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Do filmic representations of the Northern Crusades reveal more about the modern or medieval history of the

Baltic littoral?

According to the film scholar Arthur Lindley, films set in the medieval period are ahistorical. He asserts that

they can only be an allegory for the present as historical memory does not stretch as far back as the medieval

era breaking the link between the events of the past and the origins of now in the popular consciousness: “the

distant past may mirror us – we, not it, are the real subject – but it does not lead to us.” 1 For Robert

Rosenstone, Lindley’s approach dominates how historians treat filmic history with most taking “motion

pictures to be reflections of the social and political concerns of the era in which they were made.” 2

Medievalists are no exception to this rule. Those researching the conflicts waged on the Baltic littoral in the

name of Christianity between the Wendish Crusade of 1147 and the final crusades against Orthodox

Russians in the early 16th century generally see the value of filmic representations of that period in what they

say about the time in which they were made and not what they say about the past.

Eric Christiansen describes Sergei Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky (1938) as a “haunting essay in nationalist

propaganda” solely designed to stir Russian patriotism in light of the growing Nazi threat. 3 Similarly, Maria

Isoaho calls it “clearly [an] allegorical reference to the Nazi German army” and nothing more.4 Aleksander

Ford’s Krzyżacy (1960), also set in the midst of the medieval religious conflicts on the Baltic, is generally

treated as a reflection on the legacy of the Nazi invasion of Poland and the post-war state’s relations to West

Germany. 5 More broadly, Mikolaj Kunicki asserts that Ford’s film was part of a nationalist-communist

school of filmmaking that “sought to articulate a patriotic founding myth of People’s Poland” which depicted

“triumphalist images of national unity” against German invaders.6 Implicit in both Lindley’s thesis and the

1
Arthur Lindley, ‘The Ahistoricism of Medieval Film’, Screening the Past, 3 (1998), online journal with no pagination
2
Robert Rosenstone, ‘The Historical Film as Real History’, Film Historia, 5:1 (1995), pp. 1-2
3
Eric Christiansen, The Northern Crusades (London: Penguin Books, 1997), p. 1
4
Maria Isoaho, The Image of Aleksandr Nevskiy in Medieval Russia: Warrior and Saint (Leiden: Koninklijke Brill,
2006), pp. 376-377
5
Maciej Michalski, ‘The Two Swords: Using the Symbol of the Battle of Grunwald (1410) in 19 th and 20th Century
Poland’, in (ed. Przemysław Wiszewski), Meetings with Emotions: the Human Past Between Anthropology and History
(Wroclaw: Chronicon, 2008), pp. 110-111
6
Mikolaj Kunicki, ‘Heroism, Raison d’état, and National Communism: Red Nationalism in the Cinema of People’s
Poland’, Contemporary European History, 21:2 (May, 2012), pp. 235-236

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above historians’ comments on Alexander Nevsky and Krzyżacy is that filmic representations of the medieval

period lack historicity. However, on two interrelated issues the notion that medieval films are ahistorical

falters, especially in the context of the Baltic Crusades.

Firstly, at its most base level the reason why historians disparage the historicity of films is that they believe

in the objectivity of the written word and empirical methodology, to which they say even the most well

researched history film cannot compare. A proper theoretical discussion cannot be had here, 7 but as the

narrative turn, led by Hayden White, has shown historians “cling to outmoded conceptions of objectivity”

and “treat their ‘facts’ as though they were given”, not constructed. 8 It has also highlighted how the

construction of the written historical narrative is an imaginative process conditioned by the time in which it

was written: “How else can any past, which by definition comprises events … considered to be no longer

perceptible be represented … except in an imaginary way?” 9 The narrative turn, and more broadly the

postmodernist intellectual assault on absolute truths, has democratised the study of history. As “there is

nothing outside of the text” (ie. the historian cannot describe the past in anything other than a text, which

immediately divorces it from reality), no historical narrative is in principle more veracious than any other.10

Filmic and written histories are different epistemologies with their own representational strengths and

weaknesses but the difference between the two mediums is not as great as historians often assume.

Historiography is not a timeless and objective pursuit but rather an imaginative and subjective narrative

conditioned by the concerns of the author. As such, history films, in reflecting the preoccupations of the

societies that made them, must also reflect the historiography of that given time.

