Moldavian sources, see Stephen’s documents issued in 1472, 1479 and 1499, in Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan cel Mare, vol. 2, nos 140, 155, 179. This formula is attested to in Wallachian charters only at the very beginning of the fifteenth century, and sporadically reappears throughout the sixteenth century. See DRH B, 1, nos. 20, 26, 34, 35; Grigore G. Tocilescu, 534 documente, no. 423.

20 The significance of this term has also been strongly disputed by scholars. See Constantin C. Giurescu, ‘Despre “sirac” şi “siromah” în documentele slave muntene’ [On s. and s. in Muntenian slave docs], Revista Istorică, 13 1927, pp. 23–43; Valeria Costăchel, ‘Dezagregarea obştii săteşti în ţările române în evul mediu’ [Disintegration of the Romanian village community in the middle ages], Studii şi referate privind istoria României [Studies and reports on Romanian hist.], 1, 1954, pp. 753–799; Ştefan Ştefănescu, ‘Despre terminologia ţărănimii dependente din Ţara Românească în secolele XIV–XVI’ [On the terminology of the dependent peasantry of W. in 14th to 16th c.] Studii. Revista de Istorie, 15, 1962, pp. 1155–1170; Cristian Apetrei, ‘Observaţii pe marginea conotaţiilor economice şi sociale ale termenilor “sirac” şi “siromah” în documentele slavo–române redactate în secolele XV–XVI în Ţara Româneascǎ’ [Comments on the social and econ. meaning of s. and s. in Slavonic Romanian docs in W. in the 15th to 16th c.], in Prinos lui Petre Diaconu la 80 de ani [Homage to P. D. in his 80th year], eds Ionel Cândea, Valeriu Sîrbu & Marian Neagu, Brǎila, 2004, pp. 651–662.

21 See Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, nos. 118, 151, 159, 180, 195, 202.

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distinction between the siromah and those of a noble birth is manifest.22 This second category included in the late fifteenth century not only the nobles, but also the knezes. For instance, a Wallachian charter from 1470 makes the distinction between ‘nobles’, ‘knezes’ and ‘commoners’.23 The double meaning of the term Wallachian, the social one—meaning ignoble inhabitants and, later on, serfs—and the political one, referring to the realm, survived into the early modern period. To conclude, both the ‘commoners’ in the Moldavian lord’s letters, and the ‘Wallachians’ in the nobles’ replies, were all those inhabitants that were not subsumed in the first two categories of the nobles and knezes.24 Irrespective, therefore, of the terminology they used, both Stephen and the border nobles referred in their correspondence to the entire community along the eastern Wallachian borderlands. Concealed, however, under this generic commitment to the entire community, the decision makers and the real political players were only a few.25 A minor, but nonetheless significant detail from the Wallachians’ letters hints at the fact that only the border nobles actually decided on the terms of the response to Stephen’s proposal.

In the Moldavian lord’s letters, the Wallachian communities were geographically defined by a reference to the administrative divisions of the realm: respectively, the counties of Brăila and the counties of Buzău and Râmnic. The Wallachian border nobles made two minor changes in their replies. Firstly, they linked a geographical identity only to the noble estate. Consequently, the other two estates, the knezes and the Wallachians, were associated in name only to the real decision makers. Secondly, the Wallachian nobles turned the administrative reference into a geographical one. Not only did they not reiterate the reference to the county (darjava), which was a Moldavian term, but they also avoided its Wallachian correspondent, the district (sudstvo). This omission probably reflected the nobles’ reluctance to acknowledge the new administrative structures that the rulers of Wallachia were in the process of imposing.26 Otherwise, the association of nobles with a district was commonplace in letters sent out by the chancellery, as in ‘the knezes from the district of Brăila’ or ‘all the nobles living in the district of Mehedinţi’, and so on.27 Therefore, the Wallachian border nobles’ rejection of any administrative structure illustrates, consciously or not, the limits of their adhesion to the throne and

22 See Învăţăturile lui Neagoe Basarab către fiul său Theodosie [The Teachings of N.B. for his son, T.], ed. Gheorghe Mihăilă (Bucharest, 1996), pp. 268–271. For similar examples in Wallachian charters, see DRH B, 3, no 192.

23 DRH B, 1, no 137.24 Previous interpretations identified the ‘commoners’ and ‘Wallachians’ either with the serfs or with the

free peasants. For the serf hypothesis, see Constantin Giurescu, who took over an earlier suggestion made by Ioan Bogdan, in Despre boieri şi despre rumâni [On boyars and Romanians], ed. Dinu C. Giurescu, Bucharest, 2008, p. 125. For the free-peasant hypothesis, see Ioan C. Filliti, Proprietatea solului în Principatele Române pânǎ la 1864 [Land ownership in the R. principalities to 1864], Bucharest, 1935, p. 165; Dinu C. Arion, Vlahii, clasă socială în voevodatele româneşti [Vlachs as a social class in the R. voivodates], Bucharest, 1940, p. 40.

25 Matei Cazacu suggested that the Wallachians’ answer to Stephen’s proposal was the result of ‘véritables assemblées régionales’. See his ‘La Valachie médiévale et moderne: esquisse historique’, Cahiers Balkaniques 21, 1994, p. 110. There is no convincing evidence, however, that local estates or Estates General were ever summoned in medieval Wallachia.

26 For the territorial administration of medieval Wallachia, see Marian Coman, Putere şi teritoriu. Ţara Româneascǎ medievalǎ, pp. 78–100.

27 For these two examples, see DRH B, 1, no 205, and ibid, 3, no 59.

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to the administrative apparatus that was gathered beneath it. Thus, although remaining faithful to their lord, even to the extent of refusing to acknowledge Mircea, they also wished to distance themselves from the throne to protect their own liberties.

