Empires and Peninsulas

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EMPIRES AND PENINSULAS Southeastern Europe between Karlowitz and the Peace of Adrianople 1699–1829 Edited by Plamen Mitev, Ivan Parvev, Maria Baramova,Vania Racheva

Lit 2010

Contents Preface

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Charles Ingrao & Yasir Yilmaz, Purdue University Ottoman vs. Habsburg: Motives and Priorities 

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Ivan Parvev, Sofia University Southeastern Europe as a Factor in German History, 1699–1829

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Ilya Zaytsev, Institute of Oriental Studies, Moscow The Crimean Khanate between Empires: Independence or Submission

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Jovan Pešalj, University of Belgrade Early 18th-Century Peacekeeping: How Habsburgs and Ottomans Resolved Several Border Disputes after Karlowitz

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Iskra Schwarcz, University of Vienna The “Loyal Ally:” Russian Troops in the Army of Eugene of Savoy as a Historical Problem

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Boro Bronza, University of Banja Luka The Habsburg Monarchy and the Projects for Division of the Ottoman Balkans, 1771–1788

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Will Smiley, Cambridge University The Rules of War on the Ottoman Frontiers: an Overview of Military Captivity, 1699–1829

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Sergey Murtuzaliev, Dagestan State University Potto about the Role of the Caucasus Front in the 1828–1829 War in the Balkans

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Giacomo Brucciani, University of Pisa The South-Slavic Historiographies and Socio-Political Changes in the Balkan Region during the 18th Century

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Maria Baramova, Sofia University Seen through Zedler’s Eyes: The 18th-Century Habsburg–Ottoman Conflict and the Early Modern Encyclopaedic Knowledge

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Plamen Mitev, Sofia University A French Perspective on the Balkans from the Time of the Russo–Turkish War, 1828–1829

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Nadia Manolova-Nikolova, Sofia University Spanish Records of Istanbul at the End of the 18th Century 

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Miloš Djordjević, University of Niš A Background to Serbian Culture and Education in the First Half of the 18th Century according to Serbian Historiographical Sources

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Snežana Vukadinović, University of Novi Sad Marko Kraljević and Turkish Royal Power in the Epic Poetic Key of Southeastern Europe

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Harald Heppner, University of Graz The Habsburg Model of Modernised Society in the Time of the Enlightenment

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Suzana Rajić, University of Belgrade Serbia – The Revival of the Nation-State, 1804–1829: From Turkish Provinces to Autonomous Principality

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Eleonora Naxidou, Democritus University of Thrace The Transition from Ecumenical Tradition to a Multinational Perspective: The Historical Evolution of the Orthodox Church in the Ottoman Empire

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Marlene Kurz, University of Vienna Modernisation in the Ottoman Empire between the Treaty of Karlowitz (1699) and the Reign of Mahmud II (1808–1839): A Process of Cultural Transfer

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Nedeljko Radosavljević, Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts The Serbian Revolution and the Creation of the Modern State: The Beginning of Geopolitical Changes in the Balkan Peninsula in the 19th Century

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Manos Perakis, University of Crete Revolution and Socio-Economic Change in the Ottoman Periphery: The Case of the Island of Crete in 1821

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Elpida Vogli, Democritus University of Thrace The Greek War of Independence and the Emergence of a Modern Nation-State in Southeastern Europe (1821–1827)

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Dean Sakel, Boğaziçi University, Istanbul Chronicling Ottoman History in the Chronicle of 1570 in the 18th Century

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Dzheni Ivanova, Sofia University The Impact of the 1683–1699 War on the Ottoman Rear: The Story of Silâhdar Mehmed Ağa about the Haydut Raid on Kyustendil in 1689/90

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Maria Shusharova, Sofia University A Local View over the War: War Service Functions of the Rumelian Ayans in the Ottoman Empire at the End of the 17th and during the 18th Centuries

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Nadia Danova, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences Svištov between War and Peace 

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Ifigenija Draganić, University of Novi Sad Greek and Serbian in the Ottoman Empire and the Habsburg Monarchy in the 18th and at the Beginning of the 19th Centuries

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Dimitris Michalopoulos, “El. Veniselos” Historical Institute, Athens The Vision of Agathangelus: An 18th-Century Apocalyptic Weltanschauung

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Elka Drosneva & Maria Kirova, Sofia University/ Sliven Museum Wars and Migrations: Field Observations, 1828–2009

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preface The year 2009 marked the anniversary of two important historical events: 310 years since the Treaty of Karlowitz (1699) and 180 years since the Peace of Adrianople (1829). Both agreements frame an important transformative period in the history of Europe that encompassed the entire continent. For Central and Western Europe this was the transition from the Ancien Régime to a post-agrarian society, from absolutism to the modern nation-state. For the Southeast and the Balkans, the 18th and the first third of the 19th centuries meant, similarly to the Western “emancipation of mentality,” a new mobility within the Ottoman Empire and a new concept of nationality. The period also witnessed the foundation of new or the resurrection of the old pre-Ottoman states in the Peninsula. For its part, the Ottoman ruling élite began to think seriously about reforming the Empire, more or less convinced that without such “turnover” the empire would perish. Between 1699 and 1829 Southeastern Europe was of great importance for European diplomacy. The region was the arena where the Habsburg armies fought against the sultan, and where the Eastern Question was born. The Austrian War of Succession had part of its roots in the Balkans. Russia had a traditional interest in the Balkans and the Black Sea and waged several wars against the Ottomans, brandishing the flag of religion and ideology. Russian political dominance in Europe after the Congress of Vienna (1815) had a firm base in the lands of the European Southeast. Some of the conflicts during the Napoleonic Era marched directly through the Balkans. Last but not least, caught in the “space between empires,” in the contact zones and buffer lands between the Habsburgs, the Ottomans and the Romanovs, the new “Balkan élites” enriched their political experience, trying to use the neighbouring empires to achieve a measure of sovereignty and independence. At a later stage they adopted “European models” as a blueprint to reform their society and state. During these decades the “small” national societies in Southeastern Europe were pushed forward by the “impact of transformation.” The ensuing changes had their European roots, but also included a number of regionally specific features in the spheres of economy, culture and politics. This presents an intriguing opportunity to trace some contemporary parallels, asking the rhetorical question: “Does history repeat itself?” The term “Common European History,” as controversial as it may be, is undeniably and inextricably linked to the past of the Southeast, not least because the power and influence of the great Continental Empires of Antiquity, the Middle Ages and the Modern Era have always been present in this region. The years between Karlowitz (1699) and Adrianople (1829) corroborate this assumption. The docking of the Southeast to modern European civilisation becomes such a clear-cut tendency that

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the emergence of the new states in the Peninsula during the 19th century can only confirm the ongoing process of modernisation. The papers of the Conference hosted in October 2009 by the Sofia University were thematically structured in three main areas. The first focus area was dedicated to the “Societies in Southeastern Europe” with their respective Ottoman, Habsburg and local patterns of evolution. The second point of interest centred around the politics of the European powers and the role of the Southeast as a playing field of Great Power diplomacy and a “weight” within the major “Continental Balance of Power,” but also as a group of “small actors” represented by the autonomous and independent countries in the Balkans with their own aims in regional foreign policy. The third layer of research interest examined the routes of transition in Southeastern Europe, including the transformation of Ottoman society, the arduous and winding road of modern nations and nationalism in the Southeast, and the emergence of new economic, cultural and mental elements in the Balkans. The publication of the papers of the Conference does not necessarily reflect the editorial board’s agreement with the ideas or the undertone of individual texts. We not always share the views of the authors; quite often the opposite is true. Every colleague will face for themselves the praise or criticism of the academic community. Nevertheless, we are proud and happy that renowned professors and younger scholars from all over the world found their way to Sofia to discuss the multiple facets of “Empires and Peninsulas” outlined above; this in itself, and the publication of this volume, will surely enrich the historiography of Europe and its regions. Maybe a few closing remarks are in order. During the Conference the discussions after the papers were sometimes more dynamic and interesting than the papers themselves; this is, in fact, one of the reasons why such meetings are organised in the first place. Some interpretations of the Habsburg–Serbian relations during the 18th century, for example, triggered a heated dispute between some of our colleagues, which only demonstrated how important it is for the academic community to have a possibility to talk – and argue – about history, about Empires and Peninsulas and, if you will, the quite controversial umbilical cord between past and present. We wish to thank all of our colleagues who found the time and the will to come to Sofia and took part in the Conference in October 2009. We hope that we all share the belief that it is much better to study history than to try, no matter the cost, to “live history” in our present day. We wish to express our special gratitude to the Sofia University Faculty of History for providing the financial support for this publication. We also thank the Centre of Excellence “Dialogue Europe” at the Sofia University who financed the Conference itself. Our special thanks go to Dimana who provided the editorial work on the English version of the papers. Sofia, June 2010

Plamen Mitev, Ivan Parvev, Maria Baramova, Vania Racheva

Cyrillic Transliteration Key1 Symbols used in this publication

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Ottoman vs. Habsburg: Motives and Priorities Charles Ingrao and Yasir Yilmaz The history of early modern Habsburg-Ottoman relations is an unbroken narrative of confrontation and warfare. Seven major conflicts consumed a third of the period between the battle of Mohács (1526) and the Peace of Sistova (1791). In between, the Ottoman-Habsburg frontier served as little more than a line of scrimmage for regional commanders on each side who launched raids and punitive expeditions bent on pillage, destruction and the seizure of civilians for ransom or enslavement. Narratives of these wars invariably mention the immediate causes of each conflict, but make no attempt to identify a structural longue durée cutting across the centuries that would cast them in a broader context. Recent scholarship has deemphasised the role of religious hatred, which was less a cause for conflict than a means for bracing and mobilising societies for the next war. What remains are Orientalist caricatures of the Porte, replete with Weberian tropes of irrational despotism: With limitless authority based on divine privilege, the sultans encircled themselves with competing cliques of courtiers (nedim, musahib, karin, or mukarrib) that abetted the reflexive application of military force and despotic terror. Consultation (meşveret), and other traditional institutions and posts of advice were only complementary to the sultan’s indisputable will.1 Indeed, such attributions explain not only the shaping of Ottoman policy but a principal explanation for its purported “decline” in both western and Ottomanist historical writing.2 Meanwhile, their Habsburg adversary is routinely portrayed as reacting rationally, but reflexively to each new threat in tandem with competing challenges posed by its Christian neighbours in the West. A classic example was the celebrated EastWest triage during the last four decades of the 17th century, when Emperor Leopold I (1658–1705) was obliged to parry simultaneous thrusts from the sultan’s Kiuprili grand viziers and France’s Louis XIV (1643–1715). While hardly visionary, policymakers in Constantinople and Vienna were guided by prevailing mentalités, the foremost of which was the determination to defend their Halil Inalcik. Decision Making in the Ottoman State. In: Caesar E. Farah, ed., Decision Making and Change in the Ottoman Empire. The Thomas Jefferson University Press 1993, pp. 9-18; Gábor Ágoston. Information, Ideology, and Limits of Imperial Policy: Ottoman Grand Strategy in the Context of Ottoman-Habsburg Rivalry. In: Virginia H. Aksan and Daniel Goffman, eds., The Early Modern Ottomans: Remapping the Empire. New York: Cambridge University Press 2007, pp. 75-103. 2 For a discussion of the Ottoman “decline” see Linda Darling. Revenue-Raising & Legitimacy: Tax Collection and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire: 1560–1660. Leiden: Brill 1996, pp. 1-21. 1

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possessions at whatever cost. The constant quest for security was often assisted and sometimes undermined by a concern for “reputation” afflicting all powers across history that wish to become or remain “great.”3 As elsewhere in the early modern world, “reputation” was defined principally by territorial expanse. Ottoman policy was also driven by a quest for territorial expansion as late as the 1760s, at the same moment that its Habsburg adversary began seeking new territories in order to compensate for the permanent loss of Silesia to Prussian aggression. Unexpected territorial losses re-intensified efforts by both empires to spur economic development, rationalise administration, and strengthen military power under Maria Theresa (1740–1780) and Selim III (1789–1807).4 Indeed, if early modern great (and no so great) powers had a common strategic agenda, it was to strengthen the state’s economic, political and military power from within. Beyond this constant, few early modern states – and only some modern ones – could divert their attention from the typically unanticipated events and conjunctures that dominate international relations to craft or execute such a master plan.5 Preoccupied as it was by the relentless flow of new challenges and opportunities, neither empire entertained a self-conscious, long-term “grand strategy” that prioritised territorial acquisition. This is not to say that their actions on the international stage were either irrational or benighted. To a considerable extent Ottoman and Habsburg foreign policy was influenced by prevailing geopolitical realities that guided them like an invisible hand in drawing priorities that largely predetermined the direction of diplomatic initiatives and military campaigns. Their positions were certainly asymmetrical. The sultan presided over a far-flung empire built on domination of the eastern Mediterranean and Black Seas, while the emperor ruled a more modest, but no less diverse patrimony that was essentially landlocked. Having conquered all of its smaller and middle-sized neighbours, the Ottoman Empire had no allies, only reasonably compliant tributaries; by contrast, the emperor depended heavily on the support of foreign allies, as he did on domestic power brokers with extensive feudal rights that were unknown within the sultan’s core domains until the late 18th century.6 Finally, the Ottoman monolith had peaked fully two centuries before its Habsburg adversary, which inevitably produced wholly different agendas in Constantinople and Vienna. It should not be surprising that neither the sultan nor the emperor or their advisers fully appreciated the overall effect of such broader structural determinants as they chose when or where to assert their military power during the period 1699–1829. Nonetheless, that is our objective in this paper. John Elliott. Richelieu and Olivares. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. P. G. M. Dickson. Finance and Government under Maria Theresa 1740–1780, 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1987; Stanford J. Shaw. Between Old and New: The Ottoman Empire under Selim III, 1789–1807. Cambridge 1971. 5 See, for example, Geoffrey Parker. The Grand Strategy of Philip II. New Haven: Yale University Press 1998, pp. 2, 8-9, 282. 6 For the “Age of Notables,” see M. Sukru Hanioğlu. A Brief History of the Late Ottoman Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press 2008, pp. 55-7. 3 4

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During the 16th century the Ottomans’ formidable gunpowder empire was probing the coasts of Italy and Spain, attacking Portugal’s outposts across the Indian Ocean and planning a Don–Volga canal that foreshadowed expansion into Siberia.7 A century later it had turned its focus inward, having reached its material and logistical limits visà-vis its neighbours. Although the thirst for glory and conquest remained, the sultan largely reserved his diminished resources for expansion against Christian Europe. Facing west reinforced the sultan’s pretensions of continuity with the Byzantine empire of the previous millennium. It also sustained his conceit as the prophet’s standard bearer, even as it occasionally obliged him to demonstrate primacy to his Persian Shi’ia rivals. Indeed, the armies that he sent into Europe invariably dwarfed the size of military demonstrations in the East. The intricate network of Ottoman, Polish and Russian tributaries sometimes obliged the sultan to fight along several fronts, as did the ease with which his Christian adversaries formed alliances that could stretch the theatre of operations from the central Mediterranean across the Balkans and Russian steppes to the Sea of Azov. His empire’s relative remoteness from Europe presented not only logistical difficulties in reaching much beyond its northern frontier, but also prevented him from having any diplomatic leverage in Europe. For this reason alone, western powers had little reason to remould the prevailing European imagination that cast the Ottoman infidel as a pariah that could not be publicly acknowledged as an ally. Admittedly, France did enter into a “marriage of convenience” with the sultan during the 16th century in its desperation to circumvent the dynastic vise that Charles V had cast against it. Yet there were real limits to Ottoman-French cooperation, as evidenced by Louis XIV’s dispatch of a cavalry corps to fight at St. Gotthard in 1664 and a well-equipped naval squadron to raise the siege of Candia in 1669, to be followed in 1684 by a Twenty Years’ Truce that he concluded with the emperor following the relief of Vienna eleven months earlier.8 Of course, the absence of allies gave an aggressive sultan a free hand to choose where to strike next. Yet the options were limited. The remoteness of the empire’s North African possessions rendered them useless not only as staging areas for further expansion but as sources of revenue in the face of increasingly independent vassals. Indeed, the modest tribute they paid to Constantinople had to be measured against the problems that their piracy caused with Christian states, prompting the sultan to draw an imaginary east-west line across the Mediterranean in 1742 that he Akdes Nimet Kurat. The Turkish Expedition to Astrakhan in 1569 and the Problem of the Don–Volga Canal, Slavonic and East European Review, 40 (1961), 7-23; Anthony Reid. Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680, II: Expansion and Crisis. New Haven: Yale University Press 1993, pp. 146-7 presents evidence that the sultan even committed troops against the Portuguese East Indies. 8 Kurt Peball. Die Schlacht bei St. Gotthard-Mogersdorf 1664. Vienna: Österreichischer Bundesverlag 1964, p. 7; Faruk Bilici. XVII Yüzyılın İkinci Yarısında Türk-Fransız İlişkileri: Gizli Harpten Objektif İttifaka, Osmanlı, vol. 1. Ankara: Yeni Türkiye Yayınları 1999, pp. 480-92; Ekkehard Eickhoff. Venedig, Wien und die Osmanen: Umbruch in Südosteuropa, 1645–1700, 3rd ed. Klett-Cotta 1988, pp. 222-30. 7

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forbade Barbary warships to cross.9 Despite its relative proximity, even Egypt was slipping out of the sultans’ grasp into the hands of local élites that would eventually challenge them for control of the empire. Persia represented at once a more proximate, populous and wealthy target for expansion. Yet the large Turkmen and Kurdish populations that inhabited Ottoman Anatolia and Mesopotamia were reluctant to fight against their brethren who lived in Safavıd Persia. So long as he held key Islamic centres like Damascus, the sultan was prepared to validate his claim to the caliphate by fighting against the Christian powers.10 That he usually chose the Balkans reflected sober calculation rather than the fanciful whim of a despot. By the 17th century there was no other viable European option. Striking westward across the Mediterranean against Spain or Italy was not logistically feasible. Meanwhile a thrust to the northeast against Muscovy and Poland had little to offer. Whereas the empire derived tremendous benefit from its 16thcentury conquest of the Black Sea coastline, its policymakers saw little advantage to advancing into the wild steppes beyond. Thus, Ottoman strategy toward the Black Sea hinterland became “primarily defensive” with the intention of keeping access to the empire’s great inland sea closed by a string of formidable coastal fortresses.11 The Porte’s interactions with its tributaries bear this out. As a rule the sultan, Polish king and Russian tsar worked successfully to prevent their vassals from entangling them in military conflicts.12 One exception was the 1670s, when the three powers struggled to restabilise their common frontier following Poland’s implosion during the Great Déluge (1655–1660). Even the Ottoman acquisition of Podolia from Poland (1676) reinforced the Porte’s earlier view that the sparsely populated Black Sea hinterland was not worth the trouble. Otherwise, aside from the remaining scraps of the Venetian empire, the Austrian Habsburg lands represented the most suitable avenue for Ottoman expansion. According to the Ottoman historian Silâhdar Findiklili Mehmed Ağa (1658–1723) the fateful 1683 campaign was originally intended as a limited operation against the strategic Habsburg fortress enclave of Györ that threatened the security of the Ottoman territories that surrounded it.13 When Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa expanded Maria Pia Pedani. The Border from the Ottoman Point of View. In: Drago Roksandić and Nataša Štefanec, eds., Constructing Border Societies on the Triplex Confinium. Budapest and Zagreb 2000, p. 208. 10 Remzi Kılıç. XVI. ve XVII. Yüzyıllarda Osmanlı-İran Siyasi Antlaşmaları. Istanbul: Tez Yayınları 2001, p. 176; Ágoston. Information, Ideology, and Limits of Imperial Policy, pp. 93-6. 11 Charles King. The Black Sea: A History. Oxford: Oxford University Press 2004, pp. 132-5. 12 Caroline Finkel. Osman’s Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1923. New York: Basic Books 2006, p. 198; Alan Fisher. Azov in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, XXI/2 (1973), 161-74. 13 İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı. Büyük Osmanlı Tarihi, vol. 3. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu 1995, p. 440. 9

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the objective to include the relatively rich Austrian lands and the great Habsburg capital of Vienna, he was duly warned by the Vizier Uzun (“the Tall”), Buda’s governor Ibrahim Pasha, and the Crimean Khan Murad Giray that such an undertaking would be not only impractical but dangerous.14 Although the decision proved a serious mistake, his folly was consistent with the grandiose territorial objectives of Louis XIV and other powerful statesmen of the early modern (and modern) era. *** However limited and selective it may have been, Ottoman expansionism contrasted with the Habsburg emperors’ willingness to abide by the status quo. Like other European monarchs, they were invariably more interested in acquiring territories to which they could advance a dynastic claim, no matter how geographically remote they might be. That such an inheritance might come with enemies attached was hardly a deterrent. Hence the Habsburgs’ willingness to fight the French Valois and Bourbons for three centuries over discontiguous Iberian, Italian and Burgundian patrimonies than to prey on their weaker and more proximate Polish, Swiss, Venetian, and German neighbours. Yet, in practical terms successive emperors were consumed less by prospective dynastic legacies than by the almost continuous concern for the defence of their own frontiers. Leopold I’s East-West dilemma can be applied to the entire course of the monarchy’s history, beginning with the epic Ottoman victory at Mohács (1526). Even the bicentennial contest over Hungary, which began in 1506 as a highly speculative dynastic enterprise, quickly became a struggle for survival against successive Ottoman invasions rather than for realising Habsburg claims to the crown of St. Stephen.15 Similarly, the emperors’ concern for their waning authority in Germany was largely overshadowed by the perceived threat of Protestantism to the monarchy’s integrity. French (and later Swedish) support for Germany’s Protestant princes only heightened the danger from the West. When Leopold I’s father Ferdinand III (1637–1657) wasn’t defending dynastic interests in Italy or the Erblande against Protestant heresy and insurrection, he was compelled to protect Poland against the strategic threat that Sweden posed along the monarchy’s northern frontier.16 Between dynastic interests and perceived security threats along its frontiers, the emperors, advisors and generals always had their hands full. But these challenges were addressed on an ad hoc basis in response to challenges or opportunities that often arose by chance. Otherwise, the only “grand strategy” that 14

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Silâhdar Fındıklılı Mehmed Ağa. Silahdar Tarihi, 2. Istanbul: Devlet Matbaası 1928, pp.

Charles Ingrao. The Habsburg Monarchy, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2000, pp. 5-6. 16 Lothar Höbelt. Ferdinand III. 1608–1657: Friedenskaiser wider Willen. Graz: Ares 2008, pp. 396-403; Robert I. Frost. After the Déluge: Poland-Lithuania and the Second Northern War, 1655– 1660. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1993. 15

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Vienna consciously pursued involved the aforementioned strengthening of central authority in order to increase revenue and, with it, the size of the imperial military. It was the assiduous pursuit of this agenda in Habsburg Hungary that repeatedly inspired Transylvania’s Magyar princes to launch attacks there and even against Vienna itself, culminating with the Prince Michael Apafi’s support for the Thököly Revolt. Having restrained the Ottoman Empire’s tributaries in other theatres, Kara Mustafa knew that he could now mobilise them for the massive effort that was so famously crushed at the battle of Kahlenberg (1683). Leopold’s successful appeal for international assistance saved Vienna and the Erblande in 1683, much as it had blunted an earlier Ottoman invasion at the battle of St. Gotthard (1664). But, whereas the emperor’s allies and German vassals had returned home two decades earlier, compelling him to sign a humiliating peace at Vasvár (1664), he was able to assemble a formidable international coalition in the months following the victory of Kahlenberg. Comprising several German states, Poland, Venice, the Papacy, Tuscany and Russia, the Holy League (1684) effectively ended the Ottoman threat in the East. Meanwhile, the formation of a parallel League of Augsburg (1686) in the West prefigured the first Europewide rebuff to French aggression in the Nine Years’ War (1689–1697) and resulting Peace of Ryswick (1697). The qualified victory over France and the humiliation of the sultan that was confirmed at the Peace of Karlowitz (1699) left Leopold free to intensify the statebuilding process in Hungary. If his reaffirmation of Hungary’s own institutions assuaged the resentments of the kingdom’s nobles and Protestants, it also reflected the Vienna court’s unwillingness to equate it either culturally or psychologically with the Austrian and Bohemian crownlands. By 1700, eight decades after crushing the Bohemian revolt at White Mountain (1620), the emperor’s ministers routinely used the term Erblande to describe both his Austrian and Bohemian lands as a single unit. Yet this term could never be applied to Hungary, even after its diet had acknowledged the Habsburgs’ right to hereditary succession (1687). Hungarian ministers were rarely admitted to the emperor’s most powerful decision-making councils that were virtually the exclusive domain of Austrian and German-speaking Bohemian nobles, plus a smattering of Italians and Reich Germans. Hungary was merely a discrete territorial appendage to be taxed, colonised and employed as a glacis governed by the court war council (Hofkriegsrat) for the protection of the Habsburg core lands. With the Peace of Karlowitz, the Ottoman frontier assumed a much lower priority in Vienna’s strategic thinking. After all, the sultan’s armies were no longer deemed a dire threat to the monarchy, especially now that it had acquired in Hungary such a huge buffer against them; moreover, after three centuries of viewing its European frontiers as temporary markers on the road to perpetual expansion, the sultan reluctantly accepted the status quo and recognised for the first time the legitimacy of the Habsburg–Ottoman frontier.17 Leopold’s attention therefore refocused on the West, 17

Pedani. The Border from the Ottoman Point of View, pp. 197-200.

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where the imminent death of the last Spanish Habsburg portended a confrontation with France. But the battle lines would be drawn much differently this time around. Although the emperor would be compelled once again to defend southern Germany against the French juggernaut, Louis XIV’s repeated invasions over the past generation had so galvanised the imperial princes in support of the emperor that they would ultimately furnish most of the military and logistical support there. What complicated Habsburg “grand strategy” in the coming War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1714) was the emergence of two new military theatres in Italy and Poland. However unwanted, neither was wholly unexpected. Despite having concluded a separate peace with Louis XIV at the Peace of Westphalia (1648), Emperor Ferdinand III committed significant forces to fight in Italy as Spanish auxiliaries in order to bolster Austria’s dynastic and geographic continuity with Spain. The emperor’s largesse counted for little a half century later when Charles II willed Italy along with the rest of his inheritance to a grandson of Louis XIV. To his credit the Sun King agreed to let the Austrian Habsburgs keep the bulk of the Spanish empire so long as they left him with Milan, Naples and Sicily. Yet Leopold and his advisers would have none of a partition that simultaneously interdicted communication between the two Habsburg courts and threatened the Erblande from the southwest. It was the measure of Vienna’s appreciation of Italy’s vital strategic importance that Leopold sent his main army across the Alps in 1701 to reclaim Habsburg Italy from a numerically far superior enemy. Poland’s emergence as a fourth dimension in Habsburg “grand strategy” can also be traced to Ferdinand III’s reign. At the height of the Swedish-led Great Déluge, Ferdinand’s Spanish brother-in-law Philip IV actually urged him to give the Polish front top priority, even if it meant transferring his Austrian auxiliaries from Italy.18 The successful counter-offensive against the Swedes ultimately restored Poland’s frontiers, if not its formerly imposing countenance. With the treaties of Ryswick and Karlowitz, the Habsburg monarchy was fully encircled for the first time in its history by a substantial, fully interconnected glacis that embraced Italy, Germany, Poland and Hungary’s massive Neo Acquistica. It was not long, however, before all four sectors had been breached. With the Bourbon succession in Madrid, French armies flooded into Belgium and northern Italy during the course of 1701. One year later, Bavaria defected to the Bourbon cause in return for generous dynastic, territorial, and financial incentives, thereby exposing the Erblande to invasion from the west. By 1703, the fiscal and unconstitutional excesses of Leopoldine absolutism led to the loss of most of Hungary following the outbreak of the 8-year Kuruc rebellion (1703–1711). The monarchy’s Polish glacis collapsed in 1704, when a Swedish army under Charles XII (1697–1718) toppled the kaisertreue Saxon King Augustus II. Whereas the Porte could typically pick and choose its theatre of operations, Vienna was compelled to practice strategic triage in parrying military thrusts from 18

Höbelt. Ferdinand III, p. 403.

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all four points of the compass so that none struck a fatal blow. Initially, Germany superseded all other theatres because of the mortal threat posed by the formidable Franco–Bavarian forces in the west. Its crushing defeat by Marlborough and Prince Eugene at Blenheim (1704) secured Germany, thereby allowing Leopold to focus once again on the key wartime objective of re-establishing Habsburg hegemony over Italy. Eugene’s brilliant victory at Turin (1706) led to the evacuation of all French forces from northern Italy, the occupation of Spanish Naples (1707) and, then, an invasion of the Papal States (1708) that compelled the Pope himself to acknowledge Habsburg hegemony by backing the dynasty’s pretender to the Spanish throne. For good measure, the new Emperor Joseph I (1705–1711) obliged the claimant – his younger brother Archduke Charles (“King” Charles III of Spain) – to secretly cede Milan to the dynasty’s Austrian branch.19 Hungary became Joseph’s top priority only after Italy had been conquered. Until then, Vienna was content to sustain limited military operations while negotiating with Kuruc leader Ferenc Rákóczi. In 1705 he scraped together and dispatched a small force to strengthen his hold on Transylvania at a time when Rákóczi was demanding that it be re-established as a sovereign state with him as prince. Although the subsequent Tyrnau peace talks (1706) foundered on Transylvania’s status and a Kuruc diet dethroned the Habsburgs (1707), by then Joseph was free to transfer forces from Germany, Italy and even the Ottoman frontier. For the next four years Hungary was the primary theatre in which Vienna invested roughly half of all its military resources. When the Kuruc leaders finally accepted Joseph’s peace terms (albeit without Rákóczi) in 1711, there were 52,000 Austrian troops in the kingdom.20 Poland was Joseph’s fourth priority, largely because Charles XII’s own war aims called only for the formal abdication of Augustus II, followed by an invasion of Russia, rather than a new war against neutral Austria. When Charles demanded that Joseph restore the religious freedom of Silesia’s Protestants as a sine qua non for his continued neutrality and withdrawal, Joseph readily conceded, telling the Pope that he would have himself become Lutheran had only the Swedish king required it.21 Largely absent from Vienna’s wartime strategy was Spain, its overseas empire and the Spanish Netherlands. Although the latter were technically part of Germany, Leopold and Joseph could refrain from sending significant forces there because their Dutch and British allies had already committed themselves and their armies to recovering them for Charles “III.” Meanwhile, Vienna recognised that Spain and the Indies were a purely dynastic objective that took a distant back seat to the four Joseph imposed the cession on his brother in the pactum mutuae successionis (1703), which was secretly executed when Austrian forces occupied Milan in 1707. Charles Ingrao. In Quest and Crisis: Emperor Joseph I and the Habsburg Monarchy. West Lafayette: Purdue University Press 1979, pp. 84-8, 92. 20 Ibid., pp. 129-36, 160. 21 Ernst Carlson. Der Vertrag zwischen Karl XII. von Schweden und Kaiser Josef I. zu Altranstädt 1707. Stockholm 1907, p. 18. 19

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theatres of operation along the monarchy’s borders. Even though Leopold readily dispatched Archduke Charles to the Iberian Peninsula, where he became a fixture in the baggage train of the Maritime Powers’ expeditionary force, Joseph politely declined to invest a single florin in military operations there until 1711, once victory in Hungary had secured all four of the monarchy’s glaces.22 In the end, Joseph’s policies not only guaranteed the achievement of all of Vienna’s strategic goals, but foreshadowed its failure to acquire Spain and its overseas empire. Although Joseph died in April 1711, his brother’s postwar policies as emperor reaffirmed the priorities that had been set a decade earlier. Under Charles VI (1711–1740) the monarchy played its assigned role as a satiated power, focusing its diplomacy on legitimising the territorial integrity of its core dominions by securing international recognition of the Pragmatic Sanction – but not for Naples and Sicily, which remained an awkward appendage well beyond the monarchy’s existing buffer zones. Indeed, although the emperor fought three more wars during his reign, all were instigated by other powers, limited to no more than three campaigns, and directed at preserving or strengthening the monarchy’s security along its immediate periphery. The one conflict in the West began in 1733, after Vienna’s efforts to prevent the succession of a pro-French Polish king prompted the Bourbon Powers to invade Germany and Italy. Although Charles’s forces were soundly defeated in both theatres, he readily accepted the loss of Naples and Sicily in return for his retention of Milan and territorial compensation with the duchy of Parma (and Tuscany as a Habsburg secundogeniture), further fortifying the Milanese bastion on its southwestern glacis. But, most importantly, the Peace of Prague (1735) reaffirmed the continuation of the benevolent Saxons on the Polish throne.23 Charles VI’s two Turkish wars also reflected the new strategic calculus that followed the monarchy’s acquisitions over the previous three decades. Vienna fought the first conflict (1716–1718) to rescue the beleaguered Venetians, lest their destruction by the invading Turks leave the monarchy without a regional ally in the event that the sultan attacked Hungary next;24 the resulting peace treaty of Passarowitz recovered the last pieces of Hungary and Croatia in the Banat and Srem, the defence of which was supplemented by the acquisition of territories across the Danube, including the fortress of Belgrade. It also ended any thoughts that the sultan might have entertained of recovering Hungary. Having now pushed the Turks back half Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv, SA, 7 Jan 1707 Conference Referat, SK Vorträge 13; Trautson to Sinzendorf, 13 Dec 1710, GK 70; Marlborough to Galway, 28 Sept 1707. Sir George Murray, ed., The letters and dispatches of John Churchill, First Duke of Marlborough, from 1702–1712. London: John Murray, 1845, III:599; Instructions to Prince Eugene, n.d., Eugene to Joseph, 17 Apr 1708. Feldzüge des Prinzen Eugen von Savoyen. Vienna: C. Gerold, 1876–1892, IX: supplement 47, X: supplement 67. 23 See John L. Sutton. The King’s Honor and the King’s Cardinal: The War of the Polish Succession. Lexington: University of Kentucky Press 1982. 24 Oswald Redlich. Das Werden einer Großmacht: Österreich von 1700 bis 1740. Baden bei Wien: Rohrer 1938, p. 267. 22

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the distance to Constantinople, even the emperor became less interested in acquiring new Ottoman territory than in preventing a resurgent Russia from filling the vacuum. In the years after Passarowitz, he repeatedly declined invitations to form a new alliance with Peter the Great or even with the rulers of Georgia, lest he be sucked into a strategically senseless conflict with the sultan. He finally relented in 1725 because he needed Russian military assistance against a possible Anglo–Dutch–French coalition in the west and the prospect of a simultaneous Ottoman attack on his southern flank.25 Ultimately, Charles VI’s desire to defend his western dominions drove him to honour Tsarina Anne’s invocation of the defensive alliance following a clash between Ottoman and Russian tributaries, simply because he was too dependent on her military support for the Pragmatic Sanction to risk losing her as an ally. Thus he entered his last Turkish war (1737–1739) vainly hoping that it would end in a single campaign that he hoped would limit Russian gains while reaffirming the existing Habsburg–Ottoman frontier. Instead, he lost all of the trans-Danubian lands won two decades earlier, including Belgrade.26 Notwithstanding successive defeats against the Bourbon Powers and the Ottoman Empire, Charles VI went to his grave in October 1740 concerned primarily about international acceptance of his female heir presumptive’s claim to the throne, rather than about the security of the monarchy’s immediate frontiers. The broad security zone established by his father and brother had so lulled Charles into complacency that he forsook the standard absolutist paradigm of administrative centralisation, while hailing the dynasty’s achievements through the aesthetic excesses of the High Baroque.27 In the end, Maria Theresa succeeded her father, but only after Brandenburg-Prussia had permanently breached the strategic glacis in the War of the Austrian Succession (1740–1748). Frederick II’s “rape” of virtually all of Silesia, not only burst the bubble of Baroque greatness, but totally changed the strategic calculus in Vienna. The monarchy’s principal adversary no longer resided in far-off Versailles, Madrid, or Constantinople, but well within the very German empire that the Habsburgs had dominated for over half a century. Worse yet, possession of Silesia – and especially the sub-Carpathian county of Glatz – posed a grave threat to what was left of the rich Bohemian crownlands on which the Habsburgs had depended for most of their revenue since 1526. Maria Theresa (1740–1780) and her son Joseph II (1765–1790) devoted the next half-century to atoning for Charles VI’s negligence, initially by trying to crush Prussia in the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), then by seeking territorial compensation elsewhere for the loss of Silesia. Throughout the period both monarchs also reIvan Parvev. Habsburgs and Ottomans between Vienna and Belgrade 1683–1789. Boulder: East European Monographs 1995, pp. 169, 181, 196-9, 201, 203. 26 Karl Roider. The Reluctant Ally. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press 1972. 27 Charles Ingrao. Die Transformation der österreichischen Barockmonarchie von ihrer Schaffung bis zum Zusammenbruch. In: Peter Burgard, ed., Barock: Neue Sichtweisen einer Epoche. Vienna: Böhlau 2001, pp. 85-100. 25

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sumed the state-building process with unparalleled fervour and success. With Prussia now permanently situated astride northern Bohemia, Vienna also welcomed any opportunity to consolidate its territorial expanse against the enemy next door. After all, outlying bastions made much less sense when the enemy was already at the gates. Suddenly, the Austrian Netherlands became expendable. Much as Maria Theresa had offered part of Flanders to the Bourbons during the Seven Years’ War, Joseph II tried to exchange most of it for Bavaria in 1784. Following defeats in the French Revolutionary wars, subsequent emperors swapped discontiguous dominions like Lombardy for Venice (1797) and Vorderösterreich for Salzburg (1803), much as Francis I readily swapped the Austrian Netherlands for Venice at the Congress of Vienna (1814). The new reality posed by the proximate Prussian threat had a profound effect on strategic planning in both Vienna and Constantinople. If Charles VI was a “reluctant ally” against the Ottomans in 1737, his daughter positively opposed expanding southward at their expense, initially out of gratitude that the sultan had not joined the feeding frenzy of attackers during the War of the Austrian Succession,28 but also because the monarchy’s attention was squarely focused on Prussia. Any military resources invested in the Balkans subtracted from whatever she could summon against it. She could justify efforts to enlarge the Military Border system along the Ottoman frontier in terms of the additional quantity and quality of troops it would provide in future Austro–Prussian conflicts. By 1769 she had developed an even more compelling argument that informed Habsburg policy for the next century: that it was better to preserve the Ottoman Empire against the expansion of more dangerous neighbours than to acquire Balkan lands that she dismissed as supremely unhealthy, economically worthless, and inhabited by “ill-intentioned Greeks.”29 Her reign represented a longer period of peace than had ever existed between the two empires, punctuated only by the peaceful transfer of Bukovina (1775) in order to enhance communication with Galicia following its acquisition two years earlier in the First Partition of Poland. Indeed, Maria Theresa’s other two annexations of Galicia (1772) and the Innviertel (1779) reflected her determination to compensate the monarchy for Prussian territorial conquests that threatened to tilt the balance of power in Berlin’s favour. *** Vienna’s fixation with the Prussian threat and corresponding disinterest in Balkan expansion was welcome news for the Porte. Whatever confidence it had gained from Derek Beales. Joseph II, vol. 2: Against the World, 1780–1790. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2009, pp. 110-1. 29 Karl Roider. Reform and Diplomacy in the Eighteenth-Century Habsburg Monarchy. In: Charles W. Ingrao, ed., State and Society in Early Modern Austria. West Lafayette: Purdue University Press 1994, p. 321. 28

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its re-conquest of Belgrade was permanently destroyed by the 8-year thrashing that the empire sustained from the Russians (1768–1774) that ended with the peace of Kuchuk Kainarji. Hefty wartime expenditures and territorial losses wiped out the steady fifty percent increase in revenue that the empire had achieved over the previous half-century.30 With Kuchuk Kainarji and the subsequent loss of the Crimea a decade later, Ottoman strategic planning irrevocably abandoned traditional visions of an “ever expanding frontier” in favour of a resumption of administrative reform and centralisation that ultimately culminated in the Tanzimat reforms of the 1830s.31 Like the Habsburg monarchy before 1683, the Ottoman Empire was now a state under siege, watching its frontiers for military threats while searching for new sources of domestic strength to counter them. And, like Vienna, it came to appreciate the necessity of diplomacy, forsaking its longtime unilateralism by negotiating agreements and, when possible, coalitions with European powers.32 It had already hastily concluded its first alliance ever with Vienna in 1771 in order to minimise Russian gains. By 1792 it had posted its first permanent resident ambassador to a European country, marking yet another step in its Europeanisation of Ottoman “grand strategy.” Although the Habsburg monarchy was nearing the apex of its military power, it was now and would always be a natural ally of the sultan so long as Prussia was pounding at the gates of Bohemia. The Austro–Russian defensive alliance that Joseph II concluded with Tsarina Catherine II (1762–1796) in 1781 was directed as much against Prussia as it was against further Russian expansion in the Balkans.33 Hence his determination to preserve his and Catherine’s resources for fighting Prussia, while forestalling powerful Russia’s replacing the Ottomans as the monarchy’s neighbour. Barely a year later, he dissuaded her and the Porte from making war on each other. And he was so “stunned” and dismayed when the sultan reacted to various Russian provocations by declaring war on Catherine in November 1787 that he waited a full six months before fulfilling his alliance obligations by joining the struggle. At the time Joseph confided that he would be “content” with the old Passarowitz frontier, plus Bosnia and the fortress of Chotim, which “would ensure the security of the rest of my provinces,” while preventing Russia from becoming his immediate neighbour.34 Joseph’s successors never deviated from the policy of sustaining the Ottoman Empire to the point of intensifying their resistance to further Russian encroachment on their Balkan glacis. After 1800, they went a step further by Mehmet Genç. Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Devlet ve Ekonomi. Istanbul: Ötüken 2000, pp. 213-4. 31 Hanioğlu. A Brief History, pp. 55-7; Virginia Askan. Locating the Ottomans among early modern Empires, Journal of Early Modern History, 3 (1999), pp. 110, 131. 32 J. C. Hurewitz. The Europeanization of Ottoman Diplomacy: The Conversion from Unilateralism to Reciprocity in the Nineteenth Century, Belleten, vol. XXV (1961); Christoph Neumann. Political and Diplomatic Developments. In: Suraiya Faroqhi, ed., ibid., 58. 33 Karl Roider. Austria’s Eastern Question 1700–1790. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1982, pp. 151-88. 34 Beales. Joseph II, vol. 2, pp. 376-80, 555-63. 30

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opposing any and all rebellions against the sultan, even when the rebel leadership sought annexation by the monarchy. In 1821 they refused to join Britain, France and Russia in supporting the successful Greek War of Independence. Two decades later they even helped to defeat Egyptian Viceroy Muhammad Ali’s attempt to seize Syria from the sultan. Surely the irony was not lost on European and Ottoman observers in 1840, when the warships of the Habsburg King of Jerusalem bombarded Beirut and Acre, then landed marines on behalf of the Muslim Caliphate that held the keys to the Holy Land.

SouthEastern Europe as a Factor in German History, 1699–1829 Ivan Parvev The geography of German history changes its dimensions in correspondence with the different epochs of Europe’s transition to modern times. In the decades between Karlowitz and the Peace of Adrianople, for example, the “Habsburg layer” of German historical evolution had very deep routes into the region called Southeastern Europe. One avenue was connected with the actual military confrontation with the Ottomans, who at the beginning of the 16th century started to threaten the lands of the Holy Roman Empire. The other route to the Southeast became visible at the end of the 17th century, when the Viennese politicians began in turn to look upon the lower banks of the Danube leading up the Black Sea as fertile soil for expansion. The newly acquired territories in Southeastern Europe would later transform, intentionally or not, the Habsburg monarchy into one of the “Balkan” empires of modern time. Since the rulers in Vienna were at the same time elected emperors of the Holy Roman Empire, Leopold I (1658–1705) and Charles VI (1711–1740) managed successfully to interpret their direct conflict with the Ottomans as an Imperial War (Reichskrieg). This gave the Habsburgs two main advantages. On the one hand, they could rely on the military potential of the princes of the Holy Empire to fight the sultan’s armies. On the other hand, by ringing the Turkish bells (Türkenglocken) the Habsburgs would be in a position to stop, directly or indirectly, more aggressive attempts by the other powerful German dynasties to challenge Habsburg supremacy in Central Europe. Of course, this political “standstill” between the crowned competitors could only survive as long as the conflict with the Ottomans was ongoing or seen as imminent. A remarkable example of a radical change in political behaviour after a Türkenkrieg was the prince elector of Bavaria, Maximilian Emanuel II (1676–1726). He was fighting bravely as an ally of Leopold I in Southeastern Europe at the end of the 17th century, but during the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1714/15) joined France as a fierce enemy of the emperor.1 The two wars with the Ottomans waged by Vienna in 1716–1718 and 1737–1739, were backed not only by Habsburg troops, but also by contingents from other parts 1 Cf. Ludwig Hüttl. Max Emanuel, der blaue Kurfürst 1679–1726. Eine politische Biographie. Munich 1976; Marcus Junkelmann. Kurfürst Max Emanuel von Bayern als Feldherr. Munich 2000 [Diss. 1979]. Biographical notes on the Bavarian ruler in Mathias Bernath, Felix v. Schroeder, eds., Biographisches Lexikon zur Geschichte Südosteuropas, vol. III, L-P. Munich 1978, pp. 133-4.