Secondly, Lindley’s thesis rests on the perceived juncture between the medieval past and modernity in

historical memory. As an American film scholar it may be that Lindley perceives everything before 1492 as

dead history but in Europe that is not the case.11 This is especially so in the Baltic littoral given the highly

7
See, Robert Rosenstone, Film on History/History on Film (Harlow: Pearson Education, 2003)
8
Hayden White, Tropics of Discourse (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1985), pp. 43-45
9
Hayden White, The Content of the Form (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1987), p. 57
10
Jacques Derrida (trans. Gayatri Spivak), Of Grammatology (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1976)
11
Bettina Bildhauer and Anke Bernau, ‘Introduction: The a-chronology of medieval film’, in (eds. Anke Bernau &
Bettina Bildhauer), Medieval Film (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009), pp. 2-4

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politicised crusading historiography, shaped by romantic nationalism, fascism and communism, which

developed during the 19th and 20th centuries. This divisive history was invoked to inculcate national

identities, justify ethno-demographic engineering and to historically legitimise war.12 This historiography

will be discussed later in this paper but for the moment it is worthwhile to note that it came about because

scholars, often identifying as the perceived descendants of either the crusaders or their victims, accepted the

perspectives of, on the one hand, Catholic and, on the other, Polish and Orthodox medieval chroniclers who

framed the crusades as a Manichean clash of cultures, albeit with diametrically opposed conclusions.13 The

notion that the past is not representable is equally applicable to the work of medieval chroniclers whose

works were often written temporally removed from the events they describe, subject to redactions overtime,

based on hearsay, interspersed with fictional quotations and influenced by contemporary concerns.14 It is

clear that 19th and 20th century historical narratives on the Baltic Crusades do not gain meaning from past

reality but from their relation to other texts and antecedent discourses, intertextual systems of statements that

construct an object. With this in mind, films about the Baltic Crusades – namely the works of Eisenstein and

Ford referenced above – function as more than just an allegory for the time in which they were made. By

reflecting the politicised historiography of the 19th and 20th centuries, which in themselves adopted the binary

representational paradigm of primary materials, Alexander Nevsky and Krzyżacy project onto the big screen a

visual rendering of how medieval writers perceived the Baltic Crusades.

The religious conflicts waged on the Baltic littoral, not all of which can accurately be deemed crusades, were

a multifaceted process beginning with the mid-12th century crusade against the Wends in what is now

Holstein and Mecklenburg, the contemporaneous Swedish conquest of pagan Finland and the Danish

infiltration of northern Estonia in the early 13th century. 15 Recent historiography, notably by Kaspars

Klavinš, has highlighted how the effect of this religious warfare was far from unidirectional with the

12
Sven Ekdahl, ‘Crusades and Colonisation in the Baltic: A Historiographic Analysis’, in (ed. Alan V. Murray), The
North-Eastern Frontier of Medieval Europe: The Expansion of Latin Christendom in the Baltic Lands (Farnham:
Ashgate, 2014), pp. 1-42 ; Barbara Bombi, ‘The Debate on the Baltic Crusades and the Making of Europe’, History
Compass, 11:9 (2013), p. 752
13
Michael North, The Baltic: A History (USA: Harvard University Press, 2015), p. 29
14
J. Luria (Ia. S. Lur’e), ‘Problems of Source Criticism (with Reference to Medieval Russian Documents)’, Slavic
Review, 27:1 (Mar., 1968), pp. 1-6
15
Andres Kasekamp, A History of the Baltic States (Great Britain: Palgrave, 2010), pp.

3
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invaders adopting native practices.16 Despite the conflict’s variegated nature, popular perceptions of it have

been dominated by the drang nach osten of Germanic military orders. The Order of the Sword Brothers,

founded in 1202, played a crucial role in Christianising and subjugating Livonia. The Teutonic Order, on the

other hand, were invited by the Piast Duke Konrad of Mazovia in 1231 to help pacify the pagan Old

Prussians but by the end of that century had created a sovereign monastic state in the conquered territories

that existed until its secularisation in 1525. The Sword Brothers, following a decisive defeat inflicted by the

pagan Lithuanians in 1236, amalgamated with the Teutonic Order the following year and together continued

to fight against Lithuania and adherents of schismatic Orthodoxy.

During the 19th century a contentious historiography developed around the Germanic military orders with

historians often identifying themselves with either the crusaders or their victims and interpreting the conflict

as a binary struggle through accepting the perspectives of medieval chroniclers. Influenced by German

romanticism and social Darwinism, Heinrich von Treitschke saw in the historical traces left by the knights –

the early-13th century Chronicle of Henry of Livonia and the anonymous late-13th century Livonian Rhymed

Chronicle amongst others – affirmation of Germanic cultural superiority over Slavs and Balts, who were

subordinated “to German commerce and German culture.”17 He described the medieval conquest of much of

the Baltic littoral as, “the greatest and most fruitful scheme of colonisation … seen since the days of the

