Kolodziejczyk Dariusz. The Crimean Khanate and Poland-Lithuania (ENG)
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214 part one—chapter three
khans from among the Giray princes: rst Shehbaz Giray and then
Bakht Giray. e Russo-Ottoman war gave a few years of respite
to Poland-Lithuania, whose political elites, in liaison with the king,
endeavored to liberate themselves from the Russian patronage and,
assembled at the so-called Four Years’ Diet (1788–1791), passed a pro-
gram of reforms embodied by an enlightened constitution that openly
invoked the Montesquian principles. e reformers’ enthusiasm was
transient as aer the Treaty of Jassy (1792), which cemented the Rus-
sian victory over the Porte, the Russian troops were released to invade
and subdue Poland-Lithuania one more time. Its second partition,
resolved in 1793 by St. Petersburg and Berlin, was followed by a des-
perate uprising led by Tadeusz Kościuszko (1794), whose only result
was the third and last partition (1795) that eaced Poland-Lithuania
from the map of Europe.
Enlightened rulers versus unruly subjects: Catherine the Great,
Voltaire, and the suppression of the Crimean and Polish “anarchies”
In her letters to Voltaire, Catherine the Great persuaded the French phi-
losopher that her benign plans, aiming to restore order and wellbeing
in neighboring countries, were repeatedly frustrated by native fanatics,
blinded by religious hatred and medieval superstitions. Admittedly,
the Polish confederates of 1768 incessantly invoked Virgin Mary, the
icon of the Polish Catholicism, and condemned the royal project to
grant equal rights to religious dissidents. Still, a student of their men-
tality should be confused by the facts that they looked for Muslim
support with unequalled pragmatism and that one of their leaders,
Kazimierz Pułaski, would later become a hero of the American Revo-
lution, in which the Catholic slogans were admittedly not the high-
est priority. In parallel with the Polish confederates, also the Crimean
rebels constantly invoked religious principles (Islamic in their case)
and condemned their detested khan as an indel. However, it would
be unfair to describe their mentality as motivated by purely religious,
“irrational” motives.
To be sure, in the 18th century both Poland-Lithuania and the
Crimean Khanate went through a deep crisis aecting their states
and societies. An average reign of a Crimean khan shortened to less
than 3 years in the 18th century, to compare with over 5 years in the
17th century, over 8 years in the 16th century, and almost 10 years
in the shade of istanbul and moscow (1671–1783) 215
in the 15th century.
593
While in the 16th century, the khans enjoyed
unrivalled charisma and power in comparison to Ottoman provincial
governors and even refused to be treated on equal footing with the
Ottoman grand viziers, in the 18th century the khan could be com-
pared merely with an Ottoman provincial governor, appointed and
revoked at will by the Porte. In fact, the Ottoman provincial governors
had oen more means and followers due to the lengthening of their
tenures and the ongoing decentralization in the Ottoman provincial
administration. e Polish situation was seemingly dierent from the
Crimean one with only four royal elections in the 18th century, yet
they all but one were secured by foreign troops. e sole exception
was the second election of Stanisław Leszczyński, and the abrupt end
of his reign proves that it was impossible to rule in Warsaw without
St. Petersburg’s consent.
594
593
See the appended table: Chronology of the reigns of Crimean khans, Polish
kings, and Lithuanian grand dukes (1386–1795); there were six accessions between
1441–1500, twelve between 1501–1600, nineteen between 1601–1700, and thirty in the
years 1701–1783; a number of rulers ascended the throne several times.
594
On the “absolutist oensive” launched from Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Istanbul,
Vienna, and Dresden against East European noble societies in the early 18th century,
see the brilliant and informed study by Orest Subtelny, Domination of Eastern Europe.
