PART IV
18
What was the nature of the union after 1447? Most historians have concluded that the events of 1440–7 buried the Polish vision of an accessory union: if the Poles never forgot the contents and spirit—as they saw it—of the union treaties, and revived incorporationist sentiments after Casimir’s death in 1492, from 1447 until 1569 the Polish-Lithuanian union was purely personal and, between 1492 and 1501, when there were again separate rulers in Cracow and Vilnius, it constituted a mere dynastic union. Błaszczyk considers that the union was broken in 1440; 1447 therefore saw the establishment of a personal union between two sovereign states. Bardach maintains that since this personal union was not based on a treaty it was contingent in nature. For Halecki, it was not the union that was broken in 1440 but the agreements on which it was based; after 1440 it constituted a dynastic relationship between two equal states, although he suggested that this was only recognized in 1499. Lithuanian historians keen to emphasize the preservation of Lithuanian sovereignty and independence and the looseness of the link with Poland agree that this was a loose relationship between two sovereign states.1
Yet this was no ordinary personal union and there was much more to it than a common ruler. The Brest documents of September 1446 may not have constituted a formal treaty of union and may have lacked Horodło’s incorporationist rhetoric, but they spoke the language of fraternal union, and provided a framework, however rudimentary, for relations between the two realms. The definitive establishment of the elective nature of the Polish monarchy with the election of Władysław III in 1430—albeit with continued respect for the dynasty’s natural rights—and the elections of Švitrigaila, Žygimantas, and Casimir in Lithuania demonstrated the extent to which the two communities of the realm had established their right to be consulted with regard to who ruled over them. The union depended upon collective acts of will, not the vagaries of hereditary succession.
The institution of royal election, defined in Poland between 1382 and 1430 and extended to Lithuania in 1413 for the position of grand duke, meant that it was not so easy to end the union. It was not broken in 1440: the Lithuanians elected Casimir under the terms of Horodło and never challenged Władysław’s hereditary rights as supreme duke. The complex legal position with regard to elections was defined in the union treaties, none of which were repealed. While some, such as Hrodna, lost their relevance when circumstances changed, the Poles never forgot them and—whatever historians have argued—believed them still to be in force. The Poles may have toned down their rhetoric after 1446, but they still believed that Lithuania had been incorporated, even if they were unclear as to what incorporation signified. The elective principle quickly took root in Lithuania: although the Jagiellons claimed hereditary rights to the grand duchy, Władysław and John Albert were the only Lithuanian supreme dukes between 1413 and 1569 who were not first elected grand duke.
It was not just the Poles, therefore, who remembered the treaties: the Lithuanians were perfectly capable of appealing to them when it suited them, as in 1446, when Casimir and the Lithuanians told the Order that Bolesław IV’s provisional election breached Horodło, which required the Poles to consult the Lithuanians when electing their king.2 They rejected the Polish interpretation of the treaties, but those treaties established limits to grand ducal power which the Lithuanians were loath to surrender. Horodło introduced the Polish system of provincial government in the palatinates of Vilnius and Trakai, which meant that Lithuania proper was exposed to the culture of consultation that had flourished in Poland since 1370, albeit in a limited form, since neither sejmiks—as the local and provincial dietines were called—nor elective Polish courts were introduced. Nevertheless, the new system of local administration, which drew in more of the local nobility, and increasingly frequent assemblies on the Polish pattern, meant that leading Lithuanian boyars gained a political voice. Finally, Horodło, by limiting government office to Catholics, ensured that despite the extension of rights and privileges to Ruthenian nobles in 1434, Catholic Lithuanians remained in charge.