We should note at this point that the border nobles are so hard to identify, precisely because they interfered so little in the political affairs of the house of Basarab. The eastern borderlands of the realm are seldom mentioned in fifteenth-century Wallachian documents, of which almost five hundred survive. Moreover, the few extant references always relate to three towns, bearing the same names as the districts: Brăila, Buzău and Râmnic.28 As almost all the extant documents were issued by the Wallachian lords, the paucity of the extant sources simply means that the border nobles were keeping their distance from the throne. Suggestively, this borderland region is the only one in all Wallachia in which the lords of the realm made no donation over the course of the fifteenth century. Moreover, it is also the only region where we have no record from this time of the confiscation of property on account of crime. From the point of view of the chancellery, this borderland was very much a blind spot. Nevertheless, if we assume a different perspective, this borderland region emerges as an extremely lively one. For instance, in the Saxons’ customs registers from Braşov, numerous small merchants and villages from this region are recorded, starting from the beginning of the sixteenth century.29 As for the border nobles, they suddenly made their appearance in the chancellery’s documents in the first decades of the sixteenth century. Furthermore, they quickly became one of the major players in Wallachian politics, aiming to take over the throne, disastrously in 1521, but successfully a decade later, in 1532.30 Placed in this context, the border nobles’ silence throughout the fifteenth century, as well as their vocal refusal of Stephen’s proposal, becomes easier to comprehend.

Thus, in much the same way as an astronomer studies a black hole, so may the historian map the nobles from the eastern borderlands of Wallachia, by analysing their influence on neighbouring actors. Throughout the fifteenth century, the border nobles were almost invisible, as they kept their interaction with the Wallachian lords to a minimum. As a group, they become perceptible only on brief occasions, such as the episode of their correspondence with Stephen III. In contrast, during the first decades of the sixteenth century, the border nobles rapidly entered the circle of power relations around the ruling house. One cannot underestimate the power of this group, since it quickly managed to impose its own candidate to the throne, Vlad Vintilă (1532–1535), the descendant of an influential family of nobles from the Buzău region. Moreover, we suggest that there

28 There are four references to Brăila in fifteenth-century Wallachian documents. See DRH B, 1, nos 55, 109, 275; Archiva istorică a României, 1, 1865, pp. 83–85. All four include Brăila in the stock phrase, ‘from Severin to Brăila’, which actually delineates the western and the eastern limits of the realm. Buzău is mentioned in only three documents. See DRH B, 1, no 69; Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, nos 30, 272. Râmnic is mentioned only once, in a commercial privilege given to the Lviv merchants. See Archiva istorică a României, 1, 1865, pp. 83–85.

29 See Radu Manolescu, Comerţul Ţării Româneşti şi Moldovei cu Braşovul (secolele XIV–XVI) [Commerce of W. and M. with Braşov in the 14th to 16th c.], Bucharest, 1965, pp. 259–304.

30 For this point, see Marian Coman, ‘Boierii de margine şi puterea domneascǎ în Ţara Româneascǎ medievalǎ. Buzoienii şi mehedinţii’ [Frontier boyars and lordly power in med. W.: B. and M] in Aut veniam inveniam aut faciam. In Honorem Ştefan Andreescu [Festschrift for S. A.], eds Ovidiu Cristea, Petronel Zahariuc and Gheorghe Lazǎr, Iaşi, 2012, pp. 35–58.

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might actually be a direct connection between the pressure exercised on the eastern borderlands by the Moldavian lord, Stephen, and the border nobles’ sudden interest in the Wallachian throne. The two phenomena are chronologically consecutive and they might also be causally related. Thus, Stephen’s request to support Mircea’s claims for the throne could be interpreted as one of the key moments that influenced the border nobles’ decision to become more actively involved in the Wallachian state-building process.

Mircea, the pretenderMircea should have been one of the main actors in all these events, considering the ultimate goal of the correspondence between Stephen of Moldavia and the Wallachian border nobles was his advance to the throne. Both texts, however, pay little heed to this pretender who, most likely, had failed in his dream of taking power in Wallachia.31 While Stephen simply states Mircea’s rights to the throne, without any further explanations, the Wallachian border nobles do not even name him directly, referring to him obliquely and pejoratively as ‘Călţuna’s son’. As these slender references are hardly sufficient to sketch Mircea’s portrait, historians have attempted to identify Stephen’s protégé with different individuals, bearing the same name and documented in the same period.

The first hypothetical identification was made by Ioan Bogdan, who suggested that the pretender supported by Stephen was the same person as a Mircea, who had addressed a letter to the Saxons from Braşov.31 This letter is also undated, but convincing palaeographic arguments, such as the type of writing and the paper used, place it at the end of the fifteenth century. Therefore, Stephen’s correspondence with the border nobles and Mircea’s letter to the Saxons are contemporary. Nevertheless, this does not necessarily mean that the two Mirceas were one and the same person, particularly since the Mircea who wrote to the Saxons, invoked not the Moldavian lord’s but the Ottoman Sultan’s protection. To complicate things further, there are some other persons bearing the same name, a rather common Wallachian one, who are mentioned by various Moldavian, Wallachian, Saxon and Venetian sources from the late fifteenth and the early sixteenth centuries. As a result, the list of hypothetical identifications is long and there

31 We find no sound reason for Constantin Rezachevici’s assumption that Mircea actually ruled Wallachia for half a year. See his Cronologia critică, p. 123. Rezachevici’s main argument, that Mircea effectively ruled Wallachia because he styled himself lord of Wallachia in a letter sent to the Saxons from Braşov is inconclusive. All pretenders styled themselves lords of Wallachia.

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are almost no compelling criteria for validating or invalidating any one of them.32 For our analysis, however, the precise identification of the pretender is less significant than the legitimising mechanisms that this case study reveals.