Roman Empire” which “succeeded in obliterating the … distinction between colony and motherland” with

the Baltic “forming the nucleus” of the German nation.18 For German nationalists there was a clear line of

descent from Prussia and the Baltic-German aristocracy to the Teutonic Order serving to re-popularise the

medieval idea of drang nach osten, which found expression in the 20th century in the Nazi conceptualisation

of Lebensraum.19

16
Kaspars Klavinš, ‘The ideology of Christianity and Pagan practice among the Teutonic Knights: The Case of the
Baltic Region’, Journal of Baltic Studies, 37:3 (Aug., 2008)
17
Heinrich von Treitschke (trans. Cedar Paul), History of Germany in the Nineteenth Century: Volume One (London:
Jarrold & Sons, 1915), p. 3
18
Heinrich von Treitschke, His Life and Works (London: Jarrold & Sons, 1914), p. 198
19
Christiansen, p. 4

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The situation was more complex for those who found their antecedents in the victims of the Germanic

orders’ aggression. During the 19th century many of the crusader’s targets were under foreign rule with

nationalism repressed; Estonia, Livonia and Kurland comprised provinces of the Russian Empire while

Poland had disappeared from the European map in the late-18th century partitioned between Russia, Austria

and Prussia. However, where nationalism could be expressed historians generally saw the medieval military

orders as the forerunners of modern Prussia, albeit with diametrically opposed conclusions. Russian primary

chronicles, namely his late-13th century hagiographical vitae, the 14th century Novgorod Chronicle and the

early-15th century redacted compilation called the Nikonian Chronicle, celebrate Prince Alexander Nevsky

for repulsing the invading Teutonic Knights at the 1242 Battle on the Ice of Lake Peipus. This event was

widely celebrated in nationalist historiography as the prince had saved Russia from the same fate as the

pagan Balts and Prussians – subjugation to Germanic culture and Catholicism. The religious aspect of the

idolisation of Nevsky will be discussed later, but for now it will suffice to say that the Romanov Dynasty

glorified Nevsky. Under Tsar Peter I he became a “warlike protector of Russian claims to the … Baltic.”20

Historians writing in the 19th century, at the genesis of Russian nationalism, stressed the self-sacrificial

nature of Nevsky as a means of bolstering Sergei Uvarov’s triad of Official Nationality. This is best seen in

the writings of Nikolai Karamzin who praised Nevsky as a prince “illuminated by the lustre of victories”

who was a “demigod to the people” and fought to the end for his country in “the glory of noble perdition.”21

Similarly, Poles under Austrian rule in Galicia or those exiled abroad, freer to express national sentiment,

celebrated their nation’s decisive victory at the 1410 Battle of Grunwald where the Polish-Lithuanian Union,

led by King Władysław and Grand Duke Vytautas, defeated the Germanic knights. Building upon Jan

Długosz’s patriotic 15th century Annals, the Lwów born historian Karol Szajnocha cast the Teutonic order in

“the darkest possible image … who brought to the shores of the Vistula cruelty, sloth, superstition, the stake,

debauchery and exploitation of the peasantry.”22 Inspired by his expressive and Manichean writings,23 the

20
Isoha, pp. 363-373
21
Nikolai Karamzin (trans. Richard Pipes), Karamzin’s Memoir on Ancient and Modern Russia: A Translation and
Analysis (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1959), pp. 105-106
22
Jan M. Piskorski, ‘The Medieval ‘Colonisation of the East’ in Polish Historiography’, in (ed. Nora Berend), The
Expansion of Central Europe in the Middle Ages (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), p. 390
23
Mieczysaw Giergielewicz, Henryk Sienkiewicz (New York: Twayne Publishers Inc., 1968) p. 147

5
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painter Jan Matejko and the author Henryk Sienkiewicz, who also studied Długosz for his fin-de-siècle novel

Krzyżacy, immortalised the Teutonic Order in their art as “champions of evil.”24 The Germanic orders were

clearly perceived as the ancestors of the Prussian-led German Empire, which sought to Germanise the

provinces of East and West Prussia, Pomerania, Posen and Silesia during the Kulturkampf. In this

teleological history Grunwald became the “day of purification and redemption … where German might …

had broken itself against Polish breasts.”25

If in the 19th century historiography and art perpetuated the viewpoint of medieval chroniclers of the Baltic

then the same can be said for films in the 20th century with Rosenstone asserting they became the pre-

eminent medium “for carrying the stories our culture tells itself.”26 Filmic representations of the religious

conflicts on the Baltic littoral have also been dominated by the Germanic military orders with both

Eisenstein and Ford’s work focusing on the aforementioned battles at Lake Peipus and Grunwald. Indeed,

the latter’s Krzyżacy is unsurprisingly based on Sienkiewicz’s novel of the same name. Both films were

clearly influenced by the political ideology of the communist states from which they originated. However,

beneath the obvious communist veneer the patriotic sentiment of Alexander Nevsky and Krzyżacy remains

remarkably synchronous with 19th century interpretations of the medieval conflict.