Horodło’s provision for joint assemblies was not forgotten. Between 1447 and 1453 three such assemblies were held at the venues designated by Horodło: Lublin (1448) and Parczew (1451 and 1453); another was held at Brest in 1454. The first, at Lublin in May 1448, was attended on the Polish side by two archbishops and four bishops, including Oleśnicki and Kot. Jan of Czyżów, castellan of Cracow, and Jan Tęczyński, palatine of Cracow, led a significant number of lay dignitaries. The Lithuanian delegation, led by Motiejus, bishop of Vilnius, included Iury Lengvinovich and the men who had masterminded Casimir’s election: Jonas Goštautas, palatine of Vilnius; Jonas Manvydaitis, palatine of Trakai; Marshal Petras Mantigirdaitis, and Iury Holshansky. Ruthenians from both the kingdom and the grand duchy, including Vasyl Krasny, Prince Ostrozky, came to discuss Podolia and Volhynia.3
The attendance of so many dignitaries suggests that the assembly intended to discuss more than Polish support for Lithuania’s forthcoming Muscovite campaign, its ostensible purpose, but reflected the desire of moderates on both sides to reach agreement over the union’s nature following the years of crisis.4 This was no easy task. Emboldened by their recent success, the Lithuanians returned to the issue that had provoked the coronation tempest, demanding the removal from the union treaties of all clauses implying that Lithuania had been incorporated into Poland, on the grounds that they implied that Lithuanians were of inferior status. The Poles countered by suggesting that the office of grand duke be abolished in perpetuity, thus rejecting a key clause in Horodło, but conceding that the union treaties could be altered. They stressed that if the Lithuanians accepted incorporation it would render irrelevant the dispute over Podolia and Volhynia. The Lithuanians rejected these proposals. They were happy to be ruled by a common prince, but refused to accept that Lithuania was a Polish province. They were determined to retain the separate title of grand duke and the possibility that they might elect another after Casimir’s death. The Poles vainly rehearsed their mantra that the Lithuanians had agreed to the terms of union in 1386 and 1413, and that the grand duchy had already been incorporated. Agreement was impossible, and the Lithuanians withdrew, refusing to discuss Podolia and Volhynia.5
It was three years before they reassembled in Parczew in late September 1451. As Švitrigaila’s long life drew to a close it was necessary to discuss Podolia and Volhynia. The prospects for agreement were poor. Casimir initially spent most of his time after 1447 in Lithuania, and first held an assembly in Vilnius with Lithuanians and Ruthenians from both parts of the union, at which the Lithuanian position was carefully prepared. Długosz, a member of the delegation that discussed the matter with Casimir, castigated him for favouring Lithuania.6 Jonas Goštautas, leader of the Lithuanian hardliners, returned to Vilnius when the Poles refused to issue safe-conducts. Casimir had to travel to the border to persuade the other Lithuanians to come to Parczew.7
No progress was made. Oleśnicki bored everyone with lengthy lectures on the history of the union, waving around the 1432 Hrodna treaty, which stipulated that Podolia and Volhynia would revert to Poland on Žygimantas’s death. The Lithuanians, led by Motiejus, bishop of Vilnius, were well acquainted with the treaties. Motiejus condemned Horodło’s incorporationist clauses, which were ‘onerous and highly insulting’, claiming that they cast the yoke of slavery upon the Lithuanians. He demanded that Lithuanian rule over Podolia and Volhynia be confirmed and requested a new union treaty, arguing that the Lithuanians had only agreed to Horodło because they had been ordered to by Vytautas, not knowing what it contained.8
None of this was acceptable to the Poles, and the assembly achieved nothing. Yet the Lithuanians showed that they had learned much. Motiejus’s claim that they had not known what they were agreeing to in 1413 was cunning. It appealed directly to the Polish principle that ultimate authority lay with a community of the realm that refused to bow to the prince’s arbitrary will, and neatly countered the standard Polish claim that the Lithuanians had consented to the union treaties. It reduced Oleśnicki to blustering that the treaties should be honoured for they had been drafted by ‘such wise princes’ as Jagiełło and Vytautas; his discomfort at this line of argument is hinted at by Długosz, who wrote that he presented it not with his usual forceful, confident air, but ‘with a strange modesty and courtesy’.9 Motiejus had turned the great champion of the communitas regni into a flatterer of princes, albeit ones who were safely dead.