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of the Holy Empire – for example, Bavaria, Saxony, Franconia and Hesse, among others.2 The front line of these conflicts was in Southeastern Europe, offering a good possibility to enhance first-hand impressions from the region and its inhabitants. Thus the 18th century was instrumental for the perception of the Southeast by the German-speaking world. Until the end of the 17th century the region may have looked to the Germans as some distant memory of the once powerful Hungarian kingdom, or a relic of the Orthodox monarchies destroyed by the Ottoman invasion in Europe. After 1699, however, the situation fundamentally changed. Leopold I and later Charles VI added new subjects and new territories to their hereditary lands that belonged, until recently, to the southeastern corner of the European continent. The more direct acquaintance with the Southeast that can be traced back as a clear tendency in the Holy Roman Empire during the 18th century polarised to a certain extent the stance toward the entire region. While for various political reasons Maria Theresa was convinced that her monarchy would not gain anything by annexing the poor and backward “Turkish provinces,”3 in the late 1780s voices could be heard that Southeastern Europe could actually become a haven for German colonisation.4 Instead of suffering all the troubles of a hazardous journey overseas, people could simply start a new life in the beautiful and bountiful lands alongside the Lower Danube. Whether the Southeast was indeed perceived as a “German colonial” alternative to French Africa or British America, is, of course, open for discussion. In any case the idea of Mitteleuropa, discussed in the 1840s by some Prussian politicians, regarded the Balkans as part of this economic and political design.5 The contacts between the Germans and the Southeast during the 18th century took place not only in the Balkans, but also in their homeland in Central Europe. During the decades of peace alongside the Habsburg–Ottoman border trade flourished and dozens of “Greek merchants” could be seen doing business in Vienna, Leipzig and other places.6 The cotton manufactures of the Holy Empire, for exOn the Bavarian case see Ivan Parvev. Meždu kralski ambitsii i hristiyanska solidarnost. Bavariya v habsburgsko-osmanskite voyni, 1683–1718 g., Balkanističen forum, 3 (1994), 130-43. On Saxony’s engagement in the “Turkish wars” until 1683 cf. Thomas Nicklas. Macht oder Recht. Frühneuzeitliche Politik im obersächsischen Reichskreis. Stuttgart 2002. 3 In the words of the Empress from a letter written in July 1777: “Des provinces malsaines, sans culture, dépeuplées ou habitués par des Crecs perfides.” Marie-Antoinette. Correspondance secrete entre Marie-Thérèse et le comte de Mercy-Argenteau avec les letters de Marie-Thérèse et de Marie-Antoinette, vol. III. Elibron Classics Series [facsimile of the edition published in 1874 by Firmin Didot frères, fils et Cie, Paris], p. 99. 4 Cf. the article in Joh. Ernst Fabri, K. Hammersdörfer, eds., Historisches und geographisches Journal, 1. Jahrgang, Halle, Leipzig, Jena 1789, pp. 395-408: “LIX. Soll man die Türken aus Europa jagen?;” pp. 495-507: “LXX. Soll man die Türken aus Europa jagen? (Beschluß);” and its analysis in Ivan Parvev. Land in Sicht. Südosteuropa in den deutschen politischen Zeitschriften des 18. Jahrhunderts. Mainz 2008, pp. 57-9. 5 See Bascom Barry Hayes. Bismarck and Mitteleuropa. Rutherford, NJ 1994, pp. 66-7. 6 Cf. Ivan Parvev. Bălgarski sledi v Sveštenata Rimska imperiya na germanskata natsia prez XVIII v. Iz aktivnostta na balkanskite tărgovtsi v Saksoniya, Balkanističen forum, 4 (1997), 31-9. 2

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ample, were delighted to use cotton from Macedonia, reputed for its good quality, and merchants from the Ottoman lands could hope to make a good profit. “Turkish fashion” (Alla Turca Mode) grew very popular, particularly in the Habsburg monarchy, but also in Hamburg, where the first Kaffeehaus in Germany was opened in 1677; drinking coffee became a widespread habit in the 18th century. A Turkish boy could even serve in his older years – baptised, of course – as an officer in the Prussian army without causing public uproar in the Holy Empire.7 In time, the considerable decline of Ottoman military power after 1699 changed the traditional image of the Ottomans as a mighty adversary. The “hereditary enemy of the Christian name” that threatened to subjugate the “Christian republic” (Res publica Christiana) – an old and sometimes very palatable mental construct – allowed the Habsburgs to maintain for more than a century and a half the vision of a “bipolar world” under the motto: “We vs. Them;” “Christians vs. Muslims.” At the turn of the 18th century this formula was no longer easily convincing. During the war of 1737–1739 the Imperial Diet (the Reichstag) decided that the emperor was entitled to receive military and financial aid for his war against the Ottomans.8 Nevertheless, no one seriously believed that the underlying reason was to prevent the sultan from enslaving Christianity. The world of the Europeans was at that time too powerful and too self-confident to discuss such a scenario in earnest. The “hereditary enemy’s” transition to a “regular adversary,” of which the Habsburgs had plenty at their borders, changed the stand towards the Ottomans not only in Vienna, but also in Hohenzollern Berlin. The sultan’s empire more and more often found a place in the foreign policy designs elaborated in the two capitals. The Prussian rulers, for example, were trying to undermine the Habsburgs by “igniting” Turkish political pressure from the Southeast. One of the early examples of this way of thinking was the attempt of Frederick II to establish direct political contacts with the new Ottoman sultan in 1755.9 The final result was a Treaty of Friendship signed in 1761 between the two countries, which, however, failed to bring 7 Cf. Ivan Parvev. Mustafa Alioglu ili Ludwig Šteinmann. Žizneniyat păt na edin ofitser ot pruskata armia prez XVIII v. In: Studia In Honorem Professoris Virginiae Paskaleva, Bulgarian Historical Review, 1-2 (2006), 446-53. 8 Cf. Martin Wrede. Das Reich und seine Feinde. Politische Feindbilder in der reichspatriotischen Publizistik zwischen Westfälischem Frieden und Siebenjährigem Krieg. Mainz 2004, pp. 198-9, footnotes 576, 577. 9 The Prussian king was well informed about how to influence decision-makers in the Ottoman capital and openly instructed his envoy to bribe officials in Constantinople. See Politische Correspondenz Friedrich’s des Großen, vol. 11, # 7120. Instruction vor den Marquis de Varenne, wornach sich derselbe bei seiner Schickung nach der Türkei und nach Constantinopel allerunterthänigst zu achten hat. Potsdam, 7 December 1755, p. 422: “8. Weilen auch zu Constantinopel und bei der Ottomanischen Pforte nothwendig allerhand Präsente und Corruptiones gemachet werden müssen, so empfanget Ihr noch einen aparten Creditbrief von 6,000 Rthlr. in Ducaten auf gewisse Banquiers in Constantinopel, um solche zum Behuf von Präsenten und dergleichen nach Erfordernis derer Umstände erheben und gebrauchen zu können.” Friedrich Wilhelm de Varenne was himself a Flügeladjutant of Frederick II.

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the benefits Frederick II was hoping for.10 Quite revealingly, Berlin didn’t engage in plans for partitioning the lands of the Ottoman Empire. The gain for the Hohenzollerns from the Porte’s political existence as a factor in Southeastern Europe and a power flanking the Habsburgs was too evident to be overlooked. Paradoxically enough, policymakers in Vienna also embraced this new idea of preserving the sultan’s might in the Southeast rather than destroying it. Their perspective, however, was quite different from that of the Prussians: the Hofburg’s aim was to keep the Ottoman rule in Europe and use it as a tool to block Russian expansion towards the Straits. At the same time Habsburg policy in the 18th century was not set in stone; more than once the monarchy preferred to join forces with Russia against the sultan, envisaging a radical change of the political map of the Balkans.11 In the course of the 18th century the region of Southeastern Europe became an important element in the framework of inner German policy proper. This was especially true with regard to the Prussian–Habsburg rivalry for dominating the Holy Roman Empire. Two examples illustrate how the Southeast influenced this controversy. The first is connected with the Prussian invasion of Habsburg Silesia in December 1740 that triggered the decades-long struggle between Vienna and Berlin for Central Europe.12 When Charles VI ended his war with the Ottomans in 1739, it was clear to almost everybody that the emperor’s army lacked the military virtues of the old troops of Eugene of Savoy. Though allied with Russia, the Habsburg regiments 10 The Prussian king was looking for allies in the ongoing Seven Years’ War, but the Ottomans preferred to stay neutral. The treaty, composed of eight articles, was more of a trade agreement than a political commitment. See Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, großentheils aus bisher unbenützten Handschriften und Archiven durch Joseph von Hammer. Zweyte verbesserte Ausgabe, vol. 4. Vom Carlowiczer Frieden bis zum Frieden von Kainardsche. 1699–1774. Pesth: C. A. Hartleben’s Verlag 1836, p. 527: “Der Inhalt desselben war im Wesentlichen von den mit Neapel, Schweden und Dänemark jüngst abgeschlossenen Handelsverträgen nicht verschieden.” Frederick II seemed to have nothing against military aid from the Crimean Tatars, who were technically part of the Ottoman Empire, but enjoyed a considerable degree of autonomy in handling their problems with Poland and Russia. Cf. Friedrich Voigt. Geschichte des brandenburgisch-preußischen Staates. Berlin 1860, p. 472: “Einen gewisseren Ausgang versprachen die Verhandlungen mit dem Tartaren-Khan der Krim, Kerim Gerai, der 16,000 Mann durch Polen und Schlesien schicken und ein noch größeres Herr in Rußland enfallen lassen wollte.” 11 On Habsburg European diplomacy during the 18th century see Charles W. Ingrao. Habsburg Strategy and Geopolitics during the Eighteenth Century. In: Béla Király, Gunther E. Rothenberg, and Peter Sugar, eds., War and Society in East Central Europe [Brooklyn College Studies on Society in Change No. 11], vol. 2. East Central European Society and War in PreRevolutionary 18th Century. Columbia UP 1982, pp. 49-66. 12 The war with Prussia was quite unexpected for the Habsburgs, because until that point relations with Berlin were usually friendly. See Michael Hochedlinger. Austria’s wars of emergence, 1683–1797. War, state and society in the Habsburg monarchy. London 2003, p. 247: “This invasion came as a surprise, all the more as Charles VI had tried to protect the Prussian heir [the future king Frederick II – I.P.] to the throne against the wrath of his overly severe father, even supporting him financially.”

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could not overwhelm the Ottomans in the Balkans, even though they were judged before the war to be weak and poorly commanded soldiers. Instead, Charles VI saw statesmanlike wisdom in negotiating a peace treaty for the price of opening the gates of Belgrade to the grand vizier’s army and ceding Little Walachia to the sultan. One can only speculate if the unexpected death of Charles VI in October 1740 would have given sufficient stimulus to the Prussian king Frederick II to attack the Habsburg monarchy, had the peace treaty of 1739 turned out differently, sealing another major victory for the emperor against the “hereditary enemy” in the Southeast. The second example is connected to the outcome of the last Habsburg–Ottoman War of 1788–1791, unmistakably provoked by the personal ambition and persistence of Joseph II. After his unexpected death in 1790 the situation changed dramatically. His brother Leopold II became emperor of the Alte Reich and assumed rule over the Habsburg monarchy. Soon after his ascension to the throne in Vienna the Convention of Reichenbach with Prussia was signed in July 1790, providing that almost all territories conquered by the Habsburgs during the Turkish war were to be returned to the Ottomans, notably Belgrade and some lands in Walachia. All the subsequent interpretations of the Treaty of Sistova (Svištov) as a “force majeure” act and a direct result of the French revolution’s impact on European policy, vital for preserving the integrity of the Habsburg monarchy, could hardly mask the fact that the peace signed in August 1791 was a “second Belgrade disaster” for Vienna’s southeastern policy. After the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire at the beginning of the 19th century the “German connection” to the Southeast was no longer reserved exclusively to the Habsburgs and to a lesser extent the Hohenzollern. When the Greek uprising against Ottoman rule and the subsequent involvement of the European powers in the affairs of the East led to the establishment of the modern Hellenic state, a Bavarian prince – Otto von Wittelsbach – was chosen as its king.13 Other German dynasties, Catholic and Protestant, would later rule in Romania, Bulgaria and Albania. Prussia was in a position to appreciate the political benefit of Southeastern Europe for its diplomacy as early as the 18th century. However, Berlin would start using the “Balkan tool” in its foreign policy more seriously after the end of the 1860s, when the battle for Central Europe against the Habsburgs was finally won. The climax came during the Eastern Crisis of 1875–1878, when Bismarck played a decisive role at the Congress of Berlin.

On the intriguing Bavarian–Greek topic see Von Athen nach Bamberg. König Otto von Griechenland. Begleitheft zur Ausstellung in der neuen Residenz Bamberg, 21. Juni bis 3. November 2002. Munich 2002; Marion Maria Ruisinger. Das griechische Gesundheitswesen unter König Otto (1833–1862). Frankfurt am Main 1997; Grigorios Leonidis. Die griechische Presse unter König Otto (1832–1843). Munich 1992; Wolf Seidl. Bayern in Griechenland. Die Geschichte eines Abenteuers. Munich 1965; Gustav Geib. Darstellung des Rechtszustandes in Griechenland während der Türkischen Herrschaft & bis zur Ankunft des Königs Otto. Heidelberg 1835. 13

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Due to a century-long tradition historians tend to see the influence of “Europe” upon the rest of the world, and the impact of the “Great Powers” upon smaller states and nations as something natural. As a consequence, nobody would question the role of the German world as a factor for the historical development of Southeastern Europe in the 18–19th centuries. At the same time only a few would ask if the opposite could be true as well. Although not necessarily a key factor in German history, the European Southeast unequivocally influenced some inner German political processes. The region was the actual trigger for the start of the Prussian–Habsburg military conflict of the 1740s. Both Vienna and Berlin began in the 18th century to rely on the sultan as a tool for their respective European policy. For the Habsburgs, it was meant to check, whenever necessary, the Balkan ambitions of Russia; for the Prussians, it was a means to weaken Vienna’s influence in the Holy Roman Empire. In conclusion, an interesting thesis may be advanced. The beginning of the end of the Greater German vision of a “singular and monolithic empire” that can be clearly localised in the 18th century had its important roots in Southeastern Europe. During the 19th century, when the German-speaking world dealt with the idea of the Deutsche Einheit (German unification), Southeastern Europe still remained an important topic within this discourse. Some Austrian politicians, like Felix zu Schwarzenberg (1800–1852), preferred the non-national “Greater Austrian” pattern, where the Habsburg monarchy with all her territories (including the possessions in the Balkans) would join such a framework of unity. Prussia, however, rejected this idea on the grounds that too many non-Germans were subjects of the Austrian emperor. The controversy between the Kleindeutsch, Grossdeutsch and the Großösterreichisch scenarios of German unification during the 19th century could be interpreted also as a conflict between two visions of the empire: the “national” and its flip side, the “multinational.” Looking back to the history of the past two hundred years, one could ask if Europe wouldn’t have fared better with a Habsburg-led multinational empire at the heart of the continent rather than the Prussian dominated Deutsches Reich, as it turned out in reality. At the end it is intriguing to keep in mind that both imperial models, the Habsburg and the German–Prussian one, would entangle their historical demise during the 1920s with problems of the Southeast: an indirect proof that a phenomenon called “Common European History” does really exist.

The Crimean Khanate between Empires: independence or submission Ilya Zaytsev This paper endeavors to look at the political status of the Crimean Khanate in the 16th–18th centuries from the Ottoman and the Russian perspectives and from the local Crimean standpoint, closely associated with the Islamic theory of power. In the spotlight will be one peninsula, the Crimea, and two empires: the Ottomans and the Russians. Russian historiography until now has been gravely influenced by the concept of the outstanding Russian Orientalist Vasiliy Smirnov. His seminal volumes on Crimean history (published in 1883 and 1889), based mostly on Ottoman historical writings, serve as the primary source for all Russian historians, past and present, dealing with the Crimean role in Russian–Ottoman relations. For Smirnov, the political status of the Khanate was crystal clear: the khans’ power was merely a reflection of the power of the Ottoman padişah. The authority of the Girays was imbued with the real and universal might of the sultans who could both grant it and take it away.1 This standpoint was not originally Russian. In spite of the Girays’ high standing at the Ottoman court, the Ottoman writers and politicians invariably despised the Tatars as a primitive and even wild tribe. They ware an example of Islamised barbarians whose task was to protect the northern border of the Empire. The Khanate as a political body was just a buffer between the unfaithful Russians and “Dar al-Islam.” This Ottoman view was adopted by the Russians as early as the 17th century, when the common past of two states – Muscovy and the Crimea – from the times of the Golden Horde was declining in importance. During the 19th century Smirnov consistently expounded this argument. This theory culminated in a very interesting book by Anna Horoshkevich, who claimed that during its entire history the Khanate had been independent only twice: before 1475 (the Ottoman conquest) and after the treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji in 1774 until its annexation by Russia.2 The issues of independence and submission were solved by the Ottomans and the Russians in nearly identical ways. 1 V. D. Smirnov. Kryimskoe hanstvo pod verhovenstvom Otomanskoy Portyi do nachala XVIII v. St. Petersburg 1887; id. Kryimskoe hanstvo pod verhovenstvom Otomanskoy Portyi v XVIII v. do prisoedinenia ego k Rossii. Zapiski Odesskogo obschestva istorii i drevnostei, vol.15 (1889). New edition: id. Kryimskoe hanstvo pod verhovenstvom Otomanskoy Portyi do nachala XVIII v. Moscow 2005; id. Kryimskoe hanstvo pod verhovenstvom Otomanskoy Portyi v XVIII  v. do prisoedinenia ego k Rossii. Moscow 2005. 2 A. L. Horoshkevich. Rus’ i Kryim: ot soyuza k protivostoyaniyu. Konets XV – nachalo XVI v. Moscow 2000.

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There is another perspective, in my opinion hitherto neglected by the Orientalists, which I would like to address here. It is the Islamic perspective, or the status of the Khanate viewed from the classical Islamic theory of political power. There are two basic terms to describe an independent ruler in Islam: hutba/hutbe in Persian and Ottoman Turkish (the mention of a ruler in Friday’s sermon), and sikke (coin mintage). The Persian expression ‫“( ﺍﻭ ﺭﺍ ﺴﻜﻪ ﺨﻁﺒﻪ ﻜﺭﺩﻨﺩ ﺒﻨﺎﻡ‬a coin with his name was minted and hutbe to his name was pronounced“) vividly reflects the role of these attributes in the theory of independent authority in Islam.3 We possess extensive evidence about the sikke (coin mintage) in the Crimea between the 15th and the 18th centuries. The khans exercised their right to mint and the various types of Crimean coins are the best argument to regard them as independent rulers, at least in theory. The question of hutbe in the Crimea is more complicated. There is little doubt that in the Ottoman possessions on the southern shore of the peninsula hutbe was pronounced in the name of the Ottoman padişahs. Ibn Kemal especially mentioned in his Tevarih-i Al-i Osman that the first hutbe in Mangub (a small Crimean fortress conquered by the Ottomans in 1475, later part of the Ottoman liva or eyalet Kefe) was announced in the name of Mehmed Fatih immediately after the conquest of the fortress. The religious officials there – imam hatibs responsible for hutbe – were appointed personally by the padişahs. However, the data and the sources about the Crimean hutbe are very controversial. Unfortunately, we have no real hutbe that was announced in the Crimea and committed to paper. As far as I know no written texts of the sermon have survived. The first Crimean historian, the author of Tevarih-i Sahib-Giray (History of SahibGiray) Nidai Efendi Remmal-hoja, was Sahib-Giray’s physician who finished his work in 1551 after the khan’s death. His testimony is clear: “The Crimean khans from generation to generation are the lords of the state (sahib-i saltanat), lords of hutbe and lords of sikke (mintage).”4 After Devlet-Giray’s appointment hutbe was pronounced to his name5. Another author from the second quarter of the 17th century, Abdullah b. Rizvan, mentioned in his Tevarih-i Dest-i Kipchak that after 1475 Mehmed Fatih granted Mengli-Giray a drum and banner as signs of submission, but left the right of hutbe and sikke.6 Hüseyin Hezarfenn wrote in his Telhis ul-beyan (Explanation of the Essence of the Ottoman Dinasty) that the khans had a right of hutbe and sikke, but could easily be dismissed by the sultans. At the beginning of the 18th century Mehmed Giray testified in his Tarih that as early as 1475 the khans had to include the names of the V. V. Bartold. Khalif i sultan. In: V. V. Bartold. Sochinenia, vol. 6. Rabotyi po istorii Islama i Arabskogo khalifata. Moscow 1966, pp. 26-7; A. J. Wensinck. Khut̩ba. In: E. J. Brill. First Encyclopaedia of Islam. 1913–1936, vol. 4 (‘Itk̩–Kwat̩ta̩ ). Leiden-New York-Copenhagen-Cologne 1987, p. 983; M. Baktır. Hutbe. In: Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm Ansiklopedisi, vol. 18. Istanbul 1998, pp. 425-8. 4 Özalp Gökbilgin, crit. ed. and transl., Tarih-i Sahib Giray Han. Ankara 1973, p. 20. 5 Ibid., p.135. 6 A. Zajączkowski. La Chronique des Steppes Kiptchak Tevarih-i Deşt-i Qipcaq du XVIIe siècle. Warsaw 1966, p. 34. 3

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Ottoman sultans in the hutbe after their own names. Evliya Çelebi confirms that the name of the khans was announced after the name of the sultan in the Crimean hutbe and explains that this tradition went back to the times of Sultan Selim.7 The last but probably most important version survived in the Es-sebuseyar fi ahbar-i muluk at-tatar by Seyid Muhammed Riza, an educated and well informed author who died in Istanbul in 1169 (1755/56). He wrote that the idea to include the sultan’s name in the Crimean hutbe before the khan’s own name belonged to Islam Giray II (1584–1588). After the unsuccessful campaign in Moldavia Islam Giray faced serious accusations by the Ottomans and tried to flatter the sultan by changing the hutbe.8 This information was copied by Halim Giray in the beginning of the 19th century in his Gulbun-i Hanan (The Rose Bush of the Crimean Khans) and later by Cevdet Pasha.9 The shorter, abridged versions of Riza’s book compiled by Hurremi-çelebi AkiEfendi when Seyid Riza was still alive, added a very intriguing detail. The khan’s innovation concerned only his private lands (‫)ﻜﻨﺩﻭﻟﺭﻩ ﻤﺨﺼﻭﺹ ﻗﺼﺒﻪﻟﺭ ﻭ ﻗﺭﻴﻪﻟﺭﺩﻩ‬,10 not the entire territory of the Khanate. Immediately after Islam Giray’s death in Gözleve (modern Eupatoria), his successor Gazi Giray minted coins inscribed with the term hanlık (khanate). The idea of the Ottoman protectorate over the Crimea expressed in the official form of hutbe failed. In summary, there was no evidence of the Ottoman hutbe in the Khanate at least until the end of the 17th century. An interesting coincidence was that the idea of the Ottoman caliphate emerged exactly at this time. This fabricated theory was very popular among the Ottoman élite in the 18th century and was used very actively in the Ottoman foreign policy. During the Russo–Turkish negotiations in Bucharest before Kuchuk Kainarji the issue of the sultans’ religious protectorate over the Crimea was a special point of discussion. The hutbe tradition was linked very closely with the idea of the caliphate. Therefore the Ottoman authors tried to explain the status of the Khanate in terms of this new trend. In the end, let us return to the beginning. Was the Crimea after 1475 and before the Treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji in 1774 a vassal of the Ottoman Empire? From the Ottoman and the Russian perspectives, we should say it was. From the Crimean perspective and from the standpoint of Islamic theory of political power, we should say it wasn’t. In my understanding, the Crimean case is a good example of the huge gap between political practice and reality, and the religious theory of politics. Evliya Çelebi. Seyahatnamesi, vol. 9–10. Istanbul 1984, p. 331; Evliya Çelebi. Kniga puteshestvia (Izvlechenia iz sochinenia turetskogo puteshestvennika XVII veka), 1st edition. Moscow 1961, p. 217. 8 Smirnov. Kryimskoe hanstvo, pp. 240-1; Asseb o-sseyar, ili Sem’ planet, soderzhaschiy istoriyu kryimskih hanov ot Mengli-Giray hana 1-go do Mengli-Giray hana 2-go, t.е. s 871/1466 po 1150/1737g. Sochinenie Seyyida Muhammeda Rizyi. Kazan 1832, p. 106-7. 9 Cevdet Paşa. Kırım ve Kafkas Tarihçesi. Istanbul 1307 (1889/90), p. 29; Tarih-i Cevdet. vol. 1. Istanbul 1309 (1891/92), p. 266. 10 Ms. from the Manuscript Institute of the Vernadsky National Library of Ukraine. Kiiv, Ukraine, F. V (Odesskoe obschestvo istorii i drevnostei), # 3805, fol. 42. 7

Early 18th-Century Peacekeeping: How Habsburgs and Ottomans Resolved Several Border Disputes after Karlowitz Jovan Pešalj The Peace of Karlowitz in 1699 was in many ways the beginning of a new period in the history of Southeastern Europe. Diplomacy and international law gained an important place in Habsburg–Ottoman relations. Both sides accepted principles of political parity, territorial integrity and inviolability of borders. The new borderline was precisely defined and marked by the joint commission. The articles of the Peace Treaty of Karlowitz promoted principles and procedures that would reduce the possible emergence of future disputes at the border and their escalation into open conflicts. The border was inviolable; cross-border incursions were outlawed and became punishable. The reconstruction of the old border fortifications was limited and the building of new ones was prohibited. Instead of being a strip of “no man’s land,” where low intensity conflicts continued during peace times, the new frontier was to be an area of security and peace where the subjects of the Habsburg and the Ottoman Empires would live and work side by side, separated only by an imaginary line.1 When the last disputes over the delimitation of the border were resolved in 1703, the peace treaty was to be finally put into practice. The same year was marked by several other events that influenced the relations between the two empires. Vienna sent Michael Talman to be its resident diplomatic representative at the sultan’s court, thus re-establishing permanent diplomatic relations between the two courts. The deposition of sultan Mustafa II and the enthronement of his brother Ahmed III to the highest position in the Ottoman Empire brought political stability to Constantinople. Both empires were adjusting to new realities and rules. The Ottoman border provinces were 1 Abou-El-Haj names this process “the closure of the frontier.” This included clear delimitation and demarcation of the boundary line, as well as an attempt to implement the articles of the peace treaty according to the established time schedule. See Rifaat. A. AbouEl-Haj. The Formal Closure of the Ottoman Frontier in Europe: 1699–1703, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 89-3 (1969), 467-70; Donald Quataert. The Ottoman Empire 1700–1922. Cambridge 2000, p. 78; Copia Instrumentum Pacis Caesareo-Ottomannicum from Magyar Országos Levéltár (The National Archives of Hungary). Budapest, Acta publica E 142, Fasz. 45, Nr. 8, 1-2 (copies). http://www.ieg-mainz.de/likecms/likecms.php?site=site.htm&dir=& nav=85&siteid=133&treaty=428&page=4&lastsiteid=76&sq=%26is_fts%3D%26filter_ select%3D%26filter_wt%3D%26filter_id%3D%26filter_l%3D%26filter_p%3D%26searc hlang%3Dde%26searchstring%3D%26date%3D1699-01-26%26year_from%3D%26year_ till%3D%26location%3D , pp. 4-7, [29.09.2009].

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resettled and some fortifications were reconstructed. The Croatian Military Border was enlarged and new borders were organised on Danube–Sava and Tisza–Maros. With these developments the initial transition was to be followed by a more stable period.2 This paper examines how certain principles promoted by the peace treaty were embraced and implemented by local and provincial authorities on the frontier. The examined period begins in 1703 and ends with the new Habsburg–Ottoman War in 1716. Research is for the most part based on the correspondence of Habsburg border commanders and diplomats with Habsburg central authorities preserved in the Family, Court and State Archive in Vienna, as well as the memoirs of the Ottoman diplomat Osman Ağa of Temesvár (Timişoara), who took part in the most important Habsburg–Ottoman border negotiations in the period. When the commissions and delegations of central authorities finished their work and left the area, the observance of the peace treaty stipulations was the responsibility of the provincial authorities on the border. The respect (or violation) of the new rules and principles depended on their determination to implement them. The peace treaty contained rules and procedures for the resolution of emerging problems. According to Articles 7 and 8, all crimes against the subjects of the other side and their property were to be investigated and perpetrators were to be punished by the border commanders. Article 11 authorised the provincial governors and border military commanders to resolve more important issues through the work of an ad hoc commission with an equal number of members from each side. More serious cases that could not be resolved in this manner were to be solved by Vienna and Constantinople. Since the Ottoman– Habsburg permanent diplomatic relations were unilateral, the Habsburg resident in Constantinople had an important part in negotiations.3 The Ottoman side would present its complaints to the resident, who would then investigate the issue with Habsburg officials and the War Council in Vienna. The Habsburg side presented their complaints through the resident to the Grand Vizier, and the Ottoman officials tried to find a solution through negotiations with the Habsburg representative in Constantinople. Habsburg–Ottoman Disputes The Habsburg–Ottoman relations were put through a series of tests that threatened to endanger the Habsburg position in the Danube region. Vienna was involved in the War for the Spanish Succession in Western and Southern Europe from Enes Pelidija. Bosanski ejalet od Karlovačkog do Požarevačkog mira 1699–1718. Sarajevo: Veselin Masleša 1989, pp. 89-145; Rajko Veselinović. Narodnocrkvena i privilegijska pitanja Srba u Habsburškoj monarhiji 1699–1716. godine, Istorija srpskog naroda [hereafter ISN], 2nd ed., 4 vols., No. 1. Belgrade 1994, pp. 41-2; Slavko Gavrilović. Srbi u Ugarskoj i Slavoniji od Karlovačkog mira do austro-turskog rata 1716–1718., ISN, vol. 4, No. 1, Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga 1994, pp. 56-7; Karl. A. Roider, Jr. Austria’s Eastern Question 1700–1790. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1982, pp. 23-4. 3 Copia Instrumentum Pacis, pp. 6, 8; Radmila Tričković. Beogradski pašaluk 1687–1739 godine [unpublished PhD dissertation]. University of Belgrade 1977, pp. 247-8; Quataert. The Ottoman Empire 1700–1922, pp. 78-9. 2

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1701/1702. In 1703 the rebellion in Hungary led by Francis II Rákóczi paralysed the Habsburg position there. The fear that the sultan might be tempted to intervene in what was Ottoman territory just two decades ago worried the Habsburg officials.4 It was not a secret that the position of the Habsburg monarchy was insecure and its border with the Ottomans was vulnerable.5 In this context several incidents tested the implementation of the new conflict resolution system. Old practices disappeared slowly and by 1703 a number of border incidents were recorded, forbidden by Articles 8 and 9 of the Peace Treaty. New fortifications, towers and entrenchments with palisade were built on the frontier, albeit explicitly forbidden by Article 7. Already in 1703 the kapudans of Bosnia complained that 34 Habsburg watchtowers and 3 trenches were build along the Sava and Una rivers. General Nehem, commander of Petrovaradin, promised to Hassan Pasha, the governor of Belgrade, to inspect the towers and demolish them if proved to be illegal. At an audience with the Great Vizier in November 1704 resident Talman explained that such towers and similar border fortifications were loose wooden constructions of no military value. Their main purpose was to fight banditry and smuggling.6 In the spring of 1704 three ships with Habsburg corsairs from Senj, disguised as Venetians, approached the Ottoman town of Durazzo (Durrës) on the Adriatic Coast, where two French merchant ships were anchored. When they came close enough, they displayed the imperial flag and took the French by surprise, towing one of the ships back to Senj. This happened within a gunshot of the Ottoman fortress (on Ottoman territory by the standards of the time). Although the incident incited French protests, no Ottoman subjects were seriously harmed. The Ottoman merchants that had merchandise on the French ships quickly received compensation for their goods. However, this was against the spirit of the peace treaty.7 The incident was investigated by the kadi of Durazzo. The Habsburg court suggested that the application of Article 8 of the Peace Treaty, restoration of plundered The Habsburg diplomatic representative was warned that the Hungarian roads became insecure. He was advised to keep a close eye on Ottoman military preparations and alert Vienna if anything was discovered about Ottoman interference in Hungarian developments. The War Council [Hofkriegsrat, hereafter HKR] to the Imperial resident in Constantinople, Michael von Talman [hereafter Talman], Vienna, 24 January 1704, Türkei 176, Haus-, Hofund Staatsarchiv [hereafter HHStA]. 5 The Ottoman envoy who was sent to Vienna to inform the Habsburg court about the change of throne in Constantinople, had to wait for weeks on the border before continuing his journey not through Hungary, but by taking a longer but safer route through Slavonia and Inner Austria. Prince Eugene of Savoy to Emperor Leopold I, 21 February 1704, Vienna; Extractus Protocolli Caso Aulici, 28 May 1704, Türkei 176, HHStA; Copia Instrumentum Pacis, pp. 6-7. 6 Talman to HKR, 3 June 1704, Constantinople; Talman to HKR, 8 July 1704, Constantinople; Talman to HKR, 27 November 1704, Constantinople, Türkei I 176, HHStA; Tričković. Beogradski pašaluk, p. 239. 7 Talman to HKR, 3 June 1704, Constantinople; Species facti juxta expositionem judicis Dyrrachiensis Mehmed Efendi, 11 May 1704; Talman to HKR, 8 July 1704, Constantinople, Türkei I 176, HHStA. 4

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goods to Ottoman merchants, should be an adequate response, thus avoiding paying any compensation to the French merchants who suffered the greatest damage. Talman explained to the Grand Vizier that the Habsburgs were at war with France, so this was a legitimate action, but the Ottomans disagreed. Foreign powers and subjects were forbidden to bring their wars and conflicts to Ottoman soil, because they were all under the protection of the sultan. The Grand Vizier told Talman that the entire Aegean Sea and the sea around Crete should be seen as protected Ottoman territory. A year later the Habsburg court decided to drop the case, leaving it to the Court Chancery of Inner Austria and not insisting on the solution. The same was decided with regard to the illegal towers on the border. The Ottoman side did not insist either, because Vienna had more pressing grievances against provincial Ottoman officials.8 In 1705 the Bosnian pasha complained that various excesses and incidents were committed by Habsburg border militia at the border between Bosnia and Croatia. The commander of the Croatian Military Border investigated the case and found no wrongdoing; he asked for specifics and suggested the possibility that the incident took place on the Lika part of the border, which was under civil control, while the population was hard to contain and had no military discipline.9 The Habsburgs’ chief concern from the beginning of Rákóczi’s rebellion in Hungary was that the Ottoman support, if not involvement, could additionally complicate or even jeopardise their position. The Habsburg diplomatic representative in Constantinople and the commander of Petrovaradin, General Nehem, were instructed to carefully follow and report any Ottoman activity related to the Hungarian rebels. Constantinople avoided all acts that could be regarded as an open violation of the peace treaty. However, Ottoman officials maintained unofficial contacts with the rebel leaders and turned a blind eye on the transit of French money, artillery officers and siege specialists through Ottoman territory. They did nothing to prevent Ottoman merchants from supplying the rebels with war materials. Nehem’s protests to the governor of Belgrade, as well as Talman’s protests to the Ottoman central authorities were ineffective.10 The answer to the Habsburg complaints that Rudolph to HKR, 25 May 1704, Senj (Zeng); In Conferencia Turcica, 21 July 1704, Vienna; Talman to HKR, 27 November 1704, Constantinople; Eugene of Savoy to Emperor Leopold I, 30 December 1704, Vienna; HKR to Talman, 5 April 1705; Emperor Joseph I to Talman, 21 May 1705, Türkei I 176, HHStA. 9 Portia to the Inner Austrian War Council, 11 December 1705, Karlstadt (Karlovac); Inner Austrian War Council to HKR, 24 December 1705, Graz, Türkei I 176, HHStA. 10 The French ambassador in Constantinople was pressing the Ottomans to intervene in Hungary. Talman informed the Habsburg Court that a major success of the Hungarian rebellion in 1704 may inspire the military and the mob (Miliz und das gemaine Volkh) in the Ottoman capital to force the sultan to declare war on Vienna even against his will. Eugene of Savoy recommended sending enforcements to Hungary. The Habsburg worries were somewhat abated by the victory over the Bavarians and the French near Blenheim in August 1704 and by the messages from Constantinople through a special envoy, Ibrahim Efendi, that the sultan was determined to maintain peaceful and friendly relations with Vienna. HKR to Tal8

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the rebels were receiving supplies from the Ottoman territory was that it was neither possible to control such a long border, nor could the border governors forbid Ottoman merchants to travel into the area controlled by the rebels. Despite all Habsburg warnings and protests, the pasha of Temesvár let “a group of French merchants,” actually General Desalleurs with French artillery officers, to enter Hungary through his province.11 Eight years after the signing of the peace treaty and four years after its full implementation, a series of unresolved disputes and incidents cast doubts whether either party accepted its principles. In reply to complaints about the behaviour of the Ottoman Governor of Temesvár and the Prince of Wallachia expressed by the Habsburg permanent representative Talman and his colleague, the special envoy Quarient, during an official reception on 23 August 1706, the Grand Vizier pointed out that the Habsburg watchtowers in Syrmia and the abduction of the French ship in Durazzo were similarly acts against the Peace Treaty of Karlowitz.12 Neither side was determined enough to try and resolve disputes by implementing the peace treaty procedures and stipulations. An important touchstone appeared in 1707, when the most serious incident between the treaties of Karlowitz and Passarowitz took place. A group of sixty merchants from Temesvár and Belgrade, Muslims and nonMuslims, crossed the Ottoman–Habsburg border in late 1706, paid custom duties in Szeged, where they received the necessary travel documents, and continued their journey towards the territory controlled by the Hungarian rebels. They arrived in Kecskemét, where Rákóczi’s authorities allowed foreign trade to take place. After paying new custom duties to rebel authorities, the merchants discovered that they must sell their goods at recently introduced loss-making prices. After their request for reimbursement of custom duties and permission to leave Kecskemét was refused, they appealed to Ali Pasha of Temesvár who sent his interpreter, Osman Ağa. His task was to intervene and protect the merchants and to settle other disputes between the Ottomans and the rebels. The Ottoman envoy met with the rebel leaders, including Rákóczi himself, but negotiations were unsuccessful and Osman Ağa returned man, 24 January 1704, Vienna; Talman to HKR: 24 January, 28 January, 3 June, 19 September 1704, Constantinople; Eugene to Emperor Leopold I, 21 February 1704, Vienna; Rappach and Breuner to Emperor Leopold, 1 October 1704, Vienna, Türkei I 176, HHStA; Roider. Austria’s Eastern Question, pp. 25-6. 11 This ambivalent Ottoman attitude was characteristic for the first few years of Rákóczi’s rebellion. The fall of the fortresses of Košice (Kassa), Prešov (Eperjes) and especially Nové Zámky (Érsekújvár) made a deep impression in Constantinople, while the Habsburg victories, such as the battle of Zsibo in November 1705, discouraged the sultan from engaging more openly. Talman to HKR, 3 June 1704, Constantinople; Eugene to Emperor Leopold I, 30 December 1704, Vienna; Talman to HKR, 27 January 1705, Constantinople; HKR to Talman, 5 April 1705, Vienna; Emperor Joseph I to Talman, 21 May 1705, Vienna; Türkei 176, HHStA; Charles W. Ingrao. In Quest and Crisis: Emperor Joseph I and the Habsburg Monarchy. West Lafayette: Purdue University Press 1979, pp. 127-33. 12 Quarient to Emperor Joseph I, 1 August and 1 September 1706 (extracts), Türkei I 177, HHStA.

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to Temesvár.13 In the meantime, at the end of March or in early April 1707, a group of Serbian hussars from the military borders on Sava and the Danube sent by the Habsburg border commanders against the rebels, approached Kecskemét. While they were preparing to attack, the Ottoman merchants sent a delegation to inform the attackers about their presence. They were assured by the commanders of the militia, the captains Kovay, Vulin von Sablia and Konstantin von Cobila, that they were safe as Ottoman subjects. When the fight in the other parts of Kecskemét was over, the troops came to the place where the Ottoman merchants were staying. Under the pretext that they were hiding rebels, they were attacked and massacred. Fifty-five merchants were killed and their merchandise was plundered. According to the testimony of one of the survivors, the militia commanders ordered their troops to kill all Ottoman merchants so there would be no witnesses. However, five merchants survived; one was hiding in the church bell tower, while another, the son of Haji Moysil, was buried under dead corpses. The man that testified was saved by his soft cap.14 The Kecskemét incident incited great consternation in the Ottoman Empire. Heirs and shareholders of the victims appealed to the Ottoman governors of Belgrade and Temesvár. The seraskier of Belgrade, Abdullah Pasha, and Ali Pasha of Temesvár protested to the commander of Szeged, General Globitz, that this act was in violation of the Peace Treaty. They strengthened the border guards, refused to give refuge to the Habsburg subjects who fled the rebels and no longer accepted passes (Passbriefen) issued by the Habsburg commanders, thus cutting ties between Szeged and Arad. The news about the massacre reached Constantinople on 5 May 1707. The Austrian diplomatic representative carefully followed the reactions at the sultan’s court.15 This crisis happened at the least opportune moment for the Habsburg monarchy when international circumstances prevented its closer engagement in Hungary. Most of its forces were engaged in Italy, where Naples was conquered, and in a joint attack with allies on Provence and Toulon. The monarchy had to carefully follow developIn dealing with Rákóczi and other rebel leaders, Osman emphasised the benevolent attitude of the pasha of Temesvár, even though they were not formally in friendly relations with the sultan. Besides asking Rákóczi’s followers to release the Ottoman merchants from Kecskemét, Osman Ağa presented two other complaints. The Ottomans requested the return of 260 oxen that rebel forces had abducted from the Ottoman territory near Csanád. The cattle belonged to Habsburg subjects who paid the necessary duties and were legally allowed to graze their herd on Ottoman soil under Ottoman protection. Osman also asked for investigation of the murder of Ottoman merchants in Transylvania, in the territory under rebel control. Zwichen Paschas und Generälen. Bericht des ‛Osman Ağa aus Temeschwar über die Höhepunkte seines Wirkens als Diwandolmetscher und Diplomat (Unter Mitarbeit von F. Kornauth übersetzt, eingeleitet und erklärt von R. F. Kreutel). Graz: Styria Verlag 1966, pp. 24-30, 38-44, 47-52, 55-56, 59. 14 Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 59-60, 140-141; a testimony of an Ottoman survivor, interestingly described as “dressed all over as a Serb” (ganz Räzisch gekleydet), in: Lachawitz to General Nehem, 24 December 1707, Slankamen, Türkei I 177, HHStA. 15 Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 60-63; Talman to HKR, 16 May 1707, Constantinople; Turcica extractus: General Globitz from 9 July and Colonel Wilson from 6 July 1707, Türkei I 177, HHStA. 13

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ments on its northern and eastern borders, where King Charles XII of Sweden, not especially inclined towards the Habsburgs, was establishing his hegemony. In April 1707 the Transylvanian diet in Marosvásárhely (Târgu Mureş), summoned by the rebels, pledged its oath of allegiance to Rákóczi, and at a meeting in Ónod in MayJune 1707 the Hungarian estates proclaimed the dethronement of Joseph I and the beginning of interregnum. The first reactions in the Ottoman capital were cautious, but after the details of the Kecskemét massacre were confirmed, its attitude towards Vienna changed. The call for help and support from the rebel diet of Transylvania arrived in Constantinople at a time when the Imperial Council was reviewing its policy towards the Habsburg monarchy. The Grand Vizier secretly received Rákóczi’s emissary on 13 September 1707. The French ambassador in Constantinople suggested this was the most favourable moment for an Ottoman intervention in Hungary, while the Venetian bailo was secretly supporting any military engagement of the Ottomans that would take them as far as possible from Venetian Morea. The Kecskemét massacre seemed to provide an appropriate pretext for a declaration of war. The Imperial Council, however, decided to try and resolve disputes through negotiations. It authorised the governor of Belgrade to try to resolve all disputes with the Habsburg border commander.16 Vienna embraced this ambivalent approach as well. In the autumn of 1707 the Habsburg officials, considering seriously the possibility of war against the sultan, decided to accept the Ottoman offer for negotiations and to weaken the war party in Constantinople by sending presents and money there; simultaneously, the monarchy was to prepare itself for the eventuality of war by strengthening and supplying border garrisons, sending late payments and repairing fortifications.17 Negotiations The negotiations started off very slowly. The Porte refused to accept the Habsburg position that the merchants in Kecskemét were alone responsible for travelling to rebel-controlled territories. The Grand Vizier considered the incident as a violation of the peace treaty. The Habsburg side eventually agreed to appoint General Nehem, the commander of Petrovaradin, to negotiate with the Ottoman leading negotiator, Ibrahim Pasha of Belgrade, and to resolve the issue of Kecskemét and all previous disputes. As the peace treaty required, the two chief negotiators formed a joint commission to lead the talks. The Habsburg side was represented by Johann Adam von Lachawitz (Lackowitz), who was engaged as chief interpreter of the Habsburg court during the visit of the Ottoman ambassador Ibrahim Efendi in 1704; lieutenant colonel Türckh, and captain Kastner. The members of the Ottoman delegation were Ibrahim Efendî, record keeper of the cebeci corps (cebeciler kâtibi), 16 Talman to HKR, 16 May 1707, Constantinople; Talman to HKR, 13 October 1707, Constantinople (Extract), Türkei I 177, HHStA; Ingrao. In Quest and Crisis, pp. 84-8. 17 Resolutio Caesarea de dato 19. Novembris 1707 auf den Talmanische Schreiben von 13. Oktober und darüber den 14. November hinaufgeraichte Guttachten, Türkei I 177, HHStA.