Eisenstein’s film was one of the first works of history – written or filmic – produced in the Soviet Union to

shift away from the hitherto dominant internationalist tradition, represented by historians like M.N.

Pokrovskii who dismissed the German threat and railed against pan-Slavism, in anticipation for war with

Nazi Germany. 27 This transformation was essentially an ideologically adjusted return to 19th century

nationalist historiography. As such, Christiansen dismisses Soviet Balticists as writing “under a cloud of pure

24
Norman Davies, Heart of Europe: The Past in Poland’s Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 188-
189
25
Henryk Sienkiewicz (trans. Jeremiah Curtin), The Knights of the Cross Vol. 2 (Boston: Little, Brown and Company,
1901), p. 344
26
Rosenstone, Film on History, p. 3
27
James V. Wertsch, ‘National Narratives and the Conservative Nature of Collective Memory’, Neohelicon, 34:2 (Dec.,
2007), pp. 25-26 ; David Brandenberger, ‘Who Killed Pokrovskii? (The Second Time): The Prelude to the
Denunciantion of the Father of Soviet Marxist Historiography, January 1936’, Revolutionary Russia, 11:1 (Jun., 2008)

6
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nineteenth century Panslavism, merely streaked with dialectical materialism.” 28 Ford’s film was produced in

the Polish People’s Republic, where people were relatively freer to express national sentiment than their

contemporaries in other Warsaw Pact countries. This allowed the regime to invoke nationalism of the

Germanophobic 19th century kind to justify party rule with People’s Poland becoming the logical conclusion

of the Polish nation’s quest for statehood. 29 A similar teleology is also present in 20th century Polish

historiography with even scholarly works perceiving the Teutonic Order as a historical pre-requisite for

Nazism. For example, Aleksander Gieysztor states, that the 1422 Peace of Melno, which delineated the

Lithuanian-Prussian border until 1919, saw “German expansion on the Baltic … halted for many centuries

and with it the ambitious plans for creating a consolidated Prusso-Livonian state governed by German

lords.”30 Released during the period of celebrations marking the 550th anniversary of Grunwald and Poland’s

millenary, Krzyżacy was a monument to the nation depicting “the most important event in the resistance to

the German craze for conquest” until the Polish resistance in World War Two.31

Alexander Nevsky, like 19th century Russian historiography, interprets the conflict between the Russian

principalities and the Livonian branch of the Teutonic Order as one of dichotomies. The inhabitants of

Novgorod, who fall in love, make jokes, argue and, above all, act like human beings, are contrasted against

the mechanistic nature of the Teutonic Order. Visors, eerily reminiscent of Prussian pickelhaube, constantly

cover their faces and they wear angular and aggressive uniforms emblazoned with geometric crosses (Fig. 1

& 2). Incorporating White’s notion of “historiophoty”, whereby a filmmaker can predicate a

historiographical position through their cinematography alone, 32 Eisenstein’s camerawork enhances this

binary opposition. Although conforming to socialist-realism and stylistically conventional compared to his

earlier work, the camera places the knights “in a closed, claustrophobic world of detached spaces …

rendered through artificial, tableau staging”, such as when the knights say mass in an elaborate ceremony

before battle, while the Russians are depicted in open spaces with panoramic mis-en-scène (Fig. 3 & 4). As

28
Christiansen, p. 5
29
Kunicki, p. 236
30
Aleksander Gieysztor, ‘Medieval Poland’, in (eds. Aleksander Gieysztor, et al.), History of Poland (Warsaw: Polish
Scientific Publishers, 1979), p. 117
31
Frank Bren, World Cinema: Poland (London: Flicks, 1986), p. 87
32
Hayden White, ‘Historiography and Historiophoty’, The American Historical Review, 93:5 (Dec., 1988)

7
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such, the camera is used to highlight the humanity and freedom of the Russians in contrast to the paranoia

and sadism of the Germans.33

Such binary interpretations stem from an acceptance of the perspective of medieval chroniclers. The Papacy

justified the crusades in the Baltic as a defence of Christianity as they could not be framed within the

theology of pilgrimage; indeed the anonymous author of the Rhymed Chronicle prefers “to tell how God’s

grace sent Christianity into many lands where no apostle had ever gone.”34 It was in the interests of Catholic

chroniclers to present the enemies of the crusaders as grave threats to Christendom – especially pertinent if

Alan Murray is correct in his assertion that Catholic chronicles were used to attract prospective crusaders.35

This can be seen in the Rhymed Chronicle as the Russians, in quarrelling with the Bishop of Dorpat, “did all

they could to obstruct Christianity.”36 Similarly, in the earlier Chronicle of Henry of Livonia the Church is