Motiejus claimed that Lithuania was neither incorporated into Poland nor subject to it; he spoke of the relationship as an association or league.10 These were the terms used in a document Lewicki dates September 1446, and presents as a Lithuanian project of union submitted to the Parczew-Brest assembly before Casimir’s coronation in Cracow. A fuller version was discovered by Ulanowski and published by Kutrzeba. Fałkowski argues that it was drafted as the basis for negotiation over the terms of Casimir’s accession to the Polish throne in 1446, although, as Rowell observes, the fact that Casimir is referred to as king suggests it was presented at one of the Parczew assemblies in 1451 or 1453.11 Whenever it was drafted, the suggestion that it was a project for a new union depends on the assumption that a new union was necessary. Thus it, together with Motiejus’s 1451 speech, have been used to suggest that the Lithuanians were separatists, who proposed nothing more than a mere alliance of two independent, sovereign states.12
Fałkowski is right, however, to reject the idea that the document constituted a proposal for a new union.13 It contains no indication that the Lithuanians regarded the union as broken: quite the contrary. It was a statement of how the Lithuanians understood the nature of the voluntary relationship they had entered into with Poland that stressed the consent of the citizens of both parties to the union, who had joined together in ‘fraternal equality’ and friendship, before supplying a list of synonyms that echoed those used at Horodło to denote fraternal union, rather than incorporation: ‘sinceritate confederavimus, complicavimus, composuimus, colligavimus et presentibus confederamus, compliciamus, componimus et liga perpetua colligamus’.14
While the document stressed that Poland and Lithuania were separate realms, the use of the perfect tense in the list of synonyms demonstrates that the union had been formed; the use of the present tense suggests that the Lithuanians wished to renew it, as at Horodło, through mutual agreement over what it signified. Throughout, the stress is on the equality of the two realms (dominia) joined in union, whose honour and status should be respected. Neither should be subject to the other, or incorporated, or appropriated, and each should remain a free realm.15
The document ends by directly citing Horodło’s stipulation on the vital issue of the succession, reminding the Poles that the union treaties decreed that the Poles should not elect their king without Lithuanian participation, and that Lithuanians should not elect a grand duke without consulting the Poles.16
In the sense that the Lithuanians envisaged the union as a relationship between two separate realms, this document is separatist, but the term is best avoided, as historians tend to use it to signify support for the breaking of the union and establishment of Lithuania as a fully independent sovereign state in the modern sense. By stressing the possible future election of a grand duke they reminded the Poles that it was they who had forgotten the Horodło provisions in 1430 and 1440. The Lithuanians demonstrated their awareness of the terms of the union treaties, proposing a different vision of the relationship. They did not see it as a purely personal union, for to do so would be to deprive them of the possibility of electing their grand dukes.
