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This chapter examines the protective measures implemented by merchants and rulers in Bruges, Antwerp, and Amsterdam to deal with violent threats such as theft, robbery, or even outright warfare. It shows that the existence of an international network of commercial cities created strong incentives for local and central governments to offer protection to international traders to enhance the position of individual cities in this network. It also considers how imminent changes in a city's position in the international urban hierarchy led to the massive use of force, citing as examples the Flemish Revolt and the Dutch Revolt. Finally, it discusses the unification of the Habsburgs as rulers of the Netherlands and its impact on the safety of merchants, along with the rise of the Dutch Republic.

This chapter examines the relationship between Transylvania's princes and Reformed clergy as well as the role of the church in shaping Transylvania's relations with the rest of Protestant Europe. It explores how far a network of international Calvinist connections across Europe informed the development of diplomatic policy at the Transylvanian court during the early seventeenth century. It also considers the degree to which Transylvanian military action against the Habsburgs before 1645, and the catastrophic decision to join the Second Northern War in 1657, were in fact motivated by a desire within the principality to further the international Protestant cause, even though there were few remaining advocates of this cause in European politics and diplomacy by the 1650s. In addition, this chapter outlines ideas within the Hungarian Reformed church about divine judgement and an imminent end of the world. Important parallels are drawn between the fate of Hungary and Israel, which informed notions about a special and predestined role for Hungary and the Transylvanian principality in the apocalypse to come.

The contrasting fates of the Bourbons and Habsburgs, are revealed by the contrasting episodes of October 1789. These are instructive about the culture of power and the power of culture in the late 18th century. It is demonstrated here that in their various ways, and with varying degrees of success, rulers had come to terms with changing conditions. Only in France was the failure almost total. Two episodes in the last decade of the old regime demonstrated the monarchy’s chronic inability to make culture work in its cause. The success of the Horattii and David’s subsequent career as a revolutionary exemplified the failure of the French establishment to adjust the previous century’s cultural institutions to modern requirements. The alliance between regime and public unleashed a combination of culture and power far more potent than anything Europe had yet seen. They tested the monarchies to the very brink of destruction.

This introductory chapter provides a background of the Austrian Habsburgs. Amassed over several centuries by marriage, war, diplomacy, and luck, the eastern realm of the Austrian Habsburgs was an omnium gatherum of tribes and languages—German, Magyar, Slav, Jew, and Romanian—bound together by geographic happenstance, legal entailment, and the person of the emperor who ruled them. The lands inhabited by this multiethnic menagerie were a place of war; in every direction, the Austrian Habsburgs faced enemies. Indeed, the outside environment placed Austria in a position of continual danger while the political and economic structure of the empire narrowed the range of viable tools for responding effectively to external threats and putting it on a secure long-term footing. Yet somehow, despite the seemingly insurmountable threats arrayed against it, the Habsburg Monarchy had survived. It outlasted Ottoman sieges, Bourbon quests for continental hegemony, repeated efforts at dismemberment by Frederick the Great, and no fewer than four failed attempts to defeat Napoleon Bonaparte. Each time, it weathered the threat at hand and more often than not emerged on the winning side. Thus, by virtually any standard measure, the Habsburg Empire must be judged a geopolitical success.

This chapter presents the hitherto untold history of the making of George Eglisham's book The Forerunner of Revenge. It follows Eglisham from London to Brussels, from the fringes of the English court to a new circle of friends eager to hear and to use his stories about Buckingham. It then situates Eglisham's book in both short and longer-term polemical contexts — as the latest in a long series of polemical libels and ‘disinformation’ produced in the Spanish Netherlands for English readers, and as a crucial part of a coordinated propaganda campaign designed to sow confusion and mistrust among the Habsburgs' enemies in the mid-1620s. By looking closely at The Forerunner's making — at the men who made it, and the places where it was made — we can finally appreciate the European history of a book that would haunt English and Scottish political culture for decades.

