In 1258, the Sambian Peninsula was divided between the Teutonic Order and the bishop. On May 3, 1258, Bishop Heinrich von Strittberg received the southwestern part of the Sambian Peninsula — “Schönewik,” meaning “Wonderful Bay,” in exchange for the Lochstedt Castle. By his order, a wooden-earth fortification was built on the shore of the Wonderful Bay, which became his residence. Between 1271 and 1294, it was rebuilt into a stone castle named Bischofhausen — “Bishop’s House.” Nearby, under its protection, a fishing village emerged. Gradually, the “Bishop’s” house turned into the “Fish” house. Fishhausen literally means “fish house,” and figuratively — a fish trap.

In 1296, the Cathedral Chapter moved here from Königsberg. The following year, a water mill was built here: the monopoly on grain milling brought additional income to the bishop.

And in 1305, Fishhausen was officially recognized as a town. A special charter granted the townspeople perpetual use of 40 household plots and the Paise forest — with the obligation to pay the bishop or his successors an annual tax of 8 marks on St. Martin’s Day.

In the mid-15th century, during the infamous Thirteen Years’ War between the Teutonic Order and the Poles (on whose side, as is known, some German cities sided, tired of feeding and supporting the “idle libertines” — the knights), Bishop Nikolaus I (nicknamed the Shaking Head) initially fervently supported the Order. But... on this basis, three hundred Teutonic cavalrymen settled in Fishhausen. Allegedly providing protection of the fortress from the Poles, they lived as they pleased. They ate well, drank sweetly, readily lifted the skirts of passing women, not shying away from outright violence. And they categorically refused to leave Fishhausen.

Then Nikolaus decided to trick them. One morning, a hunter appeared, saying that a herd of wild boars had been spotted near the castle. The bishop suggested the cavalrymen go hunting, and they agreed but demanded an oath from him. He had to swear by God’s name that the castle would be “open day and night.”

The cavalrymen spent the whole day unsuccessfully searching for the promised boars, and upon returning, found the fortress gates closed. They shouted, reminding Nikolaus of his oath. But the Shaking Head cleverly twisted the words, saying that “the castle is open day and night to the sky, not to the field.”

However, the residents of Fishhausen did not enjoy their miraculous relief from the three hundred gluttonous-drinking-rapists for long: in 1456, the Danzigers attacked the undefended town and plundered it completely. And in 1458, Fishhausen was also burned down: a combined Polish-German “landing force,” having landed from several ships, was enraged by the “poverty of the loot.”

By the way, on the way back, one of the “pirate” ships fell into the hands of the Teutonic Order’s knechts, and the entire crew was broken on the wheel. But this did not make life easier for the residents of Fishhausen. It took several decades for the town to be more or less rebuilt.

Meanwhile, a new — perhaps the most brilliant — chapter of its history was opening. From 1522, from here, Fishhausen, Bishop Georg von Polentz ruled the disintegrating Order state. Inspired — along with Duke Albrecht — by the ideas of Protestantism, Georg von Polentz quietly inclined the priests of the Samland churches toward the new religion. He was the first to introduce translators “on staff,” who read the Latin sermon texts to the worshippers in German and Prussian.

In 1525, during the peasant uprising near Königsberg, all the nobility of Samland took refuge behind the strong walls of Fishhausen. Duke Albrecht, as is known, suppressed the uprising. The frightened East Prussian nobility dispersed to their ancestral estates. After the Reformation, Bishop Polentz, having converted to Protestantism, moved to the residence in Neuhausen. The Fishhausen castle passed into secular hands.

In the local forests, Duke Albrecht loved to hunt moose. Here, in Fishhausen, in 1527, his first daughter Anna-Sophia was born — from his first wife, Duchess Dorothea (Albrecht and his family were then hiding in the “Prussian paradise” from a plague epidemic, reasonably believing that the clean air here would “dispel” the infection). In 1529, the plague raged again in the country — and Duchess Dorothea was expecting childbirth in Fishhausen.

Here was also born Albrecht’s son by Anna Maria of Brunswick, the duke’s second wife. We have already mentioned that Duke Albrecht’s son suffered from a serious mental illness: according to some sources, initially his illness was merely a tendency to melancholy. Young Albrecht Friedrich was helped to dispel it by hunting hares.