Native Nobilities and Foreign Absolutism, 1500–1715 (Kingston-Montreal-Gloucester,
1986), esp. pp. 52–59. e author juxtaposes more eective absolutist states, orga-
nized about the goal-oriented (power-oriented) organizational principle against the
“welfare associations” of the East European noble elites, based on an associative prin-
ciple. Although Subtelny does not include the Crimea in his analysis, focusing on
Poland-Lithuania, Hungary, Livonia, Moldavia, and Cossack Ukraine, the Crimean
Khanate, with its powerful nobility and the limits to the khan’s power, would per-
fectly t his model. Somewhat similar conclusions were drawn in the Marxist study
by Perry Anderson, who stressed the inevitability of absolutism as a “natural” stage in
state and social development characteristic for early modern Europe; see idem, Lin-
eages of the Absolutist State (London, 1974), esp. pp. 297–298 referring to the “Polish
anomaly.” Both quoted authors believe that the societies which “failed” to develop
domestic absolutisms were “punished” by absolutisms from abroad. Yet, their argu-
ments invoke some reservations: rstly, they both chose to ignore such cases as Eng-
land or the Netherlands, where the spectacular failures of absolutist tendencies did
not prevent state and social development (admittedly, Anderson refers to England
and his conclusion that “before it could reach the age of maturity, English Absolutism
was cut o by a bourgeois revolution” undercuts his very argument that absolutism
was a natural stage of development; cf. ibidem, p. 142); secondly, by assuming that
power is more important than welfare (admittedly, few elite members in early modern
European states—absolutist or not—cared about the peasants’ welfare), one should
draw the conclusion that today North Korea is ahead of France because it manages to
concentrate a far larger part of its GNP towards power.
216 part one—chapter three
e vanishing international position of Baghchasaray and Warsaw
is best refected by the diminishment of their diplomatic status in the
eyes of—respectively—St. Petersburg and Istanbul. In the 18th cen-
tury, the Russian government preferred to settle the Crimean aairs
directly with the Porte and resigned from concluding peace treaties
with the khans, with a notable exception of the Treaty of Qarasu
Bazar (1772), concluded with an “independent” Khanate.
595
Likewise,
the Ottomans sent experienced diplomats and negotiated new agree-
ments with St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Berlin, but in their relations
with Warsaw they were satised with lip service declarations that the
Treaty of Karlowitz should be observed. In 1714, when a Polish envoy
in Istanbul succeeded to obtain a new instrument of peace (to be sure,
issued by the grand vizier and not by the sultan), it merely invoked the
recent Ottoman-Russian treaty of 1713 and provided that its condi-
tions should be also observed by Warsaw.
596
Striking parallels can be traced if one studies the biographies of the
last Polish king, Stanisław Poniatowski, and the last Crimean khan,
Shahin Giray. ey were both well educated, ambitious, and full of
visions regarding the necessary institutional reforms to be introduced
in their states and societies. Yet, they had rather weak personalities
and were equally dismayed by the unruliness of their subjects. More-
over, they were both infatuated with Catherine, who knew how to play
on their sentiments.
597
Putting all their trust in the Empress’ goodwill,
they saw no other choice but to accept the Russian patronage. In a
striking naivety, they both hoped to strengthen their rule and augment
their troops with the help of Russia, even though such moves would
obviously limit the latter’s inuence in the aairs of their respective
kingdoms.
Catherine indeed expressed some sentiments towards her both
favorites, and sometimes even a striking patience when they and
595
On this treaty, see above; on the lowering level of diplomatic contacts between
St. Petersburg and Baghchasaray in the 18th century, cf. Kellner-Heinkele, “Na granice
vse kak obyčno,” pp. 35–36.
596
See Kołodziejczyk, Ottoman-Polish Diplomatic Relations, p. 161.
597
One is somewhat amused by the lecture of Stanisław’s letters, lamenting that
his former lover did not support his projects adequately, or by Shahin’s enthusiasm
when in December 1781 Catherine nominated him as captain of her personal guard
(kapitan lejb-gvardii), admittedly not a very tting position for a sovereign ruler; for
the imperial patent and the khan’s letter expressing gratitude for the nomination, see
Arxiv vnešnej politiki Rossijskoj imperii, f. 123, op. 3, nos. 105–106.
in the shade of istanbul and moscow (1671–1783) 217
their subjects “misbehaved,” so she should not be only portraited as
a cynical monster. Yet, she was also the Russian ruler, identifying her
fortune with the might of the Russian Empire and surrounded by poli-
ticians and generals who did not necessarily share her infatuation with
Stanisław and Shahin. Catherine’s advisers were divided into those
who would be satised with a friendly Poland and a friendly Crimea,
controled and dependent on St. Petersburg, and those favoring their
direct annexation, even if it invoked large nancial and political costs.