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Mehmed Ağa, gönüllü beğ of Belgrade, Osman Beğ, alaybeğ of Syrmia, and Ahmed Beğ, za’îm of Kumodraž (Kumândirâş). The two delegations met at the eastern part of the Syrmia border and started negotiations. The Habsburg delegation stayed in the Habsburg village of Slankamen, while the Ottomans lodged in the Ottoman village of Hodoševci (Hodoschevza, Hadûşofça) across the border.18 How the negotiations looked like could be seen from the reports of the Habsburg commissioner Lachawitz. The delegations had alternative meetings in Slankamen and Hodoševci. The first meeting would start around eight or nine o’clock in the morning with coffee and sweets and would continue with each side presenting their arguments. The chief correspondents were the interpreter Lachawitz and Ibrahim Efendi. The other members of the delegations would confirm their arguments or present additional ones. Following a lunchtime break, the talks would continue.19 After a problem would be presented, an investigation would be ordered; testimony of witnesses would be heard. When the talks came to a dead end or one of the parties wanted to gain more time, new instructions would be requested from the respective capital. Negotiations opened with both sides presenting their complaints of how the other party had violated the peace treaty in the previous eight years. While the Habsburg side protested against Ottoman support to, and correspondence with, the Hungarian rebels and presented individual cases of robbery and violence against Habsburg subjects, the Ottoman side drew attention to more serious incidents: the abduction of the ship in Durazzo, illegal fortifications along the border and the Kecskemét massacre. The Ottoman delegates even questioned the boundary in Syrmia and Bosnia. The delegates agreed that five different disputes existed between the two empires: 1. the seizure of the French ship in the Ottoman port of Durazzo by the corsairs of Senj; 2. the building of border fortifications, such as watchtowers, entrenchments and towers (Tschardaken, Schantzen, Thürm), which was against the peace treaty; 3. individual cases of violence, such as robberies and murders (Rauberayen und Todtschläge) on both sides of the border; 4. the murder of fifty-five and the pillage of sixty Ottoman merchants in Kecskemét; 5. the Ottoman challenge of the boundary line in Syrmia and between Croatia and Bosnia. The Habsburg side promised to re-examine the seizure of the ship in Durazzo and in regard to illegal border fortifications suggested that both sides might either raze them or leave them as they were. On the subject of accusations of robbery 18 Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 64-6. More about Ahmed Beğ, za’îm of Kumodraž in: Tričković. Beogradski pašaluk, pp. 275-6, 297. 19 Extract Schreibens von dem Herrn von Lachowitz, 15 December 1707, Slankamen; Lachawitz to General Nehem, 24 December 1707, Slankamen, Türkei I 177, HHStA.

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and murder, both sides agreed that such cases should be investigated and, if proved true, perpetrators should be punished according to the peace treaty and local laws. The Habsburg side seemed somewhat surprised with the Ottoman challenge of the border line, but voiced readiness to revise the border according to the peace instruments and maps produced by the delimitation and demarcation commission in 1699. As expected, the most extensive discussion was over the Kecskemét massacre. The Ottomans pointed out that: this was the most serious violation of the peace; the merchants had paid all customs dues to the Habsburg authorities in Szeged; they received the necessary permits and documents for further travel; and they were attacked, killed and robbed by the Habsburg troops. Therefore, the Ottoman side requested compensation for the stolen goods and the murders. The Habsburg delegation responded that the passes the merchants received in Szeged did not authorise them to travel to the territory controlled by the rebels. Unsatisfied with the Habsburg approach, Ibrahim Pasha tried to force his point by holding couriers, temporarily stopping the correspondence between Vienna and the Habsburg diplomatic representative in Constantinople. According to Talman, that was probably his personal initiative and not something the Porte had instructed him to do.20 The negotiations continued through December 1707. After indicating that any revision of the border would be equal to the negotiation of a new peace treaty and would therefore be unacceptable for the Habsburg side, General Nehem suggested that a joint commission could demarcate the existing border line on the ground, starting its work near Slankamen and than going westward until it reached the Triplex Confinium, the Venetian Dalmatia. He believed that the same commission could inspect and destroy all illegal fortifications and investigate all cases of robbery and murder. This solution was in accordance with Article 11 of the Peace Treaty. The Ottoman side generally agreed, suggesting that the work of the commission should be based on the peace treaty and local law, but insisted that compensation for the incidents in Kecskemét and Durazzo should first be arranged. General Nehem’s proposal that these two questions could be settled separately through direct discussion between him and Ibrahim Pasha was not accepted. Arguments continued over the massacre in Kecskemét. The Habsburg delegation kept insisting that the Ottoman merchants should not have travelled to the rebels in Hungary and to justify the massacre, explained that the Serbian militia could not distinguish the merchants from the rebels. The Ottomans then proposed to hear the testimony of a survivor, Seyyid Ahmed Çelebi. When the witness confirmed that the Serbian militia was well informed about the presence of the Ottoman subjects, discussion turned to the question of compensation for the plundered goods. The Habsburg side avoided the matter of compensation and the negotiations came to a dead end, whereupon the Ottoman delegates, Osman Beğ and Ahmed Beğ, threatened that they would Talman to Eugene of Savoy, 22 November 1707, Constantinople; Nehem to Eugene of Savoy, 17 December 1707, Petrovaradin; Nehem to Talman, 16 December 1707, Petrovaradin; Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 67-77, 94-5, 97-9. 20

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retaliate. The Habsburg officials were not sure whether this was the position of the governor of Belgrade and his officers, as General Nehem and Lachawitz believed (Lachawitz thought that the idea of challenging the border in Syrmia came from the Belgrade leader who longed for the vineyards lost under the treaty of 1699), or part of large-scale Ottoman preparation for war with Vienna, as Talman and Eugene of Savoy feared.21 Talman explained the unstable situation on the border with the increased influence of the war party in Constantinople. After unsuccessfully attempting to approach the Grand Vizier and members of the Imperial Council, he managed to influence people from the sultan’s immediate surroundings in late November 1707. Informing them of Habsburg military successes in Western Europe, reminding how the last Habsburg–Ottoman conflict ended and playing on their superstition, Talman succeeded in persuading the sultan’s entourage against belligerent plans. The war party didn’t get the support of the sultan. In a meeting on 11 January 1708 with the Grand Vizier’s deputy, Talman was reassured that the Ottoman Empire was determined to stay in peace with the Habsburg monarchy and that the Grand Vizier had authorised the border commission to resolve all border disputes. He was also informed that the challenge of the border line in Syrmia had no support in Constantinople. However, the Grand Vizier insisted that the ship seized in Durazzo four years earlier should be returned in its original condition and compensation should be given to the relatives and business partners of the merchants that were robbed and murdered in Kecskemét. When informed about the Ottoman position, Prince Eugene of Savoy suggested using this opportunity to resolve all Habsburg–Ottoman disputes.22 The border commission continued its work in 1708. While agreement was reached on other problems, the compensation for the Kecskemét massacre remained an open issue. The setback now was the amount that should be paid. The Habsburg suggestion was to base the compensation on the custom books from Szeged indicating the value of goods that the Ottoman merchants had with them before they travelled to Kecskemét. The Ottomans argued that the real value, which was not reported to the custom authorities, was four times higher. After the Habsburg side refused to pay compensation for smuggled merchandise, the Ottoman delegates 21 Nehem to Lachawitz, 16 December 1707, Petrovaradin; Extract Schreibens von dem Herrn Lachowitz, 15 December 1707, Slankamen; Eugene of Savoy to Emperor Joseph I, 23 December 1707; Lachawitz to Nehem, 24 December 1707, Slankamen; Nehem to HKR, 25 December 1707, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 27 December 1707, Petrovaradin, Türkei I 177: Haec est nota eorum, que circa obversantes inter utrumque potentissimum imperiorum differentias et controversias tollendas deputatis Nostris hominibi data et ab excesa. Porta earum complanatio juxta sensus augusta capitulationis iniuncta et demandata fuit; Lachawiz to Nehem, 30 December 1707, Slankamen; Nehem to HKR, 10 January 1708, Petrovaradin; Nehem to Count Starhemberg, 11 January 1708, Petrovaradin; Nehem to Ibrahim Pasha, 13 January 1708, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 14 February 1708, Petrovaradin, Türkei I 178, HHStA. 22 Talman to HKR, 19 January 1708, Constantinople; Eugene of Savoy to Emperor Joseph I, 17 February 1708, Vienna, Türkei 178, HHStA; Roider. Austria’s Eastern Question, pp. 29-31.

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proposed to take the sworn testimonies of survivors of the massacre as a basis for agreement. The Habsburg side accepted testimonies only for individual cases. The Ottomans then presented their request for compensation of 60,000 akçe, almost four times more than the value of the goods recorded in the custom books from Szeged (16,000 akçe). Once again the negotiations hit a brick wall and the Ottoman delegation was frustrated to learn that the agreement was repeatedly delayed by the Habsburg delegates’ requests for further instructions from Vienna. This was a timebuying tactic; the Habsburg side expected that eventually Ibrahim Pasha would have to drop the requests that had no support from Constantinople, such as the challenge of the Syrmia border and the high compensation for the Kecskemét incident. The Habsburg court gave its consent for the settlement of the other issues, including the return of the ship seized in Durazzo and the razing of border fortifications. Vienna agreed to pay compensation to the heirs of the merchants massacred in Kecskemét, but insisted that the basis for eventual compensation must be the value stated in the Szeged custom books. General Globitz underlined that the Habsburg side agreed to the compensation even though the documents that were issued to the Ottoman merchants for their travel in Hungary were valid only for the territory under Vienna’s effective control.23 The Habsburg position in Hungary substantially improved during the summer of 1708 after General Heister’s decisive victory over the rebels near Trentschin (Trenčin, Trencsén) on 13 August. Vienna secured the right coast of the Danube and parts of Upper Hungary and the rebellion was clearly coming to an end. The Habsburg delegation in Syrmia was no longer under pressure to reach an agreement. They discussed with their Ottoman counterparts the ways to return the seized ship in its original state and how the border commission should work, but there was no progress on the question of Kecskemét, which seemed to block the general agreement. Then, at the end of the summer, Ibrahim Pasha fell ill and his death on 1 October led to a pause in the work of the commission. After the new governor of Belgrade, Ali Pasha Bostancıbaşı, renewed the powers of the Ottoman delegates, the negotiations resumed but with no real progress for two more months.24

Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 78-83, 85-8, 91-3; Nehem to HKR, 3 January 1708; Nehem to HKR, 10 January 1708, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 14 January 1708, Petrovaradin; Talman to HKR, 4 March 1708; Globitz to HKR, 8 March 1708, Vienna; Eugene of Savoy to Nehem and Ibrahim Pasha, 20 March 1708, Vienna, Türkei I 178, HHStA. 24 Türkei I 178, HHStA; Nehem to HKR, 30 August 1708, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 12 September 1708, Osijek; Nehem to HKR, 2 October 1708; Talman to HKR, 13 October 1708, Constantinople; Conferentia Turcica, 19 October 1708; Nehem to HKR, 3 January 1709, Petrovaradin; Talman to HKR, 19 January 1709, Constantinople, Türkei I 178, HHStA; Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 99-103; M. Ch. Schefer, ed., Mémoire historique sur L’ambassade de France à Constantinople par le Marquis de Bonnac avec un Précis de ses Négociations a la Porte Ottomane. Paris 1894, pp. 61-2. 23

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Agreement At the beginning of January 1709 the new negotiator heading the Ottoman delegation, Osman Ağa, ventured a new initiative and negotiated an agreement in short time. Ali Pasha invited Osman Ağa from Temesvár because he was an interpreter from German with diplomatic experience and had known General Nehem for a decade. The pasha authorised Osman Ağa to privately negotiate with Nehem and reach an agreement as long as the Habsburg side agreed to pay 30,000 akçe in compensation for the Kecskemét incident, half as much as Ali’s predecessor Ibrahim had requested. Around the New Year of 1709 Osman Ağa arrived with the Ottoman delegation in Petrovaradin. After formal discussion, Osman and Nehem secretly met and negotiated the agreement. Nehem agreed that the Habsburg side would pay 35,000 akçe in compensation and would send captain Kastner and the interpreter Lachawitz to Belgrade to work out the details with Ali Pasha. Osman Ağa assured Nehem that the pasha was ready to reach an agreement about other disputes once the question of Kecskemét was put aside. According to the preliminary agreement that captain Kastner negotiated with Ali Pasha in Belgrade, 15,000 akçe was to be paid immediately upon ratification of the agreement, and the rest would be paid later; the ship seized by the Senj corsairs in Durazzo in 1704 was to be returned in its original condition; the fortifications were to be razed and all other problems resolved through the work of the joint boundary commission; and Ali Pasha gave up the Ottoman claims on parts of Syrmia. Both capitals gave their consent.25 Osman Ağa worked out the details of the agreement after several trips between Belgrade and Petrovaradin and the document was signed on 25 March 1709. The terms of the agreement were as follows: – The Habsburg monarchy was to pay 35,000 akçe as full compensation for the Kecskemét incident. No other requests for compensation would be accepted and the passports issued by the Habsburg authorities will not be valid for travel on rebel territory. – The ship seized in Durazzo would be returned with its equipment and original cargo. – The border commission should start its work and resolve all border disputes taking as a basis the peace agreement and the law of the party on whose territory the violation of the peace treaty had happened. The first part of the compensation (15,000 akçe) was paid immediately after Ali Pasha and General Nehem signed the agreement. The second tranche (20,000 akçe) Nehem to Hofkammerinspektor, 11 January 1709, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 21 February 1709; Talman to HKR, 21 March 1709, Constantinople; Talman to HKR, 7 April 1709, Constantinople, Türkei I 178, HHStA; Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 104-7, 110-5, 117; members of the border militia that participated in the Kecskemét incident had to pay a penalty of two forints each. Dušan J. Popović. Velika seoba Srba – Srbi seljaci i plemići. Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga 1954, pp. 109-10. 25

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was paid two months later. After the border commission finished its work and the ship(s) were delivered to Durazzo, all questions would be off the table.26 The work of the border commission followed. The Ottoman delegates were led by Osman Ağa from Temesvár, and the Habsburg delegation was headed by Johann Adam von Lachawitz. The other members were also familiar names, such as Mehmed Ağa of Belgrade and Ahmed Beğ of Kumodraž. The delegations met in late April and early May 1709 near Rača, near the confluence of the rivers Drina and Sava. The commission was moving westwards, resolving individual cases all along the way to Brod, razing illegal fortifications and re-demarcating the boundary line. New questions emerged, for instance how to apply the sharia law to cases in which Christians should bear witness against Muslims. The Habsburg delegation believed it was unacceptable not to recognise Christian testimonials as equally valid. The Ottoman delegation showed flexibility allowing judges to pass judgment based on their own estimation of presented evidence. Lachawitz died in Gradiška, which temporarily slowed down the work of the commission. After six months of work the commission finished its job by resolving seventy-three individual cases; it made a protocol about this and about the new demarcation of the boundary line. In the meantime, Matija Jaketić (Jaketich) delivered the ship to Durazzo and settled all related issues by August 1709. All pending issues between Vienna and Constantinople were thus resolved.27 The final outcome could be evaluated as a relatively balanced compromise. The Ottomans maybe achieved more than they expected because they exploited Vienna’s predicament, while the monarchy was engaged in fighting enemies in different parts of Europe. The Ottomans had more manoeuvring space. By tactically inserting the request for re-examination of the border line in Syrmia, they additionally pressured the Habsburg delegation and received higher compensation in the final agreement. To a certain extent, Vienna was indeed responsible for the Kecskemét massacre. It was committed by Habsburg border units, whose original purpose was the protection of the border. The common soldiers from the military border received no salary and lived off farming. With much of its forces engaged in Southern and Western Europe, Vienna was using the border militia outside of the Military Border to check the Hungarian rebellion. Underpaid or not paid at all, the border militia was un-

Extractus instrumenti pacis; Nehem to HKR, 1 April 1709, Petrovaradin; Nehem to HKR, 11 May 1709, Türkei I 178, HHStA. Satisfied with the outcome of negotiations, Ali Pasha gave 25,000 akçe to heirs and shareholders of the merchants killed in Kecskemét, and awarded the remaining 10,000 akçe to the dignitaries that took part in the negotiations. A part of the sum he kept for himself. Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 118-26. 27 A letter of Francesco Passarevich, 15 July 1709, Durazzo; Talman to HKR, 18 July 1709, Constantinople; Caenand to HKR, 8 August 1709, Petrovaradin; Report of Matija Jaketić with an inventory of the returned ship; Talman to HKR, 4 October 1709, Constantinople, Türkei I 178, HHStA; Zwichen Paschas und Generälen, pp. 126-30. 26

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disciplined and hard to control, and was not averse to looting.28 Therefore, Vienna could expect that sooner or later there would be an incident such as the Kecskemét massacre. The history of Habsburg–Ottoman disputes at the beginning of the 18th century suggests that the principles proclaimed by the Peace Treaty of Karlowitz were slowly embraced by local authorities. They needed some time to accept – and adjust to – the new practices and implement the provisions of Karlowitz. Both sides showed determination to preserve the peace and worked hard to prevent individual incidents from erupting into an open conflict. The new political principles were implemented and embraced not only by the political centres, but also by the periphery. The stabilisation of the new order and the pacification of the border were well under way, becoming an irreversible process.

The border militia was generally unwilling to fight outside the Military Border. Thus in 1705 troops from the Croatian and Danube Military borders that were used to establish control over the right bank of the Danube in the previous year, refused to go towards Arad and Nagyvárad (Oradea) because they received no pay for fighting outside the Military Border in 1704 and their farms were neglected during their absence. Talman to HKR, 3 June 1704, Constantinople; Nehem to HKR, 22 August 1705, Petrovaradin, Türkei I 176, HHStA. 28

The “Loyal Ally:” Russian Troops in the Army of Eugene of Savoy as a Historical Problem Iskra Schwarcz This paper will examine a relatively obscure fact in the multifaceted relations between Austria and Russia in the 18th century: the rapprochement between the two monarchies that led to Russia’s involvement in the so-called Vienna Alliance in 1726 and the role of the alliance for joint actions against the Ottoman Empire. The 1726 treaty was the first Defensivallianz between the two powers. The idea of joint military action was nothing new. As early as 1527 Emperor Charles V was offered by the Russian Grand Prince Vasili III a cavalry of 50,000 horsemen to aid his struggle against the Ottomans, causing a wave of amazement across Western Europe.1 None of the European powers at the time could provide its allies with a cavalry so strong. Two years later, during the first siege of Vienna in the autumn of 1529, the invading Ottoman army was met by the defenders of the city whose forces numbered 17,000 people.2 The conclusion of a military alliance between the two powers was discussed in numerous diplomatic meetings and negotiations, but a binding legal agreement was signed only in 1726. The document was published by the prominent Russian jurist and author of fundamental works on international law, Friedrich Martens.3 Fairly good analysis of the events that led up to the conclusion of the treaty can be found in the works of Austrian historians Hans Übersberger and Walter Leitsch,4 as well as the dissertation of Maren Кöster who analysed the treaty’s implications for Russian and Austrian foreign policy in 1726–1735.5 The works of Alexandr KochuHans Übersberger. Österreich und Russland seit dem Ende des 15. Jahrhunderts, vol. 1 (1488– 1605). Vienna-Leipzig 1906, p. 225. 2 The Ottoman army in the first half of the 16th century totalled some 250,000 people. See Josef Matuz. Das Osmanische Reich: Grundlinien seiner Geschichte. 3 Auflage, Darmstadt 1996, p. 101. Cf. Walter Öhlinger. Wien zwischen den Türkenkriegen. In: Geschichte Wiens, vol. 3. Vienna: Pichler Verlag 1998, p. 32. 3 Friedrich Martens (Fyodor Martens in Russian). Sobranie traktatov i konventsii, zaklyuchennyih Rossieyu s inostrannyimi derzhavami, vol. 1. Traktatyi s Avstrieyu 1648–1762. St. Petersburg 1874, pp. 32-44. 4 Hans Übersberger. Russlands Orientpolitik in den letzten zwei Jahrhunderten, vol. 1. Bis zum Frieden von Jassy. Stuttgart 1913; Walter Leitsch. Der Wandel der österreichischen Russlandpolitik in den Jahren 1724–1726, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, 6, 1 (1958), 33-91. 5 Maren Köster. Russische Truppen für Prinz Eugen. Politik mit militärischen Mitteln im frühen 18. Jahrhundert. Vienna 1986. 1

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binsky and Georgii Nekrasov6 take precedence in Russian and Soviet research, but Nekrasov has misfortunately published some inaccurate information, for instance his statement that “in June 1735 a 20,000-strong corps (sic!) was sent to the Rhine under General P. P. Lacy and successfully acted against the French (sic!).”7 In his monograph The Balkans between Two Empires, Ivan Parvev also pays attention to the 1726 treaty, emphasising that in the autumn of 1725 the Habsburg monarchy had to choose between “coalition with Russia” and “almost complete political isolation.”8 Fears that the sultan may launch joint actions with the enemies of Emperor Charles VI sparked, until the spring of 1726, agitated discussions in the political circles and sealed Austria’s choice in favour of making alliance with Russia.9 This paper will therefore look at the treaty signed on 6 August 1726 and its implications for Austrian and Russian policies towards the Ottoman Empire. The 1720s–1730s are typically known for the oscillating coalitions between European powers that created a factor of uncertainty in the system based on “balance of power.” During this period the Austrian court regarded its policy in the East as part of Habsburg policy in the West that was the empire’s unquestionable priority. Austria took action in the East only when, by so doing, it could bolster the monarchy’s strategic plans related to Western policies. Therefore, after the Peace of Passarowitz (signed on 21 July 1718) the Habsburg–Ottoman relations were not burdened by significant conflicts; their primary goal was to maintain the status quo in Central Europe and the Balkans. Engulfed to the hilt in the “Spanish affairs,” Emperor Charles VI seldom made a stance on Eastern policy. It was entrusted to Prince Eugene of Savoy, since 1703 president of the Imperial War Council (Hofkriegsrat) and member of the Geheime Konferenz whose de facto president he became in 1712. In addition to decision-making powers on military matters, the Imperial War Council was responsible for diplomatic relations with Russia and the Ottoman Empire, while the Geheime Konferenz was the body deliberating and planning actions on important, pressing issues of foreign policy. In reality not only military campaigns, but also the overall strategy and policy vis-à-vis the Ottoman Empire was defined and dictated exclusively by Eugene of Savoy and his entourage. The fundamental dictum of this policy was: “Never wage war on two fronts;” after 1718 it was further extended with the imperative to avoid, at all cost, a large-scale conflict with the Ottoman Empire. Eugene of Savoy was actively involved in decisions on diplomatic appointments. Before long he was able to secure “his men” on the posts in Madrid, London, Paris

Alexandr Kochubinsky. Nemirovskii kongress, Zapiski imperatorskogo Novorossiskogo universiteta, vol. 74. Odessa 1899; Georgii Nekrasov. Rol’ Rossii v evropeiskoi mezhdunarodnoi politike (1725–1739 gg.). Moscow 1976. 7 Nekrasov. Rol’ Rossii, p. 227. 8 Ivan Parvev. Balkanite meždu dve imperii. Habsburgskata monarhia i Osmanskata dăržava (1683– 1739). Sofia 1997, pp. 212-5. 9 Parvev. Balkanite, p. 212. 6

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and St. Petersburg.10 When in 1733 policy coordination between Vienna, London and Berlin passed in the hands of the ambitious Johann Christoph von Bartenstein and Eugene of Savoy was removed from key positions, the impact on Austria’s foreign policy was instantly obvious.11 During this period the Habsburg Empire, which in 1718 reached the greatest territorial expansion in its history, found itself isolated from decision-making when important European affairs were at stake. After the death of Peter the Great Russia also found itself in international isolation. Attempts for closer ties with England and France led nowhere. Just before the conclusion of the treaty with Austria the Russian resident in Constantinople, Ivan Neplyuev, ruefully wrote that “here, at the Sultan’s court, we have no other friends but the Austrians, whereas the French have changed their policy to the point where they have became foes.”12 A conditio sine qua non of Russian foreign policy was to pursue an active course against the Ottoman Empire and its vassal, the Crimean Khanate. Russia’s primary goal was to foil Ottoman territorial expansion in the Caspian region and, if possible, make the Caspian Sea a mare nostrum encapsulated by Russian possessions. The last actions of Peter I, his Persian policy and the Caspian campaign of 1722–1723 were all part of this strategy. The 1724 treaty between Russia and the Porte saw the first agreement of the two powers with respect to the Caucasus and northern Persia. Turkey acknowledged Russian conquests in the western part of the Caspian Sea and renounced its claims on Persia.13 This period witnessed the instrumental intervention of Vice-Chancellor Andrey Ivanovich Ostermann and the diplomatist Pavel Yagushinsky.14 Ostermann’s political agenda was disclosed in his 1726 treatise entitled The General State of Old Russian Affairs and Interests as Regards All Neighbouring and Other Countries, where he analysed the political situation immediately after the demise of Peter I and Russia’s relations with the Asian countries as well as the European powers. The fundamental premise was Ostermann’s idea of an alliance between Russia and Austria as he believed that both powers had an interest in weakening the Ottoman Empire.15 Russia’s interests in the Near East were too far from the pending plans of the Viennese court. The proposal of the former Russian resident in Constantinople, 10 Klaus Müller. Diplomatie und Diplomaten im Zeitalter des Prinzen Eugen. In: Johannes Kunisch, ed., Prinz Eugen von Savoyen und seine Zeit. Freiburg-Würzburg: Verlag Ploetz 1986, p. 51. 11 Müller. Diplomatie, p. 56. 12 Kochubinsky. Nemirovskii congress, p. 16. 13 Übersberger. Russlands Orientpolitik, p. 142. 14 Ibid., p. 147. 15 Swetlana Dolgowa. Zwei Jahre aus dem Leben von Graf Ostermann und Fürst Menschikow: 1726–1727. Aus Menschikows Tagebuch. In: Johannes Volker Wagner, Bernd Bonwetsch, Wolfram Eggeling, eds., Ein Deutscher am Zarenhof. Heinrich Graf Ostermann und seine Zeit 1687–1747. Essen: Klartext Verlag 2001, p. 230. Cf.: Übersberger. Russlands Orientpolitik, p. 147ff.

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Peter Tolstoy, that in the event of Turkish attack on the Russian outposts in Persia the Austrian Emperor should immediately declare war on the Porte, implied that the Habsburg Empire should assume a responsibility it was reluctant to face; the monarchy felt that this step might entail heavy consequences. The Austrian ambassador to St. Petersburg count Bussy-Rabutin used all his powers to remove this provision from the final draft of the treaty, but Empress Catherine I was unwilling to budge.16 Seeing the obvious possibility to lose Russia’s future alliance unless her interests were supported, the Austrian court agreed to a forced compromise. The treaty was finally signed in Vienna on 6 August 1726 and contained the so-called articulus secretissimus, whereby Austria undertook the obligation to safeguard the integrity of Russian possessions in the event of Ottoman invasion and join forces with Russian troops for allied action, if a war broke out between Russia and Turkey.17 Martens is amiss in his claim that the Spanish minister Ripperda personally tried to persuade the Russian ambassador in Vienna in the benefits of such alliance which Spain was also intending to join.18 In effect, Russia entered the existing Habsburg–Spanish alliance of 1725, but the secret provisions concerned solely Austria and Russia. Paragraph 6 laid down specific requirements: in the event that the Porte contravened the Russo– Turkish treaty of 1724 and a war broke out, Emperor Charles VI obliged himself to aid Russia by sending a 30,000-strong army comprised of 20,000 foot soldiers and 10,000 dragoons. If needs be, Her Royal Majesty Catherine I agreed to send to the emperor’s aid reciprocal infantry and cavalry units: Porro de auxiliis mutuo ferendis ita conventum est, quod Imperator, ubi bellum Suae Totius Russiae Majestati in Regnis, Provinciis et Ditionibus ab eadem in Europa possessis ex quacunque causa, et a quacunque inferretur, in auxilium submissurus sit Triginta Millia militum, videlicet Viginti mille Pedites et Decem millia Equitum desultariorum: Parem auxiliariorum numerum tam Peditum quam Equitum Sua Majestas Totius Russiae Suae Majestati Caesareae et Catholicae in casum belli mittere spondet: Sustentationem vero praefatarum Copiarum auxiliarium quod attinet, Partes Contractantes desuper quanto citius mutuo inter se convenient.19

According to Myakotin, at the end of the rule of Peter the Great the regular Russian army numbered some 212,000 people. In his estimates, these were supplemented by 110,000 irregular troops, Cossacks and other local units from the southern and eastern borderlands of the empire, as well as 48 ships and 800 galleys whose crews totalled 28,000 people.20 Military outlays accounted for two-thirds of government

Übersberger. Russlands Orientpolitik, pp. 148-9. Martens. Sobranie traktatov, pp. 33-4, 43-4. 18 Ibid., p. 33. 19 Ibid., p. 39. 20 Venedict Myakotin. Istoria Rossii v kontse XVII-gо i v pervuyu polovinu XVIII-gо stoletia, Sofia University Yearbook, Faculty of History and Philology, vol. 34. Sofia 1938, p. 62. 16 17

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spending.21 According to the War Archive, Eugene of Savoy besieged and took Belgrade in June-August 1717 with approximately 100,000 soldiers, and later captured Philippsburg (in May-July 1734) with an army of 70,000 people.22 No specific data is available about the war budget at that time. The next step in the rapprochement between the two powers was initiated in 1727. A special convention on food supplies for the troops was signed in St. Petersburg, no different from Austria’s conventions with other countries, for instance Denmark.23 Controversial Austrian and Russian interests, however, soon made this agreement an apple of discord. A period of intense negotiations ensued and the Austrian residents in Russia insistently demanded execution of the treaty’s provisions. Austria faced a major predicament in 1734 when the armies of Charles VI suffered serious defeats in Italy. In a short time the monarchy lost Naples, Sicily and the greater part of Lombardia. Eugene of Savoy heavily insisted on receiving the support Russia had promised. At the end of 1734 the Austrian resident in St. Petersburg Nicolaus Sebastian Edler von Hochholzer reported that the Russian Empress Anna Ivanovna was prepared to provide in 1735 an army of 26,000 men,24 but Ostermann thought that the time for action had not yet arrived, and agreed to send only half of the troops, or 13,000 people. 25 An interesting episode followed during the so-called “Polish affair,” or the question of the Polish succession, when sending an army became inevitable; evoking § 68 of the Peter the Great’s Military Statutes (1716), count Ostermann required greater monthly meat rations for the Russian soldiers. This provoked heated discussions and effectively postponed the army’s dispatch. Only at a conference in Warsaw in April 1735 the generals Burkhard Christoph von Münnich and Peter Lacy for Russia and the imperial ambassador count Wratislaw agreed on the monthly rations. As a result, the following monthly rations were agreed upon for each Russian soldier: – Flour: 60 Pfund (24.57 kg) – Meat: 30 Pfund (12.29 kg) – Grout: 6 Pfund (2.46 kg) – Salt: 2 Pfund (819 grams). Additional rations were provided for during the winter months: 30 Garec (98.4 litres) of beer, or a daily measure of 3.3 litres, and 60 Schalen (7.38 litres) of Branntwein or Schnaps, or an average daily intake of 200 grams.26 By comparison, the Austrian soldiers received a daily ration of 2 Pfund of bread, 1.4 litres of beer and Ibid., p. 63. Peter Broucek, Erich Hillbrand, Fritz Vesely. Prinz Eugen Feldzüge und Heerwesen. Vienna: Verlag Deuticke 1986, p. 39. 23 Köster. Russische Truppen, p. 220. 24 Ibid., p. 43. 25 Kochubinsky. Nemirovskii congress, p. 88. He wrote about Ostermann: “At the end he gave in – and lost!” 26 Köster. Russische Truppen, p. 222. 21 22

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1.4 litres of wine.27 Since the Russian troops were both Christian and Muslim, it was agreed that on Orthodox fast days alternative products would be provided for the Muslim soldiers such as butter, eggs, etc.28 In 1734 count Ostermann advanced a seemingly anecdotal argument. He claimed that the Russian troops could not survive in Italy because there was no beer or vodka, and the staple drink was only wine; if the Russian soldiers drank wine, anyone could push them off the bridge in the vast blue sea, and they would most certainly die. Hence, sending Russian troops there would be morally irresponsible. This touching story was a stratagem in disguise.29 Current intelligence from Constantinople unequivocally suggested that war with the Ottoman Empire was unavoidable. The conflict was expected to break out in January or February the following year. Ostermann believed that the Russian army would need each and every one of its soldiers, whereas sending reinforcements to the imperial troops in Italy would be a waste of time: given the state of his army, Emperor Charles VI had no other options but to make peace.30 The Austrian resident in St. Petersburg Nicolaus Sebastian Edler von Hochholzer pointed out that the Russian army would travel faster from Italy to the Balkan provinces of the Ottoman Empire than it could march from Russia to the theatre of operations, but his argument remained unanswered.31 Finally, after much debate, an agreement was reached that 13,000 Russian troops would be sent to aid the Austrian army on the Western front against France. In the summer of 1735 this army, under the command of General Peter Lacy,32 crossed all of Western Europe from Bohemia to the French border, covering roughly 800 kilometres in 70 days. The soldiers covered on average 18 km a day, at a pace of about 3 km per hour. A simple glimpse at the map shows that this march, in the face of non-existent infrastructure, commands respect and can be considered an extraordinary achievement. In late August the first regiments arrived at the headquarters of Prince Eugene of Savoy in Heidelberg.33 This was the first case in European history of Russian troops reaching this far west. The army did not engage in battle, as Nekrasov explains, because peace talks were already underway, but its appearance had a tremendous psychological effect. Eye-witnesses and contemporaries described with elation the physical prowess, the fine uniforms and weapons, and the moral Ibid., p. 228. Ibid., p. 225. 29 Ibid., p. 56: “Die russischen Truppen in Italien, wo weder Bier noch Branntwein, sondern nur Wein getrunken würde, nicht existieren könnten. Wenn man den Truppen Wein zu trinken gebe, könnte man sie von einer Brücke ins Meer stürzen, und ertränken. Die Entsendung der Truppen war demnach moralisch nicht zu verantworten.” 30 Ibid., p. 57. 31 Ibid. 32 General Peter Graf von Lacy (1678–1751) was of Irish descent and came in Russian service in 1700. In 1733–1734 he successfully engaged his army in the “affairs of the Polish succession” and the dethronement of Stanisław Leszczyński. 33 Gottfried Mraz. Prinz Eugen. Ein Leben in Bildern und Dokumenten. Munich 1985, p. 186. 27 28

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strength of the Russian soldiers, all the more striking against the exhausted and halfstarved troops on the Rhine front.34 The press, especially the popular paper Die Neue Europäische Fama and the monthly journal Kurzgefaßte Historische Nachrichten, published detailed accounts about the sensational presence of these exotic regiments. Even the critically-minded military commissioner General Nesselrode was enthralled after the inspection of troops in Heidelberg.35 On balance, the Russian army served as a psychological weapon and influenced the outcome of the war. The peace talks established King Augustus III on the Polish throne, superseding the deposed Stanisław Leszczyński; this served in equal measure the interests of Austria and Russia. The question is: What was the connection between this march and the policy of Austria and Russia towards the Ottoman Empire? At the outbreak of the subsequent Russo–Turkish War in 1735 Austria was presented with a choice: either to honour its obligations under the treaty and send a corps of 30,000 men to aid Russia, declaring war on the Ottoman Empire, or lose Russia’s alliance. The danger of finding itself in complete international isolation, especially with matters of imperial succession at hand, was perfectly real. Furthermore, Russia was the empire’s only ally that had offered a helping hand in the War of the Polish Succession. All these reasons compelled Austria, after much hesitation, to decide in favour of military engagement and take part in a war that ended in disaster. According to the Treaty of Belgrade (1739), the Habsburg Empire was forced to return Belgrade to the Porte and lost a number of territorial gains it had obtained under the 1718 peace. This first alliance had grave consequences and thereafter played a pivotal role in the policies of the two powers towards the Ottoman Empire. The Russian policy in the Balkans grew more and more active, whereas the Habsburg monarchy gradually lost its dominant positions.

34 35

Köster. Russische Truppen, pp. 216, 252. Ibid., p. 149.

The Habsburg Monarchy and the Projects for Division of the Ottoman Balkans, 1771–1788 Boro Bronza After the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763) and financial exhaustion, the Habsburg monarchy was not in a position to lead offensive policy in Southeastern Europe. Maria Theresa had publicly proclaimed a friendly policy towards the Ottoman Empire. The inner question of dynastic rule and inheritance became very complex after 1765, when Joseph II was declared co-ruler by his mother. The division of their authority was never clearly resolved. Until her death Maria Theresa was the real ruler; despite their frequent clashes, her son had to accept her will and decisions.1 As the years passed, however, Joseph II increasingly took the initiative, especially in the context of foreign policy. The beginnings of a new offensive policy of Austria in Southeastern Europe throughout the 1770s were related exclusively to his activities. The new Russo–Turkish War (1768–1774) was crucial for changing the perception of the European Southeast in Vienna. After seven years of war and the exhaustion of Austria and Prussia, the new Russian Empress Catherine II (1762–1796) was allowed to exploit quickly and efficiently the possibility for action, starting a major offensive in the Southeast in order to finally achieve the goals of Russian policy set at the end of the 17th century by Peter the Great. The new war displayed the great superiority of Russia over Turkey. The Russian army claimed a series of victories. Azov was taken, followed by the entire coast of the Sea of Azov and, more importantly, the Black Sea coast west to Kherson.2 The Peace in Kuchuk Kainarji (1774) gave Russia substantial benefits and definitively confirmed it was the leading contestant in the claims for the Ottoman territories in Europe. Joseph II watched with great dissatisfaction the spread of Russian power. He even considered entering the war against Russia to prevent its excessive expansion to the Balkans and Istanbul. Already in 1768 he discussed the possibility of the capture of Belgrade and the strategic advantages that such an endeavour could bring. Maria Theresa firmly rejected his proposal and Austria was intensely engaged in peace mediation between Turkey and Russia. The aim was twofold: to stop the Russian troops before they penetrated far south, threatening parts of Turkey that Austria considered under its sphere of influence, and open possibilities for compensation from the Ottomans for preventing their total military and political debacle through successful negotiation. Derek Beales. Joseph II. In the Shadow of Maria Theresa 1741–1780. Cambridge 1987, p. 11. V. N. Vinogradov. Ekaterina II i proryiv Rossii na Balkanyi. In: V. N. Vinogradov, ed., Istoria Balkan. Vek vosemnadtsatyi. Moscow 2004, p. 112-35. 1 2

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The hypothetical compensation was related to a small territory, and this desire was communicated to the Divan through the Austrian internuncio. A positive response came very soon, because the situation on the Turkish front was verging on disaster. Austria had a chance to gain an appropriate area for the successful mediation and the first choice was Little Wallachia, the westernmost part of Wallachia, which was already in Austrian hands between 1718 and 1739. For Joseph II this was an acceptable solution, but later he decided on another option. For its help in the final peace negotiations with Russia in 1774, Austria was awarded Bukovina, a small territory (approximately 10,400 square kilometres) in northern Moldavia.3 The choice of Bukovina was the product of different understanding of priorities by the Austrian crown prince. This territory was expected to provide better connection between the Habsburg hinterland and the new Austrian territories in Galicia, and a base from which Austria could more easily and effectively thwart future Russian penetration to the south of Moldavia. These plans were clearly showing Joseph’s great ambition for territorial claims in Southeastern Europe.4 The case of Bukovina was associated with Austria’s participation in the first Partition of Poland on 5 August 1772. Poland was constantly being weakened by Austria, Russia and Prussia, as each gained a significant part of Polish territory through mutual agreement. Austria received Galicia and some adjacent territories totalling 83,000 square kilometres, with over two million inhabitants. This expansion eastward moved Austria further away from the Western sphere towards Eastern political projections.5 The first Partition of Poland gave rise to projects anticipating the future division of the Ottoman Empire, already significantly drained by the Russians. The possibility of a small territorial gain through mediation could be eventually replaced by entering into a new war against Turkey on the side of Russia on the promise of large territorial expansion. Such plans were already brewing in Vienna in 1772. At the end of 1771 the Austrian diplomat Baron von Bender presented to the court a “Project of the division of Turkey.”6 On 17 January 1772 the project was officially sent to Maria Theresa.7 The Austrian internuncio in Istanbul, Thugut, came in contact with the Russians about their views on division, on 7 January 1772.8 On After the agreement with the Turks Austrian troops occupied Bukovina in the spring of 1775. The internuncio Thugut had a key role in the implementation process and the area was officially named “The border area of Moldavia and Transylvania” („les Terres de Moldavie entre la Transylvanie“). Österreichisches Staatsarchiv, Abteilung Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv (further: HHStA), Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 7: Grenzverhältnisse 1699–1795, Fasz.: Gränzverträge 1699–1795 Varia, fol. 43-47. Demarcation under the supervision of the internuncio was conducted in August 1775. HHStA, Staatskanzlei, Intercepte, Kart. 2: 1775–1809, Fasz. Thugut 1775, 1791, 1801, fol. 6-8. 4 Hans Magenschab. Josef II. Österreichs Weg in die Moderne. Vienna 2006, p. 105. 5 Horst Möller. Fürstenstaat oder Bürgernation. Deutschland 1763–1815. Berlin 1998, p. 297. 6 Project einer Theilung der Türkei von Baron Bender, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718–1795, Fasz. Teilungsprojekt 1771/72, Fol. 1. 7 Ibid., fol. 41. 8 Ibid., fol. 67-70. 3

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19 January Joseph II sent the same proposal to the Prussian king Frederick II to examine his views. After 1740 Prussia became a constant factor for Austria to reckon in any plan for Southeastern Europe, because there was always the possibility of alliance between Prussia and Turkey. Any possible territorial expansion at the expense of Turkey implied some Austrian territorial compensation for Prussia, be it from Poland, the small German states or even Austria itself. A huge obstacle for Joseph’s plan was the completion of negotiations to create a defensive alliance between Prussia and Russia, whose relations were much closer than the Austro–Russian relations. When Frederick II announced his vague response,9 the young Austrian ruler was forced, on 19 January, to address Maria Teresa for advice and opinion.10 At first the empress showed restraint. Chancellor Kaunitz announced his vision on 13 February, clearly sceptical about the possibility to go to war and engage in aggressive action to splinter Ottoman territory.11 Joseph II saw that, apart from a few diplomats, there was no support for his aggressive plans. The geopolitical situation was not favourable for a new war adventure against the Turks, because the prospect of hostile engagement by Prussia was very much alive. Therefore, precedence was given to modest requirements for territorial expansion through mediation that resulted in the gain of Bukovina.12 During the entire consideration of the project, Joseph II never clearly stated which Ottoman territory he really wanted to incorporate. Just before the end he pointed out that his priority were Wallachia and Moldavia. This supported the efforts to control the possible Russian advance south and create a trade monopoly along the Danube. Prussia and Russia were allies since 1772, especially after the War for the Bavarian Succession (1778–1779). Joseph II was aware that to move the centre of political gravity in Germany or expand in Southeastern Europe, Austria needed to align much closer with Russia than Prussia already had. The Austrian alliance with France since the 1750s was of no particular use. In order to bring Vienna together with Russia, in the spring of 1780 Joseph II initiated a new negotiation process through the Austrian Ambassador in St. Petersburg, Ludwig Cobenzl. He contacted the Russian representative in Vienna, Prince Galicin. Empress Catherine II was pleased to accept the proposal for a meeting. Joseph II lost no time and on 26 April 1780 left for Russia. During the meetings and talks in Mogilev from 4 to 9 June, joint plans were not defined, but Joseph II managed to gain the confidence of the Russian empress, laying a solid basis for further development of the Austro–Russian relations. The first results were already evident in late 1780, when Catherine II refused to extend the alliance with Prussia.13

Ibid., fol. 85-90. Ibid., fol. 103-7. 11 Ibid., fol. 130. 12 Project de paix generale, ibid., fol. 131-5. 13 Oskar Criste. Kriege unter Kaiser Josef II. Vienna 1904, p. 136. 9

