“Ich mag Ihre Pelzer- und Schustertöchter nicht!”—And a Kiss of Death

Hans Faber
Jul 28, 2024
10 min read

Updated: Sep 13

Like everywhere along the Wadden Sea shores in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the small republics of the tidal marshlands fought battle after battle against foreign aggressors seeking to subdue them. Counts, bishops, and cities alike tried to lay their hands on these fertile and strategically located lands. And if the threat was not from outside, it came from local headmen striving to establish dominion over a republic. The region of Butjadingen and Stadland, at the lower reaches of the River Weser, was no exception. The title of this blog post quotes the last words of a free Rüstringer Frisian—of which Butjadingen and Stadland were a part—spoken before he was beheaded.

War was rife along the Wadden Sea coast in the Late Middle Ages. The small farmer republics of the tidal marshlands along the southern North Sea had to defend themselves not only against Blanke Hans, the wild sea, but also against a hostile human environment. Think of the Battle of Vroonen in 1297, when the Westfrisians lost their freedom. Think of the Battle of Laaxum in 1498, when the Mid Frisians—the people of the province of Friesland—lost theirs. Think of the Battle of Hemmingstedt in 1500, when the Ditmarsians lost theirs. Think of the Battle of Hartwarden in 1514, when the Rüstringer Frisians lost theirs (see also at the end of this blog post). And think of the Battle at the Wremer Deep in 1517, when the Wurstfrisians lost theirs—with 300 women fighting alongside the men as well. These were only the final battles. Believe us when we say there were many, many more before them.

The Battle of 1517 marked a historic turning point, for Land Wursten was the last of the (Frisian) salt-marsh republics to lose its independence. Only with the bourgeois uprising of the Low Countries against the Kingdom of Spain in 1568 would part of the southern North Sea coast once again see the restoration of popular freedom. One might argue that the small United Provinces of the Netherlands—the Dutch Republic—carved out on a narrow strip of coastline amidst powerful, centralized states, represented nothing less than the continuation of a regional tradition stretching back in a straight line to the Early Middle Ages.

The marshland republic of Butjadingen and Stadland belonged to the pagus 'territory' of Rüstringen. In the fourteenth century, much of Rüstringen was swallowed by the sea, splitting it into two parts: a western and an eastern half. The latter comprised Butjadingen—literally 'outside (the River) Jade'—and Stadland (Köbler 1988). Around 1400, the setting of this story, both areas were more or less islands in the estuary of the Jade and Weser rivers. The distinction between them was geographical: Butjadingen was Seemarsch 'sea marsh,' while Stadland was Flussmarsch 'river marsh' (Wolff 2018). These were tidal marshlands, constantly at risk of flooding—if not from the sea, then from the rivers. Disaster struck when both flooded at once. During the fourteenth century, the Heete Creek cut its way from the Jade Bight into the Weser estuary near the settlement of Nordenham, separating Butjadingen from Stadland and turning the former into a true island (Blumenberg 2002).

Here too, people lived on terps—artificial settlement mounds—locally called a Warden. It was the ancient strategy to survive in this tidal landscape along the entire Wadden Sea coast. The place names still tell the story: many villages end with warden or würde(n). Think of Boitwarden, Eckwarden, Einswarden, Einwürden, Eiswürde, Ellwürden, Fedderwarden, Grebswarden, Golzwarden, Hammelwarden, Hollwarden, Iggewarden, Langwarden, Phiesewarden, Schweewarden, Sinswürden, Sürwürden, Syuggewarden, and of course Hartwarden, already mentioned. If the inhabitants ever forgot they lived on a terp, their village name reminded them—every minute, every hour, every day.

“Leeuwarden and Bolsward are wardens too!” we can almost hear our Frisian readers cheer in chorus. And yes, indeed, those towns in Friesland deserve their place on the list. We love having such sharp-eyed and enthusiastic readers. And of course, let’s not forget Breddewarden, Fedderwarden, Sengwarden, Wiarden, Waddewarden, and Warden in the Wangerland in the region of Ostfriesland, bordering the mouth of the River Jade to the west. Indeed, proof of a shared cultural heritage across the Wadden Sea region.

Lastly, we would like to highlight the saga of the sunken city of Warden, also known as Esonstad, located in the Lauwers Bight on the border between the provinces of Friesland and Groningen. This is just one of many tales along the Wadden Sea coast of cities and towns lost beneath the waves—often with church bells that, legend has it, still ring from beneath the sea today. Again, proof of a shared cultural heritage. For a deeper dive into these captivating sagas, check out our blog post One Day. All the Sunken Church Bells Will Surface and Speak to Us Sternly.