The document encapsulates the Lithuanian vision of a fraternal union entered into by two separate and equal realms: the term ‘equalitate’ is used to characterize the formation of the union. Its emphasis on the union treaties that had institutionalized their right to elect their grand duke suggests that, if Jellinek is right to insist that a true personal union is not a juridical but a historical-political relationship, which from the legal point of view constitutes an accidental political community (Gemeinschaft) united only in the person of the ruler and possessing as many separate legal personalities as there were polities united under the one sceptre, then the Polish-Lithuanian union was far more than a personal union.17
So what was it? Jellinek suggests that a personal union in a modern constitutional monarchy can be formed through election, and not just dynastic inheritance, but he does not discuss personal unions in elective monarchies.18 His back-projection, however, of his rigid concepts of the indivisibility of sovereignty and of the unitary state as a legal personality is unhelpful. Neither the Poles nor the Lithuanians thought in these terms in the fifteenth century. The debates centred around dynastic patrimony, its nature, its basis, and its legitimate claims, and the role of the community of the realm, rather than concepts of statehood or sovereignty.19 Jellinek, in discussing incorporation, argues that there are two forms: one in which the sovereignty of one state is completely subjected to that of the state into which it is incorporated; in the second, the sovereignty of both states is dissolved, and a wholly new entity is created.20 He recognizes, however, that in pre-modern Staatsrecht matters were different, and that theorists were influenced by what he terms the ‘scholastic distinctions’ of canon law, grudgingly conceding that for the pre-modern period to talk, as contemporaries did, of unions by partial incorporation in which legal systems remained separate and unequal, has a ‘certain validity’.21
The Polish conception of incorporation was not based on the modern idea of the unitary, sovereign state. It was informed by canon law ideas that recognized various types of union, of which complete incorporation, in which the laws of the incorporated realm were dissolved—unio per suppressionem—was but one type. Incorporation could be complete—incorporatio plena—but also partial—minus plena. Other forms of union allowed for the dissolution of both bodies and their reformation or fusion into a new entity—unio per novationem or per confusionem. Real unions could be formed without the necessity for incorporation, in which the laws of both realms were preserved on an equal basis—unio realis aequali jure—or in which the laws of one party were regarded in the final instance as superior, in a union inaequali jure.22
Jellinek, with his tidy jurist’s mind, disliked such messy arrangements.23 Most historians of the union have interpreted it in Jellinek’s terms, conceiving it as a relationship between two sovereign, unitary states. Yet many of those who discussed it between 1429 and 1453 were steeped in canon law and the concepts that Jellinek dismisses. In rejecting the idea of incorporatio plena, the Lithuanians were not defending a unitary, sovereign, modern state, but a vision of a union aequali iure, or aeque principaliter, in which the grand duchy was equal in status to Poland. The Poles clung to the incorporationist clause in Horodło, but the lack of clarity in both Krewo and Horodło as to the nature of that incorporation meant that they themselves were unclear as to what it might in practice mean.
While the Poles continued to believe Lithuania had been incorporated, they could neither persuade the Lithuanians to accept their interpretation, nor agree to the amendment of the union treaties. In practice, therefore, they had to accept that the incorporation was minus plena after a third assembly at Parczew in June 1453 ended in deadlock. It marked the last attempt to reach agreement over the nature of the union during Casimir’s long reign.24 Yet it is not that failure that should be emphasized, but the spirit of compromise that ultimately prevailed. The Poles and Lithuanians agreed to differ, and the issue was buried for a generation. This did not mean, however, that the relationship between the two polities was that of two independent states joined merely by the person of the ruler. After 1454 there was much contact and cooperation, as well as the rancorous disputes stemming from the defence of local interests that are common to all unions. During Casimir’s forty-five year reign the process of union, the quiet growing together of the two separate polities that formed it, meant that by the time of his death, the political landscape had been transformed.
This was possible in part because the absence of any serious dynastic challengers to Casimir reduced the temperature considerably, and enabled him to establish himself securely on the thrones of both his realms. By 1447 Švitrigaila and Iury Lengvinevich were old men, neither of them inclined to challenge Casimir. He secured their loyalty by restoring their patrimonies, on which they quietly lived out their days. Švitrigaila had no heir, while Iury’s descendants joined the mass of minor Gediminid princes whose status diminished generation by generation.25 No such generosity was shown to Mykolas Žygimantaitis, whose claim to Trakai was not upheld. Although some early Lithuanian support for his election as grand duke soon withered, his cause was taken up by Polish malcontents: Oleśnicki urged Casimir to restore his patrimony at Parczew in 1451. Mykolas paid the price, however, for taking up arms against Casimir. Rebuffed by the Order and the Mazovians, he participated in a Tatar raid on Lithuania in 1448, and led a more devastating one in 1449 which briefly captured Kyiv, Briansk, Starodub, and Novhorod-Siversky.26 The attacks alienated any Lithuanian supporters he had left, and he ceased to be a threat. Following the well-beaten path of aggrieved Gediminids to Moscow, he was neutralized by an agreement between Casimir and Vasilii II in August 1449, and poisoned at some point before 10 February 1452.27 The Kęstutids were no more, while the childless Švitrigaila’s death in 1453 removed the last of Algirdas’s sons from the scene. The way was open for the Jagiellons to establish themselves as one of Europe’s great dynasties, eclipsing the Luxembourgs and proving powerful rivals to the Habsburgs for over a century.