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Maria Theresa was adamant against the policy of union with Russia, knowing that such alliance would eventually lead to a joint offensive against Turkey. Her views that the division of Turkey was utterly unnecessary had shaped the Habsburgs’ foreign policy over the past few decades: “Austria would gain nothing, even if its powers were expanded to the walls of Constantinople, but unhealthy, abandoned territories inhabited by unreliable Greeks; all things considered, this would not increase the might of the Monarchy, but exhaust it.”14 The conflict with Joseph II about the alliance with Russia was the last of many clashes between mother and son. After 40 years in power, Maria Theresa died on 29 November 1780. Joseph II sent a letter advising Sultan Abdul Hamid of the change of throne, according to the principles of primogeniture and heritage.15 The letter was a symbolic message that a new era was coming in the Austrian policy towards the Ottoman Empire. After fully assuming the throne of Austria, Joseph II zealously continued the policy of approaching Russia. In December 1780 he wrote to ambassador Cobenzl: “The current situation is such that together Austria and Russia can do everything, but one without the other – nothing.”16 At the end of 1780 and throughout 1781 Joseph II and Catherine II maintained intense correspondence. In May 1781, the alliance between Austria and Russia was finally concluded.17 One of the key architects of Austria’s new Ostpolitik was Cobenzl. He thought that Austria, in aggressive campaigns against Turkey in alliance with Russia, should conquer Bosnia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Wallachia, and the entire course of the Danube up to the Black Sea.18 After the emperor’s visit to the Russian court in 1780, Cobenzl assumed the role of chief negotiator with Russia; his counterpart was Prince Potemkin, who had successfully supplanted Panin as the most influential minister in Catherine’s palace.19 “Die Theilung des Osmanenreiches wäre von allen Unternehmungen die kühnste und gefährlichste. Was würden wir gewinnen, wenn wir unsere Eroberungen selbst bis vor die Mauern Constantinopels ausdehnen würden? Ungesunde, culturlose, entvölkerte oder von unzuverlässigen Griechen bewohnte Provinzen, welche die Kräfte der Monarchie nicht steigern, sondern erschöpfen würden.” Maria Theresa wrote this in a letter to her ambassador in Paris, Count Mercy d’Argenteau, on 31 July 1777. Adolf Beer. Orientalische Politik Österreichs seit 1774. Prague-Leipzig 1883, p. 39. 15 “…haereditario et primogenitali jure...”, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 74: Weisungen, Berichte 1780, 1781 I-III, Fasz. Weisungen 1780 (1-188), fol. 175-6. 16 “Der Satz bleibt richtig, daß Rußland mit uns und wir mit Rußland alles, eines ohne dem anderen aber sehr beschwerlich etwas Wesentliches und Nutzbares ausrichten können... ” Criste. Kriege unter Kaiser Josef II, p. 137. 17 Ivan Parvev. Land in Sicht. Südosteuropa in den deutschen politischen Zeitschriften des 18. Jahrhunderts. Mainz 2008, p. 161. 18 HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718–1795, Fasz. Projekte einer Teilung des Osman. Reichs, fol. 338-48. 19 “Nur thätige Theilnahme an dem Kriege kann uns gegen alle erwähnten und mehrere andere sich von selbst darstellende Bedenklichkeit sichern... ” Ludwig Wiener. Kaiser Josef II. als Staatsmann und Feldherr. Österreichs Politike und Kriege in den Jahren 1763–1790, Mittheilungen des K.K. Kriegs-Archivs Jahrgang 1885 (1885), 97. 14

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The correspondence between Joseph II and Catherine II continued during 1782, plotting new plans for the division of Turkey. The Russian Empress took the initiative, openly venturing offensive proposals. In many letters of that year Catherine II discussed in detail the proposed partitioning. On 10 September 1782 she sent a final memorandum to Joseph II containing the famous “Greek Project.” The “Greek Project” envisioned the creation of a new independent state of Dacia incorporating Moldavia, Wallachia and Bessarabia.20 Allegedly independent, Dacia would act as a buffer state between Russia and Austria. The Austrians quickly learned, however, of Russia’s plans to make Potemkin the ruler of Dacia. Next to independent Dacia, a Greek Empire based in Constantinople should be established, again as an independent state.21 Catherine II stated that her grandson Constantine was destined to be the ruler of this state.22 Her ideas breathed the principles of the future Christian supremacy in the Balkans, since in 1774 Russia was awarded the right to protect all Orthodox Christians in Turkey. Joseph’s court received the “Greek Project” with great interest, but not enthusiastically.23 The project undermined Austria’s own plans for the Western Balkans. After thoroughly analysing the geopolitical situation in Europe and the world, and the military capabilities for a major war in the Balkans, Joseph II, Kaunitz and Cobenzl came to the conclusion that Catherine’s project was unfeasible. In their private correspondence, they dismissed it merely as a folly, or a futile flight of imagination (chimérique).24 Joseph II did not publicly reject the plan, but in his response to Catherine the Great on 13 November 1782 he made it clear that if such divisions should materialise, he expected Austria to gain certain territory from Turkey. According to Joseph II, Austria should have the right to take part of Little Wallachia (up to the river Olt), including a belt of land along the right bank of the Danube from Belgrade to Nikopol, with both cities, as well as Vidin and Orşova, serving as a defence base for Hungary. The shortest straight line had to be drawn from Belgrade to the Adriatic, in the Bay of Drin. Austria voiced its aspirations to parts of Bosnia and Herzegovina that constituted the largest part of the total territory the monarchy was striving to get. In Vienna this denouement was considered the ideal solution for Austria. If the proposed division failed, Joseph II was ready to accept the return of the borders of 1718; this option existed in Austrian politics throughout the decades preceding the final outbreak of the war with Turkey in 1788. HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718–1795, Fasz. Projekte einer Teilung des Osman. Reichs, fol. 229-38. 21 Ibid. 22 Vasilj Popović. Istočno pitanje. Istorijski pregled borbe oko opstanka Osmanlijske carevine u Levantu i na Balkanu. Belgrade 1996, p. 118. 23 HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718–1795, Fasz. Projekte einer Teilung des Osman. Reichs, fol. 239-74. 24 Harald Heppner. Österreich und die Donaufürstentümer 1774–1812. Ein Beitrag zur habsburgischen Südosteuropapolitik. Graz 1984, p. 59. 20

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The alliance of Austria and Russia was rather complicated. For Austria it was primarily a tool for better control of the political situation in Germany, specifically for implementation of the “Bavarian Plan” that failed in 1779. For Russia, it offered an excellent framework for continued expansion southward after the initial impetus from the war in 1768–1774. Over time, the contradicting interpretations of the union presented a growing problem for the Austro–Russian relations. Once the “Greek Project” was ventured, Joseph II began recalling in his writings to the Russian Empress the old “historic” rights of the Habsburg dynasty as the exclusive successor of the medieval Hungarian kings. In his plan, Austria should get all the territory west of the line Belgrade–Drin, including the Venetian territories on the east coast of the Adriatic (Istria, Dalmatia and the Bay of Kotor). Venice could receive in compensation the Peloponnese, Crete, Cyprus and other islands in the Mediterranean. Joseph II justified his claim on the grounds that the Venetians had acquired their possessions in the East Adriatic in the distant past, in reality stealing these lands from the Habsburg monarchy.25 Catherine II accepted Joseph’s counter plan with great reserve. She was reluctant to break the territorial integrity of the Venetian Republic or the unity of the future Greek Empire where the Peloponnese, Crete and Cyprus were a natural part of the whole. Catherine’s proposal substantially deteriorated the Austro–Russian relations and the willingness of the Viennese court to act offensively against Turkey waned from year to year, as the project progressively highlighted the conflicting intentions of the two empires.26 During the war in North America, France still was a key opponent to Britain and the British diplomatic circles sought alliances that could undermine France on the

HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718-1795, Fasz. Projekte einer Teilung des Osman. Reichs, fol. 287-329. 26 Austria’s perception of Catherine’s “Greek Project,” the realism of the proposed ideas and the realism of Joseph II in his answer to Catherine’s proposal are still a complex issue in historiography. In the past the “Greek Project” was generally viewed as a much more realistic option than it objectively was (for example, in the work of Popović, Istoćno pitanje). Recent Austrian historians tend to view the “Greek Project” as an extremely unrealistic idea, seen through by Joseph II and chancellor Kaunitz (for example, in Heppner. Österreich und die Donaufürstentümer, pp. 53-61). The idea that the “Greek Project” should be viewed as a more realistic option has also reappeared, especially in the context of the planned development of Russian relations with the Orthodox Christians in the Balkans. Such attitudes, among others, are displayed by the Bulgarian historian Tamara Stoilova (Tamara Stoilova. Tretiat Rim. Mirnite rešenia na ruskata imperska politika v Yugoiztočna Evropa prez XVIII vek. Sofia 2001, pp. 87-105). Her statement seems confirmed by the serious memoirs of Baron von Spielmann (Memoire sur le partage de la Turquie 1782) and Joseph’s remarks on his memoirs (Bemerkungen über Theilung), HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei III, Kart. 15: Grenzverhältnisse 1718–1795, Fasz. Projekte einer Teilung des Osman. Reichs, fol. 213-38. Soon Joseph II and his diplomacy began to understand the impossibility to realise this project. Ibid., fol. 239-74. 25

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continent.27 Seeing the rapprochement between Austria and Russia in 1780,28 Britain was ready to give up all ties with the outcast Prussia to arrange continental relations in a way that would best serve her interests. The British foreign minister, Viscount Stormont, proposed a defensive alliance of Britain, Austria and Russia.29 In a letter sent on 12 December 1780 to the British ambassador in Vienna, Robert Keith Murray, Stormont emphasised the importance of a possible alliance with Austria, arguing that: „Such an alliance would be the cornerstone of that system, which every friend to this country, and the general interests of Europe, must wish to see restored…”30 True to the customs of the time, each court believed that its global policies alone best reflected the European interests. Joseph II, however, did not want to enter into an alliance against France or change the course of his foreign policy, and the union failed in 1781 as well as later. During the following years, Austria often lacked Britain’s support. The period from the creation of the Austro–Russian alliance in 1781 until the outbreak of the war with Turkey in 1787–1788 was filled with bustling diplomatic activity in Europe. Already in 1783 Russia had successfully started to achieve its goals around Crimea. In the summer of 1783 Prince Potemkin launched the Russian offensive and officially proclaimed the inclusion not only of Crimea, but also of Kuban and Taman Island.31 The French King Louis XVI had to persuade the Sultan Abdul Hamid to formally recognise the agreement whereby the Crimean Tatar Khan Giray had already relinquished the power over his territories to the Russian Empress. Joseph II had to wait for Russia to achieve its first goal before he could proceed with his plans. His diplomatic offensive from 1784 pursued two ends: the campaign against Turkey and the incarnation of the old ideas about substituting the uncertain Austrian Netherlands for Bavaria.32 He insisted on repairing the border line in the far northwestern part of the Bosnian province on the left bank of the Una River (including Cazin, Cetin, Dreznik and other fortresses along the border). Among other reasons, this revision of borders was requested due to frequent clashes between the Turkish and Austrian border guards. Skirmishes broke out in 1782 and Austria was eager to take Dubica, Bužim, Ostrožac and Cetin. Turkey opposed the change of borders and Russia offered Eberhard Weiss. Der Durchbruch des Bürgertums 1776–1847, Weltbild Geschichte Europas, vol. 4 (2002), 70. 28 HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 74: Weisungen, Berichte 1780, 1781 I-III, Fasz. Weisungen 1780 (1-188), fol. 2-11. 29 HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, England, Kart. 4: Hofkorr. 1740–1789, Fasz. Georg III. an Joseph II 1765–1789, fol. 387. 30 Jeremy Black. British Policy Towards Austria, 1780–1793, Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Staatsarchivs, 42 (1994), 188-228, here: 195. 31 HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 74: Weisungen, Berichte 1780, 1781 I-III, Fasz. Turcica 1781 (Berichte) Jänner-März (1-364), fol. 25. 32 Heppner. Österreich und die Donaufürstentümer, p. 61. 27

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lukewarm support to Austria’s intentions. With the mediation of France the former delineation was preserved.33 Austria’s diplomatic debacle in 1784–1785 was offset by a significant economic success. When the attempts to persuade Turkey about the border completely failed, Austria at least managed to get a very favourable trade agreement (“Sened”) on 24 February 1784. It enabled the Habsburgs to achieve significant liberalisation of trade,34 mail35 and other forms of communication with the Ottoman Empire.36 The great importance of Bosnia and Herzegovina to the Austrian plans stemmed from their geographical location and proximity to Austria. In the decade of Joseph’s independent rule his Balkan policy grew more precise and concrete.37 The monarch understood that he faced little competition over Bosnia and Herzegovina; that much was clear already during his conversations with Catherine II in 1782. Relations with the Bosnian Franciscans were established at the very beginning of Joseph’s reign as the most important part of Austria’s policy towards the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina.38 Access to the Bosnian Franciscans was not a novelty in the long history of the Habsburg Balkan policy. Similar efforts were invested in the mid17th century, and the secret connections between Vienna and the Bosnian Franciscans were present during the Long War (1593–1606). These ties, however, weakened during the 17th and the better part of the 18th centuries, and Austria had done little to bind more firmly the Franciscans to its interests.39 With the growing influence of Joseph II at the end of the reign of Maria Theresa and his plans to launch a new wave of offensives against the Ottoman possessions, the scene was set for revitalising the bond between the Habsburgs and the Bosnian Franciscans. The trip of two Franciscans to Vienna in 1779 was very important for the 33 “..du coté del’ Unna... ”, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei V, Kart. 12: Cobenzl – Herbert 1785–1793, Fasz. Cobenzl – Herbert Juli 1785 – Dezember 1789 (660-1010), fol. 719. 34 “Was den Unnafluss anbelangt, so muss auf denselben bestanden werden, weil durch dessen GrenzenBehauptung wir, ohne das triplex confinium mit Venedig zu beirren, den Vortheil erhalten, den Handel von Bosnien durch das Carlstädter Generalat und an unsere Seehäfen von Zengg und Karlobago zu leiten, anstatt dass er jetzo nach Zara geht.” Beer. Orientalische Politik, p. 77. 35 Andreas Patera. Die Rolle der Habsburgermonarchie für den Postverkehr zwischen dem Balkan und dem übrigen Europa. In: Harald Heppner, ed., Der Weg führt über Österreich... Zur Geschichte des Verkehrs- und Nachrichtenwesens von und nach Südosteuropa (18. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart). Vienna-Cologne-Weimar 1996, pp. 37-89, here: 43. 36 HHStA, Staatskanzlei, Konsulate, Kart 35: Sira, Smyrna, Stancio, Stettin, Syrien, Tanger, Toulon, Trapezt.., Fasz. Travnik 1807–1808, Subfasz. 1807 Weisungen, Berichte, 1-17, fol. 11-5. 37 Paul Mitrofanov. Joseph II. Seine politische und kulturelle Tätigkeit. Vienna 1910; Criste. Kriege unter Kaiser Josef II; Fritz Valjavec. Die josephinischen Wurzeln des österreichischen Konservativismus, Südostforschungen, XIV/1 (1955), 166-75. 38 Srećko M. Džaja. Katolici u Bosni i Zapadnoj Hercegovini na prijelazu iz 18. u 19. stoljeće. Doba fra Grge Ilijića Varešanina (1783–1813). Zagreb 1971, p. 86. 39 Andrija Zirdum, ed., Filip Lastrić. Pregled starina bosanske provincije. Sarajevo 1977, pp. 7090; Ignacije Gavran, ed., Bono Benić. Ljetopis sutješkog samostana. Sarajevo 1979, pp. 53-94.

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spirit of cooperation.40 Shortly after Maria Theresa’s death in 1780, Joseph II began to make plans for territorial expansion of the Habsburg monarchy in the Balkans. At the beginning of 1780 the German emperor issued orders for providing intensive help to the Bosnian Franciscans. On 21 January 1780 chancellor Kaunitz dispatched an instruction to the new Austrian internuncio in Istanbul, Baron Herbert-Rathkeal, quoting a letter sent to Vienna from Fojnica in Bosnia on 24 October 1779; it was an appeal from the Bosnian Catholics who prayed Austria for help. Herbert-Rathkeal was enjoined to make every effort (alle Mühe zu geben) to invalidate the decisions of the sultan “in favour” of Orthodox Christians in the Bosnian pashalik.41 That requirement was once again highlighted to the Austrian internuncio on 22 February.42 That marked the renewal of intensive cooperation between Austria and the Bosnian Franciscans. A happy circumstance for Austria’s diplomatic approach to the Ottomans was that Baron Philipp von Herbert-Rathkeal (1735–1802) had taken office as the Austrian internuncio just a few months earlier, in late 1779.43 Over the next 23 years he showed diplomatic skills that made him the best Austrian internuncio in Istanbul in the 18th century.44 Following the instructions from Vienna, Herbert-Rathkeal started the painful process of alternating pressure and corruption with the Porte to achieve his task. In 1783 the Bosnian Franciscans were glad to see the first results of this new cooperation: the efforts of the Austrian internuncio in Istanbul produced a much desired fırman in response to their pleas. A turning point for Austria’s influence among the Bosnian Franciscans arrived in 1784. In the beginning of the year the former apostolic vicar Marko Dobretić died and, at the initiative of Vienna, Augustin Botoš-Okić was elected as his successor on 17 March 1784. The early 1780s marked a milestone and a change of guard at the Franciscan Province of Bosnia Argentina. Two long-standing leaders of the province, Filip Lastrić and Bonaventura Benić, passed away and the scene was free for a new generation, notably Augustin Botoš-Okić (c. 1725–1799), Grgo Ilijić-Varešanin (1736–1813) and Augustin Miletić (1763–1831), who were ready to bind the Bosnian Franciscans much closer to Vienna in the coming decades. Their choices triggered a series of conflicts within the province.45 On the way from Rome to Bosnia in 1784, Botoš-Okić spent two months in Vienna, where he was granted several audiences by Joseph II. The emperor gave many gifts to the new vicar; most importantly, he created a foundation with an endowment of 107,700 forints. Every year 23 Bosnian Franciscans were offered education in ZaBono Benić, Ljetopis sutješkog samostana, p. 280. Foiniza aus Bosnien, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 74: Weisungen, Berichte 1780, 1781 I-III, Fasz.: Weisungen 1780 (1-188), fol. 12-5. 42 Ibid., fol. 28. 43 Instruction für Freiherrn von Herbert 10. July 1779; HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei V, Kart. 17: Instructionen 1754–1802, Fasz. Herbert, fol. 1-131. 44 HHStA, Staatskanzlei, Interiora, Personalia, Kart. 12: Z, Pers. Listen, Fasz. alt Fasz 24, fol.15. 45 Džaja. Katolici u Bosni i Zapadnoj Hercegovini, pp. 190-216. 40 41

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greb and Budapest to advance the foundation’s interests, with individual grants up to 180 forints.46 Of course, the Austrian government sought adequate return for its assistance, mainly through spying assignments. An agreement was quickly reached, and the internuncio in Istanbul received new instructions to continue with the propaganda in favour of the Franciscan Order.47 Since 1787 the Bosnian Franciscans enjoyed continuous transfers towards the theological institutions in the Habsburg monarchy, primarily in Croatia.48 In 1787 Russia and Turkey were on the verge of open conflict. France and Britain were very busy in Istanbul, ready to back the weak Ottoman position to safeguard their commercial interests and prevent Russian penetration in Mediterranean Turkey.49 While Russia and Austria were contemplating when and how to start the war against Turkey, the war broke out in Istanbul, led by the Grand Vizier Koca Yusuf Pasha (1786–1789). The vizier was able to convince the Sultan Abdul Hamid to launch a war against Russia, although the Turkish army was ill-prepared to engage and secure a quick victory.50 The Ottoman government called the Russian ambassador, Bulgakov, and asked him to guarantee the peaceful conduct of Russia concerning any matters on the Russo–Turkish border. Bulgakov could not give every warranty required by the Turks and was imprisoned in the closed fortress “Seven Towers,” while Turkey declared war against Russia on 24 August 1787.51 “...Sacratissima Sua Majestas erga demissam Pttae D Vrae Repraesentationem ex illis pecuniis, quae pro perrenni Conservatione Sacrorum Locorum in Palestina deserviunt, pro educando juniore Clero Bosniensi 107.700 fos...”, Julijan Jelenić, ed., Izvori za kulturnu povijest bosanskih franjevaca. Sarajevo 1913, pp. 57-8. 47 Letter from Philip Cobenzl to Herbert-Rathkeal dated 2 November 1785: “Vos remontrances en faveur des Franciscains seront mises sous les geux de l’Empereur, mais je doute qu’elles fassent effet, le referain de S. M. étant toujours qu’il ne peut avoir rien à faire avec les missions et la Propaganda et que ces moines ne le regardent en rien. ” HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei V, Kart. 12: Cobenzl – Herbert 1785–1793, Fasz. Cobenzl – Herbert Juli 1785 – Dezember 1789 (660-1010), fol. 701. 48 “Cum Sacratissima Regia Caesarea Sua Majestis, ea Clementia qua praedita est nostro Bosniensi clero facultatem concesserit, ut possint juvenes se conferre ad conventum Zagrabiensem Fratrum Franciscanorum, ibique se sistere illis ad quos spectat, ut illos de humanioribus studiis provideant: idcirco Te Rendum Prem Franciscum Milloscevich Nostrum Secretarium mittimus...,” Jelenić, ed., Izvori za kulturnu povijest, pp. 58-9. 49 In the spring of 1787 the Austrian agent in Istanbul, Testa, often wrote to chancellor Kaunitz about his beliefs that the British ambassador in Istanbul, Sir Robert Ainslie, encouraged Turkey to wage war against Russia. Jeremy Black, British Policy, p. 207. The internuncio Herbert-Rathkeal had been expressing such doubts for more than a year. HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 74: Weisungen, Berichte 1780, 1781 I-III, Fasz. Turcica 1781 (Berichte) Jänner-März (1-364), fol. 221-3. See extensive analysis of the activities of Robert Ainslie and the British policy in the East in: A. I. Bağis. Britain and the Struggle for the Integrity of the Ottoman Empire. Sir Robert Ainslie’s Embassy to Istanbul 1776–1794. Istanbul 1984. The public in Britain was surprised by the declaration of war. HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, England, Kart. 126: Korr. Ber. 1787–1788 (Revitzky), Fasz. Ber. 1787, VII-XII, fol. 8-10. This does not mean that some government circles were not involved in preparations of war. 50 Vinogradov. Ekaterina II i proryiv Rossii na Balkanyi, p. 144. 51 At the end of 1787 and the beginning of 1788 Austria was engaged in intense diplomatic brokerage to release Bulgakov. After the withdrawal of Herbert-Rathkeal from Istanbul 46

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The nature of Austrian participation in the war was decided in the fall of 1787 by Joseph’s determination. With time he was increasingly inclined to embrace his historic mission to liberate Christians from the Turkish barbarism and restore the southeastern lands to the Habsburgs, their only rightful owners.52 Austria officially entered the war against Turkey on 9 February 1788. On that day, the Austrian internuncio Herbert-Rathkeal officially handed the Grand Vizier a note with the declaration of war, justified primarily with Austria’s alliance with Russia that Turkey had just attacked. The casus foederis was placed in the foreground to give the Austrian position a formally defensive character for as long as possible.53 After tendering the declaration of war, the Austrian internuncio retired and the Turkish government allowed him to freely leave the country, returning to Austria via Tuscany.54 On the following day the Austrian troops crossed into the Bosnian province and began one of most disastrous conflicts in the entire history of the Austro–Turkish wars. It marked the beginning of a new phase in the Austrian policy towards the Bosnian territory and the provinces of the Ottoman Balkans that was immediately after the declaration of war, Austria was informed abour Bulkagov‘s fate by the ambassador of Naples in Istanbul, Ludolph. On 16 February 1788 the news spread: “Bulgakow erasi accordata la liberta colla sola restrizione del termine di 25. giorni, quale decorso potrebbe a pieno suo grado partire per Mare, o per Terra; e cio pel guisto riflesso, che se unutamente al Ministro Imperiale si liberava; mal appreso sarabbesi dalle Milizie, e dal Popolo nelle attuali circostanze della Guerra coll Imperatore, e colla Russia.” HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 96: Berichte, Weisungen 1788, Fasz.: Schreiben aus Konstantinopel, fol. 1-10. Bulgakov was finally released in 1789. 52 On 6 July 1788, Joseph II wrote from Zemun a letter to the French foreign minister, Montmorin. He pointed out his decision to solve the problem of the “barbarians from the Orient” once and for all: “Diese Barbaren des Orients haben mehr denn 200 Jahre alle möglichen Treulosigkeiten gegen meine Vorfahren begangen, Tractate verletzt... Die Zeit ist gekommen, wo ich als Rächer der Menschheit auftrete, wo ich es über mich nehme, Europa für die Drangsale zu entschädigen, die es einstens von ihnen dulden musste... ” Wiener. Kaiser Josef II, p. 109. 53 “Die Pforte hat es also einzig und allein sich selbst beyzumessen, dass Se. Kays. Majestät nach einer gegen sie beobachteten so vieljährigen friedfertigen guten Nachbarschaft und nach allen bez jeder Gelegenheit angewandten Vermittlungsbemühungen nun mehr sich veranlasset, und durch sie genöthigt sehen, die Allerhöchstdenselben als getreue Freunden und Allirten Ihrer Russisch Kais. Majestät obligenden Pflichten in die vollständigste Erfüllung zu bringen und an dem Kriege unverzüglichen wirklichen Teil zu nehmen.” Drag(oljub) M. Pavlovic. Srbija za vreme poslednjeg austrijsko-turskog rata (1788–1791 г.). Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga 1910, pp. 7-8. 54 The ambassador of Naples in Istanbul, Ludolph, assumed the role of key informant about the events in Vienna and Istanbul after the declaration of war and the suspension of diplomatic relations between Austria and Turkey. On 16 February it was reported in Vienna that the internuncio Herbert-Rathkeal together with all his staff and their families safely boarded a ship for the Tuscan port of Livorno. In Istanbul Herbert-Rathkeal also served as Ambassador of Tuscany, which was then managed as a Habsburg secundogeniture: “L’Internunzio altro non aspettava per imbarcarsi per Livorno con tutti gli Individui della sua missione, offiziali, e dragomani, colle Mogli, e Figli loro; che il Firmano della Porta, senz’il quale a verun Bastimento si permette il libero passo per il Canale dei Dardanelli...”, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei II, Kart. 96: Berichte, Weisungen 1788, Fasz.: Schreiben aus Konstantinopel, fol. 1-10. The internuncio arrived in Livorno in mid-April. HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei V, Kart. 12: Cobenzl – Herbert 1785–1793, Fasz. Cobenzl – Herbert Juli 1785 – Dezember 1789 (660-1010), fol. 989.

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completed, due to later developments in France and a series of European wars, only at the Congress of Vienna in 1814–1815, when Austria finally achieved its ambitions in the Balkans through the annexation of the entire territories of the former maritime republics of Venice and Dubrovnik. Across the Western Balkans the Austro– Turkish War of 1788–1791 led to the emergence of ideological dimensions, as well as religious and national mobilisation previously unknown in the Balkan space that permanently changed the character of the region. In this sense, the war of 1788– 1791 became a real crossroad of the eras.

The Rules of War on the Ottoman Frontiers: an Overview of Military Captivity, 1699–1829 Will Smiley Rifaat Abou-el-Haj has famously called the Treaty of Karlowitz “the formal closure of the Ottoman frontier in Europe.”1 Part of this closure was a shift in the ties of captivity and ransom that stretched across that frontier; in Géza Pálffy’s words, with Karlowitz “the customary law of the border zone… ceased to exist for ever.”2 A number of scholars have written about captivity along this border, while others have begun to explore captivity at sea, and on the Black Sea Steppe.3 But most of this work has focused on the pre-Karlowitz era, leaving the “long” 18th century, between the Treaties of Karlowitz and Adrianople, largely unstudied. This paper gives a preliminary overview of that century, a period of formalised, declared wars, in which the imperial powers eschewed peacetime cross-border raids.4 It contends that the Ottomans worked out with their rivals – especially the Russians – a reciprocal set of policies that were apparent not only in the theoretical provisions of peace treaties, but also in practice. As these provisions evolved, Ottoman and Russian policy adapted, forming a dynamic system that survived at least through the Treaty of Adrianople. The main sources here are Ottoman, but the situation of Ottoman captives in Russia, and the diplomatic policy of the Habsburgs, are also discussed in passing. The captivity provisions of the Ottoman–Habsburg Treaty of Karlowitz differed in several ways from preceding agreements. The 1606 Treaty of Zsitvatorok – the 1 Rifaat A. Abou-el-Haj. The Formal Closure of the Ottoman Frontier in Europe: 1699– 1703, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 89:3 (Jul-Sep 1983), 467-75. 2 Géza Pálffy. Ransom Slavery along the Ottoman-Hungarian Frontier in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. In: Géza Dávid and Pál Fodor, eds., Ransom Slavery along the Ottoman Borders (Early Fifteenth – Early Eighteenth Centuries). Leiden: Brill 2007, p. 82. 3 See, for example, Dávid and Fodor, eds. Ransom Slavery; Frédéric Hitzel. Osmân Ağa, captif ottoman dans l’empire des Habsbourg à la fin du XVIIe siècle, Turcica, 33 (2001), 191-213; Mark L. Stein. Guarding the Frontier: Ottoman Border Forts and Garrisons in Europe. London: Tauris Academic Studies 2007; Pál Fodor. Piracy, Ransom Slavery and Trade: French participation in the liberation of Ottoman slaves from Malta during the 1620s, Turcica, 33 (2001), 119-34; Eyal Ginio. Piracy and Redemption in the Aegean Sea during the First Half of the Eighteenth Century, Turcica, 33 (2001), 135-47; Brian J. Boeck. Imperial Boundaries: Cossack Communities and Empire Building in the Age of Peter the Great. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2009, esp. chapter 9. This last work discusses the early 18th century. 4 Abou-el-Haj. Formal Closure, 469. Raids were tolerated, or earlier even explicitly allowed, under previous agreements. See Stein. Guarding the Frontier, p. 21; Pálffy. Ransom Slavery, 42-3.

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blueprint for Ottoman–Habsburg agreements throughout the 17th century – had prescribed an exchange of captives of equal value, to satisfy the captors’ ransom demands.5 Karlowitz, though, recognised a separate category of “state” captives, in the hands of governments, who would be released without ransom. Captives in private hands were to be ransomed, though the price was to be “reasonable.”6 Thus, the two states still recognised the interests of private owners of prisoners, and ensured that they would be compensated for surrendering their investment. Virtually identical terms were found in Karlowitz’s Ottoman–Russian equivalent, the 1700 Treaty of Constantinople. The only exception was that in this agreement, the release of state prisoners was to be a one-to-one exchange, with adjustments to be made later if one state was found to have more prisoners than another.7 Furthermore, the treaty mandated that prisoners of the Ottomans who had converted to Islam, would not be returned to Russia.8 This conversion provision was not found in Karlowitz, but it was insisted upon by Sultan Mustafa II, and eventually added to the Ottoman–Habsburg agreement.9 Most captives in Habsburg hands were released quickly, and the Ottoman government provided funding and other resources to help them return home.10 Under the terms of a further agreement concluded in July 1700, Austrian commissioners sought out and ransomed those slaves in private hands, whom they could find in Istanbul.11 The great majority of these prisoners were serving on galleys, and on at least one occasion, when ransom demands could not be met, they were returned to the oars.12 It is unclear how the Ottoman–Russian exchange of prisoners functioned, though it clearly moved more slowly: prisoners held in the Ottoman Empire were still returning home as late as 1702, and a few years after this, the Russians turned over 61 prisoners to an Ottoman envoy.13 5 Zsuzsanna J. Újváry. A Muslim Captive’s Vicissitudes in Ottoman Hungary (Mid-Seventeenth Century). In: Dávid and Fodor, eds., Ransom Slavery, pp.141-42. 6 Defterdar Sarı Mehmed Paşa. Zübde-i Vekayiât: Tahlil ve Metin (1066–1116/1656–1704). Abdülkadir Özcan, ed. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu 1995, pp. 653, 658-659; Gabriel Noradounghian Effendi. Recueil d’actes internationaux de l’empire ottoman, 4 vols. Paris 1897, vol. 1, p. 195. 7 Defterdar. Zübde-i Vekayiât, 697. Unlike Karlowitz, the word beylik (state) is not found in this text; the prisoners in question are simply “the captives who remain in prisons,” but the distinction between state and private captives is clear by the juxtaposition between this section and the following sentences dealing with those in the control of “others” (and the Tatars), in perfect parallel with Karlowitz. 8 Ibid. 9 Géza Dávid. Manumitted Male Slaves at Galata and Istanbul around 1700. In: Dávid and Fodor, eds., Ransom Slavery, p. 184. 10 Hitzel. Osmân Ağa, p. 208; Rossitsa Gradeva. War and Peace along the Danube: Vidin at the End of the Seventeenth Century. In: Kate Fleet, ed., The Ottomans and the Sea: Oriente Moderno, n.s. XX/LXXXI:1 (2001), p. 168. 11 Dávid. Manumitted Male Slaves, p. 183-4. Noradounghian. Recueil, vol. 1, p. 58. 12 Hitzel. Osmân Ağa, p. 204, n37. 13 This was a negotiating tactic, part of an effort to keep the Ottomans out of the Great Northern War. There may have been many more prisoners still in Russian hands, but Am-

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These terms did not form the basis of the Treaty of the Pruth, after the Ottomans’ resounding defeat of Peter the Great in 1711; that agreement mandated only that Ottoman captives be returned, without mentioning Russians.14 The Ottoman– Habsburg Treaty of Passarowitz, in 1718, essentially repeated the terms of Karlowitz.15 The Ottomans returned to war with both the Romanovs and Habsburgs in 1736 and 1737, and there is evidence that, as in previous conflicts, large numbers of state prisoners were employed as galley rowers; one Ottoman archival document records the distribution, to different Ottoman warships, of 398 “Rus” and “Moskov” prisoners taken in the Crimea and perhaps a mixture of civilian and military captives.16 Many captives in state hands, marched back to Istanbul, were sent to the Tersâne-i ‘Âmire – the Imperial Shipyards in Istanbul, where galley slaves were kept.17 Some officers were imprisoned in the fortress of Yedikule.18 Prisoners not in state hands are harder to track through archival records, but clearly large numbers of captives, both civil and military, were considered private property, and often sold by their captors in the main army camp – perhaps to professional slave traders who would then distribute them through the empire. In times of victory, the Ottoman chronicler Şem‘dânîzâde claims that prices in the camp fell to five kuruş for boys and girls, and just three kuruş for Cossacks – one one-hundredth the peacetime price of the best captives. Indeed, Şem‘dânîzâde even cites one case of a captor giving away a prisoner in exchange for a cup of coffee.19 When the war ended in 1739, the terms of the Ottoman–Habsburg Treaty of Belgrade paralleled those of Passarowitz and Karlowitz, with one important difference: these terms were applied only to captives who had retained their original religion, implying that neither state would work for the liberation of converts.20 But the Ottoman–Russian treaty – signed the same day, and also in Belgrade – was broader. “All prisoners and slaves made either before or after the war of a military or any other nature taken before or after the war in whatever circumstances and for whatever motive” would be set free, without ransom, with only one exception: those on either side who had converted to the host country’s religion voluntarily. Thus ransoms bassador Peter Tolstoy recommended their return proceed slowly lest the Ottomans see the Russians as fearful. See İsmail Bülbül. Osmanlı Belgelerine Göre Rus Elçisi Tolstoy’un Faaliyetleri [unpublished MA thesis]. Balıkesir University 2007, p. 28, n134, p. 39; Robert Massie. Peter the Great: His Life and World. New York: Ballantine 1980, pp. 543-4. 14 J. C. Hurewitz. Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East. A Documentary Record: 1535–1914. London: D. Van Nostrand 1956, p. 39. The final Treaty of Adrianople (1713) does not mention any remaining captives. See Noradounghian. Recueil, vol. 1, pp. 203-7. 15 Ibid., pp. 212, 218-9. 16 Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (BOA), Cevdet Bahriye Collection (C BH) 5452. 17 See, for example, BOA, Cevdet Hariciye Collection (C HR) 9225, 6467. BOA, Cevdet Askeriye Collection (C AS) 37111. 18 C HR 8156. 19 M. Münir Aktepe, ed., Şem’dânî-zâde Fındıklılı Süleyman Efendi Târihi Mür’i’t-Tevârih. Istanbul: Edebiyat Fakültesi 1976, vol. 1, pp. 76-7. 20 Noradounghian. Recueil, vol. 1, pp. 247-8.

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were officially abolished, and the one-for-one exchange mandated by the Treaty of Constantinople became a categorical exchange – all prisoners in Ottoman hands, for all in Russian, “as many as may be found.” 21 Furthermore, with the Treaty of Belgrade, the previously unilateral Ottoman refusal to return converts to Islam was made reciprocal, applying equally to Ottoman subjects in Russia. This provision was to take centre stage in Ottoman–Russian disputes over prisoners for the remainder of the 18th century and into the 19th. The treaty’s prisoner provisions said little about their own implementation, aside from an Ottoman guarantee that Russian commissioners, searching the empire for prisoners, would not be interfered with. In 1740 and 1741, following the conclusion of the treaty, the Ottoman government ordered the release of a number of slaves, most of whom had been found in Istanbul or on ships moored there.22 Some were sent back to Russia overland, and others by sea, but in both cases, the Ottoman state paid their travel and subsistence expenses.23 Soon Russian diplomats began collecting information on other prisoners, still in the hands of private owners. The Russians submitted official Memorials to the Porte, requesting the release of these captives, and these were usually granted.24 Indeed, the Russian mission pushed unsuccessfully for the Ottomans to relinquish even more captives, including those who (according to Şem‘dânîzâde) had been captured long before the war, had resided in the sultan’s lands for decades, who had Muslim wives and children, and who had perhaps been freed.25 Not all of the prisoners who were released were in Istanbul – some were found in Ankara and Bursa – but it is unclear how these cases came to the attention of Russian diplomats. Despite the abolition of ransoms, the Ottoman state continued to recognise slave owners’ economic interests, paying them a standard, fixed compensation of 100 kuruş per captive.26 Though it is unclear how this figure compared to the typical market value of a slave in the 1740s, it can be put in some perspective by noting that the chronicler Şem‘dânîzâde claimed that before the war, a captive like the best of those taken in battle would have fetched 300 kuruş.27 While this figure, and that mentioned above for sales in the camp, may be exaggerated in each direction, they do show that some owners would likely have lost money during the redemption process, and others gained, depending on when and where they had purchased their slaves. Mehmed Emni Pasha, the Ottoman Ambassador who visited Russia at this time, was instructed to find information on Ottomans in Russian hands, especially those The quotations are from the English translation found in Hurewitz. Diplomacy, pp. 49-50. See also Noradoungian. Recueil, vol. 1, pp. 261-2. For the Ottoman text, see Adnan Baycar, ed., Osmanlı-Rus İlişkileri Tarihi (Ahmed Câvid Bey’in Müntehabâtı). Istanbul: Yeditepe 2004, p. 241. 22 See, for example, C HR 7813. 23 C HR 3082, 3096. 24 See, for example, C HR 3923, 7802, 8013, 9122. 25 Aktepe. Şem‘dânîzâde, vol. 1, pp. 107-8. 26 C HR 3923, 7813, 8013. 27 Aktepe. Şem’dânîzâde, vol. 1, p. 77. 21

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captured at the fall of Ochakov, but this does not seem to have caused any major conflict during his mission.28 The next Ottoman Ambassador, Şehdi Osman Pasha, found numerous prisoners – even though he visited in 1757–1758, almost twenty years after the end of the war. He encountered resistance from Russian authorities, including violent attacks on more than one occasion. The Russian government insisted that no prisoners remained except those who had converted, and refused to accept the word of Muslims who claimed that they had not converted, or that they had converted under duress. Osman returned with some captives, but could not secure the release of others.29 Turning to the Russo–Ottoman War of 1768–1774, the eighteenth-century writer Elias Habesci’s claim that “all the prisoners taken by the Turks were sold as slaves” is clearly exaggerated, but it seems that many were.30 Others, sent to Istanbul by the state, were simply imprisoned, whether in the Tersâne or in Yedikule, but there is no clear evidence that significant numbers were consigned to the galleys.31 While the 1774 Treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji was humiliating to the Ottomans, its clauses on prisoners largely recapitulated those agreed 30 years before at Belgrade, but included other Christian slaves among those to be returned.32 Indeed, these provisions were agreed to in preliminary negotiations, before taking up more difficult issues.33 The Ottomans do not seem to have objected to the rapid release of those prisoners in state hands, and 513 Russians, together with a number of Moldavians and Wallachians – apparently captured while aiding them – were released from the Tersâne in March 1775. 34 When disputes arose, it was over the speed of the operation and the flag of the ships that would transport them back to the Crimea – the Porte preferring to send away prisoners as quickly as possible in its own ships.35 As many as 2,300 – probably a mixture of civil and military captives, and possibly including Moldavians or Wallachians as well – left Istanbul by sea in March and April of 1775.36 Faik Reşit Unat and Bekir Sıtkı Baykal. Osmanlı Sefirleri ve Sefaretnâmeleri. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu 1968, pp. 77-81. 29 Faik Reşit Unat, ed., Şehdi Osman Paşa Sefaretnamesi, Tarih Vesikaları, I (June 1941 – May 1942), 77-78, 156-157. Unat. Osmanlı Sefirleri, p. 111. 30 Elias Habesci. The Present State of the Ottoman Empire. London: R. Baldwin 1784, p. 399. 31 See, for example, C AS 42423. 32 Hurewitz. Diplomacy, p. 60. 33 Aktepe. Şem’dânî-zâde, vol. 3, pp. 19-20. Habesci claims that this had been the result of Catherine’s insistence, but the Ottomans do not seem to have raised much opposition to the treaty terms on this account. See Habesci. The Present State, p. 404. 34 Süleyman Göksu, ed., Müellifi Meçhul Bir Rûznâme: Osmanlı-Rus Harbi Esnâsında Bir Şâhidin Kaleminden İstanbul (1769–1774). Istanbul: Çamlıca 2007, p. 77. 35 The National Archives of Great Britain (TNA), State Papers Collection (SP) 97/51 #8 (18 Apr 1775). It is unclear why the Ottomans wished to be rid of their captives so quickly, but this may have been due to the expense of maintaining them, and a feeling that the Russians would then be obligated to return Ottoman subjects in their hands quickly. 36 SP 97/51 #6 (18 Mar 1775), #8 (18 Apr 1775). 28

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As after the 1736 War, Russian diplomats, beginning with the chargé d’affaires, who arrived in the fall of 1774, sought out privately-owned slaves in Istanbul and demanded their liberation.37 Russian officials used the Ottomans’ humiliation and fear, following their defeat, to press claims for Moldavians, Wallachians, Georgians, Cossacks, Poles, and Greeks from the Peloponnese, in addition to ethnic Russians.38 But the Russian embassy was situated only in Galata, and over the course of six years of warfare, many prisoners had been spread throughout the empire, in private hands. Therefore, in a step not taken after the Treaty of Belgrade, the Porte sent orders to kadis (judges), to free any unconverted prisoners – whether Russians or the other types of Christians mentioned above – found in their district (kaza). Ottoman officers, sent from Istanbul, were commissioned to find and release slaves in the provinces. To establish which prisoners had accepted Islam and which had not – since many who had converted were expected to recant, in hopes of release – slaves were required to state their religion, and if necessary repeat the shahada, the confession of Muslim faith. Both in Istanbul and in the provinces, when prisoners were found – usually only a few at a time – they were freed and their owners paid, as before, 100 kuruş.39 It is important to note that, after thirty years of inflation and an economically ruinous war, the kuruş was now worth only about three-quarters of its 1740 value.40 Thus Ottoman policy toward prisoners reflects the same themes seen in the purchase of military provisions in this period: fixed prices, which fell further and further behind the market as inflation increased through the century.41 Abdülkerim Pasha, the Ottoman ambassador who visited Russia after the Treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji, experienced similar difficulties with captives as had Şehdi Osman. As many as 80 Muslim prisoners sought refuge with his entourage, and he urged the Russian government to undertake a similar process of interrogation and release of captives as was occurring in the Ottoman Empire. As before, though, the Russian state insisted that no unconverted prisoners remained, and that such a process was unnecessary. In the end Abdülkerim, like Şehdi Osman, returned to Ottoman territory with his refugees, but was unsuccessful beyond that.42

SP 97/50 #24 (17 Nov 1774). C HR 834. In one case, even a Spanish nobleman, taken at sea as a pirate, was freed. The Russian Ambassador, Prince Nikolai Repnin, does not seem to have been as concerned about captives as his subordinates were, allotting the freed slaves very little food and poor living conditions. See Habesci, The Present State, pp. 397-400, 404-406. 39 See, for example, C AS 39711, 51434; Göksu. Rûznâme, p. 74. 40 This was true in terms of both pure silver content and the exchange rate with the Venetian ducat. See Şevket Pamuk. A Monetary History of the Ottoman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2000, p. 163. 41 See Ahmet Tabakoğlu. Gerileme Dönemine girerken Osmanlı Maliyesi. Istanbul: Dergâh Yayınları 1985, pp. 140-1. 42 Norman Itzkowitz and Max Mote, eds., Mubadele: An Ottoman-Russian Exchange of Ambassadors. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1970, pp. 98-102. 37 38