But in 1573, Albrecht Friedrich, already engaged to his future wife, took part in a masquerade (the burgrave of Königsberg was celebrating his daughter’s wedding). Intoxicated by wine and “gallant” dances, he could not restrain himself and engaged in an intimate relationship with a certain court lady right at the masquerade. This incident did not go unnoticed. By order of the scandalized burgrave and then bishop, the court physician gave Albrecht Friedrich a special medicine “to cool his heated blood.” The blood indeed cooled, but the melancholy intensified. Soon Albrecht Friedrich completely fell into dementia. During the day, he hunted hares in a special Hare enclosure. In the evenings and in bad weather, he carved strange parts on a lathe. And he never fell asleep without prolonged lullabies. A special bed, like a large cradle, was constructed for him in the castle hall. On August 27, 1618, Albrecht Friedrich died. His body was buried in the cathedral in Königsberg, but no monument was erected on the grave of the mad duke.

Until 1523, the castle served as the bishop’s residence.

From 1525, the castle became state property. In 1526, the wedding of Duke Albrecht and Danish Princess Dorothea took place in the castle chapel; in 1527, the first daughter of Duke Albrecht and Duchess Dorothea, Anna-Sophia, was born in the castle. Later, the Fishhausen castle became the residence of Albrecht’s son by Anna Maria of Brunswick, Duke Albrecht Friedrich, and his wife Maria Eleonora of Jülich-Cleves.

From 1618, after the death of Duke Albrecht Friedrich, Fishhausen castle gradually fell into decline. Between 1627 and 1635, the castle was occupied by the Swedish army. On September 14, 1629, a truce was concluded in Fishhausen castle between Swedish King Gustav II Adolf and Prussian Duke Georg Wilhelm.

From November 21, 1644, the Amber Court was housed in the castle. Around the same time, the state began a harsh fight against illegal amber collectors. It must be said that many in Fishhausen “worked” amber. Although the Teutonic Order had declared the trade in “sunstone” its monopoly and death penalty threatened those caught “in the act,” dozens of townspeople regularly risked their lives. The prospect of being hanged on the nearest tree, of course, was not pleasant. But to become an “honest craftsman,” a solid capital was required. (To become an apprentice to a master, one had to put 15 gold marks into the master’s chest, provide the master with half a barrel of beer, the church with a pound of wax, feed the “guild brothers” 12 pounds of roast beef, etc., etc.)

 Moreover, illegitimate children were not admitted to the craft. And there were always many illegitimate children in Fishhausen. And they needed to eat! And amber — here it is...

And so... one English merchant, having visited these parts, describes a typical “oil painting”: “In winter, workers do not seek permanent work or long-term occupation. They idly stand in crowds and eagerly await the wind favorable for ‘amber fishing.’ Rich catches reward them well, but the easily earned money is quickly squandered. The disorderly noise, often penetrating our ears from numerous taverns on winter days and evenings, informs us that a good amber catch has been made.”

In 1693, all priests of the coastal villages were obliged to take the Amber Oath. That is — not to steal amber themselves and to dissuade their parishioners from this “impious occupation.”

A simple walk along the coast threatened a fine of 18 guilders, the “Spanish coat” (a type of torture: a person was squeezed in special clamps), and two days in prison on bread and water. For a pound of stolen amber, a fine of 90 florins was imposed (an astronomical sum at that time); for three pounds — the offender was publicly whipped and expelled; for four pounds — a noose was thrown over the neck...

In 1764, Frederick the Great developed a special instruction for the specially established Coastal and Amber Court in Fishhausen. For small pieces of amber caught in the bay, a person was imprisoned on bread and water for eight days. For 1 “shtof” and more — 4 weeks of penal servitude, with preliminary flogging.

Interestingly, representatives not only of the lower classes “worked” amber. In the early 19th century, a fire broke out in the building of the Pillau gates, where the excise house and prison cell were located. A fisherman locked in the cell suffocated in the smoke. Then the mini-prison was rebuilt, and a so-called “civil room” was made in it — a “cell for prisoners of higher rank.”

In 1701, by order of King Frederick I of Prussia, the brick walls of the castle began to be dismantled for the construction of fortifications in Pillau (now the city of Baltiysk).

Finally destroyed during the battles for Pillau in April 1945.

Sources:

https://www.prussia39.ru/sight/index.php?sid=67

https://www.rudnikov.com/koenigsberg/zolotaja-ten-kjonigsberga-fishhauzen-b/