Stephen supported Mircea’s claims by simply asserting his rights: ‘God knows, as you well know, that Wallachia is his rightful inheritance.’ The Slavonic word for inheritance, baština, is derived from the word father, pointing thus to a patrimonial legacy.33 This term was frequently used in fifteenth-century Wallachia, sometimes by the ruling lords, but more often by aspiring pretenders to the throne.34 The claim was always backed up by a genealogical reference to the pretender’s father who had ruled over Wallachia. For instance, a mid-fifteenth century pretender to the Wallachian throne styled himself ‘the son of the great Dan, voivode.’35 Towards the end of the century, another pretender displayed a more ostentatious genealogy referring not only to ‘his father, Vlad voivode’s inheritance and throne’, but also to the ‘days when my brother, Radu, ruled Wallachia’.36 Indeed, not a single fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Wallachian pretender failed to mention his father’s name, as it was the most important piece of evidence for substantiating his claim. Surprisingly, there is no reference of this type in Stephen’s letter, simply the bald assertion of a rightful inheritance. If one considers, however, the overall tone and structure of the letter, this omission makes perfect sense. Mircea’s biological father was deliberately left out because the letter was intended to emphasise the strong bond existing between the pretender and his symbolic father, Stephen, the Moldavian lord. Thus, throughout the letter, Stephen referred twice to Mircea as being ‘my son’. Substituting the biological filiation with a symbolic one, Stephen had a double goal in mind: to transfer the father–son bond into the political

32 C. Cogălniceanu, for instance, identified Stephen’s protégé with ‘Marchya Voevoda’, mentioned in a Venetian source from the autumn of 1521. According to this hypothesis, the correspondence should be dated in the same year. See his ‘Mircea Pretendentul’ [Mircea the Pretender], Convorbiri Literare [Lit. talks], 47, 1913, p. 875. N. C. Bejenaru instead identified Mircea the Pretender with the Wallachian noble, Mircea, whose life had been spared by Stephen in 1471, after the battle of Soci between the Moldavians and Wallachians. See his ‘Mircea II Pretendentul,’ Arhiva. Revista de istorie, filologie şi cultură românească, 31, 1924, pp. 110–117. For the noble Mircea’s fate after the battle of Soci, see the late fifteenth century Moldavian chronicles, Cronicile slavo-române din secolele XV–XVI publicate de Ion Bogdan [Slavonic Romanian chronicles of the 15th & 16th c., published by I. B.], ed. Petre P. Panaitescu, Bucharest, 1959, pp. 17, 63, 179. According to a recently published document, Mircea, a squire in the retinue of the Wallachian lord, was actually related to the Basarab dynasty. See Petronel Zahariuc, ‘Patru documente inedite din secolul al XV–lea privitoare la istoria Ţării Româneşti’ [Four unpub. docs on the hist. of W.], Studii şi Materiale de Istorie Medie, 26, 2008, pp. 163–176, no. 2. Thus, Bejenaru’s hypothesis gains some ground. Another hypothesis was suggested by Nicolae Iorga, who tentatively identified Mircea the Pretender with one of the Wallachian nobles who took refuge with Stephen as early as 1464. See Revista istorică, 16, 1930, p. 190. The list of hypotheses could go on, as Aneta Boiangiu identified the pretender with one of Vlad the Impaler’s sons. See her ‘Scrisoarea lui Ştefan ce Mare către buzoieni,’ p. 75. For other Wallachian nobles bearing the same name that could equally well be identified with Stephen’s protégé, see Bogdan, Documentele lui Ștefan cel Mare, vol. 2, no. 158, and Nagy Pienaru, ‘Izvoare otomane privind Moldova lui Ștefan cel Mare’ [Ott. Sources on S. the G.’s Mold.], Analele Putnei , 5, 2009, p. 29.

33 For this use and the meaning of this term in Old Church Slavonic in Bulgarian and Serbian sources, see Ivan Biliarsky, Word and Power in Mediaeval Bulgaria, Leiden, 2011, p. 31.

34 See Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, nos 27, 83, 104, 149.

35 Ibid, no. 78.36 Ibid, no. 147.

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ascendency of Moldavia over Wallachia and to emphasise that, ultimately, the main endorsement of Mircea’s claim was his own will.

The Wallachian border nobles grasped all the implications of Stephen’s proposal and sarcastically addressed them one by one. Firstly, they contested Mircea’s legitimacy by stating that he was a ‘prostitute’s son’. This was not only an insult but also a juridical argument since, according to the medieval Wallachian law, children born of an adulterous union had no right to their fathers’ inheritance.37 Secondly, the Wallachian nobles ironically suggested to Stephen that he convert the symbolic filiation into a juridical one by marrying Mircea’s mother: ‘if he is indeed your son, you should take his mother to be your wife.’ Moreover, they manifestly broke off the bond between the two realms proposed by Stephen and advised the Moldavian lord to take care of his own country: ‘you should teach your own realm how to obey your will.’ The nobles mockingly recommended Stephen to name Mircea as his successor to the Moldavian throne: ‘let him rule in your place.’ Thus, directing their irony exclusively towards the Moldavian lord and completely ignoring Mircea, whose name was not even mentioned in their reply, the Wallachian border nobles confirmed once again that they understood all the consequences of Stephen’s proposal. As a result, they took no notice whatsoever of the marionette; they focused instead exclusively upon the puppeteer.

The ScribesAt first glance, any attempt to identify the scribes of the four letters that constitute this correspondence might seem both impossible and futile. Neither Stephen’s two letters, nor the Wallachian nobles’ two replies, mention the name of the scribe or scribes. Moreover, even if we could point to the exact scribe who wrote one of the letters, our understanding would hardly be enhanced. Most of the fifteenth century Moldavian and Wallachian scribes are nothing more than names in a catalogue.38 Only in a very few cases can historians trace back fragments of the scribes’ background, education or career. Nevertheless, as we shall argue, investigation of how and by whom these letters were written provides new insights into the correspondence.