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It seems that very few, if any, foreign captives were sent to the galleys in the 1787–1792 Russo–Habsburg–Ottoman War. Some, left in the hands of individual soldiers, were sold as slaves or held for ransom, especially on the Bosnian frontier – which drew protests from the Habsburg government, showing that this was not taken for granted.43 But many military captives, both Russian and Habsburg, were taken into state custody, marched back to Istanbul, and paraded through the streets. They were then held in the Tersâne, on Rhodes, Lemnos, or in fortresses near the Dardanelles.44 This procedure was clearly recognisable to the British Ambassador Robert Ainslie: the captives, he noted, were “to be detained as Prisoners of War.”45 The Treaties of Sistova (1791, Ottoman–Habsburg) and Jassy (1792, Ottoman– Russian) included similar captivity provisions to Kuchuk Kainarji and the Ottoman– Russian version of Belgrade and Kuchuk Kainarji, but it was clear that all sides had learned from previous experiences. Even before the Treaty of Sistova, the Ottomans and Habsburgs had exchanged prisoners at Rusçuk, Vidin, and in Bosnia, and the treaty itself noted this, before specifying that all remaining prisoners – especially those “in domestic captivity in Turkey” – would be returned within two months.46 Those who converted “after the rules observed in such cases” would not be exchanged. The Treaty of Jassy was less precise about the details of exchange, but insisted that “Poles, Moldavians, Wallachians, inhabitants of the Peloponnese and the Islands, Georgians, and all other Christians” be included in the return of prisoners.47 As after Kuchuk Kainarji, Ottoman commissioners travelled to local courts throughout Anatolia and Rumelia, and local kadis examined prisoners to determine if they had converted.48 The Habsburgs also took this process very seriously; detailed procedures were worked out for the difficult issue of children’s conversions, and the process continued at least through 1793.49 As before, the private owners of freed slaves were paid 100 kuruş each,50 but this sum was now worth little more than half as much as in 1774, especially after a major debasement in 1789.51 Russian prisoners were sent back across the Black Sea, though in some cases they, along with Habsburg prisoners and deserters, converted – perhaps in an attempt to TNA, Foreign Office Papers (FO) 78/9 #12 (1 Apr 1788), #27 (26 Jul 1788). C HR 232, 2955, 4468, 1605; FO 78/8 #25 (25 Oct 1787). C HR 2955 is under restoration, so this citation is based on the document’s catalogue summary. 45 FO 78/8 #25 (25 Oct 1787). 46 BOA, Hatt-ı Hümâyûn Collection (HAT) 5099, 9914; Noradounghian, Recueil, vol. 2, pp. 9-10. 47 Noradounghian. Receuil, vol. 2, p. 20; Muahedat Mecmuası, 4 vols. Istanbul: Ceride-i Askeriye 1298(h), vol. 4, p. 11. 48 See, for example, BOA, Cevdet Adliye Collection (C ADL) 691, 692, 693, 1473, 6345. 49 FO 78/13 #27 (10 Nov 1791), #28 (12 Nov 1791), #29 (25 Nov 1791); FO 78/14 #17 (10 Jul 1793). 50 C ADL 691, 6345. 51 Pamuk. Monetary History, pp. 163, 171. This was true both in terms of pure silver and of exchange rates against the Venetian ducat. 43 44

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avoid return to military service in their homelands.52 The Russian Empire reciprocated, sending over 10,000 captured Ottomans back by August 1792.53 But the Porte believed that thousands still remained, so Mustafa Rasih Pasha, the ambassador sent to St. Petersburg, was given lists of prisoners’ names, and the sultan himself advised on how to counter “silly” Russian excuses of the sort encountered by Abdülkerim. But again, while a few captives were able to take refuge with Rasih, he eventually returned home in frustration.54 Less information is available on the Ottoman–Russian War of 1806–1812, but it seems practices resembled those in the previous wars. Prisoners were marched back to Istanbul and placed in the Tersâne, sometimes after being paraded before the sultan.55 But in an apparently new step, an account by a Russian general notes that both the Ottomans and Russians returned prisoners on more than one occasion as a negotiating tactic, for example during an armistice in August 1807.56 In the final negotiations preceding the 1812 Treaty of Bucharest, the exchange of prisoners was considered an easily agreed, preliminary matter – and indeed, the terms matched those of previous Ottoman–Russian agreements, except that now it was explicitly provided that each side would pay the travel expenses of those it detained.57 The final Ottoman–Russian conflict in the period, that of 1828–1829 – ending in the Treaty of Adrianople – was the first to feature Mahmud II’s reorganised, European style army. In this war, the Ottoman historian Lûtfî Pasha records that Sultan Mahmud ordered good treatment for prisoners, in an effort to encourage desertion. Furthermore, after arriving in Istanbul, prisoners were now dispatched from the Tersâne to islands in the Sea of Marmara.58 It seems more prisoners arrived, often in much larger convoys than previously.59 Nonetheless, many aspects were recognisable from the past. The German observer Helmuth von Moltke noted that “prisoners… were purposely paraded through the streets of Constantinople… See, for example, FO 78/11 #23 (8 Sep 1790), #26 (7 Oct 1790); FO 78/13 #10 (25 Apr 1792); #12 (25 May 1792); #13 (29 May 1792). 53 C AS 29740. 54 HAT 13343; Itzkowitz and Mote. Mubadele, p. 101, n55; Halil İnalcik. Yaş muahedesinden sonra Osmanlı-Rus münasebetleri: Rasih Efendi ve Ceneral Kutuzof Elçilikleri, Ankara Üniversitesi Dil ve Tarih-Coğrafya Fakültesi Dergisi, IV:2 (Jan-Feb 1946), 200; FO 78/15 #3 (10 Feb 1794). 55 HAT 6398, 50310; C HR 2584. 56 Alexander Mikhailovsky-Danilevsky. Russo-Turkish War of 1806–1812.; Alexander Mikaberidze, ed., West Chester, OH: The Nafziger Collection 2002, pp. 50-1, 81. 57 F. Ismail. The Making of the Treaty of Bucharest, 1811–1812, Middle Eastern Studies, 15:2 (May, 1979), 168-9; Noradounghian. Recueil, vol. 2, pp. 86-92; Muahedat Mecmusı, vol. 4, pp. 54-5. The agreement that each state would pay the expenses of the prisoners it detained is echoed in the Treaty of Adrianople. 58 C AS 16694; Ahmed Lûtfî Efendi. Vak’anüvîs Ahmed Lûtfî Efendi Tarihi. Nuri Akbayar, ed. Istanbul: Yapı Kredi 1999, pp. 222, 360. 59 C HR 6667; C BH 6113. These documents respectively record the arrival of 223, and 155, Russian captives. 52

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were well treated, and lodged for the most part in the Island of Princes [in the Sea of Marmara].”60 The 1829 Treaty of Adrianople, ending the war, mirrored previous agreements, mandating the return of prisoners except upon conversion.61 The Crimean War would seem, at least on paper, to represent the end of this Ottoman–Russian framework of captivity practices, as all belligerents – Russian, Ottoman, French, Sardinian, and British – signed the same Treaty of Paris in 1856. This was the first Ottoman–Russian war to include the Western European powers, and this was the first treaty signed in a Western capital, marking the integration of the Ottoman Empire into the Concert of Europe.62 It also seems to have marked the integration of the Russo–Ottoman world into European systems of captivity: the treaty’s provisions on prisoners abandoned the unique features of previous Ottoman–Russian agreements, stating simply that, “[p]risoners of war shall be immediately given up on either side.”63 No mention was made of religious conversion, of civilian captives, or of private ownership, and the ban on ransom was taken for granted. So few details are provided, that it seems to have been assumed that all understood the same rules of prisoner treatment. The terms of the next Ottoman– Russian peace treaty, signed at San Stefano in 1878, were similar.64 Thus, it seems that during the “long” 18th century, the Ottomans and their Habsburg and Russian rivals evolved a set of captivity rules and practices that, despite changes through the century, formed a recognisable pattern. The early part of the century saw significant changes in treaty terms, while from 1739 onward, treaty provisions remained largely the same even as both sides continued to change their practices, adapting to these provisions. This discussion, of course, leaves unanswered the critical question of why each step of this evolution occurred. This question is worthy of investigation, and the answers may shed light not only on diplomatic history, but also on the social and economic aspects of Ottoman–Russian rivalry in the Balkans and the Black Sea.

Helmuth von Moltke. The Russians in Bulgaria and Rumelia in 1828 and 1829, during the Campaigns of the Danube, the Sieges of Brailow, Varna, Silistria, Shumla, and the Passage of the Balkans. Marshal Diebitch, trans. London: John Murray 1854, pp. 262-3. See also Virginia H. Aksan. Ottoman Wars 1700–1870: An Empire Besieged. New York: Longman 2007, p. 357. 61 Noradounghian, Recueil, pp. 172-173 ; Muahedat Mecmuası, vol. 4, p. 79. 62 Aksan. Ottoman Wars, pp. 475-6. 63 Hurewitz. Diplomacy, 154. The Ottoman translation is equally succinct: see Muahedat Mecmuası, vol. 4, p. 248. 64 Noradounghian. Recueil, vol. 3, p. 520. 60

Potto about the Role of the Caucasus Front in the 1828–1829 War in the Balkans Sergey Murtuzaliev In recent years the topic of war and peace has become so universally valid that we hear speculations about militarisation of social conscience and the establishment of a corresponding cultural fashion. There is the conceptual and methodological basis of a new historical subject undertaken by “Man and War,”1 the Association of Military and Historical Anthropology and Psychology founded on the initiative of E. S. Senyavskaya. Certain interest in this line of thought represents the five-volume work by V. A. Potto where the Russo–Turkish War of 1828–1829 is considered at the level of subject specifics. The analysis of this work is interesting for two reasons. First, the historiography of the 1828–1829 war offers no (to the best of our knowledge) investigations concerning the aspect addressed in this paper. Second, Potto’s work has never been considered from this viewpoint. The “selective approach” of our investigation obliges us to say a few words about the author. General Lieutenant Vasiliy Alexandrovich Potto (1 January 1836 – 29 November 1911, according to the old style) belongs to the cohort of scholars that laid the foundation of Russian military Oriental studies. Having appeared at the beginning of the 19th century as an applied, scientific and practical form of research, by 1917 military Oriental studies in Russia had turned into an independent branch of knowledge about the East in the widest sense of Oriental studies. The official Russian reference books provide very little information about Potto. More detailed information is given in the bibliographical dictionary of M. K. Baskhanov, according to which V. A. Potto was born in Tulskaya Guberniya and was a noble by birth. He was educated at the Orlovski Bakhtin Cadet Corps that produced the Third Novorossiysk Dragoon Regiment (1855). Below are the most important landmarks of Potto’s life from his wide record of service.2 Potto participated as captain in the Crimean War (1853–1855) and the suppression of the Polish Revolt (1863–1864). In 1887 Colonel Potto was appointed staffVoenno-istoričeskaya antropologiya: Ežegodnik. Predmet, zadači, perspektivyi razvitiya. Moscow 2002; I. O. Ermačenko, L. P. Repina, eds., Mir i voyna: kul’turnyie kontekstyi social’noy agressii. Moscow 2005. 2 M. K. Baskhanov, ed., Russkie voennyie vostokovedyi do 1917 goda: biobibliograficheskii slovar’. Moscow 2005, pp. 192-3. 1

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officer in the Caucasian military district and then was dispatched for sixth months at the headquarters for “writing” matters (1892). In 1896 he was conferred the rank of Major General. In 1899 Potto was appointed head of the military and historical department at the staff of the Caucasian military district, and in 1907 became Lieutenant General. During his service in the Caucasus, Potto gathered oral (folk) stories, songs and historical legends of the mountain peoples and the Cossacks. He made several trips to the Caucasus and distinguished himself while conquering the fortress Kars in Asian Turkey. Service in the Caucasus and the march to the Transcaucasus gave considerable historical and first-hand material that Potto later used in some of his works. Clearly, our protagonist was not an armchair scientist. His work contains the richest material for studying our subject from the viewpoint of intellectual history. Potto became universally famous as a military historian owing to his monumental five volumes entitled The Caucasian War in Different Essays, Episodes, Legends and Biographies.3 It appeared to be uniquely rich, matter-of-fact material about Russia’s wars against the Ottoman Empire, Persia and the Caucasian mountaineers. For completing his work, Emperor Alexander III ordered an extraordinary grant of 4,000 roubles to be paid to Potto, who had been discharged from service and was left without means of subsistence. In the “Preface” to the first volume it is said that Potto’s first aim was to popularise the history of the Caucasian war, which in his reckoning took place from the beginning of the 16th century to 1831 (a popular periodisation in the 19th century). In some cases, however, he mentioned later events, too. In the focus of Potto’s account was a description of war events and government decisions, strategic military success and the activity of various commanders. The heroisation of war and a special interest in famous people were characteristic for him as well as for his contemporaries. At the same time his work is not a special examination of war. He tried to present “in a popular form and in chronological order a number of stories, legends, episodes and biographies that could acquaint the reader not only with the exterior side of the age-long struggle in the Caucasus, but also with its inner side reflected in legends, soldier songs, stories of the war, accounts of companions in arms and suchlike.” Potto’s second aim was to put man in the forefront as the most important element of war, whose heroic deeds, sufferings, triumphs and failures must “serve a military and educational purpose.”4 In the fourth volume entitled The Turkish War of 1828–1829 Potto paid special attention to the role of war actions in the Caucasus and their contribution to the success of the Russian troops on the Balkan front during the Russo–Turkish War of 1828–1829 that began under complicated international and domestic condi3 V. A. Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna v otdel’nyih ocherkah, epizodah, legendah i biografiyah, vol. 1–5. St. Petersburg–Tiflis 1885–1891. 4 Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 1. Ot drevneyshih vremen do Ermolova. Moscow: 3AO Centrepolygraph 2007 (new edition), p. 5.

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tions. Characterising the state and readiness of the warring parties at the start of the war, he wrote: “The thunders of the Persian war of 1826–1928 haven’t yet ceased, but the political situation in Europe made the confrontation of Russia and Turkey inescapable.”5 By this time Infantry General Alexey Petrovich Ermolov was discharged (1827) and replaced by Ivan Fyodorovich Paskevich, Adjutant General and hero of the 1812 Patriotic War who was nicknamed “Erivanski” for successful military operations in the Caucasus. Ivan Fyodorovich Paskevich was anxious about the troops on the Caucasian front that were unable to arrive from Persia earlier than late April, leaving defenceless and open to the enemy the entire five hundred miles of Russian border stretching from the Gurian shores of the Black Sea to Talysh and farther, from the former Erivan Khanate to the Ararat. Small garrisons scattered across this spacious territory were enough only for domestic service.6 At that time Turkey was in an incomparably advantageous position. Along its border with Russia, at all its convenient points, there were strong fortresses waiting for the right moment to bring death and terror among any invaders who would dare to break their silence. Poti, Batum, Kobulety, Atskhur, Khertvis, Akhaltsikhe, Akhalkalaki, Kars, Magazbert, Kagyzman and Bayazet, towering high in the sky, showed the strength of Muslim power. Eleven regions of the Asian territory of the Ottoman Empire bowed to one ruler, seraskier Arzerumski, who was trusted with uncontrollable rule over Armenia and Anatolia.7

On the threshold of war the Porte, “concentrating all possible means in Asian Turkey for the forthcoming war,” appointed a supreme ruler: a more trustful, experienced and skilful dignitary. They sent Galib Pasha, a pasha of three tails, to Arzerum (Erzerum, S.M.). He had only eleven pashaliks that formed the Arzerum seraskierate under his command, but was given the supreme right to muster from all the Asian lands of the Porte, on his own will and account, the number of troops he deemed necessary for successful war actions.8 Potto gave an interesting characteristic of Galib Pasha, whom he considered a man of “good diplomatic and statesmanlike faculties.” Unfortunately (for the Turks, S.M.), he had neither war talent nor war experience. The sultan, having passed under his disposal the whole course of the war in Asian Turkey, relied mainly on his mind of great capacity that was too important at this time for ruling over such a vast region. Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4. Tureckaya voyna. 1828–1829. Moscow: 3AO Centrepolygraph 2007, p. 5. 6 Ibid., p. 5. 7 Ibid., p. 8. 8 Ibid., pp. 9-10. 5

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Kios-Magomet Pasha was appointed leader of the military forces in action in order to render assistance to Galib Pasha. Kios-Magomet Pasha was a man in possession of war experience, who once fought against Napoleon in Egypt and then took part in the European campaigns against the Russians, the Serbs and the Greeks. The Porte expected the best result from the union of these two prominent people.9

Contemporary scholars assess the position of Russia and Turkey a bit differently. They consider that both parties were ill-prepared for the war. In the Caucasian theatre the number of Turkish regular armed forces was too small and irregular forces played the main role. In the Russian Army the Detached Caucasian Corps was the most efficient unit, having rich military traditions. The Danube front was considered the main theatre of war. Nicolas I mistakenly assumed that the mere appearance of the Russian Army at the Danube would make the Porte send parliamentarians to him.10 According to the general plan of war drawn up by the Russian Emperor, two tasks were set before the Caucasian Corps: 1) to draw the Turkish forces away from the Danube; and 2) to conquer certain lands in Asian Turkey to guarantee the safety of the Russian borders. For achieving these two aims, it was considered enough to subjugate two pashaliks – Kars and Akhaltsikhe – and to seize two seashore fortresses, Poti and Anapa. Further conquests were supposed to be too huge and even “unnecessary” because of the extreme shortage of means.”11

At the time when these two tasks were set before Paskevich, St. Petersburg had not yet solved the problem of peace with Persia and worked out two plans of forthcoming actions. If the Persian war continued, no major forces should be deflected to the war with Turkey, but the Russian Emperor Nicolas I demanded offensive actions, “because – as count Diebitsch wrote to Paskevich – the best means of defence with small forces against the Asian people is to launch a defensive attack against them.” If, however, information arrived about the beginning of war actions on the Danube, the troops located in the Erivan region and other regiments of the twentieth division that were to return by that time from Araks under General Krasovski were to attack Kars; at the same time the troops located in Georgia (the third battalions of six Cossack regiments) under Adjutant General Sinyagin were to attack Akhalkalaki.

After capturing these two fortresses, both detachments were to join forces under the command of General Krasovski and lay siege to Akhaltsikhe. In case of concludIbid., p. 10. H. M. Ibragimbeili. Rossiya i Azerbajdžan pervoy treti XIX veka. Iz voenno-političeskoy istorii. Moscow 1969, pp. 216-24; Vostochnyiy vopros vo vnešney politike Rossii. Konec XVIII – načalo XX veka. Moscow 1978, p. 88. 11 Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4, p. 13. 9

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ing peace with Persia the headquarters should inform Paskevich that, on the Tsar’s decision, the Caucasian Corps was to be reduced and …the armed forces having arrived in the Caucasus because of the Persian war – the joint guard regiment, the twentieth infantry division, the second lancers regiment together with six Don Cossack regiments – should return to Russia immediately. However, while withdrawing these troops from Georgia, Paskevich was allowed to keep them on the Caucasian border as reserve troops and even use them for seizing Anapa.12

Potto notes that both plans were based “on insufficiently true information about the forces which the Porte could deploy in Asian Turkey and could therefore meet with great difficulties.” Peace with Persia could eliminate the first option altogether. As for “the second plan, Paskevich hurried to object to it, saying that by losing the twentieth infantry division the corps would be less in number than it was at the start of the Persian campaign under Ermolov.”13 As a result of the Tsar’s demand “Paskevich had at his disposal only fifty-one infantry battalions, eleven cavalry squadrons, seventeen Cossack regiments and one hundred and forty four guns. But most of them (Potto enumerates this in detail, S.M.) …were left either on Persian territory or in the most important points of the Transcaucasian region.” Potto concludes: All in all thirty-six battalions, three squadrons, ten Cossack regiments, eighty-six guns. In general, in the offensive against the Turks, only the following forces were able to take part: fifteen infantry battalions, eight cavalry squadrons, seven Cossack regiments and fifty-eight guns, not taking into account those used in the siege. The armed forces of this corps did not exceed fifteen thousand soldiers, but they were tried in battles and discomfort under the glory of the recent victories and the command of their leader [Paskevich, S.M.], whose name alone horrified the enemy.14

Throughout the fourth volume of Potto’s work, Paskevich is described as a man of good character, virtually a hero. Potto reports that numerous regiments in the Caucasian Army had taken part in the 1812 war; there were exiled Decembrists as well as soldiers from the Semyonovsky and Chernigovsky regiments. By 1827 the number of exiled soldiers Decembrists in the Caucasian Corps reached 2,800.15 Among those who attacked Kars in 1828 was Pushchin, a Decembrist ensign, who was recommended for the Order of Saint George of the 4th degree and received his Order only in 1857.16 Ibid., p. 13. Ibid., p. 13. 14 Ibid., pp.15-6. 15 A.V. Fadeyev. Rossiya i vostochnyiy krizis 20-h godov XIX veka. Moscow 1958, p. 217. 16 Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4, p. 39. 12 13

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Sending his main forces to the Danube, Sultan Mahmud II (1808–1839) as early as April 1828 demanded from Galib Pasha to devastate with all his Asian Army as much as possible the Russian lands over the Caucasus17 to draw away the Russian forces from the main Danube front. The start of the war at once laid bare the distinctive features of both plans. While Paskevich was preparing for the campaign and the second Russian army under Wittgenstein was still gathering on the river Pruth, a portentous event for the outcome of the war in Asian Turkey took place at Anapa, which the sultan called the key to the Asian shore of the Black Sea. Because of the remoteness of the theatre of war and the extreme shortage of armed forces at the Caucasus, Anapa was included in the area covered by the Russian Danube Army. Potto notes that in each war with Turkey the capture of Anapa was considered “a most important strategic task.”18 Thus, to the surprise of St. Petersburg and Istanbul the war on the Caucasus front appeared to be more active and above all more effective than developments in the Balkans. When by the autumn of 1828 the Russian Danube Army, after the first success in July-August, bogged down in a long siege war, the Detached Caucasian Corps in its left wing captured the whole Bayazet pashalik with the active help of the native home guard; Guria and the fortress Poti were captured in the right wing, and in the centre the vanguard corps was staying in Kars, Ardagan, and Akhaltsikhe. “All in all they captured three pashaliks, nine fortresses and armed castles, three hundred and fifteen guns, eleven horsetails and up to eight thousand captives… Asian Turkey had never experienced such failure, nor did any campaign launched by Russia cost so little as the Turkish campaign under Paskevich,”19 who strengthened and expanded his operational base. The success of the Caucasian Corps …in Turkish Armenia alarmed the court in Constantinople so much [that Sultan Mahmud II] paid particular attention to his Asian possessions. …The former leaders… old Galib and …Kios-Magomed Pasha, charged with infirmity and shortage of military faculties, were removed from their posts and exiled to faraway provinces. [Instead] …new, more energetic people were appointed. The brave elder Gadzhi-Salekh, Pasha of Maidan, was appointed seraskier of Arzerum with such powers that no ruler of that seraskierate had had before. Gadzhi-pasha Sivazski was appointed commander-in-chief of all armed forces in Asian Turkey and the sultan demanded that they not only stop the further success of the Russians, but also return all that the Porte had left in Asia as a result of the former campaign.

To fulfil this task, a general arming campaign was declared on the territory of all of Asian Turkey, and the Porte expected to gather by 1828 an army exceeding 200,000 soldiers and 156 guns. Ibid., p. 20. Ibid., pp. 55-6, 58. 19 Ibid., p. 192. 17 18

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Comparing the forces of the adversaries, Potto indicates that the troops at Paskevich’s disposal dramatically failed to measure up to the enormous force amassed by the enemy. Meanwhile, based on the success of 1828, the rulers in St. Petersburg demanded an expansion of the campaign in order to alleviate the severe war on the Danube. Finding himself between a rock and a hard place, Paskevich had to search for local means to somehow balance his forces against the enemy.20 Since 1819 the participation of local residents in the military expeditions of the Russian government was a widespread phenomenon in Dagestan.21 The General repeatedly informed the Tsar about the bravery and the major contribution of Muslim regiments under his command in fighting the Turks. There was a “select detachment of Dagestan mountaineers numbering half a hundred.” Yet, while using the local military resources, Paskevich had to play by the traditional methods of recruiting and organising irregular formations in the Caucasus. First of all, the population was afraid of compulsory conscription and rumours about such plans generated serious disturbances. There were other reasons as well. For example, in 1829 the Kumyks refused to join the people’s volunteer corps under the influence of dervish propaganda. At the same time Potto frequently denies a widely spread opinion in Russia and Europe that desire for profit was initially the prime motive of the “wild” mountaineers – an opinion no less prevalent today. Even Potto’s opponents pointed out some reasons of such behaviour. “…Mountaineers didn’t like to take watch. They preferred to fight, shoot, plunder and disperse. Inactivity for several days could fully demoralise any Caucasian volunteer corps.”22 The soldiers did not neglect the spoils of war either, but it was not a constant and common practice. For example, during the battle in Bayram-Pasha (the battle for Kars) “running in redoubt, the soldiers passed through a small camp abandoned by the Turks; there were tents along the road but not a single grenadier looked inside for spoils. The soldiers were eager to instantly take the weapons and the banner.” After capturing the fortress, Muraviev remarked on the characteristic trait of “the troops of the Caucasian Corps, whose love for glory exceeded their love for profit.”23 Potto gives numerous examples “of this love for glory” shared not only by the regular troops, but also by the “subsidiary troops” formed of local people. In the 1828 campaign Paskevich succeeded to collect a volunteer corps, though small in number, but they served diligently and he showered them with awards; the ambition and the pride of Muslims were so flattered that when at the beginning of 1829 Paskevich published a proclamation for the creation of Tatar horse regiments, the Muslims asked permission to sign up in order to fight not for profit but for the triumph Ibid., pp. 197-9. V. V. Lapin. Nacional’nyie formirovaniya v Kavkazkoy voyne XVIII–XIX vv. In: Rossiya i Kavkaz – prošloe i nastoyaščee. Istoriya, obyičai, religiya. St. Petersburg 2006, p. 53. 22 Ibid., p. 5-60, 63. 23 Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4, pp. 49-50. 20 21

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and glory of the Russian arms. Even the djarobelokan Lezgins volunteered to dispatch selected riders under the Russian banners. This enthusiasm seized [Christian] Georgia as well.24

These words of Potto should be explained. He refers to the Azerbaijanians as Tatars. The irregular horse troops gathered in Azerbaijan indeed possessed supreme fighting qualities; composed of volunteers, they represented the feudal class (beks, meliks with their nukers, maafs), for whom military service was an inherited profession and a matter of class honour. In the specific historical conditions of the 19th century this played the role of a “class lift,” as Nicolas I would later prove in 1846. Paskevich worked out his own plan for the 1829 campaign but had to revise it, because the Czar demanded more decisive operations without reinforcement. The General was “to make do only with recruits.” In late February 1829 “a new campaign was afoot everywhere when suddenly, as if a storm broke out, the news about the destruction of the Russian Embassy in Tehran (the killing of A. S. Griboyedov, S. M.) spread across Georgia and momentarily changed the whole course of events.” The probability of war with Persia threatened Paskevich with war on two fronts when …the whole Muslim world was agitated. It never rains but it pours: almost at the same time news came that the Turks undertook an unusual winter campaign and having skied over the mountains covered in deep winter snow, laid siege to Akhaltsikhe. It was a signal of opening war, but Russia had not yet finished its preparations for the war.25

As a result of the winter attack “the Russian garrison in Akhaltsikhe was under siege by Akhmet bek; Guria was on the verge of invasion by the Turks; and colossal Turkish forces were concentrated in Arzerum …”26 Paskevich had to ask for reinforcement but St. Petersburg was slow and once again he had to resort to “local means.”27 Thus decisive offensive actions in the Caucasus were alternating with battles to keep strategically important points. In the spring of 1829 the situation was complicated by the statements of France and England that “they would not allow Russia to keep a single yard of land it had conquered.”28 In the meantime, the situation on the Danube changed. By the midsummer of 1829 the Porte’s defeat in the war was imminent. In the Balkans Silistra fell (19 June), followed by Kars in the Caucasus (21-23 June), and on 27 June the powerful fortress Arzerum gave in without fight: the Russians captured the seraskier himself, four pashas, 15 thousand soldiers and 150 guns. Ibid., p. 207. Ibid., p. 209. 26 Ibid., p. 241. 27 Ibid., p. 243. 28 Ibid., p. 393. 24 25

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The locally recruited military units played a significant role. According to Lapin, Paskevich invited locals to serve under the famous Bei-Bulat who arrived in Tiflis with 60 Chechen djigits. Only half of them were sent in the field. At the parade in honour of the seizure of Arzerum the Chechens were standing shoulder to shoulder with the Cossacks. Bei-Bulat’s detachment numbered 195 soldiers, but only 33 riders were sent to the theatre of war. Lapin notes: “No information is preserved about their participation in battles.”29 With the fall of Arzerum the way to Asia Minor was blocked and the 1829 campaign was over. The last reserve of the Porte in the Caucasus – the army of Hakki Pasha – was crushed. On the Balkan front the Turkish army was crushed at Kulevicha. The infantry of General Diebitsch was passing over the southern branches of the Balkan Mountain without serious resistance. On 20 August 1829 Adrianople fell without resistance.30 During the negotiations that took place from 2 to 14 September, Russia managed to bar the representatives of England and Austria from taking part in the discussion on the peace terms and the draft treaty was accepted in whole. St. Petersburg, fearing changes in the system of Ottoman state power in view of the liberation movement in South Bulgaria and the real threat of revolts, instructed Diebitsch and Paskevich to maintain the previous law and order and the “obedience” of the population in the occupied regions. Following instructions from St. Petersburg, Karl Nesselrode, Minister of Foreign Affairs, wrote to Diebitsch that the system of land property and taxation existing in the Ottoman Empire must be preserved as they were. On 14 September 1829 the Peace Treaty of Adrianople31 was signed and the phase of open conflict in the Eastern Question came to an end. However, the Caucasian front remained unaware of this new peace and military actions continued. On 17 September 1829 General Hesse met with failure at Tsikhis-Dziri and the question of saving Guria itself was on the agenda. Guria, the Koblien sanjak and the Akhaltsikhe pashalik lay open in front of the enemy. Events at the right wing had taken a turn for the worse and bloody events were afoot when suddenly, on 29 September, a messenger arrived with the news of peace. Russia kept Akhaltsikhe forever.32

Potto explains in detail why the news about the peace treaty reached Paskevich so late. We will mention two of the main reasons. “The war came to an end. That there was peace in Rumelia [the Balkans, S.M.], which was officially recognised, was not known for a long time both in Arzerum, where the headquarters of Paskevich was located, and in the severe mountains of Lazistan, where the seraskier was gathering Lapin. Nacional’nyie formirovaniya, pp. 53-4. Vostočnyiy vopros vo vnešney politike Rossii, p. 91. 31 T. Yuzefovič, ed., Dogovori Rossii s Vostokom. Političeskie i torgovyie. St. Petersburg 1869, pp. 71-84; Vostočnyiy vopros vo vnešney politike Rossii, p. 94. 32 Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4, p. 414. 29 30

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the remnants of isolated Turkish forces.” It took a whole month for the news to travel to the Caucasus. Potto notes with bitterness: In this month so much blood was shed in vain and far too many soldiers died away unfairly. Had there been an electric wire [a telegraph, S. M.], neither the Beirut pogroms nor the Tsikhis-Dziri attacks would have happened, where on both sides so many heroic efforts were displayed and many heroic deeds were committed, but all in vain, because they were unable to change anything in the fortunes of Russia and Turkey, and everything was solved and signed away in Adrianople.

He points out that Diebitsch hurried to inform Paskevich about the peace and at once dispatched two messengers to Asia Minor,33 but because of the intrigues of Turkish officials both messengers – the captain of the cavalry Moguchy and staff captain Dugamel – could deliver the news of peace only in late September. Later it was revealed that several days before Moguchy’s arrival the seraskier received the sultan’s firman about the start of peace negotiations. The court in Constantinople demanded to abstain from any offensive actions and avoid battles, now useless. This was known to the pasha of Trapezund, too… but he kept silence to please the seraskier who made up his mind to take advantage of the last days of war and defeat Paskevich, whom he supposed to be weakened by the latest failures in the right wing and the dismissal of troops to winter quarters. The seraskier wanted to earn personal military glory through this victory.

The seraskier got word about Dugamel’s arrival on the night of 26/27 September when both armies were pitched against each other “and it was still possible to stop the bloodshed, but in expectation of the battle’s outcome the seraskier deliberately held up these messages. Only the cruel Beirut pogroms forced him no longer to keep back the news about peace.” In the night of 28 September, the seraskier sent an officer with a letter stating that the peace was concluded and a messenger from count Diebitsch was on his way. He suggested a truce before the messenger’s arrival on the condition that the Russian troops were not to take a step further.” The seraskier was not to be trusted after the battle where he suffered defeat. Paskevich sent his official Vlangali and lieutenant colonel Yanovich with the answer that he was ready to make truce on the condition that the Turkish troops would be disbanded and the Russian corps would advance forward by a day’s march. But the truce was no longer necessary: Dugamel had already arrived at the Turkish detachment and presented the firman of peace.34

33 34

Potto. Kavkazkaya voyna, vol. 4, pp. 445-6. Ibid., pp. 447-8.

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Summarising his work, Potto wrote: …for four months in 1829 the Caucasian troops passed nearly 600 versts from the border reaching almost as far as Trapezund; they crushed a huge Turkish army, captured the commander-in-chief and the seraskier – a ruler of a vast region, seized the capital Anatoly, conquered the following pashaliks: Arzerum, Mush and part of Trapezund with all their fortresses, seized 62 guns, 65 banners, 10 horsetails and the warder of the seraskier.35 We can’t help confessing – continues Potto – that the benefit Russia gained from the Caucasus didn’t correspond to the splendid success of the Caucasian Corps and the expectations of Paskevich, who wrote twice to Nesselrode and once to Diebitsch as to where our territorial acquisitions should draw the line in Asian Turkey. He particularly insisted on the annexation of the Kars pashalik. But Diebitsch [who received Paskevich’s suggestion only after signing the Treaty of Adrianople] could not and did not particularly care about profits in the Caucasus. This was a mistake – Potto concludes – and it was deplorable that the European states didn’t insist on Turkish territorial integrity in Europe; they didn’t care about its Asian territory. Even Turkey itself did not stand up for the three pashaliks and Batum conquered by us.36

Particularly interesting is Potto’s idyllic passage about the influence of the 1828– 1829 war on the Ottoman Empire: The Muslim population and even the Turkish troops soon forgot the terrible attacks of the recent war; their attention was engulfed by the new reforms, suggested in abundance by Sultan Mahmud. The ancient military organisation founded by the first conquerors was destroyed once and for all; the sipahi and janissaries that composed its base were either eliminated or deprived of any meaning: they were substituted by a new regular army fashioned after the European model, and if they failed to cover the Turkish banners with victorious laurels in the past war against the giaours, it was because of the lack of abilities in their leaders and shortcomings in organisation. The young sultan’s attention was directed at amending these shortcomings.37

When analysing Potto’s work, we should bear in mind that his was not only a military and historical account based on the study of resources, but also a description of events interpreted in the light of the author’s personal experience; he was a participant in the Crimean War of 1853–1856 and the Russo–Turkish War of 1877–1878, and in 1887 served as staff captain in the Caucasian military district. One cannot rule out an “optical effect,” a confluence with the events of 1828–1829. Potto was further influenced by the current social and political situation and the general mood of the Russian society. Thus the participants in the historical events of the past are Ibid., p. 449. Ibid., pp. 456-9. 37 Ibid., p. 451. 35 36

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presented through the investigative reflection of Potto and his personal (friendly/ unfriendly) attitude to what he described. The campaign of 1828 developed almost simultaneously in two theatres – the Balkans and the Caucasus. But whilst the Russian Danube Army under Wittgenstein ranged from 94,000 to 100,000 soldiers, the Detached Caucasian Corps under Paskevich numbered about 40,000 soldiers. Furthermore, St. Petersburg cared little about the situation in the Caucasian Army, as confirmed by other researchers, too.38 The Detached Caucasian Corps fulfilled two tasks set by Nicolas I: to draw away the Turkish forces from the Balkan Peninsula and to maintain order in the Transcaucasus. For the latter, Paskevich had to detach a significant part of the army. For the former, it was considered enough “to conquer two pashaliks, Kars and Akhaltsikhe; further advance of the armed forces to the depth of the Asian hinterland was deemed unreasonable.” The decisive and effective actions on the Caucasian front significantly exceeded the Tsar’s expectations, rendering essential assistance to the Russian army on the Danube that swayed the outcome of the war with Turkey. The final stage of the war saw new successful feats of the Caucasian Russian forces; the fortresses Kars and Arzerum were captured, and with the fall of Arzerum the 1829 campaign ended. One of the eye-witnesses at Arzerum was Alexandr Sergeyevich Pushkin, who was in the Caucasian Corps from 13 June to 14 July; later he described these events in Travel to Arzerum. Quite a different assessment of the Treaty of Adrianople was given by A. B. Shirokorad, in whose opinion Russia gained little, but Turkey lost too much. After Catherine II’s death “such was the custom that as a result of the Russo–Turkish wars Russia gained kopecks, Turkey lost much, and Europe, that is, England, France, Austria and others, won most of all.”39 The history of the 18th and 19th centuries bears witness that throughout Russia’s advance on the Caucasus Turkey was one of its main strategic enemies. The Transcaucasian front was considered subsidiary in all wars with Turkey, serving the main objective to deflect Turkish key forces from the Balkan front on the Danube. Although the Caucasus invariably and openly had a peripheral significance, the Caucasian Corps not only managed to successfully carry out its tasks, but also, by its heroic and successful actions, made a contribution to Russia’s victory over the Ottoman Empire.

N. S. Kinyapina. Vnešnyaya politika Rossii v pervoy polovine XIX veka. Moscow 1963, pp. 142-3; N. G. Kireyev. Istoriya Turcii. XX vek. Moscow 2007, p. 32. 39 A. B. Shirokorad. Turciya. Pyat’ vekov protivostayaniya. Moscow 2009, p. 241. 38

The South-Slavic Historiographies and Socio-Political Changes in the Balkan Region during the 18th Century Giacomo Brucciani Introduction Between the Peace of Adrianople and that of Karlowitz a series of political and social changes streamed over the Balkans, influencing the intellectual life of the southern Slavs (Slovenes, Croats, Serbs, Montenegrins, and Bulgarians). In this time span in the different imperial contexts of the Habsburg monarchy and the Ottoman Empire many cultural processes, seemingly unconnected, can be seen in a clearer and more coherent perspective by tracing the evolution of a single, constant trait: the change of the subject matter in historiography. Historians progressively abandoned the concepts of the past, such as the patrimonial state centred on the figure of the prince, and dedicated themselves to events closely related to the people (narod).1 In contexts subjected to economic and social transformation, the symptoms of change can be perceived at several levels. One is the intellectual context, whose actors perceived the urgency to give meaning to the notion of “we/us” that otherwise would have risked being overwhelmed by the rapid succession of events. When dealing with the study of intellectual context the first step is to contextualise the texts in order to clarify what their authors were attempting to do. The observer must remember that, being necessarily bound to categorisation, we tend to classify anything unusual only in terms that are familiar to us. Nevertheless, in trying to understand an event, we must avoid anachronisms.2 One of the most frequent hazards for the scholars of Balkan history in modern and contemporary times is to misinterpret the lexeme narod. In the Bulgarian context, for example, when reading texts from the 18th and early 19th centuries,3 not to mention the authors of the medieval period,4 one must bear in mind the correspondence of terms such as rod (lineage), narod (people), otečestvo (homeland, the land of the fathers) and even ezik 1 Emil Niederhauser. Problèmes de la conscience historique dans les mouvements de renaissance nationale en Europe Orientale, Acta Historica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 18 (1972), 39-73. 2 Quentin Skinner. Dell’interpretazione. Bologna: Il Mulino 2001. 3 With regard to terminological and conceptual questions about narod, etc.: Ilia Konev. Bălgarskoto Văzraždane i Prosveštenieto. Sofia: BAN 1983, vol. 1. 4 Dimităr Angelov. Smisăl i sădăržanie na dumite jazik, rod, pleme i narod v srednovekovnata bălgarska knižnina, Palaeobulgarica (Starobălgaristika), 3, II (1978), 12.

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(language), which all function as synonyms indicating the sense of Bulgarianness5 and have nothing in common with terms such as nation or nationalism that have often been bestowed to them.6 The Socio-Political and Intellectual Contexts of the Habsburg Monarchy7 The Catholic Counter-Reformation defeated Protestant propaganda and brought back nobles, cities and peoples to Catholicism, marking the end of publications in Slavic languages within the duchies and re-establishing Latin and German as the only official languages. In the following decades the Habsburgs put forward a major centralisation program. The first attempts to construct an ethno-linguistic identity for the Slavs of the Habsburg dominions seemed far away. In order to facilitate the penetration of the Reformation, between 1530 and 1598 the nobiliary Germanic world had granted considerable space to the activities of evangelical preachers who used the local Slavic language. This context produced, in the Slovenian territory, the works of Primus Trubar, Juri Dalmatin and Adam Bohorič. The 18th-century centralisation fostered by the Habsburgs in Bohemia and the hereditary lands greatly reduced the powers of the provincial States of Styria, Carinthia and Carniola. Nevertheless, the local nobility continued to celebrate the role and the glory of belonging to one’s duchy and developed – without jarring the Habsburgs – a territorial and nobiliary patriotism. In the second half of the 18th century the consolidated administrative centralisation and the increase of productive activities led the rulers to encourage the spread of education. The 1774 Ordinance of Maria Theresa decreed that every parish had to have a primary school, the larger cities – a high school, and every land capital – a teacher training institute. Even though German was the main language used in teaching, the initial educational phases in the schools of Carniola were based on the local Slavic vernacular; in Carinthia and Styria the local Slavic speech was acceptable only for prayers. This was the first time the local Slavic language was recognised in one of the three duchies. This led to renewal of studies aiming to codify the language (in a process analogous to the developments in the Bohemian lands8). Many young, mother-tongue Slavic speakers were enabled to have access to public administration. 5 With regard to the language question in the Bulgarian context see Giuseppe Dell’Agata. The Bulgarian Language Question from the Sixteenth to the Nineteenth Century. In: Riccardo Picchio, Harvey Goldblatt, eds., Aspects of the Slavic Language Questions. New Haven: Yale University Press 1984, vol. 1, pp. 157-88. 6 Piotr Skarga, Polish-Catholic publicist, author of the Polish translation of Cesare Baronio’s Annales ecclesiastici, studied the relationship between jęzik and narod at the end of the 16th century. 7 Robert Kann, Z. Davis. The peoples of the Eastern Habsburg Lands 1526–1918. Seattle-London: University of Washington Press 1984. 8 In Bohemia, the diffusion of education and the rebirth of economic activity encouraged the interest towards the Czech language and culture, thanks to linguists and historians like Josef Dobrovský, Josef Jungman, Pavel Josef Šafarík and František Palacký.