In the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the Butjenter Friesen—the Frisians of Butjadingen—found themselves caught in a precarious position. Upstream, the River Weser flowed past the formidable city of Bremen, a free city within the Holy Roman Empire that had belonged to the powerful Hanseatic League since the mid-thirteenth century. The river served as the city’s vital artery, sustaining its trade and influence. Meanwhile, another external force to contend with was the County of Oldenburg, which sought to extend its authority over both Butjadingen and Stadland.

From the late fourteenth century, the infamous pirates known as the Vitalienbrüder—or Victual Brothers, and in the Low Countries as the Likedeelers, meaning 'those who share alike'—shifted their 'economic activities' from the Baltic Sea to the southern North Sea. They had been driven from their stronghold on the island of Gotland, off the east coast of Sweden, by the combined forces of the Hanseatic League and the knights of the Teutonic Order. Once displaced, these pirates became especially active in the regions of Ostfriesland and Butjadingen, as well as on the North Sea island of Heligoland.

The Wadden Sea coast proved an ideal haven for these sea-legged bandits, as its shallow waters were largely inaccessible to enemy fleets. Furthermore, the Frisian lands were free from the constraints of the feudal system, with authority fragmented among numerous local chieftains. These leaders—known as Hovetlinge in Old Frisian, Häuptlinge in German, or haadlings in Mid Frisian—often struck arrangements with the pirates, offering the protection of their harbours in exchange for payment. It is likely that some locals even took up the practice of raiding themselves. Also, the Victual Brothers were frequently hired by various factions in the Frisian civil wars, including between the Vetkopers and Schieringers factions, and they even participated in the Privateering War between Frisia and the Count of Holland in the early fifteenth century (Janse 1993). Well into the latter half of the fifteenth century, the Victual Brothers continued to operate in the Wadden Sea region, between the rivers Ems and Weser.

With the village of Einswarden near Blexen as their base on Butjadingen (Janse 1993), the Victual Brothers routinely targeted merchant ships traveling to and from Bremen along the lower reaches of the River Weser and through the sea passages between the Wadden Sea islands. A stretch of the river known as die königliche Straße—'the royal street'—was particularly notorious, as ships were forced to pay tribute or, in some cases, were seized outright.

Collateral damage was not a concept in the dictionary of the magistrates of Bremen. Therefore, in response, the city formed alliances with local headmen in Butjadingen and Stadland to eliminate the persistent and annoying pirates. One key figure was Didde Lübben—also identified in some sources as Lubbe Onneken, though we follow Wolff (2018)—from the village of Rodenkirchen in Stadland. Bremen also coordinated with the headmen of Blexen, a village situated at the mouth of the Weser, to strengthen their efforts against the pirate threat.

Around the year 1400, Didde Lübben began cooperating with the city of Bremen to prevent the Rüstringen Frisians of Butjadingen from collaborating with the Victual Brothers. As part of this effort, it was agreed to construct a castle near the village of Atens in the region of Stadland, which was completed in 1407. Clouding the issue, the castle was named Friedeburg—also recorded as Vredeborch or Vredeborg—meaning 'peace castle.' From the Frisian perspective, however, it was primarily a coercive stronghold rather than a symbol of peace. Yes, the things one can do with language. As the poet Hermann Allmers (1821–1902) aptly put it: “Man sollt’ sie lieber nennen die Streitburg Hass und Streit” (Wolff 2018), or in English, 'One should rather call it the strife-castle Hatred and Strife.' A bit like calling the bloody neo-colonial war in Indonesia (1945–1949) politionele acties—'police actions'—as the Dutch government did, though that is another story.

Eventually, the tables turned. Didde Lübben and the city of Bremen found themselves on opposite sides. This shift came after the County of Oldenburg attempted to assert control over the region, prompting Lübben and his sons to opportunistically side with Oldenburg. The conflict culminated in a major military campaign in 1414, in which the city of Bremen, allied with the Rüstringen Frisians of Butjadingen, defeated the Count of Oldenburg. Didde Lübben was expelled.

Four years later, in 1418, his sons—Didde and Gerold—sought to avenge their father and reclaim control of the area (Blumenberg 2002). They launched an attack on Friedeburg Castle, accompanied by twenty-four Frisian men and twenty non-Frisians. Their attempt to scale the walls under cover of night failed. At dawn, they were surprised by a group of Wurstfriesen, allies of the city of Bremen, and all were captured and taken to the city for trial. In 1419, the Frisian attackers were sentenced to death by decapitation. The twenty non-Frisians, however, escaped execution and were only required to pay a fine.

Outside the city walls of Bremen, a scaffold had been erected in the fields for the execution of the Frisians. Didde, the elder of the two brothers, was decapitated first. Gerold held his brother’s head as the executioner’s sword severed Didde’s neck. Then, still holding the detached head in his hands, Gerold pressed his lips to his brother’s in a final Bruderkuß—a 'brother kiss.' This display of grief and devotion stirred such compassion among the bystanders that one of the city magistrates offered Gerold a pardon.