The first question to be asked is why Stephen’s proposal and the nobles’ reply were written in the first place. Would it not have been more appropriate to initiate negotiations, on such a delicate matter by using an oral message rather than a written proposal? Or, even better, why not send a messenger carrying a letter bearing Stephen’s seal that would empower him to deliver verbally the Moldavian lord’s proposal to the Wallachian nobles across the border? Sensitive messages were usually conveyed by such means. There are numerous fifteenth century Wallachian and Moldavian letters sent to the Saxons from Braşov that are deeply frustrating to historians, as they consist only of a condensed

37 For later examples of this law, see Acte judiciare din Ţara Românească 1775–1781 [Judicial charters of W.], eds Gheorghe Cronţ, Al. Constantinescu, Ancuţa Popescu, Theodora Rădulescu & Constantin Tegăneanu, Bucharest, 1973, pp. 921–922.

38 For the scribes documented throughout Stephen’s long reign, see Silviu Văcaru, ‘Scriitori de acte din cancelaria lui Ştefan cel Mare’ [Writers of charters in the chancellery of S. the G.], in Ştefan cel Mare la cinci secole de la moartea sa [S. the G, five centuries after his death], eds Petronel Zahariuc & Silviu Văcaru, Iaşi, 2003, pp. 93–105.

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statement: ‘you should trust this messenger.’39 Even the fact that Stephen decided to write down his proposal implies that he considered it a public statement, similar to a proclamation. Whether such a rhetorical strategy was innovative in late medieval Wallachian and Moldavian politics is difficult to say. Deeply grounded in a specific historical context, political proclamations are seldom preserved over time, unlike, for instance, charters recording rights to property. Moreover, as they are addressed to an open audience, they rarely find their way into private archives.

For late medieval Wallachia and Moldavia, only one similar example of a political proclamation survives, which is also preserved in the Saxons’ archive in Braşov. In an attempt to get back the treasure that his rival and predecessor had taken to Braşov, the Wallachian lord, Basarab IV, addressed an open letter asking all ‘notables, peasants and commoners from the Burzenland [Ţara Bârsei]’ to urge the Saxon magistrates from the city to respect his rights.40 Recalling peaceful times in the past, Basarab’s proclamation enclosed a threat: ‘you should think it over if you are ready to suffer all this evil for the benefit of only two or three men in Braşov who will get rich.’ The differences between Basarab’s and Stephen’s proclamations are numerous. Nevertheless, they are representative of the same genre. Unlike the late medieval political proclamations from Western Europe, which slowly turned into a widespread instrument of government, the Moldavian and Wallachian ones seem to have been more akin to pamphlets.41 Thus, Basarab and Stephen aimed to diminish the standing of their addressees in the eyes of their subjects. From a comparative perspective, Stephen’s letter should be situated somewhere between a threat in pamphlet form and a formulaic expression of goodwill, and more of a clear-cut request than a studied, rhetorical exercise. In contrast, the rhetorical structure of Basarab’s letter is far more complex, fusing different rhetorical devices: the lawfulness of his request; the past services he had rendered them; their common political loyalty towards the Hungarian king; and, finally, the possible repercussions. Stephen’s tone was considerably more dispassionate, as he did not take the trouble either to contest the legitimacy of the ruling Wallachian lord,42 or to endorse consistently his protégé’s claim to the throne. Stephen’s choice of a straightforward demand, instead of a persuasive approach, points to the forcefulness of his stand. He simply addressed the Wallachian nobles as if they were his own subjects. Hence, the nobles in their reply emphasised that they already had a different, great and good lord, Basarab himself.43

Leaving aside the genre used in these letters and returning to the manner of their physical composition, it should be pointed out that a palaeographic analysis of the

39 See for instance Stephen’s letter to the Saxons from Braşov sent on 1 November 1474, in Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan, vol. 2, doc. 147.

40 See Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, no. 123.

41 See here James Doig, ‘Political Propaganda and Royal Proclamations in Late Medieval England’, Historical Research, 71, 1998, pp. 253–280.

42 Stephen does not even bother to mention the name of the ruling lord of Wallachia.43 During the discussion following our paper at the Putna conference, Maria Magdalena Székely suggested to

us that the Wallachian border nobles did not accidently choose to express their fidelity to the ruling lord of Wallachia by referring to him as to a ‘great and good lord.’ The same formula, which is to our knowledge unique in the Wallachian sources, was used to portray Stephen III of Moldavia as Stephen the Great and the Good even during the course of his reign. Thus, the Wallachian nobles’ intention was to let the Moldavian lord know that their own prince was a match for him.

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originals is revealing. Not only were Stephen’s two letters written by different hands, but also in two different scripts. Thus, the letters were written using two distinctive scripts, a specific Moldavian semi-uncial script and a typical Wallachian cursive script. Therefore, a Moldavian scribe must have written Stephen’s letter to Brăila, whereas a Wallachian one, most probably somebody from Mircea’s retinue, must have noted down the one to Buzău and Râmnic. Although the content of the two letters is basically identical, there are several small discrepancies, such as different graphic forms for the same words or even, in a few cases, minor variants. For example, the letter sent to Buzău and Râmnic includes an adverb that is missing from the one sent to Brăila: ‘God knows, as you perfectly well know, that Wallachia is his lawful inheritance.’ In both cases, the scribes resorted to synonyms. The Moldavian scribe preferred the verb doiti, ‘to come’, while the Wallachian one went for priiti. Similarly, in the stock phrase ‘all my nobles, great and small,’ the Moldavian scribe used the adjective golem for ‘great’, while the Wallachian one preferred velik.44

This rare duplicate original issued by the medieval Moldavian chancellery raises more questions than it really answers, the most important of which being why one of the scribes should have been Wallachian. This is an intriguing question, open to speculation as there are too many unknowns. The only certainty is that Stephen’s letter must have been simultaneously dictated to the two scribes, as only this could explain the minor variants of the two letters.45 In contrast, the Wallachian border nobles’ replies must have been written by a single scribe.