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These changes in turn revived the study of the local past: in particular, nobiliary patriotism was closely welded with the interest in the Slavic past of these lands. The development of artisan and merchant classes in the cities additionally favoured these historical and linguistic interests. Between 1788 and 1791 Anton Tomaž Linhart, an Austrian Slav subject of Carniola, published in Vienna his work entitled Versuch einer Geschichte von Krain und den übrigen Ländern der südlichen Slaven Oesterreichs.9 Linhart had studied in Ljubljana and Vienna, devoting himself first to religious studies and subsequently, in the capital of the empire, to law. In Ljubljana he was part of the cultural circle assembled around the Ziga Zois family. The first ideas about the linguistic unification of the Slavs of the three duchies (including Gorizia and Istria) and hence identification between Ethnos and Language, emerged, albeit on a limited scale, among the members of this circle. The unfinished Versuch covers only a limited time span extending up to the 8th century; nonetheless, it is considered to be the first pragmatic history of Slovenia, permeated by a strong anti-feudal sentiment. Describing in detail the customs and the socio-cultural conditions of the ancient Slovenes, the book stressed the importance of Great Carentania and saw in it the basis of any political aspirations of the modern Slovenians towards autonomy. Linhart described the history of all Slavs living in the duchies of Carniola and Styria, Gorizia and the Venetian lands. Although the title of his work clearly indicates the author’s sense of Slovenianness – in fact, Linhart speaks about Carniola, not Slovenia – the Versuch remains a major work in the construction of Slovenian identity. In the Croatian lands that reverted under Hungarian sovereignty after the Peace of Karlowitz, there was a broad-spectrum ethnic reassessment when Vienna welcomed on the Habsburg–Ottoman border the Serbian Orthodox communities fleeing the Turks. In exchange for land and freedom of worship, the Serbs committed themselves to defend the border against the Ottomans on what would become the Militärgrenze. The centralisation fostered by Joseph II against Hungary was opposed by the Croatian nobility, which was against the imposition of German as official language instead of Latin and, fearing cuts in their privileges, was not in favour of power rationalisation. When Leopold II succeeded his brother in 1790 and brought to a halt the reformation process, the Croats quite willingly accepted this new course. As far as the intellectual context is concerned – where important historiographical ideas had been circulating since the previous century10 – the first author to be considered is Pavao Ritter Vitezović (1652–1713), who in 1700 wrote the Croatia Armando Pitassio. The Building of Nations in South-Eastern Europe. The Cases of Slovenia and Montenegro: a Comparative Approach. In: Stefano Bianchini, Marco Dogo, eds., The Balkans. National Identities in a Historical Perspective. Ravenna: Longo Press 1998, pp. 33-60. 10 Dunja Fališevac, ed., Hrvatski književni barok. Zagreb 1991; Ante Kadić. Croatian Renaissance, Studies in the Renaissance, 6 (1959), 28-35; Id. The Croatian Renaissance, Slavic Review, 21, 1 (1962), 65-88; Michael B. Petrovich. Croatian Humanists and the Writing of History in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Century, Slavic Review, 37, 4 (1978), 624-39. 9

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rediviva regnante Leopoldo Magno Cesare, a text conceived with the intent of defining the Croatian boundaries. This is at heart an apology for a Tota and Magna Croatia, anticipating in a sense the Illyrian renaissance, and a polemic against the Venetian territorial claims. In glorifying the Habsburg dynastic rights, the work expressed the idea that the Austrian crown (with its civilising agency) is an absolute authority and the protector of all the Balkan Slavs. These were well known ideas in the circles of the Imperial Court after 1683: the aspirations of the Habsburgs on Wallachia, Moldavia and even the Serbian lands were justified with the rights of the Hungarian crown. Among the other works of Vitezović the most successful was undoubtedly the Stematografija, published in Vienna in 1701: a heraldic essay collecting 56 crests (some genuine, some fictitious) of the “Illyrian” regions. Under what seems a veiled “pan-Slavism,” it is possible to discern the author’s willingness to place Croatia, once and for all, at the centre of all issues regarding the Southern Slavs. Terms such as Illyrian or Slav are used as synonyms for Croatian, a concept that was meant to include even Slovenes, Serbs and Bulgarians (Southern Croatia) as well as all other western and eastern Slavs (Northern Croatia). This could be seen as one of the reasons why Vitezović drew in his Stematografija even the coats of arm of Bohemia, Poland and Muscovy.11 The Croatian lands suffered a shock wave of political and cultural repercussions when Russia began in 1710 a new war against the Ottomans.12 Until then, the cultural relations between Russia and the Balkan Slavs had not assumed political significance. But Orthodox Russia and Peter the Great became progressively interested in people and populations speaking the same Slavic language and professing the same Orthodox faith, encouraging the publication of two Russian translations in 1719 and in 1722: Cesare Baronio’s Annales ecclesiastici13 and Mauro Orbini’s Il Regno degli Slavi.14 Promoting knowledge of the Slavic world, Russia’s foreign policy not only aroused the hopes of the Orthodox Slavs, but also caused a crisis in the Catholic plans aiming to gather all Balkan Slavs under Rome’s authority. The fears of the regional Catholic world converged in the 1756 Razgovor ugodni Naroda slovinskoga written by the Croatian Franciscan Andrija Kačić-Miošić (1704– 1760).15 This work, written partly in verse with significant interpolation of popular songs, was a chronicle of the world, narrating for the most part the centuries11

2007.

Ivan Bosković. Hrvatska književnost neoklasicizma i romantizma. Split: Filozofski fakultet

Aleksander Naumow. Dall’Illuminismo alla Rinascita: il crescente ruolo di Mosca. In: Luciano Vaccaro, ed., Storia religiosa di Serbia e Bulgaria. Milano: Centro Ambrosiano 2008, pp. 269-90. 13 The Russian translation was entitled Dejaniya cerkovnaya i graždanskaya. 14 In Russian, Kniga istoriografija počatija imene, slavy i razširenija naroda slavyanskago. Giuseppe Dell’Agata. La traduzione russa del Regno degli Slavi di Mauro Orbini. In: Filologia e letteratura nei paesi slavi. Studi in onore di Sante Graciotti. Roma: Carucci 1990, pp. 307-401. 15 Stipe Botić, ed., Razgovor ugodni naroda slovinskoga. Vinkovci: Riječ 1999; Ante Kadić. The Importance of Kačić-Miošič, Slavic and East European Journal, 2 (1958), 109-14. 12

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old struggle between Christians and Turks. The Christians the book spoke about were Serbs, Bosnians and Bulgarians: Orthodox Slavs that, according to the author, should have rejoined with the Roman Catholic Church. The recall to Catholic unity testified to the strength and the important role of different ecclesiastical institutions in the Balkans. The Razgovor made no mention of the Marko Kraljević saga (about the popular hero of the Slavic Orthodox world), but used countless songs dedicated to Scanderbeg (George Castriota, the Albanian national hero fighting against the Turks). Clearly, the author’s intention was to make the readers forget the Orthodox hero and praise the popular hero of the Catholic Balkan world. This sense of Slavic unity in the name of a (re)union with Rome can be seen as a constant element, almost a leitmotif, among the Croatian priests and monks from the 17th century onwards. Miošić carried on what had been started by a Benedictine monk from Dubrovnik, Mauro Orbini, and the Croatian Catholic priest Juraj Križanić (the expression par excellence of the Catholic Reformation), who thought to unite the two Churches through the union of the Slavs.16 The diffusion of Miošić’s work was no less important; as early as the 1760s it already circulated (in the original or transcribed into Cyrillic) in the monasteries of Mount Athos. Another expression of Catholic resentment was the 1780 work of Antun Kanižlić, Kamen pravi smutnje velike, in which the author defended the imperial policy in favour of Unitarianism between the Serbs and the Transylvanian Romanians, and criticised the Orthodox Church. Being opposed to Catholicism, the Orthodox Church had caused, according to the author, the division between Croats and Serbs. The Socio-Political and Intellectual Contexts of the Ottoman Empire From the 16th century onwards the relations between the Ottoman authorities and the subjugated populations grew increasingly acrimonious. During the 18th century the Sublime Porte gradually lost the qualities that had made it acceptable in previous centuries.17 The loss of expansive capacities and especially its inability to control its territory were accompanied by tax increases. This gave free rein to rural banditry (hajduk, hajduti, clephti) that made the roads and trade unsafe. The local wealthy classes, especially the Muslim Turks (ağa), started to show their discontent by tightening their demands on the Christian peasants and expressing dissatisfaction with central power. The emergence of the ciflik – an economic system that supplanted feudal properties, gave birth to a new structure based on the hereditary possessions of Turkish overlords, who began to free themselves from their obligations towards Giuseppe Dell’Agata. Ideologia politica e comparazione linguistica nella classificazione delle lingue slave di Juraj Križanić, Ricerche Slavistiche, 1, XXXIX-LX (1992–93), 365-84. 17 Peter F. Sugar. Southeastern Europe under Ottoman Rule, 1354–1804. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press 1977. Halіl İnalcik. Donald Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire. Volume two 1600–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1994. 16

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the state. Furthermore, in the 18th century the Muslim millet delegated many of the fiscal and administrative tasks to the Phanariotes that subordinated the Serbian and Bulgarian clergy. Commerce and trade made the Phanariotes mediators between the region and Western Europe, as well as bearers of Enlightenment ideas. By the will of the Greek clergy the sultan abolished the Patriarchates of Peć18 and Ohrid between 1766 and 1767. Nonetheless, it was still possible for the Serbs to see Sremski Karlovci as a confessional landmark and a place of contact with the West. The situation was more difficult for the Bulgarians, who developed a feeling of strong hostility towards the Greek presence as they found it guilty of advancing innovative ideas that disturbed the Christian and Muslim traditionalism. At the end of the century the urban centres saw a proliferation of educational initiatives where Greek was taught, helping the Greek element assume a dominant role on the linguistic and cultural levels. In this context, influenced by the changes taking place in the period, the Serb and Bulgarian historians produced their works.19 Straddling the two centuries was Đorđe Branković, a Serbian from the Banat. He was imprisoned in Bohemia by the Habsburgs on suspicion of having secret relations with Russia. While in prison, he wrote in 1705 the Slaveno-Srbska hronika. Branković held various positions at the courts of Wallachian and Transylvanian princes. After the descent of the Habsburgs in the Balkans in the 17th century he hoped to obtain the crown of Serbia. The text opens with the creation of the world and goes up until 1705 in an attempt to demonstrate the author’s rightful claims to the Serbian throne. It is not a history of the Serbian people, but an instrument for affirming the legitimacy of the author’s individual aspirations.20 Hristofor Žefarović, a Bulgarian serving the Serbian Church, was the author of a Stematografija written in 1741 and offering a more complex view. This was a free translation of the Stematografija by Vitezović. Žefarović’s translation did not go unnoticed: his crests – which Vitezović copied from Orbini’s text, including the Bulgarian coat of arms depicting a lion – would be successively depicted on the flags used during the first Serbian uprisings. This book undoubtedly represents an important phase in the development of historical Illyrism, as seen in various expressions implying a clear Orthodox pan-Balcanic vision such as Illirija cjala, Illirijsko Carstvo, Illirijsko Slavno orăžie. The author championed the idea of a union of Southern Slavs with Russia built on religious, economic and political foundations. If Russia’s role was clearly rising in the historical production, another pervasive element was the resentment of the Slav clergy against the Greek prevalence. The Slavic clergymen did not accept the almost exclusive use of Greek to the detriment Đoko Slijepčević. Istorija Srpske Pravoslavne Crkve, v. I: Od pokrštavanja Srba do kraja XVIII veka. Belgrade 2002. 19 Nadya Danova. Problemăt za natsionalna identičnost v učebnikarska knižnina, publitsistikata i istoriografia prez XVIII–XIX vek. In: Nikolaj Aretov, ed., Balkanskite identičnosti v bălgarskata kultura. Sofia: Kralitsa Mab 2003, pp. 11-91. 20 Jelka Ređep, ed., Graf Đorđe Branković. Hronike-Antologija. Novi Sad: Matica Srpska 2004. 18

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of the Slav liturgy. Indictments against the Greek Church can be found both in Bulgarian and Montenegrin sources. The metropolitan and patriarch of Peć Vasilije Petrović published in St. Petersburg a 1754 work entitled Istorija o Černoj Gor’i.21 Petrović was committed to depict the Vladikas as interpreters of the people’s will, defending their faith against the infidels. He accused Branković of placing at the centre of his history his own family and not the Serbian people. Looking for the roots of Montenegrin history and independence, Petrović tried to unravel the knots of dynastic claims and presented the Vladikas as the successors of the Crnojević family, in turn connected to the Nemanja dynasty of medieval Serbia. The Istorija was an attempt to demonstrate to Russia that Montenegro was the worthiest land to help.22 The Montenegrins possessed a state institution that found its roots in the metropolis and therefore were not part of the Orthodox community of the Ottoman Empire. Moreover, the Orthodox people were besieged and forced to defend themselves not only from the Muslims but also from the Latin Venetians and the Greeks. The Muslims (the Turks) were pictured as tools of divine punishment, cruel and barbaric, whereas the Christians were represented as opportunists. Vasilije’s approach to his Istorija placed him at the beginning of a new historiography: a Montenegrin historiography that might be even called Serbian. From the Bulgarian context23 emerged the work of Paisiy Hilendarski, in particular his Istorija Slavenobolgarskaja completed in 1762.24 It is seen as a hypotext produced through the indirect transformation of earlier texts; the product of a gradual overlap of various elements transferred through different routes from one Slavic area to another and finally amalgamated into a unified and coherent composition according to criteria developed by the whole Slavic Orthodox world. The work is dedicated to an ethnic community founded, according to notions of perennialism, on the sharing of name, language, myths, history, culture and territory: an attitude existing in many other Slav-Balkan historiographical works of the 18th century.25 Its central subject is to be understood as a perennial community, extending in the past and the present and representing a factual reality at a time when it thrust its roots deep in the struggle against the oppressors. Gl. Stanojević. Mitropolit Vasilije Petrović i njegovo doba 1740–1766. Belgrade 1978. See Armando Pitassio. Balcani nel caos. Storie e memorie di Vasilije Petrović, Paisij Hilendarski, Sofronj Vračanski. Napoli: ESI 2003. 23 Blazius Kleiner, Spiridon, the anonymous of Zograf, and the Latinist Historiographical School also belong to the Bulgarian context. Ilia Konev. Istorizmăt v kulturno-natsionalnoto razvitie na bălgarite do Paisiy Hilendarski, Istoričeski pregled, 6 (1975), 47-69. Nadežda Dragova. Formirane na bălgarskite istoritsi prez XVIII v., Studia balcanica, 14 (1979), 127-41. 24 A. N. Robinson. Istoriografiya slavyanskogo Vozroždeniya i Paisiy Hilendarski. Moscow: Akademia Nauk SSSR 1963; Dimităr Tsanev. Paisievata Istoriya v razvitieto na bălgarskata istoričeska knižnina prez părvata polovina na XIX vek, Istoričeski pregled, 2 (1975), 87-92; Id. Bălgarskata istoričeska knižnina prez Văzraždaneto. XVIII – părvata polovina na XIX vek. Sofia: Nauka i Izkustvo 1989. 25 Emil Niederhauser. The Historian and the National Movement – the Case of Paisi, Rajić and Lelewel, Studia Slavica. Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 1-4, XXV (1979). 21

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Indeed, Paisiy operated in (and was part of) the Balkan context. Yet, we should take into account his awareness and inkling of imminent changes (apart from the reference to the Greeks) in order to be able to evaluate the way he was influenced by his environment.26 Arguing that the meeting he had with the Serbian Jovan Rajić on Mount Athos was decisive for his production is obviously not enough. There is also the reception problem of the Istorija Slavenobolgarskaja, which was copied and at times modified. Until now, forty transcriptions are known to exist, including the first printed edition in 1844. This edition, omitting the name of the original author, was compiled by Hristaki Pavlovič with some modifications and was entitled Tsarstvennik ili Istorija Bolgarskaja. Its late publication shows that Paisiy’s Istorija was largely (if not completely) ignored by the prominent figures of the Bulgarian National Revival except Sofroniy Vračanski.27 The text was rediscovered later and widely proclaimed as an essential and indispensable element in comprehending the nascent national movement. The providentialist vision characterising the text did not prevent the Bulgarian merchant bourgeoisie – engaged in the early decades of the 19th century in a worldly socio-economic competition – from feeling encouraged by Paisiy’s work to take control of education and reproduce a community of language and memory.28 Eventually, towards the end of the 18th century, the Serbian Jovan Raijć published in Vienna Istorija raznih slavenskih narodov naipače Bolgar, Chorvatov i Serbov (1794– 1795).29 The Istorija, including the 1795 edition in Moscow that sealed its authority, was bound to the medieval religious historiographical tradition and was influenced by Orbini’s patriotism, Baronio’s Russian version of the Annales ecclesiastici, Branković’s work, and Du Cange’s Illirico vecchio e nuovo. It is divided in four volumes, each subdivided in three parts dealing respectively with the history of the Bulgarians, Croats and Serbs. As announced in the title, the author’s intention was to reconstruct the history of the south Slavic peoples as if they were a single entity. Rajić placed at the centre of his research the people and the new historical sensibility that must serve the people. The past was re-evaluated from two main perspectives. The first attempted to preserve it from oblivion, whereas the second tried to purify it from a memory imbued with personalised events bound to the tradition of dynastic claims. History was attributed a very interesting role. From the Predislovie k ljubitelju istorij it can be inferred that Rajić saw history as the basis for other sciences. Although his book was dedicated to the various Slavic peoples, a red thread was his desire to depict the Serbs as the most glorious of all. (Paisiy said the same about the Bulgarians.) Elka Drosneva. Folklor, Biblia, Istoriya. Sofia: Kliment Ohridski 1994. Plamen Mitev. Bălgarskoto Văzraždane. Lektsionen kurs. Sofia: Polis 1999, pp. 31-6. 28 Nikolaj Aretov. Natsionalna mitologiya i natsionalna literatura. Sofia: Kralitsa Mab 2006, pp. 101-34. Roumen Daskalov. Paisii as a Problem. In: Id., The Making of a Nation in the Balkans. Historiography of the Bulgarian Revival. Budapest: CEU Press 2004, pp. 151-61. 29 Jovan Skerlič. Istorija nove srpske kniževnosti. Belgrade 1914, pp. 50-60; Marta Frajnd, ed., Jovan Rajić. Život i delo. Belgrade: Institut za književnost i umetnost 1997, pp. 99-104, 119-31, 313-17; Sima Ćirković, ed., Jovan Rajić. Istorija slovenskih naroda, 4 vols. Novi Sad: Matica Srpska 2002. 26 27

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Finally, Rajić paid particular attention to the Habsburg dynasty and considered them defenders of the Serbs against Turkish oppression. At the same time he cautioned the Serbs against the Habsburg’s attempts of Germanisation and conversion to Uniate Catholicism. Conclusions In the historiographical production of the Danubian-Balkan region, mainly written by members of the clergy,30 the celebration of the medieval princes and saints endured along with the attempt to anchor the (mythologised or even forged) past to the Middle Ages, if not the biblical narrative. What is important is that all these strategies were completely subordinated to the life of the people. That a great part of the historical works of this period were compiled by members of the clergy confirmed the significant role of the churches (especially those under Ottoman rule) that, especially in the monasteries, kept alive the languages and memories of the peoples. This historical legacy would later be politicised by the various national movements of the 19th century. This point of view differs from the one sustained by Stavrianos31 and Kitromilides32 that the Church (especially the Orthodox Church) helped to maintain a collective identity by preserving the distinction between Muslims and Christians only on the religious level and not the national level. Focusing on the processes of modernisation inherent in national movements, Kitromilides does not take into account the ethno-linguistic definitions to which the church contributed. I think that the South-Slavic historiography of the 18th century can be defined as the bearer of a new feeling, of what can be called a popular turn. Although there was the attempt to find one’s own dimensions within the political, administrative and educational projects of the Habsburgs, restore the hope of union with Rome, stimulate Russia’s renewed interest in the Balkan Slavs or just rebuke one’s people for turning to a destabilising foreign culture, what emerged was a common commitment towards the history of peoples. In the analysed cases the Slav population – which lacked a clearly codified language – had seen itself embedded in state systems that adopted cultures and languages different from its own. The lack of nobility in the Ottoman context generated a close relationship between the clergy and the peasantry, which was the repository 30 Members of the clergy wrote historical works in the Slovak context, too: the Protestant Jacob Jacobeus, the Catholic Benedikt Szölösi, Martin Szentivanyi and Juraj Papanek. Armando Pitassio. Due nazioni in fase di costruzione. Storiografia e pubblicistica slovacca e bulgara tra il XVII ed il XVIII secolo e processi di autoidentificazione nazionale. In: V. I. Comparato, E. Di Rienzo, S. Grassi, eds., L’ Europa del XVIII secolo. Studi in onore di Paolo Alatri. Napoli: ESI 1991, pp. 503-33, 508. 31 Leften S. Stavrianos. The Balkans since 1453. New York: New York University Press 2000, pp. 146-53. 32 Paschalis M. Kitromilides. Imagined communities and the origins of the national question in the Balkans. In: Id., Enlightenment, Nationalism, Orthodoxy. Studies in the Culture and Political Thought of South-Eastern Europe. Aldeshot-GB/Brookfield-Vermont-USA: Variorum 1994, pp. 149-92.

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of folkloric heritage. Another important element to be considered in the process of changing historical sensitivity is territory: the Slovenes developed a historical consciousness in relation to their feudal institutions that had survived the homologising attempts of the Habsburgs; the Montenegrins claimed their territoriality that corresponded to the ecclesiastic principality. Finally, a prevalent constant that can be found in an almost identical form was the transition from a passive to an active identity. This was the result of the actions of certain constituent components of the state structure that justified their dominating position within the state or society by excluding any other ethnic groups from power, as happened with the Phanariotes within the Orthodox Christian millet of the Ottoman Empire. The new historiography examined so far, joins together authors such as Raijć, Paisiy, Linhart, in a sense also Petrović, and certainly the Romanian Uniate priest from Transylvania Samuil Micu, who in 1792 published a book entitled Scurta conoştinţă a istorii rominilor.33 This new historiography focused on the needs and the daily sufferings of the respective peoples who, in sharing memories and common languages, were depicted as the legitimate heirs of their past.34

33 Keith Hitchins. Samuel Micu Clain and the Rumanian Enlightenment in Transylvania, Slavic Review, 4, 23 (1964), 660-75. 34 Giacomo Brucciani. La scrittura della Nazione. Storia, Lingua e Fede nel Risorgimento bulgaro (XVIII–XIX sec.). Pisa: PLUS 2009.

Seen through Zedler’s eyes: The 18th-century Habsburg–Ottoman conflict and the early modern encyclopaedic knowledge Maria Baramova Today it is no secret that printed lexicons and encyclopaedias are nothing but progressively marginalising, outdated information media. By contrast, the search engines of the World Wide Web satisfy informational needs without the “promise” of privilege, offering universally accessible data at the end of one’s fingertips. The question what kind of knowledge should be public and easily accessible has traditionally been an apple of discord, and the answers have varied depending on the historical period and geographical location.1 “I don’t care if they’re a high-school kid or a Harvard professor,” said Jimmy Wales, the creator of Wikipedia, about the contributors to his on-line encyclopaedia. Heavily criticised and dismissed with academic snobbishness, on 1 March 2009 Wikipedia celebrated one million entries on the back of a simple premise: knowledge for everyone by everyone. Asked by the German Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung how he perceived the criticism of the academia, not infrequently tantamount to complete denial, Wells replied: I don’t think that in the present world, an encyclopaedia can be used as a source in serious academic work. It simply wasn’t built for that, even if students constantly tap into, say, Wikipedia. Even if all the entries were of superb value, they can only be an introduction to the subject.2

The authors of 18th-century encyclopaedias addressed their readers in a similar vein, albeit not so unequivocally. Their declared ambition was to cater knowledge not only, and not exclusively, to the intellectual élite but also to readers “outside the academic circles and institutions.” Despite this message, more often than not these reference sources carried scientific rather than popular knowledge.3 Until the 17th 1 See Ulrich Johannes Schneider. Bücher als Wissensmaschinen. In: Id., ed., Seine Welt wissen. Enzyklopädien in der Frühen Neuzeit. Darmstadt: WBG 2006, pp. 9-20. 2 Im Gespräch: Wikipedia-Gründer Jimmy Wales, F.A.Z., 20.02.2009 http://www.faz. net/s/RubB3C76B7D0C6444579C67AF441E2ECB6D/Doc~EEEB6641A997C43978797 A4C14E436476~ATpl~Ecommon~Scontent.html [5.03.2010]. 3 Ulrich Johannes Schneider, Helmut Zedelmaier. Wissensapparate. Die Enzyklopädistik der Frühen Neuzeit. In: Richard van Dülmen, Sina Rauschenbach, eds., Die Macht des Wissens. Cologne: Böhlau 2004, p. 349.

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century the encyclopaedic text was perceived first and foremost as a rational project, systematically laid out or following some rhetoric or polemic order subsumed under headings such as Theatrum or Thesaurus. The Enlightenment introduced and circulated a new type of book, the so-called “encyclopaedic dictionary”4 that broke down such logic and rhetoric patterns into alphabetically organised “entries” or “units.” Naturally, alphabetic forms of knowledge, distinctly different from traditional language dictionaries, have existed since Antiquity, but it was not until 1650 that the lexicon became the dominant variety of encyclopaedic knowledge.5 Michel Foucault had every reason to single out Moréri’s edition of 1674 as the first alphabetic encyclopaedia, calling it a watershed in the history of knowledge. Indeed, alphabetisation proved to be a lot more than a technical correlation of writing or a symptom of epistemological change.6 The Globalisation of Knowledge Since the middle of the 18th century this change opened the door for “mediabased” modernisation of knowledge, the thirst for which gradually bubbled into a widespread intellectual passion. Although the French “domination” in the encyclopaedic genre was incontestable, the new vogue was no stranger to the Germanspeaking world. Emerging back to back with the social and political changes, the encyclopaedic texts carved out for themselves the status of conduits disseminating academic information as well as current, freshly defined and politically justified knowledge. Surprisingly quickly, these reference books became media whose rightfulness was rarely challenged.7 No discussion of the significance and primary influence of encyclopaedias in the Early Modern Age can ignore the Universal Lexicon of Johann Heinrich Zedler.8 This monumental compilation of 68 volumes published between 1732 and 1754 Andreas B. Kilcher. Theorie des alphabetisierten Textes. In: Paul Michel, Madeleine Herren, Martin Rüesch, eds., Allgemeinwissen und Gesellschaft. In: www.enzyklopaedie.ch 2007, pp. 75-8. 5 Ibid., p. 79. Cf. Olga Weijers. Funktionen des Alphabets im Mittelalter. In: Schneider. Seine Welt Wissen, pp. 22-32. 6 Cf. Andreas Würgler. Medien in der Frühen Neuzeit. Munich: Oldenburg 2009, pp. 50ff. 7 See extensive details on the repercussion of the German Enlightenment on the encyclopaedic literature in: Wolfgang Albrecht. Aufklärerische Selbstreflexion in deutschen Enzyklopädien und Lexika zur Zeit der Spätaufklärung. In: Franz M. Eybel, Wolfgang Harms, Hans-Heinrik Krummacher, Werner Welzig, eds., Enzyklopädien der Frühen Neuzeit. Beiträge zu ihrer Erforschung. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag 1995, pp. 232–54. Cf. Karsten Behrndt. Die Nationskonzeptionen in deutschen und britischen Enzyklopädien und Lexika im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert. Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang 2003, pp. 7-18. 8 Johann Heinrich Zedler. Grosses vollständiges Universallexicon aller Wissenschaften und Künste, welche bisher durch menschlichen Verstand und Witz erfunden worden. Halle, Leipzig 1732–1754. More about Johann Zedler’s personality and his Universal Lexicon see in: Elger Blühm. Johann Heinrich Zedler und sein Lexikon. Jahrbuch der Schlesischen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität zu Breslau 7 (1962), 184-200; Bernhard Kossmann. Deutsche Universallexika des 18. Jahrhunderts. 4

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(64 volumes were printed before Zedler’s death in 1751) was a landmark defining the new dimensions of the need for universal knowledge in the German-speaking world.9 When in 1731 the Wöchentlichen Hallischen Anzeigen ran the first newspaper announcement advertising the intention of Johann Heinrich Zedler (1706–1751), a 25-year-old book dealer and publisher, to put out a multivolume universal lexicon, initially planned in 12 volumes, hardly anyone could anticipate its future sway and importance.10 During the 18th century the interest in all things geographical became a popular and fashionable trend. The desire to learn about continents, countries, cities and peoples expanded the book and newspaper market with travelogues and itineraries of all shapes and sizes from near and far. A process of “globalisation of knowledge” was emerging, to use the apt description coined by Ulrich Schneider.11 The compilers of Zedler’s lexicon apparently made no exception and kept abreast with the latest fashion. The historical and geographical information in the Lexicon, however, was gleaned from various sources, mostly the above-mentioned travelogues. “Recent” information from newspapers and journals was not absent either. Schneider has noted that the nearly verbatim reprint of certain articles in the encyclopaedic texts stemmed from the belief that the newspapers and the journals were the media par excellence that had their finger on the pulse of historical development.12 One way or another, the Lexicon often came too close for comfort to the newspaper, catering to the hunger for information.13 Seen as a representative of publicly accessible and, in the eyes of its authors, “credible knowledge,” Zedler contained information on political events and armed conflicts, truces, peace treaties, diplomatic missions, etc. One should bear in mind that the 18th century, as well as the Universal Lexicon, was preoccupied with the central theme of war and peace: a hardly surprising penchant in the wake of the recent “global” conflict, the Thirty Years’ War of 1618–1648, that left a lasting imprint on the European mentality throughout the following century. This proclivity to deliberate on the matters of peace and war was influenced, on the Ihr Wesen und ihr Informationswert, dargestellt am Beispiel der Werke von Jablonski und Zedler. Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens 11 (1969), 1563-96; Horst Dreitzel. Zedlers Großes vollständiges Universallexikon. Das Achtzehnte Jahrhundert 18-1 (1994), 117-24. 9 Although not few scholars of the pre-modern period are tempted to browse its pages for various reasons, the number of research works dedicated to the Lexicon itself is surprisingly small. See details about the current state of research in: Ulrich Johannes Schneider. Die Konstruktion des allgemeinen Wissens in Zedlers ‘Universal-Lexicon.’ In: Theo Stammen, Wolfgang E. J. Weber. eds., Wissenssicherung, Wissensordnung und Wissensverbreitung. Das europäische Modell der Enzyklopädien. Berlin: Akademie Verlag 2004, pp. 81-6; as well as http://www.zedleriana.de/ [6.03.2010]. 10 Herbert G. Göpfert. Vom Autor zum Leser. Beträge zur Geschichte des Buchwesens. Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag 1977, p. 63. 11 Cf. Ulrich Johannes Schneider. Europa und der Rest der Welt. Zum geographischen Wissen in Zedlers Universal-Lexicon. In: Michel, Herren, Rüesch. Allgemeinwissen, pp. 431-2; Id. ‘Rußland’ in Zedlers ‘Universal-Lexicon.’ In: Dittmar Dahlmann, ed., Die Kenntnis Russlands im deutschsprachigen Raum im 18. Jahrhundert. Bonn: V&R Unipress 2006, pp. 247-68. 12 Schneider. Europa und der Rest der Welt, p. 440. 13 Ibid., p. 442.

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one hand, by the humanistic denial of violence, the political critique of belligerent monarchy and the utopia of eternal peace; on the other hand, it was fomented by the forms of aggressive patriotism characteristic of the Late Enlightenment.14 The wars waged by the Ottoman Empire after 1699 against its archenemy, the Habsburg monarchy, and another dangerous adversary, the Russian tsar, supplied a natural ingredient to this discourse. As late as the 18th century the pressing nature of the European–Ottoman conflict can hardly be called in question, even though the Ottoman threat no longer posed the same dimensions that haunted the European contemporaries of Suleiman the Magnificent. Some of the more important events in this confrontation during the 18th century – and the way they were reflected in the Universal Lexicon – will be discussed in the following pages.

Türkenfurcht – Tradition and Reality in the 18th Century Just like many other political and military developments, the course of the European–Ottoman conflict during the 18th century was diligently brought before the attentive reader chiefly by the “press of the day.”15 Zedler’s authors in turn followed the information that was readily available in current periodicals when they shaped and published their articles in the Lexicon. Naturally, when historical events are almost contemporaneous or have not yet sufficiently “matured” in time, it is impossible to find alternative sources that may supplement, and possibly correct, the manifest “public perception” about any given fact. As already implied earlier, during the 18th century the “Turkish Question” seemed a lot less painful as compared to the previous centuries dominated by the Türkenfurcht. The perception of the Ottomans became part of the political desire of the Christian powers to prevail in the Orient, as well as an element of the Enlightenment’s interest in the exotic. On the other hand, the image of the Turk commanded a lasting presence in the Germans’ everyday life, not infrequently quite far from its genuine Ottoman context. A curious example can be found in vol. 61 of the Lexicon. The entry on Zeitung (newspaper) reads: Daher war die Antwort jenes narhafften Bürgers ganz vernünfftig, die er im Jahr 1683 gab. Denn als man ihm vieles vom Türcken-Kriege vorsagen wolte, ward er

See for further details: Daniel Hohrath. Die Beherrschung des Krieges in der Ordnung des Wissens. Zur Konstruktion und Systematik der ‘militairischen Wissenschaften’ im Zeichen der Aufklärung. In: Stammen, Weber. Wissenssicherung, Wissensordnung und Wissensverbreitung, pp. 371-86. 15 See more extensive details about the coverage of Southeastern Europe in the German print media and political journalism during the 18th century in: Ivan Parvev. Land in Sicht. Südosteuropa in den deutschen politischen Zeitschriften des 18. Jahrhunderts. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern 2008; see also: Martin Wrede. Das Reich und seine Feinde. Politische Feindbilder in der reichspatriotischen Publizistik zwischen Westfälischem Frieden und Siebenjährigem Krieg. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern 2004, pp. 66-217. 14

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ungedultig und vesetzte: “Was Türck? Mein Türck ist auf dem Rathshaus, wenn der Bürgermeister sauer aussiehet.”16

Volume 45 (Trap–Tz) of the Universal Lexicon offers an extensive entry under the heading Türcken. It presents in broad terms a description of the empire on the Bosporus and its rulers, its origins, the local mores, religion and customs, and an overview of key points in Ottoman history. Some 20 columns recount events from the emergence of the Ottomans until the 1730s. Oddly enough, the last year to be mentioned is 1737, coinciding with the beginning of the war launched by the Habsburgs and Russia against the Ottoman Empire, even though the volume itself was published in 1745. The entry makes no mention of the Peace Congress in Nemirov (1737) or the Treaty of Belgrade signed in 1739, although the Lexicon’s authors must have been aware of both events.17 Certainly, when a single lexicon entry is providing a summary of a much larger issue such as the “Turks,” incompleteness is inescapable. Nonetheless, the sketchy and at times grossly incomplete account warrants rather curious observations. The narrative has packed in a nutshell nearly the entire history of the Ottoman expansion: sieges, marches and wars from the rule of Osman І until the end of the 17th century. One thing is instantly clear: the closer the events are to the authors’ horizon, the more detailed the information gets. The opposite is also true, and events farther back in time are only mentioned in passing. The fall of Constantinople (1453), the sieges and conquest of Belgrade, the first siege of Vienna (1529), the Ottomans’ failed attempt to take Malta, even the victory of Lepanto (1571),18 which signify important benchmarks in the historical evolution of the European–Ottoman relations, are all covered in several brief lines. At the same time the occasionally tedious account of wars, victories and failures is often “spiced up” with piquant details from the life of the harem. The geneigte Leser thus learned that the Sultans Murad ІІІ (1574–1595) and Mehmed ІІІ (1595–1603) had a soft spot for wine and women, Mustafa І (1617–1639) was mentally incapacitated, and so forth.19 The accounts 16 Zeitung, Avisen, Courante. Zedler. 1749, vol. 61, col. 907. Apparently, the tradition to liken one’s adversaries to the “dangerous Turks” had powerful roots indeed; a case in point from the 16th century was Luther’s view that the Pope and the Turk were the two sides of the same evil; a similar idea claimed that the emperor had two archenemies: the King of France and the Sultan. For the same reason a German burgher at the end of the 17th century found a tongue-in-cheek semblance between his “grumpy city mayor” and the dangerous Turk. 17 Türcken. Zedler, 1745, vol. 45, col. 1629–1700. Volume 24 (Neu–Nz), however, which was published several years earlier, contained a separate entry Nimerow dedicated to the peace negotiations in Nemirov. The Belgrade Peace of 1739 was also covered in a separate article, Belgradische[er] Friede, published in Supplement 3 (Barc–Bod). See Nimerow. Zedler, 1740, vol. 24, col. 940-1; Belgradische[er] Friede. Zedler, Suppl. 3, 1752, col. 538-40. 18 Some of these events are even presented with factual inaccuracies. For instance, the conquest of Belgrade is recorded in 1522, the fall of Rhodes in 1523, and the sea battle of Lepanto – in 1572. See Türcken. Zedler, col. 1635. 19 “[…] Dieser Amurath [Murad III – M.B.] gieng niemals zu Felde, sondern hieng zu Hause der Wollust nach. […] Hierzu kam auch dieses, daß Mahomet in seinem Gesetze befohlen,

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about the European–Ottoman conflict during the 17th and the early 18th centuries are far more informative. However, the first (as yet only partially) autonomous entry covered a development as late as the Peace of Karlowitz (1699).20 From Karlowitz to the Peace of Belgrade (1699–1739) The question of the Ottoman Empire’s (non)participation in the European system of states during the 16th–18th centuries is still an engaging topic for the scholars of international relations.21 The Christians from the 16th and the first half of the 17th centuries doubtlessly saw The Turk as the embodiment of all things alien and non-European. This antagonism gradually dispelled during the 18th century, and the process can be seen through the lines of the Lexicon.22 Therefore the narrative about the history of the Ottoman expansion is almost absolutely free of emotion, even though the traditional urge of the Enlightenment for universal and neutral knowledge must have played a part, too. Yet the authors of the Zedler’s Lexicon stayed true to form, doing their best to satisfy their readers’ interest in obtaining up-to-date information.23 The “Turkish Question” and its various aspects that interlocked in a thematic core and had a direct bearing on 18th-century developments, made no exception. In the context of the political and legal dialogue during the 1700s separate entries discussed the most important peace treaties between the Ottoman Empire and the European powers along with the attendant negotiations and participants. Zedler contains entries dealing with the Peace of Sremski Karlovci (the Treaty of Karlowitz, 1699),24 the Treaties of Passarowitz (1718)25 and Belgrade (1739),26 and diplomats who took part in the peace negotiations (e.g., Marquis de Villeneuve),27 among others. daß niemand zu keiner andern Weibsperson halten solte, wenn er sich nicht vorhero gebadet hätte. Dann weil sich Amurath bey so gestalten Sachen gar offte baden muste, so wurde dadurch seine ganze Natur ruiniert.” Ibid., col. 1635; 1637-8. 20 Carlowitz. Zedler, 1733, vol. 5, col. 847. 21 See J. C. Hurewitz. Ottoman Diplomacy and the European State System, Middle East Journal 15, No. 2 (1961), 141-52; Heinz Duchhardt. Friedenswahrung im 18. Jahrhundert, Historische Zeitschrift 240, 2 (1985), 275-6��������������������������������������������������� ; ������������������������������������������������� Karl-Heinz Ziegler������������������������������� . ����������������������������� The peace treaties of the Ottoman Empire with European Christian powers. In: Randall Lesaffer, ed., Peace Treaties and International Law in European History. From the Late Middle Ages to World War One. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2004, pp. 338-64. 22 Matthias Pohlig. Orientalismus in Fässern. Europa und die Türken um 1700. In: Themenportal Europäische Geschichte (2009), URL: http://www.europa.clio-online.de/2009/Article=337> [23.03.2010]. 23 Ulrich Johannes Schneider. “Rußland” in Zedlers “Universal-Lexicon.” In: Diettmar Dahlmann, ed., Die Kenntnis Russlands im deutschsprachigen Raum im 18. Jahrhundert. Wissenschaft und Publizistik über das Russische Reich. Göttingen: V&R unipress 2006, pp. 249-50. 24 Carlowitz. Zedler, 1733, vol. 5, col. 847. 25 Passarowitzer Friede. Zedler, 1740, vol. 26, col. 1166-85. 26 Belgradische[er] Friede. Zedler, 1752, Suppl. s.3, col. 538-40. 27 Villeneuve, Marquis von. Zedler, vol. 48, 1435-6.

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The Peace Treaties of 1699, 1718 and 1739 In 1699 the Ottoman Empire, the Habsburgs, Venice and Poland signed a peace treaty in Karlowitz (today Sremski Karlovci, Vojvodina) joined a year later by Russia.28 The treaty put an end to the victorious war waged by the Christian coalition (1683– 1699). The sultan was forced to give over to the allies almost the entire territory of Central Hungary, Transylvania, Slavonia, Morea, Podolia and Azov. For Christian Europe, however, the implications of Karlowitz were not so much about territorial gains, as noted by Parvev; the chief consequence had to do with shedding and surmounting the stereotypes associated with the notion of the invincible Turk. Information about the 1699 Peace is found in three of the Lexicon’s entries. In addition to the aforementioned Türcken and the consecutive Türckey,29 a short autonomous entry appeared in vol. 5 (C–Ch) in 1733 under the heading Carlowitz.30 Going back to the issue of the Ottoman Empire’s inclusion in the European system of states, the Peace of Karlowitz was definitely one of the most frequently discussed topics.31 Another interesting topic was the “eternal peace”, an instrumental legal tenet of European international law. During the 18th century the Ottoman sultans were gradually compelled to forgo the precepts of Islamic law dictating only temporary truce with non-Muslims. They ultimately embraced the idea of “eternal peace,” albeit with no small measure of hesitation and ingrained resistance. Two of the above-mentioned texts dealing with the 1699 Peace talked about the conclusion of eternal peace between the Ottoman Empire and Poland, respectively Venice: Endlich ward im Jahr 1699 zu Carlowitz der Krieg völlig aufgehoben. Der Römische Kayser schloß einen Stillstand auf 25 Jahr, und behielt unterdessen alles, was er im Kriege gewonnen, worunter auch das Fürstenthum Siebenbürgen begriffen war. Die Pohlen machten einen ewigen Frieden, krafft dessen die Türcken die treffliche Festung Caminiek musten abtreten. Die Venetianer schlossen auch auf ewig, und behielten alles, ausser der Festung Lepanto.32

The second passage reads: Sonderlich ist dieser Ort bekannt worden durch den davon benannten Carlowitzer-Frieden, welcher A. 1699. den 26. Jan. zwischen dem Römischen Kayser, dem Czaar, dem König in Pohlen, und der Republic Vendig an einem, und dem Türckischen Kayser Sultan Mustapha, am andern Theile daselbst geschlossen worden, und zwar mit dem Römischen Kayser auf 25. Mit Moscau aber auf 2. See Ivan Parvev. Habsburgs and Ottomans between Vienna and Belgrade (1683–1739). EEM, Boulder, New York: Columbia University Press 1995, pp. 129-33. 29 Türckey. Zedler, 1745, vol. 45, col. 1703-6. 30 Carlowitz, col. 847. 31 Ziegler. Peace treaties, p. 347. 32 Türcken, col. 1646. 28

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Instead of eternal peace, however, the entry on Türckey introduced “permanent peace” (lit., “permanent calm”) with the Christian powers at large: Dieses grosse und mächtige Reich hat seit dem Carlowitzischen Frieden im Jahr 1699. mit dem Christlichen Potentaten in beständiger Ruhe gelebet.34

The Lexicon’s authors were apparently not professional lawyers, capable of discerning the fine line between “eternal peace” and “permanent peace;” they most probably trusted their sources a bit too much. All the readers had to know was that the Habsburgs had made peace for a fixed period of time, whereas their allies, Poland and Venice, had signed a treaty with no specific time limits.35 This circumstance, however, failed to inspire the authors to explore the reasons for such difference: was it the product of chance or a premeditated move, or any other scenario? Still, such “commentaries to events” were more typical of political journals36 and can hardly be expected to appear in every “political” entry of a publication like the Zedler’s Lexicon. The assault of the sultan’s troops against the Venetian possessions in Morea in 1714–1715 sparked the next European–Ottoman conflict. The swift success of the Ottomans, who at least in theory could threaten even the Apennine Peninsula, caused concerns in Vienna, and the futile attempt of Emperor Charles VI (1711–1740) to restore the status quo forced the Habsburg monarchy to enter the war. The imperial troops successfully advanced under the apt leadership of Eugene of Savoy; the victory at Peterwardein, the surrender of Temesvár to the Imperials and especially the Habsburg triumph at Belgrade (1717) coerced the Ottomans to admit defeat. The Peace of Passarowitz signed in 1718 established the new border of the Danubian monarchy in Southeastern Europe. Belgrade and the surrounding area, Little Wallachia and the Banat of Temesvár were added to the Habsburg lands in striking contrast to the territorial losses suffered by Venice and Russia’s humiliation on the Pruth in 1711.37 In order to extol as much as possible Charles VІ’s triumph, the Lexicon’s compilers thought it stood to reason to include in full the signed text of

Carlowitz, col. 848. Türckey, col. 1705. 35 See the text of the treaty in Friede von Karlowitz. In: Theatrum Europaeum, oder Außführliche und warhafftige Beschreibung aller und jeder denckwürdiger Geschichten so sich hin und wieder in der Welt fürnämlich aber in Europa und Teutschlanden, so wol im Religionals Prophan-Wesen, vom Jahr Christi ... zugetragen, vol. 15. Franckfurt am Mayn, Gedruckt bey Johann Philipp Andreä 1707, pp. 518-23. 36 See Parvev. Land in Sicht, pp. 7-9ff. 37 Parvev. Habsburgs and Ottomans, p. 163ff. 33 34

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the treaty.38 They simply allowed the documents to speak for themselves. Finding the text in extenso was fairly easy, because the treaty was published in the periodical press that was available to Zedler and his associates, but this was hardly the single argument in favour of their decision. The fame and glory of Passarowitz were most likely the chief incentive for the editors’ choice. Especially interesting was the coverage of the Belgrade Peace of 1739 (Suppl. 3 Barc–Bod).39 Charles VІ’s military intervention on the side of Russia in her conflict with the Porte in 1737 ended in the proverbial surprise defeat for Vienna; the emperor had to give up almost all of the advantages gained in Passarowitz in order to stop the unfortunate war. There was no way the loss of Belgrade and Little Wallachia could be made to look like a Habsburg triumph; the biggest and most sensitive question, however, was who had allowed for the signing of so unfavourable a peace: was this the outcome of count Neipperg’s wilful actions, or a consequence of wrong instructions given by the emperor himself ?40 Dieser Friede machte anfänglich ein grosses Aufsehen in der Welt, weil derselbe nicht nur würcklich dem Kaiserlichen Hofe zu schlechtem Vortheile gereichte, sondern auch von diesem selbst gar sehr detestirt, und alle Schuld deshalben den bayden Grafen Wallis und Neuperg beygemessen wurde.41

By all accounts, the members of Zedler’s editorial board were fully aware they were walking on thin ice.42 They could not afford to ignore a major event like the 1739 Peace, even if it was relegated to the supplement; at the same time the cloud of confusion and the different interpretations surrounding a very unpleasant event that had happened in full view before them, called for extra caution with regard to what they published. It was one thing to defile the “hereditary enemy,” and a completely different thing to criticise the emperor. Furthermore, their comments would not appear in a newspaper or a journal, soon to be replaced by the following periodical issue, but would be symbolically “set in stone” between the Lexicon’s covers. How did Zedler’s publishers tiptoe out of this obvious tight spot? First of all, instead of printing the full text of the treaty, they provided a summary, scant in too many details. Second, they spared nothing of the surrender of Belgrade to the Ottomans after nearly two decades of Habsburg possession of this important fort on the Danube. To forestall trouble and misunderstanding, however, they published the Passarowitzer Friede, col. 1166-85. In addition to the full text of the treaty, the entry contained the additional Trade and Navigation Agreement of 27 July 1718. Again, it was published with no comment (col. 1160-66). 39 Belgradische Friede, col. 538-40. 40 See on the signing of the 1739 Peace and different interpretations Karl A. Roider, Jr. The Perils of Eighteenth-Century Peacemaking: Austria and the Treaty of Belgrade, 1739, Central European History, vol. 5, No. 3 (1972), 195-207; Parvev. Habsburgs and Ottomans, pp. 233-8. 41 Belgradische[er] Friede, col. 540. 42 The entry about the peace takes merely 3 columns in the Lexicon’s Supplement 3. 38

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official explanation of Charles VІ, who blamed the fiasco exclusively on inept military staff and diplomats. Judging by the overly reserved description of the emperor’s arguments, the editors do not seem quite convinced in their ruler’s infallibility, but they abstain from speculations that might call in question his thesis. The text itself resembles more a piece of investigative journalism rather than a description of a past event whose factual basis and interpretation should have long been established. Further intriguing details appear in the entry dedicated to one of the key actors at the signing of the Belgrade Peace, the French ambassador to Constantinople Marquis de Villenueve (Vert–Vis).43 His biography was included in one of the volumes and predated the entry about the Peace. The authors of the Lexicon demonstrate a thought-provoking attitude towards the personality of Villeneuve and particularly his actions during the peace negotiations. As if between the lines, amidst criticism against the actions of the emperor’s counsellors, the counts Neipperg and Wallis, one can sense accusations against the French ambassador and, by extension, the Habsburgs’ traditional enemy, France.44 Conclusion On the whole, Zedler’s information about the armed conflict and the peace treaties between the Ottoman Empire and its European adversaries during the 18th century was sufficient to enable a reader who was not familiar with historical treatises or had missed the reports in the various periodicals at the time, to get a relatively good grasp of developments in Southeastern Europe. This was true about the Peace of Karlowitz and especially the Treaty of Passarowitz of 1718, which was published word for word on the pages of the Lexicon. The individual battles were described in lesser detail, but the information was solid enough to enable the audience to realise, more or less adequately, the changing balance of power, especially between the emperor’s troops and the sultan’s armies. The answer to the question why and what kind of information has found a place in the Lexicon depends on two largely interlinked factors: its readership and the sources used by its authors. Zedler’s scholars unanimously agree that perhaps the most significant issue is the authorship of individual entries. Anonymity is the chief reason why the Universal Lexicon is perceived as a compilation without a concept. The point is no less valid for the information related to the European–Ottoman relations. The offered knowledge on the subject can hardly reveal any level of consistency or inherent logic. Clearly, some of the articles seem closer to “investigative

Villenueve (Ludwig Salvator, Marquis von). Zedler, 1746, vol. 48, col. 1435-6. […] Dieser gedoppelte Friede brachte dem Marquis von Villeneuve viel Ehre zuwege, ob es gleich an dem Wienerischen Hofe hieß, er habe den Türcken und seinem Könige das Interesse der ganzen Christenheit und des Römischen Reichs, sammt der Ehre des Kaysers aufgeopffert, der Kayser konnte aber doch nicht umhin, ihm sein Portrait, reich mit Diamanten besetzt, zu schencken, welches auf 3600. Gülden geschätzt […]. Villenueve. Zedler, col. 1436. 43 44

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journalism;” others follow the classical storyline of the Turkish Histories; others still, by way of exception, provide the full text of the peace treaty.45 Perhaps the single exception to the possibility of good orientation in the “event framework of Southeastern Europe” was the 1739 Peace of Belgrade which was handled as if with “velvet gloves.” Any reader who was genuinely intent on learning what happened in the summer of 1739 had to resort to journals, newspapers and pamphlets to get his bearings. It is quite arguable that the Zedler’s compilers in good faith meant to force the geneigte Leser to look for himself for further details about something that was only briefly mentioned in the Lexicon. The likeliest explanation was fear of running into conflict with the powers of the day, but the account of the Belgrade Peace was presented in such a manner that could easily pique the reader’s curiosity. Certainly, a lexicon can hardly provide the complete sequence of events and the chronological basis of a given development or a given region during one period or another. Zedler was no exception and one can easily spot missing facts or perfunctory information about politicians, generals, and so forth. The overall categorical verdict, however, is that the most famous German reference book of the 18th century lived up to its function to provide “an introduction to the subject.” One cannot help noticing that this remains a fairly modern ambition, too.