Finally, the second option prevailed, although Poland-Lithuania was
too big to be swallowed by Russia alone and the latter had to appease
Berlin and Vienna by allowing them a share of their common neighbor.
Aer the rst partition of Poland, Shehbaz Giray, the former qalga
of Devlet IV Giray, warned his cousin Shahin Giray, who then resided
in St. Petersburg: “Don’t you know what they [i.e., the Russians] did to
their coreligionists, the Poles and their king? [. . .] If such a thing was
done there, then what kind of benet can you, or the Tatars, expect
from the Russian court?”
598
Certainly, Shahin did not want to listen
and was more and more irritated with his subjects, who perceived his
attire, manners, and reforms as foreign and coming from the hostile,
indel Russian court. One is tempted to ask what would have happened
if the Tatars had accepted the proposed reforms, would the Khan-
ate have survived? An indirect answer is given by the Polish example.
When on 3 May 1791 the king and the Diet passed the enlightened
constitution, unprecedented in Europe and second in the world only
aer the American one, Stanisław could enjoy a happy moment of
unity with his subjects aer so many years of alienation, but in fact
the move only hastened the demise of Poland-Lithuania as its neigh-
bors chose not to wait until it rebuilds its power.
599
In a confrontation
598
Ne znaete li vy, čto oni svoim odnovercam, Poljakam, i ix korolju, sdelali? [. . .]
Kogda ž onoe tam sdelano, to vy, ili Tatara, kakogo blagodejanija ot Dvora Rossi-
jskago nadejat’sja možete?; the letter, preserved in Russian translation, is published
in: “Vysočajšie reskripty imperatricy Ekateriny II i ministerskaja perepiska po delam
krymskim iz semejnago arxiva grafa Viktora Nikitiča Panina,” pt. 1, in: Čtenija v
Imperatorskom obščestve istorii i drevnostej rossijskix pri Moskovskom universitete
(1871), vol. 4: 1–168 (separate pagination), esp. p. 129; for a slightly dierent English
translation see Fisher, e Russian Annexation of the Crimea, p. 49.
599
For a historian of the Ottoman Empire, a striking parallel example is oered
by the Young Turkish revolution of 1908 that in fact prompted the Austrian annexa-
tion of Bosnia, the Bulgarian declaration of independence, and the Greek pronounced
annexation of Crete as the neighboring governments resolved to act before the Otto-
mans might strengthen their state.
218 part one—chapter three
with such military machines of the time as Russia or Prussia, neither
the Poles nor the Tatars had the slightest chance. When Shahin Giray,
dismayed with the slow progress of his military reforms, resolved to
buy guns and hire professional soldiers in Poland, the move did not
even provoke an uneasiness of his Russian patrons who monitored
and authorized the transaction.
600
Aer the demise of his khanate, Shahin Giray spent a few years
in Russia, but in 1786 was allowed to leave for the Ottoman Empire.
Having passed through Poland, the troublesome guest entered the
Ottoman lands, where he was soon exiled to Rhodes and executed
in the summer of 1787.
601
Stanisław’s fate was only slightly better. Aer
the demise of Poland-Lithuania, he arrived at St. Petersburg, where
he was oered a pension and died in 1798, burried in the Catholic
Church of St. Catherine. When the church was closed in 1938, the
Soviet authorities proposed to transport the royal remains to Poland,
but their move caused confusion in Warsaw. e Polish authorities
refused to let the “traitor” to the Royal Crypt in the Cracow Cathe-
dral and Stanisław was almost secretly burried in his native town of
Wołczyn. Unfortunately, Wołczyn was situated eastward of the Cur-
zon Line and aer WW2 Stanisław again found himself in the Soviet
Union.
602
His last funeral took place in 1995, again provoking a heated
political dispute, before the primate of Poland hesitantly let the Free-
mason king nd his last rest in the Warsaw Cathedral.
Parallel lives of Stanisław Poniatowski and Shahin Giray are not
the only links between the Polish and Crimean 18th-century history.