Casimir’s acceptance of the Polish throne ended the long, bitter Lithuanian dynastic struggle that had begun in 1377, and which had done much to shape the process of union. It is better to see the fifteenth-century relationship between Poland and the grand duchy in terms of patrimony, suzerainty, and lordship, than to squeeze it into the anachronistic procrustean bed of sovereign national statehood. The loyalties of those that formed it were directed towards princes, however the basis of their authority was conceived. The force of tradition, and a fundamental attachment to the hereditary transmission of authority—whether or not it was subject to the principle of election—was powerful. The language was of lordship—dominium, gosudarstvo, panowanie, Herrschaft—not of sovereignty. Although there were undoubtedly strong elements of feudal law in the way in which the early Jagiellons conceived their lordship, most notably in the relationship between Poland and its vassal duchies, and in the patrimonial dispositions made to individual members of the dynasty, the relationship between Poland and Lithuania, as opposed to the personal relationship between Jagiełło and Vytautas, or Jagiełło and Žygimantas, was never one of feudal dependency, and was not conceived in this way.
In textbook accounts, the Polish-Lithuanian union is usually described as moving from a personal union after 1386 to a real union in 1569. Yet in many respects the Polish-Lithuanian union from 1386, and in particular from 1413, meets Jellinek’s definition of a real, rather than a personal union, making allowances for the fact that Jellinek’s view of unions between states depends on a modern definition of sovereignty and legal personality.28 For Jellinek, monarchical unions were peculiarly well suited to the formation of real unions, since sovereignty in monarchical states lay firmly in one place, in the person of the monarch.29 This would certainly accord with Jagiełło’s—if not Vytautas’s—view of the union, but it is the other features of Jellinek’s definition of real union that are significant in this context. For him, a real union had to have a juridical unity (rechtliche Einheit) that could be embodied in the person of the common monarch, if that monarch embodied a unitary state in the modern sense.30 While the Polish-Lithuanian union after 1386 was a composite, not a unitary state of the modern kind, nevertheless, the union treaties certainly expressed—at least in the incorporationist Polish interpretation of them—a sense that the grand duchy was being attached to the Polish regnum; this may have been for tactical reasons in the Horodło treaty, to demonstrate the unity of the Polish-Lithuanian union as a single actor on the international stage, but it certainly means that there was a sense of unity transcending the person of the king.
Whatever the contested nature of the union, it fulfils Jellinek’s next criterion for a real union: namely that—again in contrast to personal unions, which arose without the consent of the polities involved—real unions are the result of an act of will of the parties in the form of an agreement embodied in one or more foundation treaties.31 Despite the objection raised by Motiejus at Parczew in 1451 concerning the obedience of the Lithuanian elites to the commands of their princes, the emphasis in all the union treaties was on the agreement of the Polish and Lithuanian communities of the realm. For Jellinek, the necessity for a foundation treaty meant that a real union could only take place between two polities with strongly developed estates systems.32 While it would be premature to claim that the grand duchy had a developed estates system, the emergence of the concept of the community of the realm in Poland and its increasing direct involvement in politics through regular assemblies at the local and national level certainly meets this criterion, while—as political developments in Lithuania after 1429 demonstrate—the culture of consensus and debate soon spread into the grand duchy, as a direct result of the union.