The Wallachian replies are almost identical, not only when it comes to the content, but also to the graphic form of the words, which is rather unusual in Old Church Slavonic diplomatic. Besides, both replies were written down by the same hand, using a typical Wallachian script. The text itself has a perceptible trace of orality and some of the formulas seem to have been translated ad litteram from Romanian into Slavonic, as for example ‘until our last breath’ (literally ‘up to the end of our heads’—do otkinutia naše glaveh),46 ‘we are writing to you’ (pišemo tebe)47 or ‘don’t you have a kind human soul?’ (literally, ‘have you any humanness?’—da est li u tebe človeačestvo).48 All these

44 The first variant of this common Moldavian stock phrase is documented in another of Stephen III’s letters, sent to Braşov in January 1472. This is one of the arguments that enabled Ştefan S. Gorovei to suggest that both the letter to Braşov and the one to Brăila had been written by the same scribe from the Moldavian chancellery. See his ‘Titlurile lui Ştefan cel Mare. Tradiție diplomatică și vocabular politic’, pp. 60–61.

45 There are too few extant duplicate documents to allow us to comprehend how the Moldavian chancellery issued charters of this type. The only other example from the late fifteenth century bears some resemblance with the one being analysed here, as the two documents seems also to have been simultaneously dictated. See Aurelian Sacerdoţeanu, ‘Un duplicat moldovenesc din 1492’ [A Mold. duplicate letter], Hrisovul [The Charter], 7, 1947, p. 226.

46 On this formula, see Damian P. Bogdan, Caracterul limbii textelor slavo–române [Character of the language in Slavonic Rom. texts], Bucharest, 1946, p. 42.

47 For the use of this formula in late medieval Romanian literature, see M. Gaster’s edition of the Alexander Romance in Revista de istorie, arheologie şi filologie, 7,1894, pp. 344, 348.

48 The Romanian word omenie (‘humanness’) is attested to for the first time in a letter sent to Hungary by the Wallachian lord, Mircea, in 1553. See Andrei Veress, Documente privitoare la istoria Ardealului, Moldovei şi Ţării Româneşti. Acte şi scrisori [Docs for the hist. of T., M. and W.: Charters and letters], vol. 1, Bucharest, 1929, no 175. The Romanian phrase oameni de omenie (literally ‘men of humanness’) was also initially documented in a letter to Hungary, this time sent by the Moldavian lord, in 1595. See Veress, ibid, vol. 4, Bucharest, 1932, no. 25.

116 Controversy on the Moldavian-Wallachian Frontier

suggest that the content of the reply must have been initially conceived in Romanian, translated into Slavonic, and then written down. The letter includes only one stock phrase, characteristic of both the Moldavian and Wallachian chancelleries: ‘from all parts’ (ot cveh stranah).49 There is a minor detail in the title ascribed to Stephen that might be indicative of the scribe’s familiarity with Moldavian chancellery practices. Thus, Stephen is given the title of gospodar, commonly used in Moldavian diplomatic, although in his own letter he styled himself, rather unusually, gospodin. Both words have the same meaning, lord, but the first, gospodar, is typical of the Moldavian chancellery, whereas the second one is characteristic of the Wallachian.

With regard to the process whereby the replies were written, we may note that the letter sent by the nobles from Buzău and Râmnic has some mistakes that were corrected in the second version, the one sent by the nobles from Brăila—two missing letters, a pronominal adjective in the wrong case, a superfluous grammatical particle and a useless repetition.50 Therefore, the scribe initially wrote one answer and then carefully copied it, changing the name of the senders and making small corrections. It was obviously an impromptu answer, written on the verso of Stephen’s two letters. Although, the choice of writing their answer on the back of the paper might also have a symbolic meaning, it was more probably a cost-saving measure. All extant fifteenth-century Wallachian nobles’ documents were written on rather small pieces of paper, which implies that paper was a luxury product.51 The nobles’ decision to admonish Stephen for wasting paper and ink is in this respect telling.

Comparative palaeographic and diplomatic investigation of the correspondence reveals once more the disparity between the players in this political drama. The improvised answer written and then copied by a single scribe onto the back of Stephen’s letters, the scribe’s struggle to translate into a comprehensible Slavonic language the Romanian phrases that had been dictated to him, and the lack of any seal to authenticate the reply stand in sharp contrast to the well-organised and efficient Moldavian chancellery.

The Saxons from BraşovThe Saxons are the invisible witness in this drama and the only hint at their existence as close observers of the Moldavian–Wallachian dispute is the survival of this correspondence in their archive. There are multiple hypotheses that could explain how these letters came to be in the Braşov archive: (1) the Saxons could have acted as mediators between the two parties; (2) they could have intercepted the correspondence; (3) the Wallachian nobles could have sent their replies directly to Braşov, in a boastful and ego-inflating gesture; (4) the letters simply got lost and, later on, somehow found a way into the archive. None of these hypotheses can be convincingly proven,

49 For Wallachian examples, see Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, nos 47, 114. For Moldavian ones, see DRH A, 2, nos 21, 45, 58 etc.

50 The missing letters are from the words l[i] and ima[š]. The pronominal adjective is našoi zemle instead of naše zemle. The superfluous particle is ta. In the letters sent by the nobles from Buzău and Râmnic, Mircea’s mother’s name, Călţuna, is mentioned twice, while in the Brăila version it appears only once.

51 See Ioan Bogdan’s comments in the introduction to his edition, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, especially page xvi.

Ovidiu Cristea and Marian Coman 117

as the whole context is too obscure and the letters have no marginal notes. The only assertion that can be made is that Saxons usually followed attentively the events from the Moldavian frontier of Wallachia. Even assuming that the letters accidentally came in their possession, which seems unlikely, the Saxons still found this correspondence interesting enough to preserve it in their town archive.