Numerous Russian military commanders made their careers on the
600
See the reports of the Russian resident in Baghchasaray sent to St. Petersburg
on 14 June 1780 and 31 May 1781 (both dates according to the Old Style), in Nikolaj
Dubrovin (ed.), Prisoedinenie Kryma k Rossii. Reskripty, pis’ma, reljacii i donesenija,
vol. 3: 1779–1780 gg. (St. Petersburg, 1887), pp. 604–605, and vol. 4: 1781–1782 gg.
(St. Petersburg, 1889), p. 89. Contrary to Fisher’s assumption, the Polish contrahent,
Wincenty Potocki, had never been a member of the Confederation of Bar and the trans-
action seemed to have a purely business character; cf. Fisher, e Russian Annexation
of the Crimea, p. 117; for Potocki’s career, see his biography by Wacław Szczygielski
in PSB, vol. 28 (Wrocław etc., 1984–1985), pp. 227–229.
601
Podhorodecki, Chanat krymski i jego stosunki z Polską, p. 275; Hajvoronskyj,
Sozvezdie Geraev, p. 98.
602
For the fascinating history of the royal remains that was classied information in
communist Poland, see a short story by Marian Brandys, Strażnik Królewskiego Grobu.
Opowiadanie o Józee Charytonie z Siemiatycz (Warsaw, 1984) [rst published in 1981
in the samizdat publishing house Nowa].
in the shade of istanbul and moscow (1671–1783) 219
Polish and Crimean fronts, to mention only Burkhard Christoph von
Münnich, the conqueror of Danzig (1734) and Baghchasaray (1736),
and Aleksandr Suvorov, the subduer of Kuban (1782) and Warsaw
(1794). A brilliant Russian diplomat, Osip Igelström, who organized
the Russian administration in the Crimea and on the Kazakh frontier,
603
also served in Poland as the last Russian ambassador (and simultane-
ously commander-in-chief of the Russian troops) before the outbreak
of Kościuszko’s uprising in 1794.
Still, while reading some Polish or Tatar historical narratives, embed-
ded in the nationalist ideologies of the 19th and 20th centuries, one
can get a false impression that the whole “nations” (whatever this term
might have referred to) unanimously and uncompromisingly opposed
the Russian domination that was supported merely by a bunch of cor-
rupt traitors.
604
In fact, economic and career opportunities oered by
the ever rising Russian Empire appealed to numerous members of the
local nobilities. e opening of Russian Black Sea ports in Kherson and
Odessa enabled numerous Polish nobles to protably export the wheat
produced in their Ukrainian estates to Western Europe. Catholic Poles
and Muslim Tatars were to serve in the Russian army and bureau-
cracy from the Danube and Caucasus to Siberia, along with Buddhist
Kalmyks and Protestant Baltic Germans. As to the townsmen, though
their Russian peers did not enjoy medieval autonomy that reached to
the east only as far as the Polish-Lithuanian eastern borders, the vast
market of the Russian Empire oered unprecedented opportunities for
enterprising individuals. Admittedly, peasants would be less enthusi-
astic to become Russian subjects since to be a Russian serf or ordinary
soldier was no great fun, but nobody asked their opinion.
While watching subsequent Russo-Ottoman wars in the 18th cen-
tury, many Poles in fact sided with Russia, some motivated by genu-
ine Christian solidarity, others with an opportunistic relief that the
attention of their powerful neighbor was turned in another direction.
605
603
On his activity in the Crimea and Orenburg, cf. Fisher, e Russian Annexa-
tion of the Crimea, pp. 140–141 and 146; Martha Brill Olcott, e Kazakhs (Stanford,
1987), pp. 46–47; Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, pp. 175–182 and 214.
604
For a recent monograph that revisits the topic which has long remained a taboo,
see Jarosław Czubaty, Zasada “dwóch sumień”: normy postępowania i granice kompro-
misu politycznego Polaków w sytuacjach wyboru (1795–1815) (Warsaw, 2005).