The main source of information was definitely the German press during the 18th century. Political journals such as Die Europäische Fama, Die Neue Europäische Fama and GenealogischHistorische Nachrichten were among the most frequently quoted references by the Lexicon’s authors. Other frequently quoted sources included the German translation of Paul Rycault’s General Historie of the Turks (Die Neu-eröffnete Ottomannische Pforte Fortsetzung), Gottfried Ludwig’s Universal Historie, etc. 45

A French Perspective on the Balkans from the Time of the Russo–Turkish War, 1828–1829 Plamen Mitev Europe’s interest in the Balkan provinces of the Ottoman Empire emerged as early as the beginning of the 15th century. The fall of Constantinople and the first ambitious Turkish onslaughts on Vienna tangibly intensified the desire to learn more about the situation of the territories under the Porte’s dominion. During the 18th century a good knowledge of the Balkans became a matter of paramount importance for powers like Austria, Russia or Venice as frequent armed conflicts with Turkey called for continuous collection of fresh, in-depth intelligence about the enemy. France, England and the Netherlands stockpiled information about the Ottoman Empire to serve their economic and political priorities. There was also the fashionable whim of the Enlightenment, infatuated with exotic journeys behind the mysterious veil of the Levant, whose captivating otherness and colours, unequalled nature and rich, unfathomable past existed hand in hand with striking contrasts, Oriental mores and heathen customs. This heady mixture of hopes and expectations, curiosity and fear lured growing numbers of Europeans towards the Balkans; they travelled to learn about the region and later to describe it, building in the early 19th century an impressive body of information, vastly diverse in scope and nature; compiled by diplomats and missionaries, entrepreneurs and adventurers, spies and travellers, it contained extensive details about the various regions and peoples of the Ottoman Empire as well as the imperial organism itself. Indeed, the process of rediscovering and acknowledging the Balkans and the Balkan peoples as part of the European space and European cultural heritage is quite challenging.1 It unfolds at a different pace for different countries and involves different stages, while the completeness and veracity of accumulated knowledge depends on a host of errant factors. Amidst the plethora of writings on the Ottoman Empire, the first semblances of reference books or condensed overviews appeared only at the beginning of the 19th century. Unlike traditional travelogues, voluminous scholarly descriptions or official reports of various government bureaucrats and agencies, they aimed to present succinct and useful information about the Ottoman Empire, its regions and cities, historical and geographical landmarks, and local ethnic and religious communities. Sui generis the first “tourist guides” to the Balkans, Maria Todorova. Balkani i Balkanizăm. Sofia 1999, pp. 178-246 (Bulgarian translation of Maria Todorova. Imagining the Balkans. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1997). 1

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these works allow researchers to assess the level of knowledge of Balkan realities in a given country at a given time. Curiously, they also reveal one of the possible channels for constructing the image of “the other Europe” (the Orient/Levant) in the early 19th century in the broader public circles of the large European countries. A close critical reading and analysis of the information about the Ottoman Empire contained in these sources enables a reconstruction – through the eyes of a foreigner – of a different, not always well-intentioned or objective, but certainly valuable picture of what was happening in the padishah’s Balkan provinces in the wake of the cataclysmic events caused by the kırcali tumults and the ayan riots in the last decades of the 18th and the early 19th centuries. A good example of this encyclopaedic genre dating from the 1820s and dedicated to the Balkans was the Description géographique et historique de la Turquie d’Europe par ordre alphabétique, pour suivre les opérations de la guerre actuelle. Until now passed unnoticed by Bulgarian historiography, this book was printed in 1828 in Paris by then popular French publishers F.-G. Levrault and was immediately placed for parallel distribution in the Levrault bookshops in Paris and Strasbourg, as well as the famous Librairie parisienne at 348, rue de la Madeleine in Brussels.2 Its author, unfortunately, remains unknown; all my attempts to reveal his identity, including with the assistance of the informational service of the Bibliothèque nationale de France (SINBAD), have proved, at least to date, futile. The only clue we have is the initials „HК” at the end of the brief foreword. Even in the German edition that appeared in 1829 the author preferred to stay anonymous, inscribing only his initials.3 Judging by the introduction and the content of the book, he was clearly an erudite, well-informed person, vastly knowledgeable about the Balkans and the Ottoman Empire. A handful of facts scattered in the entries on various settlements and regions occurred only a couple of years before the book was published; hence the author most likely had stayed longer in the Levant in some capacity as a French official, or a relatively highlevel adviser for Southeastern Europe (at Quai d’Orsay or the Marseilles Chamber of Commerce, the Ministry of War or the Catholic Church). The Description’s appearance in French bookshops in the summer of 1828 was hardly accidental. The extended title implied that its publication was perfectly tied to the outbreak of the Russo–Turkish War of 1828–1829. Displaying good market acumen, the book’s author and F.-G. Levrault in time sensed a chance to gain popularity by catering to the public’s heightened interest in the volatile political situation in the The publishing house was named after François-Georges Levrault, a printer from Strasbourg whose sons first opened a bookshop in Paris, followed by a publishing house with offices in Paris and Strasbourg. After brief difficulties the publishing house ended up in the hands of Maximilian Samson Friedrich Schöll (1766–1833). Under his guidance F.-G. Levrault began publishing scientific and popular works on natural and general history, rapidly establishing its reputation as a serious publishing enterprise in high demand. 3 Die europäische Türkei, geographisch und historisch in alphabetischer Ordnung beschrieben, ein unentbehrliches Handbuch zur Erleichterung der Übersicht und Beurtheilung des jetzigen Krieges mit der Pforte. Halberstadt: Carl Brüggemann 1829. 2

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Balkans. The publication of a reference source on European Turkey conformed to the desire of vicomte de Martignac’s cabinet (4 January 1828 – 8 August 1829) to demonstrate at every turn its sympathies with Russian and British efforts to put an end to the prolonged “Greek crisis.” Since the early 1820s France was making important steps to gradually regain its international positions undermined by Waterloo and the Congress of Vienna. Paris was enjoying a rapidly growing influence in Egypt, while the Greek Uprising and the following dramatic years in the rule of Mahmud ІІ (1808–1839) opened profitable avenues for the Near East and Balkan policies of comte de Villèle’s government (14 December 1821 – 4 January 1828). When on 6 July 1827 France signed the Treaty of London, none of the great European diplomats was surprised; the involvement of French ships alongside the allied fleets of Russia and England in the battle of Navarino and the joint ultimatum by the three powers to the Porte on 2 December 1827 only confirmed French desires to recover their sway in the Balkans. This chain of events led to the declaration of the next Russo–Turkish War on 26 April 1828; in August a French Expeditionary Corps was sent to Morea under the command of General Nicolas Maison.4 These developments inspired enormous French interest in the Balkans. The press was trying its best to meet public expectations, but in order to follow closely the unfurling crisis the attentive reader needed a lot more: accessible and accurate information about the theatre of the raging war. F.-G. Levrault’s initiative proved well-timed and opportune indeed. Albeit small in size (only 183 pages), especially against the towering volumes of Pouqueville, Olivier, Beaujour, Lechevalier and Depping,5 the Description géographique et historique de la Turquie d’Europe provided a diverse wealth of information about the Ottoman Empire and the Balkan peoples. Its author compiled 921 thematic articles and a glossary of 119 more important Turkish terms. A more detailed analysis revealed that the bulk of materials (56.79%) dealt with settlements; 120 articles (13.03%) discussed rivers and lakes; 104 entries (11.29%) spoke of various administrative or geographic areas; and 174 articles (18.89%) concerned other landmarks in the Ottoman territories such as mountains, islands and historic sites, among others. As regards place names, 275 toponyms (29.86%) were given together with older or alternative appellations supported by cross-reference. In line with the book’s principal objective, information about settlements listed a brief description of their natural settings and economic outlook, population numbers and ethnic and religious The expeditionary corps led by General Maison was comprised of 3 brigades (somewhere between 13,000 and 15,000 people). It disembarked in Koroni on 29 August 1828 and the last French soldiers left only in 1833. 5 F. C. H. L. Pouqueville. Voyage en Morée, à Constantinople, en Albanie et dans plusieures autres parties de l’Empire Ottoman pendant les années 1789, 1798, 1800 et 1801. Paris 1805; G. A. Olivier. Voyage dans l’Empire Ottoman, l’Egypte et la Perse. Paris 1801–1807; F. Beaujour. Tableau du commerce de la Gréce. Paris 1800; I. B. Lechevalier. Voyage de la Propontide et du Pont-Euxin. Paris 1800; G. B. Depping. Histoire du commerce entre le Levant et l’Europe depuis les croisades jusqu’ à la fondation des colonies d’Amérique. Paris 1830. 4

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characteristics, distance from major administrative centres and the location of military capabilities and garrisons. Attention was paid to historical background as well as great natural calamities (mostly earthquakes) or dangerous epidemics. Ambition was evident to report the latest political developments related to the Greek and Serbian Uprisings, the latest Russo-Turkish wars or the reform efforts of the Porte. To provide better orientation to the readers, the publishers offered as a supplement to the Description a large map of European Turkey and a detailed plan of Constantinople and its suburbs. The map (drawn to a scale of 1:1,600,000) was conveniently produced on two separate sheets; one contained Greece, Albania and the southeastern parts of the Balkans, while the other represented Thrace, Moesia, Bessarabia, Moldavia, Wallachia, Serbia, Kosovo, Bosnia, Herzegovina and Montenegro. The inscriptions correctly indicated the old and contemporary appellations, making the use of the map and quick orientation a lot easier. The most extensive overview occupying nearly six pages was dedicated to Turkey. It presented a precise, balanced picture of the past and present of the Ottoman Empire. Its boundaries were fairly accurate; the Empire, the author admitted, still possessed imposing territories on three continents (Asia, Europe and Africa). Special attention was given to the Porte’s vassal areas, with specific details about the status of the Danubian Principalities, Algiers, Tunisia and Tripoli. The article clarified the administrative organisation of Ottoman provinces and with enviable insight emphasised how “uncertain, questionable and fickle” the seemingly strict subordination (obedience) of local rulers really was with respect to central authority.6 Typical examples of the complicated political relations between the provincial pashas and beys and Constantinople included Ali Pasha of Ioannina, who had whipped up “an almost new dominion” in Epirus; Morea, which “belonged only in name to the government;” and Bosnia that enjoyed exceptional privilege. The analysis of the state of affairs in Turkey highlighted the salient difference between the situation in the Balkans and Asia Minor. The description of the intricate political jigsaw pieced together and sustained by the Ottoman rulers left room for the uncertain fate of Kurds, Tatars, Druze and Bedouin; until recently, the Ottomans used all these peoples as paid mercenaries, but in future they might become independent actors in the region unless their growing demands were satisfied.7 The military capabilities of the empire were laid out fairly accurately, drawing attention to the radical reform, initiated under Selim ІІІ (1789–1807) and completed by Mahmud ІІ, that disbanded the janissary corps. Details about the proportion and status of the branches of the Turkish army (infantry, cavalry, artillery and navy) gave an adequate picture of the Porte’s real capabilities to counter St. Petersburg’s plans for a large-scale Russian offensive in the Balkans. The overview outlined the first steps in the creation of the proverbial Nizam Djedid. In conclusion, the author offered three most intriguing arguments: 6 7

Description géographique et historique, р. 158. Ibid., p. 160.

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– in the beginning of the 19th century the Ottoman Empire possessed less and less imperial features and would seemingly be easily destroyed; – the peoples subjugated by the Ottoman Empire craved independence; they would readily change masters as long as the new rulers did not aggravate their situation; – conquering Turkey and establishing a stable rule there was a lot more difficult than defeating the empire.8 Political analysis was present, too, in other entries about the more significant regions of the empire’s Balkan provinces. The article about Greece, for instance,9 overshadowed the description of nature’s scenery in these ancient lands with accounts about the conquest of Byzantium by the Ottomans and the ensuing hardships for the indigenous population. The Greeks – wrote the author of the Geographical and Historical Description – albeit humiliated, could not bear the tyrants’ insults. The 1770 uprising was crushed atrociously, yet it could not but burst again because the Greeks, zealous for education, began translating in their mother tongue the works of civilised Europe and, to lull the troubled Turks, set up their schools in churches. So the uprising broke out again, much more successfully! Even if the whole of Greece may still be far from liberating herself from her ferocious enemies, she will not bow again in future. Her government has already been constituted, order is gradually taking root, and the policy towards her is growing increasingly beneficial…10

The part about Montenegro was written with unconcealed sympathy. “All Montenegrins are soldiers, the book says, and have often defeated the Albanian pashas. Their ways are slightly boorish and bloodthirsty, but they are patriotic, hospitable people.” Morea impressed with its ethnic diversity, the long ayan upheavals and its active participation in various riots and insurrections against the Porte. The Bulgarians were presented as an ancient tribe that “came from the banks of Volga” and created a new state (“empire”) south of the Danube; later on, however, their kingdom was conquered by the Byzantine rulers and then by the Turks. “Agricultural life has softened their customs and has made them a hard-working, peace-loving and hospitable race.”11 The verdict on Serbia emphasised that not long ago, under the leadership of Prince Karadjordjević, privileges were extracted from the sultan and guaranteed by Russia: Only the fortresses keep Turkish garrisons – the anonymous writer pointed out – but nowhere else are the Turks allowed to set foot. A Senate governs justice, the police and confessions in accordance with local customs. The region pays the Porte a fixed tax and provides a corps of 12,000 men in times of war.12 Ibid., p. 161. Ibid., p. 70-3. 10 Ibid., p. 72. 11 Ibid., p. 27. 12 Ibid., p. 139. 8 9

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Most entries about individual settlements sought to present summary geographical and economic information. The readers learned where and what was produced and sold, whether there were any fairs, what natural resources were being mined, and if there were suitable conditions for international trade. The text specified population numbers, the number and affiliation of religious communities, the existence of churches, mosques and synagogues, schools and libraries. Galaţi was described as follows: A town in Moldavia, on the left bank of the Danube, with a population of 7,000 people... a centre of commerce in Wallachia and Moldavia. The town’s port can accommodate ships up to 300 tonnes and is frequented by Austrians, Russians and Turks. The two principalities have other outlets for local goods such as the passages in Transylvania or the port in Varna, but all their exports come through Galaţi. The Greeks bring fabrics, silk and leather goods; the Russians – furs and tobacco; the Jews – jewellery; the Muslims – excellent morocco leather, spices and fragrances.13

The note on Kyustendil, a typical town in the empire’s hinterland, indicated that it was an administrative and metropolitan centre numbering around 10,000 people, a third of which were Turks. Detailed information was provided about the distance to Constantinople, Skopje, Salonica, Adrianople and Sofia, and the list of local sights included the town’s market, spas and old fortifications. Lesbos was singled out for its wine, fruits, timber for the shipbuilding industry, marble, peas and figs; it had a large shipyard and the islanders carried on trade predominantly with Smyrna. The name of Sliven was associated with one of the most important fairs of the Ottoman Empire; Serres was the home of prime-quality cotton exported to Vienna, Venice and Trieste; Babadag’s landmark was its well preserved aqueduct; Adrianople was famous for its 28 caravanserais, 10 Christian churches, 22 public baths, 5 stone bridges and 8 wooden ones, dozens of mosques and schools, charitable establishments, a huge arsenal and a powder mill. The old Bulgarian capital Tărnovo impressed with its fascinating panoramic view from the banks of Yantra River, and Trebinje was famous for its wine and grain. It used to be the seat of a Catholic bishop but the local Muslim fanatics (mostly Islamised Serbs) chased him away and he was forced to take residence in Dubrovnik. The list of examples can be extended with numerous other settlements and regions, but that would be superfluous. They all corroborate, however, the important impression that the author of the Description géographique et historique de la Turquie d’Europe was intimately familiar with Balkan realities. As mentioned earlier, details about greater natural calamities and epidemics in the Balkans did not escape attention. The article about Arta mentioned that after the plague that hit the city in 1816 the local population was decimated, shrinking merely to 6,000 people. A year earlier (in 1815) other cities in Epirus shared a similar fate. Such reports continued with the earthquakes in Morea in 1817 and Plovdiv in 1818, where the last shocks destroyed the greater part of the city. 13

Ibid., p. 65.

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Accounts of individual settlements in the European provinces of the Ottoman Empire are interesting with their brief historical explanations, particularly information about the Balkans’ recent or more distant past. The entry on Nicopolis mentioned Bayezid’s battle with the Western European knights (erroneously dated 1391). Memories of the Ottoman invasion and the conquest of Bulgarians, Greeks, Serbs and Albanians were deftly intertwined in the accounts about Constantinople, Tărnovo, Novi Pazar, Kosovo, Gallipoli, or the islands of Rhodes and Lesbos. Important episodes of the Austro–Turkish and Russo–Turkish relations were highlighted as appropriate. The author recalled the battle of Lepanto (1571), the Peace Treaty of Passarowitz (1718), Belgrade’s takeovers by the Austrians (1690, 1717, 1789), the peace between Turkey and Russia in 1774 with the Treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji. A curious observation was made about Dobrič (Hacioğlu Pazarcık): until 1774 the city had a rich library, but after the Russian occupation everything was pillaged and destroyed. Similar acts of pointless vengeance and cruelty were described during the Russo–Turkish wars in the late 18th and early 19th centuries: in Ismail, General Suvorov’s company in 1789 massacred most of the population and burned the city; the Russians sacked and razed Giurgiu in 1810; the fortifications of Russe were demolished by General Kutuzov’s troops in 1811 and the residential areas were burned to the ground. In order to successfully accomplish its purpose, that is, to make more accessible and meaningful the trickle of news reaching France about the course of the ongoing Russian campaign south of the Danube, the Description embedded, whenever the narrative permitted, numerous examples illustrating one of the primary causes for the latest crisis in the Balkans – the Greek Uprising. Among other events, the readers could learn about the Greek Declaration of Independence proclaimed at the Epidaurus and the vote of the Greek constitution there (1822); the bloody battles and ensuing atrocities against Christians on the islands of Chios and Psara (1822); and the heroic defence of Messolonghi in April 1826. Interesting facts were disclosed about the background and beginning of the new Russo–Turkish war. The article on Akkerman devoted special attention to the Russo–Turkish meeting held there in the autumn of 1826 (on 25 September) that led to the famous Akkerman Convention, whereby the two powers tried to forestall a potential new conflict. Highlights of the negotiated agreement included, among others: guaranteed right of Russian ships to sail unhindered in the Black Sea; evacuation of Turkish troops from Serbia; renewal and confirmation of all previous agreements. The author took special care to point out that subsequently the Porte disregarded its commitments under the convention and called all Muslims to the colours, ultimately causing the outbreak of the “current” war between Russia and Turkey. The victory of the allied fleet at Navarino was not ignored. The entries about Šumen, Russe, Vidin, Silistra and other fortresses dispersed around Rumelia noted the potential difficulties (new fortifications; concentration of military formations, etc.) General Diebitsch and his army might have to face.

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The Description published by F.-G. Levrault never pretended to exhaust its subject. Those knowledgeable of the Levant and the more fastidious reader will find numerous omissions, inaccuracies and errors. More important, however, is the effort to inform broad circles of the French public by providing concise, objective, analytical and timely information about a truly burning and pressing question. All their imperfections aside, such publications, in fact kindred to the style of the presently fashionable “urgent anthropology,” facilitated dissemination of knowledge about the Balkans and played an important role in shaping public attitudes on capital issues in the foreign policy of the European powers. On this particular count, the Description géographique et historique de la Turquie d’Europe was an outright success.

Spanish Records of Istanbul at the End of the 18th Century Nadia Manolova-Nikolova The history of the Ottoman Empire is built mainly on the empire’s documentation and information coming from the great European countries that maintained close contacts with the Ottomans, notably Austria, Russia and France. The accounts of countries whose political and economic interests did not require intensive relationships are used to a much lesser degree. Spain is one of these countries. Different Spanish archives keep various accounts of the situation and the actions taken by the large Islamic state, including the situation in the Balkans. The information collected by the Spanish royal administration is a valuable but rarely used source in the historic narrative of the East. In Bulgaria the interest towards the manuscripts, books and documents kept in Spain concerning the region of Southeastern Europe originated in the early 20th century. Following the five centuries of Ottoman rule, the creation of a national narrative in the newly restored state required searching more and more historical accounts of the past. Academician Yordan Ivanov was the first Bulgarian researcher who worked in Madrid in the 1920s, getting acquainted with the remarkable richness of Spanish libraries and archives.1 Nearly fifty years later, under changed political circumstances, historians such as Academician Vasil Gyuzelev, Prof. Bistra Tzvetkova, Prof. Dragomir Draganov, the specialist in Spanish Studies Ventzeslav Nikolov, and others have approached interesting documents concerning Bulgarian and Balkan history in the archives of the National Library in Madrid, the El Escorial monastery, the Spanish Foreign Ministry, the Barcelona archives, as well as in Salamanca, Valladolid, and other places. Thanks to their work, the Central State Archives of Bulgaria located in Sofia preserve copies of the Spanish diplomatic correspondence concerning the relations between Spain and the Ottoman Empire. Albeit not very rich, this collection bears upon significant issues of the past of both countries. The bulk of documents has not been translated into Bulgarian and has not been used in our historical studies. This paper aims at drawing attention to some interesting documents that characterise, from the point of view of a Spanish observer, the situation in the Ottoman Empire, the foreign trade in Istanbul and the most developed trade centres of the late 18th century. The documents date from 1785 and 1786, shortly before the empire 1

Nadya Manolova-Nikolova. Y. Ivanov v Ispania, Kyustendil Readings Collection, in print.

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was overtaken by anarchy and decentralisation.2 Therefore, they have “recorded” for the researchers a snapshot of the established standards, relationships and rules that would be soon swept away or at least changed by the events following the French Revolution. On the eve of the New Age, Spain and the Ottoman Empire experienced profound changes. In the Age of Enlightenment, under complicated dynastic relations and warfare, the Bourbons reformed the Spanish administration and army. Following the strengthening of royal absolutism, government became more efficient and centralised. The coastal regions and seaport towns saw the most distinct demographic growth and economic gains. Reformers, especially under the reign of King Charles III, pursued a policy of liberalisation of the economy. One of the main objectives was to overcome the negative trade balance. In its foreign policy, Spain aimed at defending first and foremost its economic interests in the colonies against Great Britain, as well as expanding its trade network as much as possible.3 Attempts at reforms were also made in the Ottoman Empire in the 18th century but they had a considerably smaller effect. They were undertaken by Sultan Ahmed III at the beginning of the century when it became clear that the empire would no longer play a dominant role in Europe and the Orient. Here, as well as in Spain, foreign, mostly French expertise was involved to reform the army and administration, and to revive spiritual life. The conservative reaction of the janissaries and the ulema put an end to these initiatives but the curiosity and the interest towards the Western world remained. Attempts at revival continued with temporary success; they were abandoned at times and even terminated. The 18th century witnessed an intensified Western presence in the foreign trade of the Ottoman Empire as a result of the progress made by the mercantile capitalism supported by the government. The well-known Capitulations applied mainly in favour of the Western merchants.4 Setting aside their different interests, all European countries united in their aim to keep the capitulations unilateral arrangements, without a reciprocal engagement between their governments and the Porte.5 Under these circumstances and trends in the development of both countries the first peace and trade treaty between Spain and the Ottoman Empire was signed on 14 September 1782. It was executed during the reigns of King Charles III of Spain and Sultan Abdul Hamid I, each equally aware of the need of crucial changes at home. The treaty was ratified in December 1782 on the part of Spain and in April 1783 by the Sublime Porte.6 In Spanish historiography, preoccupied mainly with the Vera Mutafčieva. Kărdžaliysko Vreme. Izbrani săčinenia, vol. 2. Sofia 2008. Julio Valdeón, Joseph Pérez, Santos Juliá. Historia de España. Madrid 2006, pp. 279-312. 4 R. Mantran, ed., Istoriya na Osmanskata imperiya. Sofia: Riva Publishers 1999, pp. 285-97. 5 Snežka Panova. Zapadnata diplomatsiya v Konstantinopol /18 v./, Istoričesko bădešte, 1-2 (2002), 102-6. 6 Recueil des traites de la Porte Ottoman, avec les puissances etrangeres. Depuis le premier traite conclu, en 1536 entre Suleyman I et Francois I jusqu’a nos jurs, vol. 1. Paris 1864, p. 408. 2 3

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great state policy in the Western world and America, the treaty is only mentioned without comment.7 The same is true for Ottoman historiography, which shows little interest in this type of documents because it has sufficient own sources to build its own historical narrative. The copies of documents in our possession date mainly from the time after the treaty’s signature. They prove that at the end of the 18th century the Spanish diplomacy became better acquainted with the specifics of the Levant where merchants from France, the Netherlands and Great Britain, among others, had already gained economic positions. The information intended for the Spanish Foreign Ministry was collected by the Minister Plenipotentiary, Juan Ventura de Bouligny.8 Bouligny lived in the Ottoman capital since 1780. His Secretary was Joseph Eliodoro de Bouligny, most likely a relative. The documents indicate that both men gained much experience with Eastern trade as well as knowledge about the political relations in the empire. I have no direct evidence, but I assume that they came from the Spanish Mediterranean and were of Catalonian origin. The name of Joseph is typical of Catalonia and they both had a good command of French and Italian. Obviously, they were well educated and well versed men who carried on despite all difficulties “caused by the numerous underhand dealings and the inconsistency of the Ottoman government that makes everything within its power to conceal its actions, including its successes,” or the “lack of public registers at the customs and the traders’ habit of hiding, for fear of competition, their ways of making money in the Levant.”9 Like other European diplomats, the Spaniards’ ambition was to present detailed information about the political system of the Ottoman Empire, its relations with other countries and trade potential. They thought the latter was closely connected with the entire Ottoman system of governance. An original political treatise by Joseph Bouligny, Observations on the Political System of the Ottoman Porte… of 15 May 1786, pointed out that “if there is a government liable to the dictate of inconsistency and unusual political ideas and solutions, then it is, without a doubt, the Ottoman government.”10 Four basic, though contradictory, characteristics of the Ottoman Empire could be deduced: it was despotic because the sultan, though subject to laws, was their interpreter and governor; monarchical because the sultan was made equal to the laws in view of political and private ends; aristocratic because the clergy, the politicians and the military were summoned to take important decisions; and democratic because almost everybody [that is, the Muslims] was militarised and sometimes people prevailed over the sultan who would be forced to submit to their will or abdicate Valdeón, Pérez, Juliá. Historia de España, р. 586. Kalendario manual. Madrid: Imprenta Real 1790, pp. 61-2. Universidad de Barcelona, Biblioteca de Reserva, sig. RR 137. 9 Central State Archive (CSA), k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 94, fol. 1-3. Sofia, Bulgaria. 10 Ibid., file 94, fol. 2. 7 8

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the throne and lay down his life. Bayezid II and Mustafa I were given as informative examples, among others.11 The document contains a scrupulous analysis of the special features of Ottoman central and local government. The explanations were based on the past of these territories and their conquest by the Ottomans; the role of religion in the organisation of the state was highlighted along with the attitude towards Christian outlanders in spite of all treaties signed with them, as well as the qualities a diplomat must have to penetrate the complexity of the imperial political life and the sultan’s court. Using brief or more detailed descriptions, Joseph Bouligny dwelled on the specifics of the treaties signed first of all with France, as well as Great Britain, the Netherlands, Russia, Sweden, Prussia, Venice, Naples, Dubrovnik, the African provinces, Persia, Uzbekia, Dagestan, Kuban, and so forth.12 Spanish diplomacy was well aware of the complicated relations between the different confessional groups and the problems faced by the Catholics in the Ottoman Empire. Several letters in the collection provide relevant information. According to one of them, Monseigneur Frachia, a vicar apostolic of the Roman Church in Istanbul, had been asking since September 1786 that a post office be set up in „Philipopoli de la Bulgaria,” and recommended that it should be assigned to the local Catholic bishop. The city mentioned in the letter was Plovdiv, the seat of the vicar apostolic of the Catholic diocese of Sofia and Plovdiv. According to the Spanish account, the bishop was ready to start running the post office. In return, he asked for Spain’s protection before Ottoman authorities against the persecutions of Greek “schismatics,” requiring no payment for his work.13 The vicar apostolic insisted that he should be appointed an agent or vice-consul of Juan Bouligny, whereby he would be given the requested protection. The vicar’s request was supported by the papal legate and the Congregatio de propaganda fide approached King Charles III of Spain to issue an order to that effect. According to the available information, the king yielded to the Congregation’s insistence. He issued an order to the Spanish Minister Plenipotentiary in Istanbul to obtain the relevant permission (firman), although difficulties were expected. The last document we have concerning this matter, dated 16 October 1786, says the following: Don Juan de Bouligny. Acusa el recibo de la orden para que se nombre por uno Vicecоnsul en Philipopoli al recomiendo del Vicario Apostólico de Constantinopoli y que ha pedido el Firman, aunque puede haber embarazo.14

The name of the vicar apostolic of Sofia and Plovdiv is not mentioned but he was most likely Nicola Zilvi, the bishop of this diocese from 1784 to 1802.15 We do Ibid., fol. 3. Ibid., fol. 12-23. 13 CSA, k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 94, fol. 29; fol. 31-2. 14 Ibid., fol. 30. 15 Ivan Elenkov. Katoličeskata tsărkva ot iztochen obryad v Bălgariya. Sofia 2000, pp. 18-19. 11 12

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not have the continuation of the correspondence; nor do we know whether the firman was obtained and whether Nicola Zilvi became a Spanish vice-consul besides a bishop. No clear evidence is available about the particular circumstances that had caused the fears of the “Greek schismatics” and made Nicola Zilvi ask for protection. A reasonable assumption is that his request was granted because he administered the diocese for a comparatively long period of time, nearly 20 years.16 This example brings up the question as to whether or not the Spanish diplomacy played a part in the support and propagation of Catholicism in the Balkans and whether or not this was part of its overall strategy towards the Ottoman Empire and the Orient. The answer requires further research in the Spanish archives. Another 18th-century document from the Spanish collection also attracts attention. Demonstrating skill and extensive knowledge, Juan Bouligny prepared the interesting Description of Trade in Constantinople as Indicative of the Entire Levant, Made in 1785.17 It contains detailed information about the number of foreign firms in Istanbul, the mechanisms of foreign trade, customs rules and local products of interest to the European trade; the exchange rate of coins; the specific measures and scales; the current prices of foreign commodities sold in the capital; the terms and conditions under which France gave permission to set up a business there; and a description of consular departments in the Levant. NUMBER OF FOREIGN FIRMS IN ISTANBUL IN 1785

Foreign firms

France England The Netherlands Germany Venice Russia Naples

Number 10 4 3 3 3 2 1

The French firms received directly from Marseille large quantities of fine and coarse fabrics. They were manufactured in the interior of the country and were the basis of their trade. In addition, they received sugar of different quality and indigo from Santo Domingo and Guatemala; spices from the East; stacks of hats of white and coloured fabrics from Tunisia, for which the wool was produced in Spain, transported to Marseille and finally shipped to Tunisia where the hats were made; cochineal, the insect from which the crimson dye called carmine was derived; and gold and silver braid imported from León. A lucrative business was their trade in 16 17

Ibid., p. 19. CSA, k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 93, fol. 1.

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coins, mostly the Spanish pesos, fuertes. Delivered directly from Marseille, they sold one peso for 95 pari to the Mint in cash, thus making a great profit. 18 The English firms sold fabrics of different quality but on a limited scale because demand for their goods was not as high as for the French fabrics. They also traded in golden and silver watches, black English shawls that were in great demand, sugar, different kinds of muslin, etc.19 Dutch traders delivered their goods to Smyrna without reaching Istanbul because there was no commodity they could take back. They preferred to trade in spices, nutmeg, cinnamon, a lot of muslin, etc.20 Diamonds, pearls, unpolished emeralds and various other stones were much in demand at the marketplace in Istanbul. They were delivered by post from Vienna twice a week and Juan Bouligny noted that words failed to describe how much they were used in the sultan’s seraglios and by the local nobility.21 Interestingly, the Germans traded in huge quantities of fabrics that closely resembled the French ones and were well received. Muslins from Saxony were in great demand because they closely imitated the Indian ones; other fabrics imitated Chinese imports. In addition, various metals, crystals, mercury, gold and silver braid, were sold. The commodities were delivered via Trieste and in the summer travelled down the Danube and the Black Sea.22 The Venetians had a low turnover of fabrics, glass and crystal that was not enough to cover expenses, so they carried the goods of other firms. The Neapolitans did the same. Russian traders supplied the Ottoman capital with large amounts of grain and their shipments spread far and wide across the Mediterranean. They also offered furs, iron, timber, hemp and other important commodities.23 Bouligny paid special attention to the operations of Armenian and Greek firms. They were conducting brisk trade with India and Persia, running rich caravans via Aleppo and in the empire’s interior, but their traffic had an insignificant effect on the established European firms. When describing the process of selling foreign commodities, he emphasised the role of the local traders – Armenians, Greeks and Jews; they acted as commission agents without whom, especially “without the Jews, nothing could be done.” Middlemen made direct negotiations with the Turks next to impossible. It was very difficult, and a waste of time, to get money from them.24 18 Ibid., folio 1. There is a considerable literature on the French trade in the Levant; among Bulgarian authors see: Plamen Mitev. Frantsia i iznosăt na vălna ot bălgarskite zemi prez 18 v., Sofia University Yearbook, Faculty of History, vol. 79, 1988, pp. 60-80; Frenskata levantiyska tărgovia i bălgarskite zemi. In: Second International Congress of Bulgarian Studies (Sofia 1984), Reports 7. Sofia 1989, pp. 209-14. 19 CSA, k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 93, fol. 2. 20 Ibid., folio 2. See also: Plamen Mitev. Tărgoviata na Holandia s Osmanskata imperia prez 17–18 v. i bălgarskite zemi, Vekove, 4 (1988), 49-55. 21 CSA, k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 93, fol. 2. 22 Ibid., fol. 2. 23 Ibid., fol. 2. 24 Ibid., fol. 2-3.

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For a period of one year, the Istanbul port was visited by 10 to 15 French ships, 5 or 6 Venetian ships, 3 or 4 ships from London, 5 to 6 Ottoman imperial ships, and countless Russian ships because of the connections between the two powers. Ships from Amsterdam, Naples and Sweden did not drop anchor in spite of the established official relations with these countries. A large caravan of French, Dalmatian and Venetian ships would set off eastwards for Mecca each year in May and June. It carried Muslim pilgrims and goods because “the Turks are not experts in navigation and are afraid of the Maltese pirates.”25 The exchange of coins was a barometer of the conditions in the state. According to Bouligny, if not long ago one needed 100 piastres for 100 French escudos, now the exchange rate was up to 120-125 piastres. His conclusion was that the empire was at a constant loss but foreign traders did not lose money. On the back of their trade in Spanish pesos, duros, the French amassed such profits that in 1784 they offered the government, if possible, to invest 126,000 piastres on land, and present as a gift to the sultan one battleship with seventy guns. The offer had a strong effect.26 Comparing the positions of all participants in the Levant trade, Bouligny gave precedence to the achievements of the French; according to him, they were the leaders and set an example of how to win economic and political positions in the East and in the world at large. His observations are important in this comparison between the different European traders and the goods they offered, as well as the assessment of the Spaniards’ chances of delivering competitive goods from the American colonies to the Levant markets. The document contains information about their prices, as well as the prices of commodities coming from the Ottoman Empire, but they will be systemised and summarised in a separate study. Describing the foreign trade in Istanbul, the Spanish diplomat made the remarkable prediction that the French would organise the carriage of goods via Suez. Thus they would compensate for the losses resulting from the trade with the East via the Cape of Good Hope. Juan Bouligny expected political turmoil in Egypt as a result of the French intentions because the Egyptian pashas were far from loyal vassals of the sultan. He expected that a free passage between Europe and the East via Suez would be the most interesting and important event for the region and the world. At the end of the century, Bouligny believed that Smyrna would be the most developed commercial city in the Levant in the future. The ship traffic was 6 times busier than that in Istanbul. The prices were much more acceptable for the Spanish traders, especially those of silk and cotton, much needed for the textile mills that were mushrooming in Spain. Smyrna was considered an important centre from which to carry on trade with Southeastern Europe, too. The Russian consul in Smyrna was sent a list of Spanish goods that could be offered in Russia and Poland. The routes and opportunities for such exchange were explored in line with Bouligny’s expectations for a vast opening of trade across the Black Sea. The Spanish observer 25 26

Ibid., fol. 4. Ibid., fol. 6-7.

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believed that Russia would play this decisive role not only in its own favour, but also in favour of other European traders.27 Conclusion The briefly analysed Spanish documents from the Bulgarian collection in Sofia add to our knowledge about the life in Istanbul and the Ottoman Empire at the end of the 18th century. The opening of the Spanish diplomatic delegation in the Ottoman capital made it possible to explore trade opportunities in the Levant and Southeastern Europe. Most likely the intentions were to use the capacity of American colonies for supplying goods, whereby the Spaniards could compete with the other European traders in the Near East. The study of Spanish documents about the Ottoman Empire will continue and, hopefully, will lend further variety to our approaches and research.

27

CSA, k. m. fund 15, inventory 917, file 94, fol. 58-61.

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A Background to Serbian Culture and Education in the First Half of the 18th Century According to Serbian Historiographical Sources Miloš Djordjević The advance of the school system of the Serbs has been considered in Serbian historiographical sources as one of the most fundamental factors in purging centuries of illiteracy and building a new era on the former cultural and educational foundations of the medieval Serbian state. The Hungarian dominated territory was the only one which could provide suitable conditions for the realisation of the Serbian national aspirations towards this goal. The historiographical sources indicate methods and instruments used by the highest level of ecclesiastical dignitaries to elevate the Serbian population to the cultural and educational position of the western nations. Several periods can be differentiated within this process, relating to achievements by these scholars: – From the Great Serb Migrations in 1690 to the arrival of the first scholar from Russia in 1726; – The period of Russian-Slavic influence until 1749 when the metropolitan Pavle Nenadovic introduced education to a wider population and initiated establishment of printing centres for the church and school books; – And the final turn in the history of school and education of Serbs in the Habsburg monarchy in 1769, when concrete legal foundations were established and initiated in Vienna for the newly reborn school system based on the principles of European Enlightenment. This final period of the organisation of Serbian schools calls for a special analysis due to its scale and implications.1 The research of this topic by Serbian historians has included the use of archive, as well as related literary material. The Austrian archive sources had been mostly exhausted and therefore a particular interest was turned to the records available at the State Archives in Budapest and the Metropolitan Archive in Sremski Karlovci. The latter provided important details relating to the external and internal organisation of Serbian schools during the rule of the Metropolitans Mojsije Petrovic and Vicenitje Jovanovic of Belgrade and Karlovci from 1713–1737. 1 The reformation movement of the Serbian schools was governed by the Illyrian Court Delegation in Vienna (a type of ministry for Serbian affairs to the court of Vienna); Maria Theresa and her son Joseph frequently helped with the reforms. Dimitrije Kirilović. Srpske osnovne škole u Vojvodini u 18. veku, Sremski Karlovci: Srpska Manastriska Štamparija 1929, p. 27.