The Saxons’ interest in the borderland region was primarily due to their economic activities. In 1515, the chief magistrate of Braşov explained to the king of Hungary, at the latter’s request, why the town’s revenues had fallen so dramatically. One of the reasons given was precisely the recurring conflicts at the Moldavian–Wallachian frontier, mostly in the Brăila region, which had affected the fish trade.52 Their commercial interests explain not only why the Saxons carefully surveyed this region, but also why they might have assumed a mediating position between the two neighbouring realms.

The triangle Moldavia–Braşov–Wallachia is well documented throughout the late fifteenth century, because the Saxons acted as conduits of information for both parties and because their archive has survived. Nevertheless, while most of the surviving letters written by the rulers of Wallachia to the Saxons are reproachful, Stephen of Moldavia seems to have gained their trust. Thus, the Wallachian ruler directly accused the Saxons of supporting Stephen, by selling weapons to him and by lodging his spies.53 In a different letter, the Wallachian lord showed his disappointment with them for the lack of any news concerning his enemy, Stephen.54 And, to give a final example, when hostilities eventually broke out between Moldavia and Wallachia, Radu of Wallachia urged the Saxons to take his side against the Moldavian lord, or else he would consider them his enemies.55 In contrast, Stephen of Moldavia’s letters to the Saxons reveal a trustworthy partnership. Stephen and Braşov regularly exchanged information and the Moldavian lord was careful to notify the Saxons in advance on his moves against Wallachia.56 Moreover, when a Moldavian noble fell into the hands of the Wallachians, the Saxons negotiated his ransom.57

Saxon preferences during this period are perfectly consistent with their overall attitude towards the two realms. Essentially, the Saxons used two different methods to achieve the same goal. Both the benevolent position towards the Moldavian lord and the forceful stance on Wallachia were intended to protect their trading interests. Throughout the fifteenth century, the Saxons aggressively pressed the Wallachian lords, usually by providing refuge for different pretenders, to accept tolls that privileged them and safeguarded their privileged trading position.

52 See Gernot Nussbächer, ‘Contribuţii privitoare la mişcările sociale din sud–estul Transilvaniei la începutul secolului al XVI–lea’ [Contributions ion social movements in s-e Trans. at the beginning of the 16th c.], Revista de istorie, 32, 1979, p. 1325.

53 UB, 6, no. 3822.54 Ibid, no. 3914.55 Constantin A. Stoide, ‘Legăturile dintre Moldova şi Ţara Românească în a doua jumătate a secolului al

XV–lea,’ [Relations between M. and W. in the 2nd half of the 15th c.] Studii şi cercetări ştiinţifice, 7, 1956, p. 63. For another example, see Bogdan, Documentele privitoare la relaţiile Ţării Româneşti cu Braşovul şi cu Ţara Ungurească, no. 101.

56 See Ioan Bogdan, Documentele lui Ştefan, vol. 2, nos 106, 149, 151, 152, 156–158, 160.57 Ibid, no. 159.

118 Controversy on the Moldavian-Wallachian Frontier

To conclude this section: although we have no idea how the correspondence between the Moldavian lord and the Wallachian border nobles ended up in the Braşov archive, we should not be surprised to find it there. The Saxons were vigilant observers and, occasionally, even active players in the conflicts between Moldavia and Wallachia.

ConclusionsThe leading conclusion of this analysis is that the correspondence between Stephen III of Moldavia and the Wallachian nobles constitutes a dialogue that failed before it had even begun. Although there are some hints at an extensive mutual knowledge, suggested by subtle terminological choices, each of the two parties refused to take any step towards the other. On the one hand, Stephen of Moldavia preferred to command rather than to persuade, treating the Wallachian nobles as if they were his own subjects. Moreover, by installing his protégé as lord of Wallachia, Stephen hoped to keep a fatherly eye on the neighbouring realm. On the other hand, the Wallachian nobles, speaking on behalf of the entire borderland community, sharply rejected Stephen’s claims and emphasised their allegiance to the ruling lord of the realm. Nonetheless, their boisterous loyalty unambiguously highlights a strong regional consciousness. Faced with their powerful neighbour’s hostility, the border nobles had no choice other than to pass definitively under the umbrella of the throne of the Basarab dynasty.

Appendix Stephen of Moldavia’s letter to the Wallachian borderland communities:Stephen, voivode, by the grace of God, ruler and lord of the entire Moldo-Vlachian realm. We are writing to all noblemen, greater or lesser, to all sheriffs and judges, to all commoners, from the least to the greatest, living in the entire county of Brăila.58 You should all know that I have taken with me my son, Mircea voivode, and I will not leave him alone. Risking my own head, together with all my nobles and my entire realm, I will pursue his benefit and mine, until he gains his inheritance, because God knows, as you well know, that Wallachia is his lawful inheritance. Therefore, I say to you: the moment when you read this letter of mine, at that very moment you shall return to your homes, each of you going back to where you lived with your entire wealth. And everything you have, you will continue to have, and where you ploughed before, you will continue to plough, with nothing to worry or to fear. Thus, you should all know that I mean no harm and no injury to anyone, and you can continue to live and nourish yourselves in peace. And those of you that will come to me and to Mircea voivode, my son, will be rewarded by me and by my son. We will give to them gifts; we will feed them and honour them. And I, together with my nobles, greater of lesser, swear this to be the truth. Issued on the 15 March, in Roman.

The reply given by the Wallachian borderland communities:On behalf of all the nobles from Brăila,59 of all the knezes and of all the Wallachians. We are writing to you, Stephen, voivode, Moldavian lord. Are you not a kind human

58 In the second letter, Buzău and Râmnic.59 In the second letter, Buzău and Râmnic.

Ovidiu Cristea and Marian Coman 119

soul? Don’t you have any mind or brains? Why are you wasting your ink and paper on a prostitute’s son, on Călţuna’s son, whom you say is your son? If he is indeed your son and you want to please him, let him rule in your place. You should take his mother to be your wife and you should have her as your lady, as in our realm all the fishermen from Brăila have already had her. You should teach your own realm how to obey your will and you should leave us in peace, because if you are looking for an enemy, you will find one! And you should know that we have a great and good lord, and we also have peace on all sides. And we will all come against you and we will stand by our lord, Basarab, voivode, until our last breath.