This chapter evaluates The Jews of Czechoslovakia Vol. III (1984), which was edited by Avigdor Dagan, Gertrude Hirschler, and Lewis Weiner. This is the final volume of a remarkable undertaking. The first two volumes, published in 1968 and 1971, dealt with pre-1939 developments and set out the complex nature of Jewish tradition and life under the Habsburgs and during the twenty years of the first Czechoslovak Republic. Czechoslovak Jewry was a very heterogeneous phenomenon, divided along linguistic, religious, cultural, and political lines. Some of these divisions, such as those between the so-called ‘assimilationists’ and Zionists, are frequently mentioned in the present volume, but the overriding topic here is the Holocaust in all its aspects — Nazi policy, Jewish reactions, and the attitudes of non-Jews. It is in fact the first comprehensive one-volume treatment of the Holocaust in Czechoslovakia in any language.

This chapter describes the Habsburg Monarchy’s physical environment, how it influenced Habsburg perceptions of space, and the vulnerabilities and advantages that it created in competition with other major powers. Like all states, the Habsburg Monarchy depended for its survival on the ability to exercise undisputed control over a clearly defined territorial space. This in turn involved two tasks: building a sound political and economic base, and providing security against internal or external attack. In the first task, the Habsburgs enjoyed the advantage of a compact, riparian heartland bounded on most sides by mountains. The second task was made difficult in the extreme by the empire’s wider east-central European security environment. This combination of defensible local terrain and geopolitical vulnerability influenced how Habsburg leaders thought about and conducted strategy by encouraging the development of strategic forms of knowledge to conceptualize space for defensive purposes, and pulling attention outward to the frontiers, while demanding the maintenance of a “big picture” capable of taking in the security position of the Habsburg Empire as a whole.

This chapter looks at the constitutional makeup of the Habsburg state and the limitations it placed on the mobilization of resources. In contrast to its physical geography, the political geography of the Danubian Basin greatly complicated the task of Habsburg empire building. Accumulated in a pell-mell fashion over several centuries, the territorial holdings of the Austrian Habsburgs formed a composite state made up of multiple, historically separate polities, each with its own separate constitutional arrangement with the ruling dynasty. Its human population consisted of more than a dozen ethnic groups, none of which was strong enough to dominate the others. This internal makeup impeded the monarchy’s evolution as a modern state in two ways: by hindering the development of a centralized, efficient state administration and implanting sources of domestic conflict into the social fabric of the state. Both factors shaped Austria’s behavior as a strategic actor, placing it at a disadvantage in competition with more centralized and unified Great Power rivals. Ultimately, these characteristics prevented the monarchy from mobilizing its full power potential, effectively removed territorial expansion as an option for increasing state security, and presented internal vulnerabilities for enemies to exploit in wartime.

This epilogue argues that many of the problems that the Habsburgs faced are present today. Geopolitics remains as a persistent and reintensifying force in which Great Powers seek to survive in competition with other large, purposeful actors. In this contest, geography remains both a key determinant of success and its ultimate prize. Advances in technology have only partially mitigated the effects of geography; even in the era of nuclear weapons, the search for security comes down to a battle for space in which finite resources must be arrayed in time to deal with virtually infinite challenges. As in the Habsburg period, the threats arrayed against today’s West are multidirectional in nature and vary widely in form, ranging from revisionist Great Powers with large conventional armies to economically backward but numerous and religiously motivated enemies employing asymmetrical weapons and tactics. The chapter then considers a few broad principles of Habsburg strategic statecraft which stand out as potentially relevant in any era.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the German-speaking lands were dominated by two states both of which presented considerable difficulties for those attempting to understand them. In the north, the German Reich had been formed in 1871 in the wake of a successful war against France. Its formation was also the final stage in a prolonged struggle for power between the dynastic house of Prussia and the Habsburgs. For German political theorists, the period before the First World War was one of rapid change, politically, economically and socially. It was a period in which the gap between constitutional and legal doctrine and the reality of state and social power expanded in some areas and contracted in others. It was, however, also a period which left many of them ill-prepared for the reality and increasingly ideological character of the First World War.