Moreover, Jellinek saw real unions—in stark contrast to personal unions—as difficult to dissolve, since they were based on treaties, and, from the legal standpoint, dissolution required the consent of both parties.33 That this was true of the Polish-Lithuanian union is neatly demonstrated by the joint assemblies held at Lublin and Parczew between 1448 and 1453. The Lithuanians sought not to break the union, but to secure Polish acceptance of their view of the union as a relationship aeque principaliter. They had good reason not to wish to break the union, for their political liberties and the principle that they should have a say in who was to rule over them as grand duke depended upon Horodło. If the treaties of union were repealed it would be difficult to contest the patrimonial view of their own authority held by their grand dukes. It was not just that the reigns of Švitrigaila and Žygimantas had given them good reason for concern at such a prospect; the exposure for six decades to Polish notions of citizenship and consensual politics had transformed Lithuanian views of their own polity and how it should operate. Motiejus’s observation that the Lithuanians no longer wished simply to do what their princes commanded indicates that the Lithuanian political elite had travelled a long way by 1451.
The Lithuanians failed to secure Polish agreement for the redrafting of the union treaties after 1447. Yet despite all the rancour and the complete failure to agree on its nature, the union remained in force. While the Poles never forgot their incorporationist interpretation, and would reassert it, they had failed to give it any real form between 1385 and 1453. The Lithuanians defended their view that they were of equal, not subordinate status, and they had done so using terms and ideas drawn from the conceptual arsenal assembled in Poland during the fourteenth century and deployed in the union treaties: as they pointed out in Parczew in 1451, union treaties issued by the grand dukes were not binding upon them, for they had been issued without the participation of the estates of the Grand Duchy.34 They did not specify which treaties they had in mind, but their point was clear: if the union were to survive it had to be a consensual relationship sealed by the parliamentary institutions the Poles held so dear. It helped that after 1453 the temperature diminished somewhat. With no plausible alternatives to him after Mykolas’s poisoning, Casimir rapidly established himself as a shrewd ruler whose early identification with Lithuania and whose frequent presence in the grand duchy—though the length of his stays diminished substantially after 1454—demonstrated that he did not regard it as inferior in status. This shrewdness was manifested in his handling of the issue of Podolia and Volhynia. The Lithuanians, with Casimir’s encouragement—he was in Lithuania at the time, which hindered any effective Polish response—prepared carefully for Švitrigaila’s death. In early 1452 Casimir made grants of land to Volhynian nobles to secure their support for Lithuanian rule, and Švitrigaila expressed his wish that control should pass to Lithuania on his death. When he died on 10 February the Lithuanians moved swiftly, garrisoning Lutsk, and, concerned at preparations by Red Ruthenian nobles to mount an armed expedition to seize it back, partially burned Volodymyr castle to prevent them using it as an operational base. Casimir issued a new Volhynian privilege in which he promised to maintain Lithuania’s borders as they had been under Vytautas. The Poles were outraged, but although a Małopolskan assembly at Sandomierz in March talked war, few were prepared to fight, and Casimir secured support from Wielkopolska, where resentment at the Małopolskan lords was considerable and interest in Podolia and Volhynia minimal.35 Despite several assemblies in which sabres were loudly rattled and Casimir was castigated for favouring Lithuania, and furious confrontations over the matter at Parczew in 1453, a compromise was negotiated. A Polish delegation from which Oleśnicki was conspicuously absent attended a Lithuanian assembly in Brest in early April 1454 where a deal was struck on the basis of the status quo: the Poles retained control of western Podolia with Kamianets and the Volhynian towns of Olesko and Ratno, and agreed not to challenge Lithuanian rule over eastern Podolia and Volhynia.36
Attitudes softened. From 1454 the Poles looked north as the Order’s Prussian subjects rebelled against its rule. While the Lithuanians had little interest in supporting Polish intervention, the Poles, haunted by memories of Salin and Christmemel, needed to ensure Lithuanian neutrality. The Lithuanians had to reckon with the revival of discontent in Volhynia where the Chortoryskys and Sangushkos led a group of Ruthenian nobles with links to Red Ruthenia who were unreconciled to Lithuanian rule, and who plotted with Ruthenians under Polish rule to seize Lutsk and hand it over to the Poles.37 Compromise suited both sides, and the issue largely disappeared until its dramatic re-emergence in 1569.