FURTHER READING

Ardelean, Florin, Christopher Nicholson & Johannes Preiser-Kapeller (eds), Between Worlds: The Age of the Jagiellonians (Eastern and Central European Studies, 2, eds Christian Gastgeber & Alexandru Simon), Frankfurt a/M, 2013.

Bak, János M. & Béla K. Király (eds), From Hunyadi to Rákóczi. War and Society in Late Medieval and Early Modern Hungary, New York, 1982.

Curta, Florin, South-Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 500–1200, Cambridge, 2006.

Deletant, Dennis, ‘Genoese, Tatars and Rumanians at the Mouth of the Danube in the Fourteenth Century’, Slavonic and East European Review, 62, 1984, pp. 511–30.

Deletant, Dennis, ‘Moldavia between Hungary and Poland, 1347–1412’, Slavonic and East European Review, 64, 1986, pp. 189–211.

Georgescu, Vlad, The Romanians, a history, Columbus, OH, 1991.

Goina, Mariana, The Uses of Pragmatic Literacy in the Medieval Principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia (from the State Foundation to the End of the Sixteenth Century), unpublished PhD thesis, CEU, 2009. (online version available at <http://www.etd.ceu.hu/2010/mphgom01.pdf>).

Gündisch, Konrad & Mathias Beer, Siebenbürgen und die siebenbürger Sachsen, Munich, 2005.

Hanga, Vladimir, Les institutions du droit coutumier roumain, Bucharest, 1988.

Haynes, Rebecca, ‘Historical Introduction’, in Haynes (ed.), Moldova, Bessarabia, Transnistria: Occasional Papers in Romanian Studies, no. 3, London, 2003, pp. 1–142.

Köpeczi, Béla (Gen. ed.), History of Transylvania, vol. 1, Boulder, CO, 2001 (online version at <http://mek.oszk.hu/03400/03407/html/>)

Moldt, Dirk, Deutsche Stadtrechte im mittelalterlichen Siebenbürgen, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 2009.

Papacostea, Şerban, Stephen the Great, Prince of Moldavia, 1457–1504, Bucharest, 1975.

Papacostea, Şerban, Between the Crusades and the Mongol Empire: The Romanians in the Thirteenth Century, Cluj, 1998.

Péter, László (ed.), Historians and the History of Transylvania, Boulder & New York, 1992.

Pop, Ioan-Aurel & Ioan Bolovan (eds), History of Romania: Compendium, Cluj, 2006.

Pop, Ioan-Aurel & Thomas Nägler (eds), The History of Transylvania, vol. 1, Cluj, 2005.

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121

Pop, Ioan-Aurel, Romanians and Hungarians from the ninth to the fourteenth centuries: The Genesis of the Transylvanian Medieval State, Cluj, 1996.

Popa-Gorjanu, Cosmin (ed.) Transylvania in the Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries: Aspects of the Formation and Consolidation of Regional Identity, Alba Iulia, 2012.

Rădvan, Laurențiu, At Europe's Borders: Medieval Towns in the Romanian Principalities, Leiden & Boston, 2010.

Spinei, Victor, Moldavia in the eleventh to fourteenth centuries, Bucharest, 1986.

Spinei, Victor, The Romanians and the Turkic Nomads north of the Danube Delta from the tenth to the mid-thirteenth century, Leiden, 2009.

Stahl, Henri H., Traditional Romanian Village Communities, Cambridge, 1980.

Ţeicu, Dumitru, Mountainous Banat in the Middle Ages, Cluj, 2002.

Ţeicu, Dumitru, Watermill in the Banat (Archaeological and Ethnologic Heritage of the Banat), Brăila, 2012.

Toda, Oana, ‘Reconstructing historical landscapes: The road network of Râşnov castle’, Annales Universitatis Apulenisis. Series Historica, 16, no 1, 2012, pp. 141–162 (online versions available).

Zimmermann, Harald, Die deutsche Orden in Siebenbürgen. Eine diplomatische Untersuchung, 2nd edition, Cologne, Weimar & Vienna, 2011,

AAlba Iulia (Gyulafehérvár, Karlsburg),

4, 17, 23Alexander the Good (Mold. prince

1400–32), 8allodial property, 6, 11, 112anathema, 83Andrew II (Hung. king 1205–35), 29,

37, 38, 42, 47Andrew III (Hung. king 1290–1301),

17, 23, 27, 62Anonymus Chronicle, 5, 24Anselm von Braz, 39appeal, see retrial arbitration, 75Argeş, 6, 7, 47Armenians, 48, 49assemblies, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 21–8,

46, 50, 63, 74, 77; see also diet, representative institutions

assessors, 74

BBanat, 2, 7, 10, 12, 13, 65–9, 71–7 Basarab IV (Wall. Prince 1477 82), 93,

94, 96, 102–5, 114Basarab, son of Thocomer, 7Béla IV (king of Hung. 1235–70), 39,

40, 62Bistriţa (Bistritz, Noesen, Beszterce),

37, 40, 62Bogdan I (Mold. prince c. 1363–67), 7Borşa (Borsa), Roland 17, 21–3, 27boyars, 12, 47, 93, 94

Brăila, 92–4, 103, 106–10, 115–9; fishermen of, 93, 103, 119

Braşov (Kronstadt, Brassó), 38, 41, 103, 110, 114, 116, 117

Bulgaria, 1, 2, 4, 7, 91Byzantium, 4, 7, 9, 11, 71, 76, 77, 79

CCâmpulung, 6, 46–8Caransebeş, 67, 68, 73–5 Charles Robert (Hung. ungHking

1310–42), 7, 18, 27Cluj, 9, 55–63 compurgation, 11, 80–3 counties, 9, 10, 12, 17, 31, 35, 38–9, 41,