605
Cf. Konopczyński’s disgusted comments on the poems celebrating Russian vic-
tories written by such prominent Polish writers of the time as Adam Naruszewicz and
220 part one—chapter three
Russia had also supporters among the Crimean Tatars and Nogays,
some simply bought, others attracted by its might and splendor, and
oen deeply distrustful towards the Ottoman Porte. e situation was
gradually changing in the 19th century, when the rising numbers of
the Polish and Tatar intelligentsia learned that the Russian Empire
was less religion-, confession-, and ethnicity-blind than Catherine II
had once wished or declared. In the age of nationalism, Russia was
consequently becoming more Russian and Orthodox, while a number
of politically active Tatars and Poles chose emigration, uprisings, or
joining revolutionary movements. It is also in the 19th century when
national narratives began to inuence the minds of common people,
as they still do today, and when Catherine II became the head villain
in both the Polish and the Tatar collective memories.
Ignacy Krasicki, and on the unveiling ceremony of John III Sobieski’s monument in
Warsaw in 1788, which presented (and still presents today) the mounted king tram-
pling a Turk; the latter ceremony coincided with the beginning of the new Russo-
Ottoman war and was intended to convince Catherine II of her popularity in Poland;
idem, Polska a Turcja 1683–1792, pp. 275–276 and 283.
PART TWO
A STUDY IN THE CRIMEAN AND POLISH-LITHUANIAN
DIPLOMATICS AND DIPLOMACY
CHAPTER ONE
THE LANGUAGE AND PRESERVATION OF DOCUMENTS
Turkic languages used by the Crimean chancery
Since the foundation of the Genghisid empire, Mongolian language
recorded in Uighur script had prevailed in its chancery usage. Yet, in
the empire’s western parts, known aer Genghis Khan’s two sons as
the uluses of Djochi and Chagatay, during the 14th century it gradually
gave way to Turkic chancery language.
1
e chancery language used
in the ulus of Djochi (i.e., the so-called Golden Horde) is today called
Khwarezmian Turkic as it developed in Khwarezm, then belonging to
Djochi’s ulus, and derived predominantly from western Turkic, Kip-
chak dialects.
2
Aer Mongolian had faded away, also Uighur script,
initially used for recording both Mongolian and Turkic texts, gave
way to Arabic, venerated as the script of the Koran by the Islamicized
Genghisid rulers of the Golden Horde. In consequence, Khwarezmian
Turkic, recorded in Arabic script, was also adopted as chancery
1
On the gradual disappearing of Mongolian, cf. n. 2 in Part I.
2
Cf. István Vásáry, “A contract of the Crimean khan Mängli Giräy and the inhab-
itants of Qïrq-yer from 1478/79,” Central Asiatic Journal 26 (1982): 289–300, esp.
p. 297. Although this language would later inuence the development of literary
languages among both the Tatars and the Uzbeks, it would be an anachronism to
regard it as old-Tatar or old-Uzbek. Mirkasym Usmanov persuasively argues against
referring to the language used in the Golden Horde as Chagatay (Khwarezm, where
it had actually developed, did not belong to the ulus of Chagatay). Usmanov also
vehemently opposes crediting Ali Shir Nava’i (1441–1501), the famous Central Asian
scholar today claimed as the father of Uzbek national poetry, with contributing to
this language’s development. In fact, the language had been in use in Khwarezm, on
the Volga, and in the Crimea long before Nava’i was born; see Usmanov, Žalovannye
akty Džučieva ulusa XIV–XVI vv., pp. 101–106. A linguistic analysis of the yarlıq,
addressed by Tokhtamısh to Jogaila in 1393, was already undertaken by the prominent
German-born Russian turcologist Vasilij Radlov [Friedrich Wilhelm Radlo ]; see
idem, “Jarlyki Toktamyša i Temir-Kutluga,” in: Zapiski Vostočnago Otdelenija Impera-
torskago Russkago Arxeologičeskago Obščestva. Edited by V. Rozen, vol. 3, vypuski 1–2
(St. Petersburg, 1888): 1–40, esp. p. 39. Although the teminology used by the author
can be regarded as anachronous today (especially his use of the term Chagatay), his
conclusions convincingly point to the strong presence of northern and western Turkic
dialectal elements in the literary language then used by the Golden Horde’s chancery.