“beset with many tribulations, inasmuch as it was in the midst of many nations and the adjacent Russians,

who all took counsel together over ways to destroy it.”37

Anti Selart views the Nikonian Chronicle as central to nationalistic Russian interpretations of the crusades.38

Compiled from extant materials in the 1520s under the supervision of Metropolitan Daniel,39 the chronicle

too had reasons to portray the conflict dichotomously. The Nikonian Chronicle was complied as a means of

fashioning a teleological narrative highlighting Moscow’s position as a centre of Orthodoxy. Similarly, the

16th century saw the Russian Church’s spiritual power grow in tandem with the political rise of Muscovy; as

such, the Church needed more Russian saints to match its newfound stature with Nevsky canonised in

1547.40 Therefore, it is of no surprise that the ecclesiastics who compiled it presented Nevsky as having

33
Nickolas Haydock, Hollywood in the Holy Land: Essays on Film Depictions of the Crusades and Christian Muslim
Clashes (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2009), pp. 25-26
34
Jerry Smith & William L. Urban (trans.), The Livonian Rhymed Chronicle (Chicago: Lithuanian Research Centre,
2001), pp. 1-2
35
Alan V. Murray, ‘The Structure, Genre and Intended Audience of the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle’, in (ed. Alan V.
Murray), Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), p. 250
36
Smith & Urban, p. 25
37
Henricus Lettus (trans. James Brundage), The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia (New York: Columbia University Press,
2003), p. 100
38
Anti Selart, Livona, Rus’ and the Baltic Crusades in the 13 th Century (Leiden: Koninklijke Brill, 2015), pp. 1-3
39
Serge A. Zenkovsky (trans.), ‘Preface to Volume III’, in, The Nikonian Chronicle: Volume III (Princeton: The
Kingston Press Inc., 1986), p. vii
40
Isoha, pp. 284-287

8
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saved Russia’s Orthodox identity from the malevolent designs of the Papacy, both against the Swedes at the

Neva in 1240 and at Lake Peipus two years later. It is very likely that Eisenstein at least read the Nikonian

Chronicle. Donald Ostrowskii argues that the mythology of the Battle on the Ice was constructed over

several centuries by chroniclers before concluding that Alexander Nevsky was the first text to show the

German’s drown under the ice. 41 Yet, he makes scant reference to the Nikonian Chronicle that describes how

“some others [fleeing Germans] drowned in the water” strongly suggesting that Eisenstein based his

interpretation on the 16th century text.42

The translation of the Nikonian Chronicle to film sees the primary material’s dichotomous representation

enhanced due to the visual medium’s ability to better represent landscapes, emotion, conflict and violence.43

The chronicle describes how the Teutonic Order set “fire in the suburbs” of Pskov, “slaying many” of the

city’s inhabitants and “captured many children of good men.” They “marched up to thirty versts from

Novgorod, killing merchants everywhere” before returning to their “own land with a great many captives.”

As the Nikonian Chronicle states, “there was much evil.”44 This account of the Teutonic invasion is very

similar to Eisenstein’s film: Pskov is shown shrouded in thick black smoke billowing from burnt out

buildings; the knights, stereotypically Germanic with long blonde hair, mechanistically toss children onto

burning pyres; the city’s menfolk are executed in front of their grieving wives; and priests bless the ritualised

slaughter (Fig. 5).

One of the clearest oppositions in Alexander Nevsky is between the obsessive piety of the Teutonic Order

and the secularity of the Russians. The film’s eponymous prince is the physical embodiment of a great

leader, a “hero monument” represented arms crossed with an all-knowing facial expression, serving the

nation, not God (Fig. 6).45 The inhabitants of Novgorod are also secularised with Orthodox onion-domes in

41
Donald Ostrowskii, ‘Alexander Nevskii’s ‘Battle on the Ice’: The Creation of a Legend’, Russian History, 33 (2006),
pp. 289-312
42
Zenkovsky, Nikonian, p. 12
43
Robert Rosenstone, ‘History in Images/History in Words’, The American Historical Review, 93:5 (Dec., 1988), p.
1179
44
Zenkovsky, Nikonian, pp. 8-9
45
Evgeny Dobrenko, Stalinist Cinema and the Production of History: Museum of the Revolution (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press, 2012), p.73

9
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the background serving to denote ethnic Russianness rather than religion (see Fig. 2). This is clearly an

anachronistic binary used to reinforce Soviet atheism as Nevsky was traditionally represented in

hagiographical terms for reasons hitherto outlined. In the 14th century Novgorod Chronicle the ecclesiastic

author describes how the city’s patron saints, Gleb and Boris, “helped knyaz Alexander” defeat the Teutonic

Order in battle.46 The compilation Nikonian Chronicle builds upon this existing image of divine intervention.