55, 73, 108, 109; see also assembliesCroatia, 16, 19, 23, 98Csángós, 2Cumans, 3, 6, 7, 22, 32, 38; Cumania, 3customary law, 10–12, 71–7, 79, 80

DDacia, Dacians, 3, 91, 97–9 Danube, 1, 3, 5–8, 66, 94, 95, 97daughters, 11, 75–6 diet, 9, 16–18, 21–7, 65; see also

representative institutions, assembliesdistricts, 10, 72–7 Dniester, 1, 3, 95, 97dowry, 75–6 Dragoş, 6, 8ducatus, 21, 24

FFăgăraș, 2, 6, 7, 10, 93fish, 65–9, 75, 117

Index

124 Government and Law in Medieval Moldovia, Transylvania and Wallachia

GGelou, 5Germans, see SaxonsGéza II (Hung. king 1141–62), 16, 37Golden Bull (1222), 29Gyula, 4, 27

Hhomagium, 31Hussites, 2

Iinheritance, 7, 11, 47, 84, 113; see also

allodial, dowryispán, 2, 5, 46, 73

JJagiello dynasty, 17, 18, 98Jazygs (As, Alans), 32

Kknez, 5, 13, 73, 75, 107–9, 118

LLadislas IV (Hung. king 1272–90), 22,

25, 62Ladislas V (Hung. king 1444–57), 73locatores, locatio, 5, 39, 45Louis the Great (Hung. king 1342–82),

6, 7, 18, 29, 62Lytva, Litovoi, 4

MMagdeburg Law, 45, 48Maramureş, 7Matthias Corvinus (Hung. king 1458–

90), 17, 18, 31, 32, 34, 62, 91–9 Michael the Brave (Wall. & Mold.

prince 1593–1601), 84, 85 military organisation, 18, 29–36, 39–42 mills, 12, 13, 47, 59, 65–9; typology 66Mircea the Elder (Wall. prince 1386–

94/1397–1418), 8Mircea the Pretender, 92–4, 101–19 Mircea the Shepherd (Wall. prince

1545–52), 82, 83, 85

Moldavia, foundation of, 6–7; towns of, 48–53; rulership in, 93

Moldova, 1–3Moldo-Vlachia, 93, 97, 104Mongols, 6, 16, 37, 39, 40Muntenia, 6, 92, 98Nicholas Alexander (Wall. prince

1352–64), 7

Nnobility 12, 13, 15–7, 22, 23, 25–36,

73–7, 107–11, 117; Graeven 39, 50; praediales, 31; nobles as compurgators, 82–9; see also knez, boyars

Ooaths, 74–7, 80, 81; see also

compurgationOltenia, 6, 92, 98oral testimony, 12, 82–9 Orthodox religion, 4, 7, 13, 17Ottoman Turks, 1, 8, 17, 29, 30–4, 40,

73, 85, 91–7, 103, 111

Ppeasants, 11, 12, 18, 30–2, 34, 77, 84–9;

consumption, 68; see also villagesPechenegs, 3, 38Pied Piper, 3Poland, 1, 7, 8, 10, 44–5, 52, 53, 96Posada, battle (1330), 7pre-emption, 11, 76, 85

RRadu Negru, 6regnum, 5, 6, 16–9, 21–8 representative institutions, 9, 10, 16–8,

21–8 retrial, 11, 75, 77, 81roads, 12, 13, 55–64 Romania, Romanians origins, 2–4;

‘autochthonous’ development of, 43–4; lag in political development, 95; districts, 10, 72–7; law, 76–7, 79–89; kingdom of, 1

Index 125

Ssalt, 38, 56, 57, 61, 69Saxons, 2, 5, 9, 16. 17, 21, 22, 25, 27,

32, 37–42, 73, 103, 110, 111, 114, 116, 117

seals, 38, 41, 52–3Serbian laws, 87Severin, 2, 7, 73–7Sibiu (Szeben, Hermannstadt), 18,

37–41 Sigismund of Luxemburg (Hung. king

1387–1437), 29, 30, 34, 40, 62Silk Road, 5, 6Siret, 7, 49Slavonia, 6, 16, 19, 23, 27Slavonic script, 8, 53, 104, 115, 116şoltuz (Schultheiss), 49–53 Stephen I, St (Hung. king 1000–38), 4,

16, 27Stephen III the Great (of Mold. 1457–

1504), 8, 10, 91–100, 101–19 Stephen V (Hung. king 1270–72), 62Suceava, 4, 7, 48, 49, 52, 99summons, 80Szekels, 5, 9, 16, 17, 22, 25, 27, 32,

37–42, 73

TTatars, 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 32, 97Teutonic Knights, 5, 38, 42Timişoara, 30, 66Tismana monastery, 80–3 Transylvania, Hungarian conquest of,

16; debates over, 3; regional identity, 24–5, 27–8; military organisation, 34–6, 39–42; Principality of, 1, 5, 6, 17, 18, 65, 68, 77, 98; see also voivode, Romanians, Saxons, Szekels

Tripartitum, 10, 11, 15, 16, 19, 63, 65, 71, 76, 87

UUngrovlachia, 7

Vvillages, free, 12, 84–9 Vlachs, 2, 4, 5, 17, 32Vlad III, the Impaler, 8voivode, 1, 5, 8, 17, 21–9, 34, 35, 40,

59, 91, 119

WWallachia, Wallachian ambiguity

and names for, 3, 105; foundation of, 6; towns of, 46–8; law, 13, 71–7; dispute settlement in, 79–89; population, 92; Eastern Wallachia, 10, 92, 97, 101–19

watermills see millswhirlpools (busnita), 68, 69Wladislas II (Hung. king 1490–1516),

18