The pardon came with two conditions, however: that he would live in the city of Bremen and that he would marry an honourable daughter of the city. Conditions that might seem achievable with death looming, one would think. But not for Gerold Lübben. Proud and unyielding, he answered loud and clear for all to hear:

Ich mag Ihre Pelzer- und Schustertöchter nicht. Ich bin ein edelfreier Friese! Wollt ihr mir das Leben schenken, so will ich euch ein Beutel voll Gold geben.

I do not like your furrier’s and cobbler’s daughters. I am a noble free Frisian! If you want to spare my life, I will give you a pouch full of gold.

After this public defiance—which, for all we know, may be a sanitized version of what he actually shouted—Gerold’s head was collected shortly afterward in a wicker basket, alongside that of his brother and twenty-four other Frisian comrades-in-arms. The bodies’ bones were all broken, and the heads were mounted on poles (Wolff 2018). Truly, an eventful day. At least the executioner got enough exercise to stay in shape. One can only wonder how he answered when he returned home late that evening and his wife routinely asked, “How was your day, honey?"

Those readers who wonder why Gerold’s hands were not tied behind his back, or how he managed to hold his brother’s head just minutes before his own execution, are advised not to look too closely—after all, some details are better left to legend.

Der Bruderkuß, a fresco by Hugo Zieger (1864-1932)

The Final Chords of Freedom

The struggle for Frisian freedom in Butjadingen was far from over. In 1424, headman Siebeth Papinga succeeded in uniting several local leaders against the city of Bremen. Commanding a fleet of 120 ships, he landed at Harrierbrake—today’s village of Brake—and drove out Bremen’s forces. Castle Friedeburg was demolished on 29 July 1424.

Earlier, in 1368, another significant conflict had taken place: the Battle of Coldewärf, fought against the city of Bremen and the county of Oldenburg. The Frisians, led by headman Iko Boling of Blexen, emerged victorious. No fewer than four counts of Oldenburg were killed, following the precedent set in earlier battles such as Hoogwoud in 1256 and Warns in 1345, where the Frisians famously, and in defiance of the chivalric code, showed no mercy to counts—or even kings—on the battlefield.

Despite having pushed back the city of Bremen, the Frisians’ troubles were far from over. The county of Oldenburg still sought access to the sea and control over the fertile marshlands, leading to an armed confrontation on 18 May 1499 at the village of Waddens in Butjadingen — a village that would later be claimed by the sea. The Frisians suffered a heavy defeat, with about a hundred of their men slain that spring day.

Yet, a year later, the Frisians regained their freedom, thanks to broader political developments in the region. The emerging county of Ostfriesland had begun its own conflict with that of Oldenburg, and naturally, the Rüstringer Frisians sided with the county of Ostfriesland (Blumenberg 2002).

In the wonter of 1514, an army led by Duke Henry of Brunswick-Lüneburg, together with forces from the city of Bremen and other allies, once again invaded the region of Butjadingen and Stadland. As the campaign advanced north through the villages of Golzwarden and Hartwarden, the Frisians stubbornly resisted, determined “to die rather than be subdued by the bailiffs of overlords.”

At the end of January, two major battles took place. The first, at Hartwarden, claimed the lives of approximately 700 Frisians. The second, at Burmeide near the village of Langwarden in the northwest of Butjadingen, may have represented the last refuge for the resisting Frisians. Many of those killed in this battle were buried in Langwarden, on the very site where the church stands today. To this day, the Battle of Hartwarden—also known as Slacht an der Hartwarder Landwehr—is commemorated annually.

After the crushing defeat, every village and farmstead in the region of Butjadingen was destroyed, and all cattle were seized. Many inhabitants fled to the region of Ostfriesland (Blumenberg 2002). This marked the definitive end of freedom for the people of Butjadingen—and, more broadly, for the territory of Rüstringen as a whole.

Note 1 — Rüstringen, or pagus Ruistri, was one of the independent territories of medieval Frisia. Butjadingen and Stadland were part of it. Hence, the people are denoted as Rüstringer Friesen. Rüstringen, also written as Riustringen, was part of the Seventh Sealand of the The Treaty of the Upstalsboom, and encompassed Rustringaland, Winingaland ende Buthiaingheraland ('Rüstringen, Wangerland, and Butjadingen').

Note 2 — If interested in more history about the River Weser area, see our blog post The Deer Hunter of Fallward, and his Throne of the Marsh.

Note 3 — Featured image is the famous painting of Gustav Klimt (1862-1918) ‘The Kiss’.