It describes how the prince is purported to have prayed to God, “Help us … just as Thou didst help Moses

against Amalek”, before an army of “heavenly Russian warriors heaved their shoulders and slashed their

swords moving as if on air.”47 Both the chronicles of Novgorod and Nikon contain redactions of Prince

Alexander’s 13th century vitae. The latter of these chronicles constructs him as saintly figure who was “loved

by God, God favoured and praiseworthy”, had “the fear of God settled in his heart” and on whose “lips were

constantly divine words … sweeter than honey.”48

Although anachronistic, the secularity of Alexander Nevsky makes Eisenstein’s work hypothetically similar

to the original non-extant version of Nevsky’s vitae. As John Fennel notes, “purely hagiographical elements

are found side by side with classical battle descriptions” suggesting that the vitae was initially a lay

biography, intended to show its subject’s martial valour, later redacted to include hagiographical

decorations.49 There is some dispute amongst scholars whether the vitae is the work of one or two authors

with both Serge Zenkovsky and Ostrowskii suggesting that it was initially written by a warrior in Nevsky’s

retinue then adapted by ecclesiastics.50 Regardless, the juxtaposition between secular and non-secular can be

seen in redactions of the vitae included in the Nikonian Chronicle with military passages, like those of the

Battle on the Ice and the Neva, being followed by Nevsky purportedly making long religious speeches.51

Ostrowskii goes as far as to reconstruct a hypothetical extract of the original text by expunging the supposed

46
Robert Mitchell & Nevill Forbes (trans.), The Chronicle of Novgorod, 1016-1471 (London: Offices of the Society,
1914), pp. 86-87
47
Zenkovsky, Nikonian, pp. 11-12
48
Ibid, pp. 1-3
49
John Fennel & Antony Stokes, Early Russian Literature (London: Faber and Faber, 1974), p. 110
50
Donald Ostrowskii, ‘Dressing a Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing: Towards Understanding the Composition of the ‘Life of
Alexander Nevskii’, Russian History, 40 (2013), p. 44 ; Serge A. Zenkovsky, Medieval Russia’s Epics, Chronicles and
Tales (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1974), pp. 224-225
51
Zenkovsky, Nikonian, pp. 7-8, 12-13

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later redactions and ironically his end result is similar to Eisenstein’s secularised and nationalised Alexander

Nevsky.52

The binary oppositions of Eisenstein’s film are enhanced by the saturated Technicolor palette of Ford’s

Krzyżacy. The Teutonic knights wear sinister black-and-white uniforms while the Poles are shown in

resplendent national colours (Fig. 7 & 8). Similarly to Alexander Nevsky, Ford’s camerawork – his use of

historiophoty – suggests a dichotomous relationship between the two opposing forces. The Poles are

depicted in natural settings: they ride horseback through verdant woodlands; live in close proximity to

wildlife; and Danusia, a member of the retinue of a Lithuanian princess who is later kidnapped by the

Teutonic Order, is first introduced with a circle of maidens dancing around her in the forest. The Germans,

on the other hand, are confined within a claustrophobic world of artificial gloomy castles and their only

connection with nature is when they enslave it, like the tamed bear which is led out on a chain before Jurand,

Danusia’s father, is allowed to meet with the knights to bargain for his daughter’s life (Fig. 9 & 10).53 This

suggests that the Teutonic knights have implanted themselves like a cancer in land that is rightfully Polish.

The Teutonic Order are also stereotypically cruel: the film begins with the onscreen informative text telling

the audience the knights are committing “various bad things … at the border”; they are shown marching

chain gangs of Polish slaves; they kidnap Danusia and drive her to her death; and they ritually humiliate

Jurand through a sadomasochistic conversion.

Ford’s Krzyżacy, and Sienkiewicz’s novel, clearly evoke Jan Długosz’s Annals, both in their description of

Grunwald and in reflecting the chronicler’s worldview. Długosz, a canon of Cracow and a Polish diplomat

who was born in 1415 just five years after the Battle of Grunwald, has been positioned as “one of the

greatest historians of the fifteenth century”,54 whose works were “based on extensive research in primary

sources”,55 and who, in framing the Annals’ narrative as a history of the changing Polish nation and of its

52
Ostrowskii, ‘Dressing’, pp. 65-67
53
Haydock, pp. 43-47
54
Oskar Halecki, ‘Problems of Polish Historiography’, The Slavonic and East European Review, 2:1 (Mar., 1943), p.
223
55
Gieysztor, p. 134

11
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place within Europe, moved beyond the traditional standards of medieval chroniclers. 56 Despite this,