1 Kutrzeba, ‘Charakter’, 172; Błaszczyk, Dzieje, ii/i, 812; Bardach, ‘Krewo’, 605; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 331; Dundulis, Kova, 188; Gudavičius, Istorija, 299; Petrauskas, ‘Blick’, 363.
2 CESXV, iii, no. 3, 5.
3 Annales, xii/i, 60; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 366; Dundulis, Kova, 191.
4 Łowmiański, Polityka, 221–2.
5 Annales, xii/i, 60–4; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 367–8; Любавский, Сеймъ, 117.
6 Annales, xii/i, 98, 108–10; Halecki, Ostatnie lata, 156–8; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 373–4.
7 Annales, xii/i, 114; Błaszczyk, Dzieje, ii/i, 822–3, 825–6; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 374; Любавский, Сеймъ, 117–18.
8 Annales, xii/i, 114; Любавский, Сеймъ, 118; Dundulis, Kova, 192–3.
9 Annales, xii/i, 114–15.
10 ‘non incorporacionem aut subieccionem terrarum Lithuaniae et Russiae, sed societatem et ligam cum Regno Poloniae contineant’: Annales, xii/i, 114.
11 CESXV, iii, no. 5, 7; Lewicki, ‘Wstąpienie’, 23–5; ‘Projekt unji polsko-litewskiej z r. 1446’, ed. Bolesław Ulanowski, Archiwum Komisji Prawniczej, 6 (1926), 235–9; Fałkowski, ‘Negocjacje’, 469; Rowell, ‘Casimir’, 31. Prochaska, who did not know of Ulanowski’s discovery, rejects the 1446 dating: Prochaska, ‘O rzekomej unii z 1446’, KH, 18 (1904), 24–31.
12 For example Грушевський, Історія, iv, 238.
13 Fałkowski, ‘Negocjacje’, 469.
14 ‘Projekt’, 237.
15 ‘quod unumquodque dominiorum predictorum et incole eorundem in suo honore permaneant, nec unum alteri sit subiectum aut incorporatum sive appropriatum, sed prout alias liberum et speciale extitit dominium, ita modo et peramplius debet permanere.’ ‘Projekt’, 237; Fałkowski, ‘Negocjacje’, 468.
16 ‘Projekt’, 239.
17 Jellinek, Lehre, 85.
18 Jellinek, Lehre, 87.
19 Rowell, ‘Casimir’, 7–8, 38–9; Rowell, ‘1446’, 203.
20 Jellinek, Lehre, 68.
21 Jellinek, Lehre, 68–9.
22 Jellinek, Lehre, 68.
23 Jellinek, Lehre, 68.
24 Halecki, Dzieje, i, 384–5.
25 Rowell, ‘Casimir’, 32, 38; Tęgowski, Pierwsze, 121–3.
26 Błaszczyk, Dzieje, ii/i, 814–15.
27 Annales, xii/i, 105–6; Błaszczyk, Dzieje, ii/i, 813–16; Rowell, ‘Casimir’, 38.
28 Jellinek, Lehre, 197–222.
29 Jellinek, Lehre, 211.
30 Jellinek, Lehre, 212.
31 Jellinek, Lehre, 212.
32 Jellinek, Lehre, 213, 216.
33 Jellinek, Lehre, 218.
34 Грушевський, Історія, iv, 241.
35 Halecki, Ostatnie lata, 176–7, 186–7, 190–3, 200–1.
36 Halecki, Dzieje, i, 388; Halecki, Ostatnie lata, 234–5; Górski, ‘Młodość’, 14.
37 Halecki, Ostatnie lata, 161, 164, 227; Halecki, Dzieje, i, 382–3; Błaszczyk, Dzieje, ii/i, 818–42.