Following the arrival of the plague, and the dramatic fall in population, pressure on food supplies within the Mediterranean diminished. This did not mean that the old Mediterranean grain trade withered. In fact, it flourished: as inferior lands were abandoned and turned over to pasture, and as other areas became dedicated to products such as sugar and dyestuffs, the economic life of the lands bordering the Great Sea became more varied. As specialization increased, trade in all manner of goods was stimulated. The Mediterranean economy began to take on a new shape. Local contacts came to the fore: products such as timber were ferried down the coasts of Catalonia; wool was sent across the Adriatic from Apulia to the burgeoning towns of Dalmatia, and from Minorca (famous for its sheep) to Tuscany, where around 1400 the ‘Merchant of Prato’, Francesco di Marco Datini, obsessively ensured that every bale was recorded and every piece of correspondence was preserved – about 150,000 letters – to the great advantage of historians. One of his agents in Ibiza complained: ‘this land is unhealthy, the bread is bad, the wine is bad – God forgive me, nothing is good! I fear I shall leave my skin here.’ But the demands of business came before personal comfort. The Merchant of Prato also had Tuscan agents based in San Mateu on the Spanish coast, where they could collect the best Aragonese wools, while deep within the Spanish interior sheep were conquering the Meseta, as millions of animals grazed the high ground in summer and the plateau in winter. Datini’s reach extended to the Maghrib and eastwards to the Balkans and the Black Sea. In the 1390s, he was involved in the slave trade, at a time when Circassians from the Black Sea and Berbers from North Africa were being sold in the slave markets of Majorca and Sicily. From oriental lands beyond the Mediterranean he obtained indigo, brazilwood, pepper, aloes, zedoary and galingale, as well as cotton, mastic and refined sugar from within the Great Sea. From Spain and Morocco, he imported, besides vast amounts of raw wool, ostrich feathers, elephant ivory, rice, almonds and dates.

The reshaping of the Mediterranean in the wake of the Black Death was a slow process. In addition to political changes within the Mediterranean, notably the expansion of Ottoman power, events taking place beyond the Straits of Gibraltar would, in the long term, greatly transform the life of those who lived on its shores and in its islands. The opening of the Atlantic had already begun in the decade before plague arrived, with voyages down the coast of Africa to the Canary Islands, and it continued with the discovery and settlement of Madeira and the Azores by the Portuguese in the early fifteenth century. As sugar plantations developed on Madeira, it became possible to supply Flanders and other parts of northern Europe directly from the Atlantic with one of the costly products that had previously been obtained within the Mediterranean. By 1482, with the establishment of a Portuguese fortress at São Jorge da Mina (‘the Mine’) in West Africa, not far north of the Equator, gold was beginning to reach Europe without being channelled across the Sahara and through the Muslim ports of the Maghrib; the opening of this Guinea trade compensated for disappointment at the failure of Ceuta to pay for its upkeep. The Atlantic also became a source of slaves for Mediterranean masters: Canary Islanders, Berbers from the opposite shores of Africa and, increasingly, black slaves carried north from the Mine. Many of these eventually reached Valencia, Majorca and other Mediterranean ports, after passing through Lisbon. Then, with Columbus’s entry into the Caribbean islands in October 1492, Castile also acquired a source of precious metal that was ruthlessly exploited by imposing heavy taxes in gold on the Indians, even though they were supposedly free subjects of the Crown. The Genoese, despite their unpopularity in Spain, installed themselves in Seville and, with royal approval, ran the trans-Atlantic trading operations. At the same time, they turned their hands to finance. Turkish pressure on the Genoese possessions in the eastern Mediterranean increased, and so the Genoese allied themselves more insistently with Spain, the power that seemed best able to stand up to the Turks.

The period between the battle of Lepanto and the middle of the seventeenth century has a certain unity. Barbary pirates did not go away – indeed, they became more piratical, in the sense that the Ottomans allowed them a freer hand, for the Sublime Porte no longer expected to extend its direct authority deep into the western Mediterranean. The western Mediterranean was also exposed to vicious raids by Christian corsairs – to the Knights of Malta could now be added the Knights of Santo Stefano, Tuscan pirates and holy warriors whose order was founded in 1562 by the Medici duke of Tuscany. Like the Venetians, they brought some of the Ottoman banners back in victory from Lepanto; they still hang incongruously in their church in Pisa, daily proclaiming the faith of Islam amid the incense of Catholic ritual. It would be otiose to repeat the endless saga of attacks and reprisals as Christian Knights of Malta or Santo Stefano scored points against Barbary corsairs; the most unfortunate victims were always those who were carried away into slavery from the decks of captured merchant ships, or from the shores of Italy, Spain and Africa (the French were relatively immune to Muslim raiders as a result of their ties to the Ottoman court). Galleys out of Sicily continued to patrol the seas in the hope of defending the Spanish king’s Italian possessions from sea-raiders, but large-scale galley warfare had come to an end, not just because new ship-types were seen as more efficient but because the cost of building and maintaining galleys was prohibitive. Even so, the Ottomans reconstructed their war fleet in the immediate aftermath of Lepanto. There were alarums in the West: it was confidently assumed that the Ottomans would launch a second great assault on a Christian target. Yet the Sublime Porte had lost its taste for naval warfare, and was content to leave the Spaniards alone, while pursuing its traditional rivalry with the Shi’ite emperors of Persia. This was extremely convenient, since Spanish preoccupations also now turned away from the Mediterranean; Philip II’s great ambition was to defeat the new type of Infidel who was crawling all over northern Europe: the Protestants.