Długosz, like all historians, was not impartial with Sven Ekdahl noting, “experience has shown that the

reliability of Długosz as a historian should not be taken for granted.” Indeed, Poland’s renewed war against

the Teutonic Order (1454-66) influenced his writings – he had “his own preferences in regards to heroes and

scoundrels” in his narrative.57 Moreover, like other medieval chroniclers, he intertwined fact and fiction and

indulged in constructing long monologues for historical figures. 58 His famed depiction of Grunwald,

essentially copied by Sienkiewicz and Ford, is likely less accurate than is often claimed as being an

ecclesiastical scholar and not a solider he was ill-equipped to understand military affairs. 59 This is

compounded by the fact that Długosz’s father fought at Grunwald and growing up he allegedly had details of

the battle recounted to him, which were likely self-aggrandising and affected by the distortion of memory by

time.

Długosz’s Annals are shaped by the author’s own worldview and that of his readership. Both were

conditioned by the growth of Polish national consciousness that had occurred during the 14th century,

especially amongst the aristocracy who were his intended audience. 60 As such, the Annals are an inherently

patriotic work. This is seen in his repeated irredentist references to Poland’s lost province of Silesia, which at

the time of writing was outwith the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth. Throughout the 14th century Poland’s

political interests shifted north, in response to the rise of the Teutonic Order, and east, to fill the Ruthenian

power vacuum left in the wake of the Mongol invasion. Growing ever more removed from Polish interests,

the Germanised Silesian elites gravitated towards Bohemia and the Holy Roman Empire.61 In the Annals

Długosz laments, rather presciently given 20th century history, that since the 1320s “Wrocław has sought to

disassociate itself from Poland, though its payments to the Pope of St. Peter’s Pence and its subordination to

the Archbishop of Gniezno … are proof that Wrocław used to be part of the Kingdom of Poland and will

56
Paul W. Knoll, ‘Jan Długosz, 1480-1980’, The Polish Review, 27:1/2 (1982), pp. 23-24
57
Sven Ekdahl, ‘The Turning Point in the Battle of Tannenberg (Grunwald/Žalgiris) in 1410’, Lituanus, 56:2 (Summer,
2010), online journal with no pagination
58
Juozas Jakštas, ‘Długosz about the Battle of Tannenberg: Vyautas and the Lithuanians through the eyes of a
chronicler’, Litanus, 8:3 (1962), online journal with no pagination
59
Paul W. Knoll, ‘Jan Długosz and His “Banderia Pruntenorum”’, The Polish Review, 25:1 (1980), p. 96
60
Knoll, ‘Jan Długosz, 1480-1980’, p. 25
61
Norman Davies & Roger Moorhouse, Microcosm: Portrait of a Central European City (London: Jonathan Cape,
2002), pp. 74-75

12
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return to it, when God takes pity on the Polish people.” 62 Similarly, he praises Polish efforts to reclaim

Pomerania, conquered by the Teutonic Order between 1308-1310. He remarks that with the Second Peace of

Torun in 1466, “Poland is to have the territories that naturally belong to it: Chełm, Michałów and

Pomerania.”63

With such a worldview in mind, it is unsurprising that the Annals are hostile to Germanic civilisation.

Długosz’s description of Grunwald would always be biased towards the Poles but given the aforementioned

developments this all the more stark. Długosz characterises the Germans by their arrogance and superiority

complex. Master Ulrich of the Teutonic Order, traditionally represented as a Pole-hater even although there

is little evidence of this,64 believes that in the Polish “army you will find more men fit to wield a spoon than

a sword” and that the Poles “naturally exaggerate the power of [their] liege-lord.”65 Ulrich is surrounded by

“flatterers that [say] the outcome of the battle will be the one he wishes” for “they are in possession of

certain holy relics [and] no enemy can defeat them.”66 His account of the battle is very similar to that seen in

Ford’s Krzyżacy, which generally accepts Długosz’s Germanophobic perspective, with the Grand Master

arrogantly asserting that the Poles are “hiding in the forest … they’re better at drinking than at fighting!”

The most famous scene of Krzyżacy depicts the Teutonic emissaries presenting two swords to Władysław to

encourage the Poles to fight. This was a common chivalric gesture in Western Europe, which the Order

likely sought to introduce to the east. However, Michalski argues, in an analysis of primary accounts of

Grunwald up to Długosz’s Annals, each version presents the emissaries in increasingly offensive terms to

highlight the inherent arrogance of the Order and the humility of the Polish king. 67 This can be seen in

Długosz’s description where the emissaries allegedly state, the Poles are “procrastinating or hiding in woods

and thickets to deceive him [Master Ulrich].” Władysław then accepts the swords “so that they may further

62
Jan Długosz, (trans. Maurice Michael), The Annals of Jan Długosz: An English Abridgement (Charlton: IM
Publications, 1997), pp. 270-271
63
Ibid, p. 560
64
Christiansen, p. 227
65
Długosz, p. 382
66
Ibid, pp. 384-385
67
Michalski, p. 114

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strengthen the help given … by God.”68 Ford’s film removes the reference to God but in all other respects

the scene is a near identikit visual reproduction of Długosz’s account with the same dichotomous results.

Since the middle of the 20th century most people outwith academia have received their historical information

from films.69 This is certainly true for the Baltic Crusades with both Alexander Nevsky and Krzyżacy proving

hugely popular upon release with the latter quickly selling, within Poland alone, two million admissions,

double that within four years and by 1987 over thirty-two million.70 Historians have branded these films

ahistorical and guilty of creating a falsified history that has subsequently become ingrained in the popular

historical consciousness. Although a largely Anglo-American cohort of historians, working since the end of

the Cold War, have attempted to shift the terms of the debate around the Baltic Crusades from dichotomies

to “multifaceted exchanges”, their efforts have failed to alter popular perceptions of the conflicts. 71

Ironically, their efforts were presaged in film by the Czech auteur František Vláčil’s The Valley of the Bees

(1967), which never reached the peaks of popularity of Ford or Eisenstein’s films. Rather than portraying the

Teutonic knights as mechanistic evildoers, Vláčil’s work is an intimate psychological profile of a Bohemian

knight struggling to escape the dogmatism of the Order.

However, the new, less binary, history of the Baltic Crusades is no closer to representing reality – what

actually happened – than the films of Ford and Eisenstein, as any set of events can be emplotted in any

number of ways so as to perform any number of imagined narratives. Indeed, their work is more reflective of

the epoch it was written in, a period of declining political binarism and unabashed optimism defined by

Francis Fukuyama’s proclamation of “the end of history”,72 than the historical reality of the Baltic Crusades.

As has been demonstrated, the version of history that Alexander Nevsky and Krzyżacy disseminate is not, bar

obvious ideological adjustments, as anachronistic and ahistorical as medievalists and film scholars, like

Lindley, purport. By reflecting dominant historiographical traditions that originated in the 19th century and

68
Długosz, p. 388
69
Robert Rosenstone, ‘The Historical Film: Looking at the Past in a Postliterate Age’, in (ed. Lloyd Kramer), Learning
History in America: Schools, Cultures and Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), pp. 50-51
70
Marek Haltof, Polish National Cinema (New York: Berghahn Books, 2002), p. 97
71
North, p. 29
72
Francis Fukuyama, ‘The End of History?’, The National Interest, 16 (Summer, 1989)

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remained unchallenged for much of the 20th century, which read sources uncritically and accepted the binary

representational paradigms of the chronicler, both Eisenstein and Ford’s films show how medieval Russian

and Polish chroniclers perceived conflicts with the Teutonic Order. While not offering an accurate rendering

of reality in the medieval Baltic they project onscreen a valuable insight into the medieval mentalité and, as

such, reveal more about the Baltic’s medieval than modern history.

15
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Fig. 1: Vasili (left) and Gavrillo (right) both fall in love with the voivode’s
daughter, Olga, in, Sergei Eisenstein (dir.), Alexander Nevsky (Mosfilm,
1938).

16
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Fig. 2: The Teutonic Knights as typically represented in, Alexander Nevsky.

17
2069704

Fig. 3: The artificial tableau staging of the Teutonic Knights in, Alexander
Nevsky.

18
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Fig. 4: Panoramic and natural mis-en-scène in Novgorod, in, Alexander

Nevsky.

19
2069704

Fig. 5: The charred ruins of Pskov mirroring The Nikonian Chronicle, in,
Alexander Nevsky.

20
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Fig. 6: Prince Alexander Nevsky as a national ‘hero monument’, in,

Alexander Nevsky.

21
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Fig. 7: The black and white uniforms of the Teutonic Knights, in,
Aleksander Ford (dir.), Krzyżacy (Studio Film Team, 1960).

22
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Fig. 8: King Władysławn and his retinue in bright national colours, in,
Krzyżacy.

23
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Fig. 9: The gloomy, claustrophobic world of the Teutonic Knights, in,

Krzyżacy.

24
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Fig. 10 : Danusia in the natural forest setting also dressed in national

colours, in, Krzyżacy.

25
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Filmography

Eisenstein, Sergei, Alexander Nevsky (Mosfilm, 1938)

Ford, Aleksander, Krzyżacy (Studio Film Team, 1960)

Vláčil, František, The Valley of the Bees (Barrandov Studios, 1967)

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