In the course of the seventeenth century the character of the relationship between the European states changed dramatically, with important repercussions in the Mediterranean. Until the end of the Thirty Years’ War in 1648, Catholic confronted Protestant, and confessional identity was an issue of surpassing significance for the competing powers in Europe. After 1648, a greater degree of political realism, or cynical calculation, began to intrude. Within a few years, it was possible for the English arch-Protestant Oliver Cromwell to cooperate with the Spanish king, while English suspicion of the Dutch led to conflict in the North Sea. The character of English involvement in the Mediterranean changed: royal fleets began to intervene and the English (after union with Scotland in 1707, the British) sought out permanent bases in the western Mediterranean: first Tangier, then Gibraltar, Minorca and, in 1800, Malta. The period from 1648 to the Napoleonic Wars was marked, therefore, by frequent about-turns as the English switched from Spanish to French alliances, and as the whole question of the Spanish royal succession divided Europe and opened up the prospect of spoils from a declining Spanish empire in the Mediterranean. While Spain’s difficulties were obvious, it was less clear that the Ottomans had passed their peak: the Ottoman siege of Vienna in 1683 was unsuccessful, but in the Mediterranean Turkish galleys still posed a serious threat, and their Barbary allies could be relied upon to give support when naval conflict broke out. Even so, the Venetians managed to gain control of the Morea or Peloponnese for several years, and, interestingly, it was they who were the aggressors. Bolder than they had been for some time, the Venetians ambitiously aimed to crack Turkish power in the regions closest to their navigation routes. In 1685 and 1686 they captured and demolished a number of Turkish fortresses on either side of the Morea, culminating in the capture of Nafplion on 30 August 1686. This was only the prelude to an attempt to clean up the Dalmatian coast, starting with the Turkish base at Herceg Novi, which they captured in September 1687.

The increasing debility of the Ottoman Empire brought the Mediterranean to the attention of the Russian tsars. From the end of the seventeenth century Russian power spread southwards towards the Sea of Azov and the Caucasus. Peter the Great sliced away at the Persian empire, and the Ottomans, who ruled the Crimea, felt threatened. For the moment, the Russians were distracted by conflict with the Swedes for dominion over the Baltic, but Peter sought free access to the Black Sea as well. These schemes had the flavour of the old Russia Peter had sought to reform, just as much as they had the flavour of the new technocratic Russia he had sought to create. The idea that the tsar was the religious and even political heir to the Byzantine emperor – that Muscovy was the ‘Third Rome’ – had not been swept aside when Peter established his new capital on the Baltic, at St Petersburg. Equally, the Russians could now boast hundreds of vessels capable of challenging Turkish pretensions in the Black Sea, even if they were far from capable of mounting a full naval war, and the ships themselves were badly constructed, notwithstanding Peter the Great’s famous journey to inspect the shipyards of western Europe, under the alias Pyotr Mikhailovich. In sum, this was a fleet that was ‘poor in discipline, training, and morale, unskilful in manoeuvre, and badly administered and equipped’; a contemporary remarked that ‘nothing has been under worse management than the Russian navy’, for the imperial naval stores had run out of hemp, tar and nails. The Russians began to hire Scottish admirals in an attempt to create a modern command structure, and they turned to Britain for naval stores; this relationship was further bolstered by the intense trading relationship between Britain and Russia, which had continued to flourish throughout the eighteenth century while England’s Levant trade withered: in the last third of the eighteenth century a maximum of twenty-seven British ships sailed to the Levant in any one year, while as many as 700 headed for Russia.