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During the longer period from 1690–1769 the school system was not subject to legal dispositions, but relied on the good will and enterprise of the local church, eparchy and metropolitan delegates. Education was regarded as part of religious life, and therefore the operating of Serbian schools in the Habsburg monarchy was a direct responsibility of the Orthodox Church during the first half of the 18th century. The majority of schools operated within churches and monasteries in Belgrade, Pozarevac, Grocka, Valjevo, Kragujevac and other towns.2 Serbian Patriarchs and Metropolitans had recognised the importance of schools and education during the times when the majority of the Serbian population lived on the Hungarian territories, and it was their responsibility, in addition to religious freedoms, to also win a freedom to open schools and printing centres. In the early March of 1706, Patriarch Arsenije III Carnojevic forwarded a request to Emperor Joseph I to allow Serbs to not only receive education in German schools, but also establish their own schools on the territory of Austria.3 In 1708 the National Church Council in Krusedol requested the election of Isaija Djakovic as metropolitan, and the establishment of a printing centre for the needs of Serbian people and the church.4 In 1718, following the peace treaty in Passarowitz between Austria and the Ottoman Empire when, amongst other territories, the northern regions of Serbia were ceded to Austria, the Belgrade Metropolitans Mojsije Petrovic and Vicentije Jovanovic made the first concrete steps towards achieving the goals for the Serbian school system. Prior to the Austrian conquest of Belgrade in August 1717, there had been only one primary (or trivial) Greek school in Belgrade where teaching was conducted in Greek.5 At the beginning of the 18th century these kind of schools existed everywhere in the Balkans, and almost all learning included solely studying church books, writing and singing, focusing on the intellectual state of the clergy.6 There were no real textbooks or teachers. The “Daskals,” “Mesters” and “Magisters” had not been educated to become teachers, but mostly monks and priests, and often merchants’ assistants, merchants or craftsmen, who taught their apprentices in their homes, usually consisting of one room where they lived and worked, cooked and slept. However, although there were no qualified teachers, curriculum or textbooks, there were tried methods, albeit quite primitive, used to acquire literacy and the knowledge which was considered necessary at the time.7 2 Dušan J. Popović. Srbija i Beograd od požarevačkog do beogradskog mira (1718–1739). Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga 1950, p. 160-1, 215. 3 “Neque typographias aut alias scholas inter nos erigere, aut alia necessaria ad ecclesiam spectantia constituere ullatenus impediamur, ac tali etiam qui scholas aut universitates romanas frequentare vellet, liber ad easdem accessus frequentationis, quousque eidem placuerit, permittatur.” Jovan Radonić. Prilog istoriji srpskih štamparija pred kraj XVIII vek. Belgrade: Spomenik Akad., XLIX (1910), 67. 4 Jova Adamović. Privilegije srpskog naroda u Ugarskoj i rad blagoveštenskog sabora 1861. Zagreb: Štampa srpske štamparije 1902, p. 88-91. 5 Dimitrije Ruvarać. Grčka škola u Beogradu. Sremski Karlovci: Srpski Sion 1905, p. 430. 6 Kirilović. Srpske osnovne škole, p. 1. 7 Popović. Srbija i Beograd od požarevačkog do beogradskog mira, p. 217.

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During this period the Serbs from Budim (Buda) were the most educated amongst the nation. Soon after the formation of the Serbian municipality in Budim, the Serbs accepted a financial responsibility towards the educators of their children. The first reliable records of such school, where the teaching was conducted in German, dated from 1704. The Budim Serbs could not establish a Latin school, which represented an institution of secondary level education and was a predecessor of gymnasiums, as the government regulations of the time did not allow formation of another Latin institution if one already existed in the town. The German school was extremely useful to the Serbs as they were taught in the German language, required for carrying out duties towards the Magistrate and the state authorities in Vienna.8 The period from 1726 to 1731 was marked by the organised activities of the Belgrade Metropolitan Mojsije Petrovic for establishing primary and secondary schools. His accomplishments included initiation of educational cooperation with Russia, and in this regard he sent two letters to the Russian Emperor Peter the Great.9 During his first visit to Vienna, he forwarded an appeal to the Russian Emperor, via the Russian delegate Avram Petrovic Vaselovski, for the provision of two experienced teachers and textbooks for the needs of Serbian schools. In 1722 he sent another letter of similar content to the Russian Chancellor, the count Gavrilo Golovkin, appealing to him to intercede with the Emperor.10 In both letters the Metropolitan expressed his disapproval of the Catholic clergy influences and doubted their intentions to contribute to the education of the Serbian population in the Habsburg monarchy.11 The dominant personality of the Russian Emperor, Peter the Great, contributed to the reinforcement of the Russian relations with the Serbs, already developed on the basis of common faith and similar language, particularly in the Serbian requests for Russian aid for liberation from the Ottomans. Owing to this rapid development of Russo–Serbian relations, his military success, and particularly for wars against the Ottomans and appeals to the Christian nations to take part in the war alongside the Russian army,12 the Emperor’s popularity among the Serbs rose rapidly and translated into a true cult of his persona, expressed in various oral and written forms.13 Dušan J. Popović. Srbi u Budimu od 1690 do 1740. Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga 1952, p. 259. 9 Edib Hasanagić. Istorija škola i obrazovanja kod Srba. Belgrade: Istorijski muzej SR Srbije 1974, p. 104-7. 10 Popović. Srbija i Beograd od požarevačkog do beogradskog mira, p. 356. 11 Radoslav M. Grujić. Prilozi za istoriju srpskih škola u prvoj polovini XVIII veka. Belgrade: Spomenik Akad., XLIX (1910), p. 99. 12 On 3 March 1711, the Russian Emperor Peter the Great issued a manifest by which he declared to all Christians of Greek and Roman law in Serbia, Slavonia, Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina that he was personally joining his army in the war against the Ottomans for liberation of the Christian nations. Radovan Samardzic. In: Istorija srpskog naroda, IV/1. Belgrade: SKZ 1986, p. 29. 13 Mita Kostić. Kult Petra Velikog kod Rusa, Srba i Hrvata u XVIII veku, Istorijski časopis SKA, VIII (1958), p. 87. 8

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Within these political and cultural relations Metropolitan Petrovic addressed Peter the Great in a plea full of devotion and flamboyant phraseology.14 The Mitropolitan’s goal was achieved in the form of two Russian teachers, the brothers Maksim and Petr Suvorov. The letters exchanged with Maksim Suvorov show his principle attitude towards educational and school policies.15 This was clearly in line with the contemporary European position on schools’ objectives and their curricula, which the Metropolitan expressed in his attempts to establish full-time primary schools, secondary Latin schools and Greek gymnasiums, and higher philosophy and theology colleges. The learning of Slavic and Latin in high schools or colleges along with grammar, rhetoric, logic, philosophy and theology aimed to teach the students the fundaments of spiritual policy so that they could become bishops, preachers, priests and teachers.16 In late May 1726 Maksim Suvorov, the first Russian teacher of Serbs, arrived in Sremski Karlovci, where he opened a school for seven students, but was soon transferred to Belgrade on the Metropolitan’s request and opened a full-time RussianSlavic school for 29 students. His work met wide resistance by the Belgrade society,17 evident in his numerous complaints, which compelled him to return to Sremski Karlovci.18 Following the death of Metropolitan Mojsije Petrovic in 1731, the working conditions changed and Maksim Suvorov returned to Russia. However, his Russian-Slavic schools in Belgrade and Sremski Karlovci formed the foundations for the emergence of primary and secondary schools for the Serbian people and resulted in a number of gifted teachers.19 But the contributions of the Suvorov brothers to the establishment of an educational system for the Serbs continued. Between 1736 and 1737 the other brother, Petr Suvorov, taught in a Serbian school in Budim.20 Ibid., p. 98-9. Dimitrije Ruvarać. Pisma Maksima Suvorova, rusko-srpskog učitelja i mitropolita Mojsija Petrovića. Belgrade: Spomenik SKA, 43 (1910), p. 78. 16 Grujić. Prilozi za istoriju srpskih škola, p. 99-112. 17 The Serbian society in Belgrade was not favourably inclined toward the new teacher because of the learning methods which were considered impractical and difficult. In addition, the Russian textbooks (the grammar book by Meletius Smotrytsky) were not easy to study from. A printed book was seldom seen at the time. Among the first books were Russian theological books brought by the merchants, called “Moskovits” or “Moskals.” For the first generation of Serbs in the Habsburg monarchy, mainly illiterate or half-literate, these books were the symbol of Orthodox Christianity and were highly respected, not for reading but as gifts for health and eternal commemoration to the monasteries and parish churches. Popović. Srbija i Beograd od požarevačkog do beogradskog mira, p. 358-9; Miroslav Timotijević. Rađanje moderne privatnosti. Belgrade: Clio 2006, p. 308-9. 18 Edib Hasanagić. Istorija škola i obrazovanja kod Srba. Belgrade: Istorijski muzej SR Srbije 1974, p. 104-107. 19 Rajko Veselinović. Srbija pod austrijskom vlašću. In: Istorija srpskog naroda, IV/1. Belgrade: SKZ 1986, p. 133. 20 Popović. Srbi u Budimu, p. 265-6. 14 15

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The new Metropolitan Vicentije Jovanovic (1731–1737) continued the work on regulating schools and prescribed disciplinary rules for teachers and students of Slavic-Latin and small Slavic schools, as well as the guidelines for financing schools and paying the teachers. When the government authorities refused to introduce a tax for the Serbs for this purpose, the Metropolitan decided to secure funds from properties of deceased bishops and subjects with no inheritors.21 The further actions of Metropolitan Jovanovic focused on the realisation of his predecessor’s aspirations to establish a full-time gymnasium with six grades and introduce philosophy and theology departments.22 The Metropolitan’s efforts did not result in any significant success due to the negligence of the Belgrade Serbs who failed to adequately support the process by sending their children regularly to school.23 Only after the threat to deny them attendance at church services, a promise was given to send the children to school regularly – a weakness of the Serbian education which was later regulated by guidelines for teachers and parents.24 The organisation of Serbian schools considerably changed at the time of the Metropolitan Pavle Nenadovic (1749-1768). As the best representative of the Serbian Enlightenment, convinced he was creating conditions for the more prosperous life of his people, a large number of schools were established due to his involvement. Awareness of the necessity of education for the social and economic growth in the Habsburg monarchy expanded. In addition, a school fund was generated for financing Serbian schools in the Metropolitan’s residence of Karlovac, and one of the objectives was also to open a printing centre in Cyrillic which would print all the necessary books.25 The territories inhabited by Serbs did not have universities; however, a significant number of Serbian students continued their education at the European universities and higher education colleges. The records from the period of the rule of Maria Theresa indicate that dozens of Serbs studied at the universities in Halle, Leipzig and Göttingen.26 Popović. Srbija i Beograd od požarevačkog do beogradskog mira, p. 362-4. Grujić. Prilozi za istoriju srpskih škola, p. 100. 23 When children joined primary schools, initially at the age of six, and then at seven, fathers took on the responsibility for the boys, and made decisions whether or not they would attend school and how fully they would commit to it. The girls usually didn’t attend primary school but stayed at home even in the most élite town circles, e.g. Saint-Andreia where the mothers took care of their further education. Kirilovic. Srpske osnovne škole, p. 97; Zivan Secanski. Jedna klasifikacija srpske osnovne škole u Sent-Andreji iz 1798. godine. Novi Sad: GIDNS 1940, p. 199-201. 24 The guidelines for parents included a code of behaviour towards the school institutions. One of the most important rules was the prohibition of collecting children during the learning hours. Timotijević. Rađanje moderne privatnosti, p. 406-8. 25 Grujić. Priološci za istoriju srpskih štamparija, p. 131-40. 26 Katalin Hegedis Kovacević. Studenti sa Balkana na Univerzitetima nemackog jezičkog područja u XVIII veku. Novi Sad: Zbornik Matice Srpske za Slavistiku 1995, p. 145-65; Ead. Studenti iz jugoistočne Evrope na bečkom Univerzitetu 1729-1793. godine. Novi Sad: Zbornik matice srpske za istoriju, 52 (1995), p. 115-23. 21 22

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The rule of Maria Theresa (1740–1780) was of great importance for the history of schools of all people in the Austrian Empire, including the Serbs. The church was still in charge of these schools but their curriculum was in accordance with the state’s ambition to impose the same norms of socially acceptable behaviour for all subjects. The state expected the full support of the church in popularising the reorganised programme of the religious schools, but failed to achieve this because of the apprehension that the new system would question the existing understanding of an individual – primarily as a believer, and only then as a subject.27 It is clear from the above that the striving of the Serbian church dignitaries towards organisation of the school system during the first half of the 18th century should not be considered solely as a noble wish for knowledge, better education and formation of a developed ethical individual, but also as a need to defeat all the temptations of this era by learning and education. They were the cultural and educational missionaries that laid the basis of the cultural elevation of the Serbs on the territory of the Habsburg monarchy. They often encountered resistance and lack of understanding from the authorities which not always viewed their activities as favourable for practical reasons, but despite this the spiritual leaders of the Serbs in the monarchy persisted with their goals. When political conditions permitted, the Metropolitans would appeal for assistance from Russia, who always ceased the opportunity to strengthen its political influence among the Serbs by aiding their schools and providing them with teachers. Overall, the role and importance of the Metropolitans and their work for the cultural growth and preservation of the national identity of the Serbs in these territories was immeasurable, considering the times and the conditions they were faced with.

Zaharije Orfelin critically analyses the issue in his Predstavci carici Mariji Tereziji. Strahinja K. Kostić. Orfelinova Predstavka Mariji Tereziji, ZMSKJ, 19 (1971), p. 253-5. 27

MARKO KRALJEVIĆ AND TURKISH ROYAL POWER IN THE EPIC POETIC KEY OF SOUTHEASTern EUROPE Snežana Vukadinović Folk epic poetry tells us much more about the relation between Marko Kraljević1 and the Turks than historiography itself. Common people ascribed all unfortunate historical moments of Marko’s vassalage to a parental anathema: Sine Marko da te Bog ubije! Ti nemao groba ni poroda, A da bi ti duša ne ispala, Dok turskoga cara ne dvorio!2

They liked him both as a hero and a man, and forgot all the mistakes that history attributed to him. An epic poet praised his heroism and virtues in the following verse: Nek je Marko Turska pridvorica, a opet je naša perjanica.3

According to the folk tradition, Marko appeared not as a subjugated vassal to the Turks but as a hero and a lord. The sultan and the Turks were afraid of him, so they respected him and showered him with gifts. He was devoted to the emperor, his foster father. He protected him from evil and offered assistance in trouble. The sultan loved Marko as his foster son and forgave him all arbitrary actions. Marko had faithful and loyal friends among the Turks, and Alil Ağa (master Alil) was most frequently mentioned in epic poems. Marko Kraljević did not obey the sultan’s orders that humiliated the Christians. He was always a champion of Christianity against violent attackers and Turkish tyrants. Friendship with the Turks was seldom merciful and lucky. The slightest offence inflicted by the Turks aroused his anger and he raised his mace. The cunning Ivan Božić. Balkanski svet u doba turskih osvajanja. In: Ivan Božić, Sima Ćirković, Milorad Ekmečić, Vladimir Dedijar. Istorija Jugoslavije. Belgrade 1973, pp. 93-100. 2 Foundation of Lenka Beljinica, Sreten .J. Stojković. Kraljević Marko: zbirka 220 pesama i 90 pripovedaka narodnih, pokupljenih iz svih krajeva srpskih i ostalih jugoslovenskih zemalja. Novi Sad, 1922, p. 189; Milan Lukić, Ivan Zlatković. Antologija narodnih pesama o Marku Kraljeviću. Belgrade 1966, p. 440. 3 Stojković. Kraljević Marko., p. 19. 1

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Turks, fully aware how worthwhile it was to have and treat Marko as a friend, suppressed their rage. They evaded open conflict, but often slandered him in front of the sultan. The sultan, on the other hand, usually settled disputes deciding in Marko’s favour. The Turks grew increasingly resentful and wanted to capture Marko and imprison him, but he took horrible revenge on them for their evil doings. There is a great number of epic poems, short stories and anecdotes that speak of close relations and friendship between Marko and the Turks. Considering that all of them are generally pitched against the Turks and in favour of Marko and the Serbs, a friendship with the Turks could not have been sincere, as the following verse suggests: O Turčine, za nevolju kume! A, ti Vlaše, silom pobratime!4

In addition, a large number of epic poems in Serbian, Croatian and Bulgarian collections recount the great privileges that the hero enjoyed in Stambol (Istanbul). I would like to single out a poem called The Innkeeper Lady and the Heroes5 (heroes – soldiers in the Turkish army), where the epic poet states how much freedom Marko Kraljević enjoyed in Stambol. He was given permission by the emperor to drink as much wine as he could in the Stambol’s inns for free. In an epic song from Lika (Gospić) called Marko Recognizes His Father’s Saber67 we can see the motive of vendetta, similar to a song in Vuk Karadžić’s collection8 that describes the vengeance of a hero killing the Turkish soldier that had killed his father. The poem ends with a familiar motive. Offended and furious, Marko faced the sultan, the mace in hand and a wolf ’s skin thrown over his shoulders, glaring askance at him with blazing hatred. The sultan moved away, but the hero followed until he drove him into a corner. Another epic poem, Marko at the City of Karaokan,9 shows Marko’s vassal assistance and the support he rendered to the Turks in wars. Marko Kraljević was the main hero in battles; without him the Arabs would crush the Turks. He conquered the Arabs and took over Okan. The following poem, Marko and Mina of Kostur,10 is a fragment from Vuk Karadžić’s collection. There are folk poems extolling Marko’s use of force against the Turks because they offended him. In the next scene, he disobeys the sultan’s orders against Christianity and Christian customs. A good example is the poem Marko’s Hunting with Ibid, p. 290. Ibid., p. 293. 6 Lukić, Zlatković. Antologija, p. 451. 7 Gospić is a town in a region called Lika in Croatia, in the past populated mainly by the Serbs until the 1990s. 8 Vuk Stefanović Karadžić. Srpske narodne pesme, II (reprint). Belgrade 1969, pp. 330-4. 9 Stojković. .Kraljević Marko, pp. 295-6. 10 Kostur is the name of a fortification in North Thesalia. 4 5

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the Turks,11 from the Bulgarian collection of Yordanov12 and the collection of Vuk Karadžić. Again, Marko is making excuses to the sultan, who decides to cheer him up with the following words: Svako Ture može vezir biti, a junaka nema kao Marka.13

The poem Marko Drinks Wine during Ramadan14 describes his violation of the established rules during the holy Muslim feast: he drank wine, wore a green dolman, put a shackled sword around his waist, danced in the kolo and listened to the suitor’s songs. The poem ends with the familiar scene: the emperor was scared by Marko’s anger and moved away, but Marko moved even closer. Versions of this poem appear in the collection of the Miladinov brothers15 from Macedonia, then in some Bulgarian collections and, finally, in two versions recorded in an old observation from Bogišić’s collection,16 originally from Dubrovnik. In the poem Marko Executed the Emperor’s Envoy17 Marko committed an offence against the emperor’s will. The poem is preserved in old note observations from Dubrovnik; variations include a poem from Mačkat, Vranjska district, and the version in the collection of Kačanovski. The poem The Emperor’s Treasury Robbed18 has two versions,19 both originating from Montenegro. In the poem Marko believed that he robbed the emperor’s treasury and killed the treasurers; the emperor sent a hero to seize Marko or kill him. When Marko Kraljević was captured and brought before the emperor, the poem introduced a new motif: the emperor asked Marko to show him the sword to check whether it was covered with blood. Marko replied that he had given his word he would not lift up or take out his sword, if there was no use for it. The emperor let Marko make the sword a little bloody; he hacked all the Turks around the emperor and almost killed the emperor himself. In the poem Marko Pays the Emperor’s Tax,20 originating from Bosnia, a Turkish soldier asked Marko to pay his due. Marko joked that he had a funny way of paying tax and smashed the soldier’s head with his pipe.

V. S. Karadžić. Srpske narodne pesme, vol. 2, pp. 413-6. Veliko Yordanov. Krali-Marko, Istoriko-literaturen pregled (1916). 13 Karadžić, p. 416. 14 Ibid., pp. 417-20. 15 Braća Miladinovci. Izabrana dela. Belgrade 1965, pp. 65-8. 16 Stojković. Kraljević Marko, pp. 301-2. 17 Ibid., pp. 303-4. 18 Ibid., pp. 301-4. 19 Marko and the Emperor and Marko and Misirlija Džano. 20 Stojković. Kraljević Marko, pp. 304-5. 11 12

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Marko Kraljević knew very well the Turkish language and way of life. An example of his life among the Turks can be seen in a poem from Vojvodina called Marko liberates bey Konstantin;21 he came under the gallows and rescued his blood brother Konstantin, killing nearly three hundred Turkish soldiers with his mace. Following a flattering invitation by the emperor in a poem from Montenegro called The Emperor and Sekula,22 Sekula came to Stambol on the advice of his uncle Janko. In front of the city gate he met Marko Kraljević who took him inside to the emperor. The emperor wanted to convert him to Islam. Sekula took offence and together with Marko hacked the emperor’s army. Versions of this poem can be found in the Bulgarian collection of Yordanov and in Vuk Karadžić.23 After the fall of the Serbian lords at Marica,24 it was well known that Marko started to rule after his father’s death and faced difficult times. The hostile attitude of the neighbouring Serbian lords and the approaching danger of the Turks forced him to become a vassal of the sultans in order to save his country from the Turkish conquest. He performed his vassal duties by assisting the Turks in the wars they waged in Asia and Europe. There is no reliable data about the size of Marko Kraljević’s mercenary army and the number of horsemen he placed at the service of the Turks. However, it is believed that Marko gained his heroic name – the one that made him famous among common people – due to his courage and warrior virtues because he was a truly devoted soldier. The epic poems point to the conclusion that Marko was an independent lord who performed his duties towards the Turks independently. Marko Kraljević’s vassalage was only a bargain, analogous to the motif from the classical period.25 In the case of Marko Kraljević it appears as the only possible – and most powerful – contract, whose only alternative was war. According to Benvisten „for the people of ancient times, a normal state was the state of war that ends in peace.”26 That he accepted the role of a vassal as part of his personal destiny did not mean that Marko renounced his origin, his people and his religious affiliation. The outcome of this compromise was Marko’s modus vivendi. This was the reason why all of his actions represented a kind of moral obligation, even though some could be characterised as crimes. Even though historically Marko Kraljević was placed somewhere in the margins, his personality was especially gifted to grasp the essence of his times and the approaching Ottoman power, as the epic poems about him so clearly indicate. I will end with the famous words of Ibid., pp. 304-5. Ibid., pp. 307-10. 23 V. S. Karadžić. Srpske narodne pesme, VI, p. 231. 24 Sima Ćirković. Istorija srpskog naroda I. Belgrade, 1994, pp. 380-410; Vladimir Ćorović. Istorija Srba. Belgrade 1995, pp. 607-50. 25 Snežana Vukadinović. Uporedna sudbina dvaju junaka: Herakle – Marko Kraljević. MA Thesis, University of Novi Sad 2006, p. 55. 26 Jean Haudry. Les Indo-europeans. Paris: Press Universitaires de France 1981, pp. 72-8. 21 22

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Machiavelli: “When the survival of a country is hanging by a thread, reflections upon justice and injustice, humanity and cruelty, glory and disgrace should not prevail. The only question asked has to be the following: What saves the life and freedom of a country?”27 You would certainly agree that at that point in time, the end justified the means.

27

Nikolo Makijaveli. Vladalac, transl. Momčilo Savić. Belgrade 1964, p. 128.

The Habsburg Model of Modernised Society in the Time of the Enlightenment Harald Heppner Although the historical heritage of the Habsburg Empire symbolises a very rich subject, the social processes of this area in the 18th century have not yet been sufficiently studied. Most of the research has focused on central political or economic aspects, and all phenomena of the periphery (including social developments) have escaped larger synthesis.1 In addition, the studies have concentrated on the Empire itself and have made no comparison with other states (at least the neighbouring empires), leaving until now only a vague picture of the subject.2 Finally, the topic is immersed in the historiographical influence of later times, especially concerning the national idea. For this reason, our subject functions predominantly as a preliminary aspect of 19th century development and not as an autochthonous stratum of the pre-industrial period in Central and Southeastern Europe.3 The title of this article suggests that a modernised society existed in the Habsburg monarchy at the end of the Enlightenment and that the indisputable transformation process in the Empire was based on a model. This short study has to clarify whether the vision of a model was used among contemporaries, or it represents only a theoretical hypothesis. The answer can be given in advance: A contemporary model existed only in part, because it was limited by several elements – political power, See Österreich im Europa der Aufklärung. Kontinuität und Zäsur in Europa zur Zeit Maria Theresias und Josephs II, 2 vol. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1985; David F. Good. Der wirtschaftliche Aufstieg des Habsburgerreiches 1750‒1914. Vienna-CologneGraz: Verlag Böhlau 1986; William O. McCagg, A History of Habsburg Jews, 1670‒1918. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1990; Karl Vocelka. Glanz und Untergang der höfischen Welt. Repräsentation, Reform und Reaktion im habsburgischen Vielvölkerstaat (Österreichische Geschichte 1699‒1815). Vienna: Verlag Carl Ueberreuter 2001; Michael Hochedlinger. Austria’s Wars of Emergence. War, State and Society in the Habsburg Monarchy 1683‒1797. London etc.: Pearson Education 2003, p. 194; Robert J. W. Evans. Austria, Hungary and the Habsburgs: Essays on Central Europe c. 1683‒1867. Oxford: Oxford University Press 2006. 2 Ivan Parvev. Balkanite meždu dve imperii. Habsburgskata monarhia i Osmanskata dăržava (1683‒1739). Sofia: Sv. Kliment Ohridski 1997; Mariana Jovevska. Balkanskite provintsii na habsburgskata dăržava. Granitsi i administrativno upravlenie ot kraya na X vek do 1918 g. Veliko Tărnovo: Izdatelstvo PIK 1999; Marlene Kurz and others, eds., Das Osmanische Reich und die Habsburgermonarchie. Akten des internationalen Kongresses zum 150-jährigen Bestehen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung. Vienna-Munich: Oldenbourg Verlag 2005. 3 Robert A. Kann. Geschichte des Habsburgerreiches 1526‒1918. Vienna-Cologne-Graz: Verlag Böhlau 1977, particularily pp. 150-225. 1

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vision and necessity. Nevertheless, the society in the Habsburg Empire underwent profound changes in the period of the Enlightenment. Based on several acquisitions in the end of the 17th and during the 18th century, the territory of the Austrian monarchy grew exponentially and changed the agglomerate of different provinces, traditions and proportions, making the monarchy a great power in the European context.4 It is very important to take this into consideration because the internal processes (including social developments) always depended on external circumstances and influences. The dynasty’s endeavour to defend its international position was the driving force of reform in the 18th century and of the interest to integrate progressive Western ideas and practices. Although the Habsburgs tried to practice an absolutistic system,5 they were surrounded by several obstacles that limited their power. A fundamental problem was the existence of large political and legal differences between the provinces, from the so-called Austrian Netherlands to the latest acquisitions in the East, Galicia and Bukovina. This inevitably produced some common order, otherwise it would have been too complicated for the crown to manage and enforce obligatory standards for all its subjects. A second problem was the different habitual response to central government; the people in the Habsburg provinces within the German Empire had a long training of dynastic and absolutistic rule in the 18th century, unlike the populations in the recently gained territories. Another obstacle was the traditional coalition with the Catholic Church: it caused reservations among the non-Catholic churches, while the principles of the Enlightenment called for secularisation.6 The underdeveloped economies of the majority of the provinces created another problem; hence one of the most pressing reasons for the transformation process was the need for economic growth.7 Another barrier consisted in the lack of experience how to model society; until the 18th century the dominant mindset was that of a feudal system, impermeable to any ideas to divorce tradition. The first half of the 18th century produced very few people who could and would carry out the reform plans of the government, especially in the periphery.8 Many foreign specialists came or were summoned to Vienna to prepare and aid the ambitious transformation policy that was taking Jean Bérenger. Die Geschichte des Habsburgerreiches 1273‒1918. Vienna-Cologne-Weimar: Verlag Böhlau 1995, pp. 405-569. 5 Friedrich Walter. Österreichische Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichte von 1500‒1955. ViennaCologne-Graz: Verlag Böhlau 1972, chapter 4 und 5; Derek Beales. Joseph II. und der Josephinismus. In: Helmut Reinalter, Harm Klueting, eds., Der aufgeklärte Absolutismus im europäischen Vergleich. Vienna-Cologne-Weimar: Verlag Böhlau 2002, pp. 35-54. 6 Rudolf Leeb. Geschichte des Christentums in Österreich: Von der Spätantike bis zur Gegenwart. Vienna: Verlag Carl Ueberreuter 2003, pp. 285-300. 7 Roman Sandgruber. Ökonomie und Politik. Österreichische Wirtschaftsgeschichte vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart. Vienna: Verlag Carl Ueberreuter 1995, pp. 143-57. 8 Oskar Lehner. Österreichische Verfassungs- und Verwaltungsgeschichte mit Grundzügen der Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte. Linz: Universitätsverlag Rudolf Trauner 1992, chapter 4 and 5; Wolfgang Reinhard. Geschichte der Staatsgewalt. Eine vergleichende Verfassungsgeschichte Europas von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, 2nd ed. Munich: Verlag C. H. Beck 1999, p. 332. 4

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shape by the middle of the century; this was a great chance for new social careers in the imperial administration and army.9 Another obstacle was the vastly disparate social structure of the various ethnic and confessional groups; not all of them could lend élites of similar quantities and qualities to engage in dialogue and partnership with the government. These factors explain the lack of a stable organisational system, capable of implementing a single model of modernised society, as well as why the impact of transformation could not be distributed at the same pace across the Empire. When we study the transformation process of the Habsburg monarchy during the 18th century, it is clear that no organic vision for a modernised society existed from the outset; on the contrary, this vision changed with the twists and turns of a changing reality. The newly acquired provinces had to be integrated, while the kingdom of Prussia was emerging as a powerful new enemy of Austria, forcing the Empire to enlarge its own capacities. The main elements of the vision were the result of different circumstances rather than components of a concise programme. These elements seem to be the following: A modernised society cannot be governed without systematical evidence. To that end, the Viennese government made arrangements to obtain statistical information about the population and its life, the spatial dimensions of the Empire, its nature (topography, geology, climate), and so forth.10 A modernised society should not exist in a world of different law systems. The Habsburgs tried to adapt the juridical labyrinth and to establish – and enforce – new laws. This transition pursued a twofold aim: the half-private feudal law had to change into a unified state law and the varied laws of the different provinces had to be reduced in favour of one common law applicable across the territory. This process was not completed by the end of the period, but some progress was achieved.11 A core element was the liberation of suppressed people. Serfdom, more widespread in the eastern parts of the Empire than in the West, was abolished, and the robot and urbarial regulation aimed to create a better tax management.12 Vocelka. Glanz und Untergang, pp. 235-80. See, for example, Johannes Dörflinger. Vom Aufstieg der Militärkartographie bis zum Wiener Kongress (1684 bis 1815). In: Ingrid Kretschmer, Karel Kriz, eds., Österreichische Kartographie. Von den Anfängen im 15. Jahrhundert bis zum 21. Jahrhundert. Vienna: Institut für Geographie und Raumforschung 2004, pp. 75-92; Anton Tantner. Seelenkonskription und Parzellierung in der Habsburgermonarchie. In: Lars Behrisch, ed., Vermessen, Zählen, Berechnen. Die politische Ordnung des Raums im 18. Jahrhundert. Frankfurt-New York: Campus Verlag 2006, pp. 75-94. 11 Karl Vocelka. Glanz und Untergang, pp. 362-3, 387-8; Helmut Rumpler. Eine Chance für Mitteleuropa. Bürgerliche Emanzipation und Staatsverfall in der Habsburgermonarchie, 2nd ed. Vienna: Verlag Carl Ueberreuter 2005, pp. 108-12. 12 Harm Klueting, ed., Der Josephinismus. Ausgewählte Quellen zur Geschichte der mariatheresianischen und josephinischen Reformen. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 1995, documents nr. 105, 140, 168. 9

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Another element was the introduction of economic prosperity as a fundamental principle of public order. Both sides ‒ the state by getting more taxes and work done, and the population by getting more welfare ‒ should win and help build the state as a holistic economic organism.13 Perhaps the most important component of a modernised society was the idea of public school education. This idea was based on two different reasons: on the one hand, the state needed educated people to implement the transformation process; on the other hand, literate men would be more able to conduct themselves in an enlightened manner.14 Another element was secularisation, that is, the separation between state and church or the support for rational thinking against belief and dependence on the clergy. Indeed, until the second half of the 19th century the Habsburg monarchy remained deeply dependent on religious traditions. Nevertheless, the secularisation process, at least in the central administration, achieved much progress. The 1781 Edict of Tolerance initiated a new relationship between the state, the Christian churches and the Jewish communities.15 The last, and very important element in this list concerns discipline. In order to bring the theoretical basis of a modern public order closer to real practice, a modernised society must be highly trained in social discipline: it must understand and follow juridical prescriptions; it must perceive corruption as a curse; all citizens must regard themselves as members of a community, etc. In this sense, the Austrian leaders worked to instil an emotional feeling of dynastic patriotism, but seldom refrained from punishing abuse or resistance.16 The central initiative for the transformation process during the period of the Enlightenment came from the royal dynasty and the government, not from the citizens who not always understood contemporary political activity. The primary motive for this process was not to change society by itself, but to improve the absolutistic system and strengthen the state in the face of international challenges. After learning from certain setbacks in the middle of the 18th century, the rulers changed the way they were managing the process of transformation by focusing more on people and society than before. Still, the Habsburg emperors did not dare to reach too far out to the population, especially after the outbreak of the French revolution.17 This external factor foreboded two dangers: the sudden end of tradition and excessive West European influences. Although some small segments of the Habsburg society were David A. Good. Der wirtschaftliche Aufstieg, pp. 19-41. Helmut Engelbrecht. Geschichte des österreichischen Bildungswesens, vol. 3: Von der frühen Aufklärung bis zum Vormärz. Vienna: Österreichischer Bundesverlag 1984, pp. 68-88. 15 Harm Klueting. Der Josephinismus, documents nr. 100, 102, 103, 106, 110, 113, 114, 135, 166, 169. 16 Helmut Kuzmics, Roland Axmann. Autorität, Staat und Nationalcharakter. Der Zivilisationsprozeß in Österreich und England 1700−1900. Opladen: Leske + Budrich 2000, pp. 98-114. 17 Karl Vocelka, Lynne Heller. Die Lebenswelt der Habsburger. Kultur und Mentalitätsgeschichte einer Familie. Graz-Vienna-Cologne: Styria Verlag 1997, pp. 255-62. 13 14

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ambitious enough to embrace democratic principles, the great majority preferred to remain in the cradle of conservative mentality until the middle of the 19th century. When we compare this with the neighbouring countries in Southeastern Europe – the Venetian State,18 the Ottoman Empire19 or the Danubian Principalities20 – we do not find similar conditions or processes. For Venice, the Dalmatian and Ionian coasts and their populations were only negligible periphery. The sultan’s government was not interested in seeking a new, more intense relationship with the Christians in the Balkans, and the Phanariots in Moldavia and Wallachia did not face the task of Constantinople to initiate modernisation reforms. An appropriate conclusion will be to highlight the results of modernisation in the Habsburg monarchy. Beyond any doubt, social modernisation in the Habsburg Empire achieved greater progress in the Western provinces, because they had better starting conditions. That said, at least the urban societies in the Eastern provinces changed in comparison between the beginning of the 18th and the 19th centuries.21 The transformation process was not completed, but the initiated social processes had achieved much progress and were irreversible. After the French war the pace of modernisation slowed down and was influenced much more by the citizens rather than the conservative policy of the state.22 The 18th-century educational policy was very helpful for the nation-building project: it stimulated the review of the past in order to identify differences with the neighbouring ethnic and confessional groups, and to pursue new collective interests. The modern national idea was a child of the 18th century, even though it was not the favourite goal of the Enlightenment ideal.23

Heinrich Kretschmayr. Geschichte von Venedig, vol. 3: Der Niedergang. Aalen: Scientia Verlag 1964 (Reprint of 1934), particularily pp. 419-41. 19 Bertrand Michael Buchmann. Österreich und das Osmanische Reich. Eine bilaterale Geschichte. Vienna: Wiener Universitätsverlag 1999, pp. 152-83. 20 Fundamental information in: Institute for Balkan Studies, ed., Symposium l’époque phanariote 21-25 octobre 1970. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies 1974. 21 See, for example, Harald Heppner. Czernowitz im städtegeschichtlichen Vergleich. In: Harald Heppner, ed., Czernowitz. Die Geschichte einer ungewöhnlichen Stadt. Cologne-Weimar-Viena: Verlag Böhlau 2000, pp. 1-10. 22 Helmut Rumpler. Eine Chance, pp. 216‒26. 23 See the introductions of the different chapters in: Adam Wandruszka, ed., Die Habsburgermonarchie 1848−1918, vol. III: Die Völker des Reiches. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1980. 18

Serbia – the Revival of the Nation-State, 1804–1829: From Turkish Provinces to Autonomous Principality Suzana Rajić Left without local autonomies under previously unknown terror imposed by the janissary apostate Turkish governors, the Serbs in the Belgrade Pashalik1 rebelled in 1804. This uprising marked the beginning of what is also known as the Serbian Revolution. National problems and the state-building aspirations of the Balkan nations at the beginning of the 19th century represented a new aspect of the Eastern Question. The Serbian question in the international relations of the period must be considered within the framework of the Great Powers’ attitudes and viewpoints about solving the Eastern Question. The result of the struggle of the Serbian people for liberation did not depend only on the capability of the insurgents, their numbers or the armaments of the Serbian and the Turkish armies; it was the reflection of European understanding. On the eve of the Serbian Revolution, Europe itself was in revolutionary ferment. The fifty years encompassing the last quarter of the 18th century and the first quarter of the 19th century saw a surge of revolutions, from America (1776–1783) and France (1789–1830) through Latin America (1808–1826), to Serbia (1804–1835) and Greece (1821–1830). Although each revolution had its own specific make-up, they all shared the same preference for the nation-state and civil society. The proclaimed principle of the French Revolution: “liberation of the nation,” caused in various places victories of sometimes opposing principles. Yet the spirit of the French Revolution overwhelmed the deprived Serbian people in Turkey. The battle for fatherland and private land was the most important common element of the revolutionary developments both in France and in Serbia. Before the revolutionary events in Smederevo sanjak (Belgrade Pashalik), the sultan had tried The Belgrade Pashalik was an administrative territorial unit of the Turkish Empire, founded in 1459 under the official name “Smederevo Sanjak.” The headquarters of the sanjak was moved to Belgrade in 1521 and remained there until 1867. The longstanding border region with the Habsburg monarchy and the headquarters of a chief who had the title “pasha with three horse tails” made it possible to neglect the official name and accept the name Belgrade Pashalik already in the 18th century. The pashalik was for the longest period of time part of the Eyalet of Rumelia, with frequent changes of territories, and at the beginning of the 19th century was situated between the rivers Drin, Sava, Danube, Timok and Western Morava on a territory of 24,440 km². At the time it was divided into 12 nahiyas. The Serbian Revolution (1804) broke out within the Belgrade Pashalik and the nucleus of new-age Serbia was created there. 1

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to reform proprietary relations in the European Ottoman provinces, but his efforts were not successful. The Serbian Revolution2 (1804–1835) is one of the most significant events in the history of the Serbs and can be divided in two periods: war (1804–1815) and peace (1815–1835). In the phase of war the First Uprising (1804–1813), Hadži Prodan’s Revolt (1814) and the Second Uprising (1815) represented a unique phenomenon: the first Serbian war against Turkey. The Serbian Revolution was carried out by the Serbian peasants. The war destroyed Turkish feudalism and created a new society. The Serbian insurgents fought endlessly for almost twelve years, a feat unprecedented in world history. All peasant wars before that had lasted much shorter. The phase of peace was marked by the insurgents’ efforts to preserve wartime accomplishments and guarantee the rights of the Serbs by incorporating them into international law. At the beginning of the 19th century Europe was almost unfamiliar with the Serbian people and its aspirations. This was hardly surprising, because the Serbs had lived without their own country for four centuries. In the peacetime phase, the Serbian people not only abandoned anonymity, but also attained a great extent of autonomy enshrined in the interstate treaties between Russia and Turkey. The main results of the Serbian Revolution were: liberation from the Turks; resurrection of the state (independent during the uprising, but later reverted to a vassal status); establishment of the state institutions; abolition of feudalism and cultural revival. In Search of an Ally Until the beginning of the century no plans for the restoration of Serbian statehood looked beyond the consolidation of Serbian lands as vassal states under the aegis of Turkey and Austria. The wars against Turkey in the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries instilled in the Serbian consciousness the deep-seated expectation that only Austria could lend a helping hand. This faith was largely shaken after Kocina Krajina and the last Austro–Turkish War (1788–1791), when it became clear that despite the Serbs’ merits and heavy casualties in the fight against the Turks, the emperor abandoned them and made peace with the sultan. Since then, Russia superseded Austria in the Serbs’ plans to restore their state.3 The Russo–Turkish War of 1768–1774 ended favourably for Russia with the peace of Kuchuk Kainardji, inspiring hope in the Balkan Christians that Russia would save them from the age-long slavery under Turkey. Russia became the dominant Black Sea power close to the Balkans and made plans to venture into the Mediterranean. Europe considered these intentions as the greatest danger to its own interests. The term “Serbian Revolution” was introduced by Leopold Ranke in the title of his joint work with Vuk Karadžić’, Die serbische Revolution (1829). The Serbian Revolution was mainly interpreted as a national and much more rarely as a social revolution. In socialist Yugoslavia it was wrongly interpreted as a bourgeois revolution. In: Radoš Ljušić. Tumačenje Srpske revolucije u istoriografiji 19. i 20. veka. Belgrade 1992. 3 Radoš Ljušić. Srpska državnost 19 veka. Belgrade 2008, pp.16-26. 2

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The Serbian insurgents first appealed to Austria for help. The Empire’s refusal to openly support them turned their gaze to Russia. At the time of the Serbian question and the outbreak of the Serbian Revolution in 1804, Russia had an alliance treaty with Turkey signed in 1799, and acted very cautiously on the demands of the Serbian insurgents. The most Russia was ready to offer was support for certain autonomy. At first the Serbian question occupied a modest place in the Russian interests and Russia involved itself in solving the problem as a mediator and adviser to the Serbian negotiators. In the initial phase of the Serbian battle for statehood, Russia’s help was of exceptional significance.4 Although the Great Powers were not fond of Islam, nor welcomed its penetration in Europe, they were much more afraid of the Russian influence on the Balkan nations, especially of the Serbs. Due to the spiritual closeness and cultural relations between the Serbs and the Russians, Europe had always considered the Serbs as a Russian avant guarde in the Balkans. The battle of the Serbs to establish their own state was received without favour and in certain countries, for instance France, with open hostility. The serbophobia became the flip side of the russophobic sentiment in Europe.5 When Napoleon proclaimed himself Emperor, he made advances in the Balkans, trying to persuade the sultan to renounce the alliance with Russia. For its part, Russia was working hard to muster an anti-French coalition. The strategic position of the Balkans and the Belgrade Pashalik drew attention from both Russia and France. Napoleon conquered Vienna and in December 1805 vanquished the allied Austro– Russian forces at Austerlitz. The anti-French coalition fell apart; France reached the borders of the Ottoman Empire and overran the Adriatic coast (Venice, Istria, Dalmatia, Boka). The uprising in the Balkans did not suit Napoleon’s plans and he requested the Porte to suppress at any cost the Serbian uprising. Turkey bowed to the stronger army of Napoleon and disregarded its alliance with Russia.6 In the ensuing Russo–Turkish War (1806–1812) the Serbs fought against Turkey as Russian allies. The Serbian question loomed large in the Russian plans for opposing Napoleon and the sultan’s strategies. In 1806 the Serbs rejected the sultan’s peace offer in hopes that the victorious actions of the Serbian army in Mišar and Deligrad in 1806 and the liberation of Belgrade in 1806/7 would finally, with Russia’s help, forge their own state. Russia prepared to defend in arms its shaken positions at the Black Sea, the Balkans and the Mediterranean, informing Karadjordje and the insurgents about its plans. Anticipating a war with Turkey, the Russians changed and tailored their relations with the Serbs so that the courageous Serbian army could serve them as a Slavenko Terzić. Rusija i srpska revolucija. In: Evropa i Srpska revolucija 1804–1815. Novi Sad 2004, pp. 222-31. 5 Milorad Ekmečić. Evropski kontekst i karakter Srpske revolucije. In: Evropa i Srpska revolucija, pp. 85-99. 6 Čedomir Popov. Francuzi i Srpska revolucija, In: Evropa i Srpska revolucija, pp. 330-41. 4

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precious ally. When Turkey declared war on Russia in December 1806, the contacts and connections – both military and diplomatic – between the Russians and the Serbs grew livelier than ever before. Apart from regular communications via the Russian Consulates in Moldavia and Wallachia (in Iaşi and Bucharest), contacts were established with the commander of the Russian army at the Dniester River, general Mikhelson. The military instructor Ugrinčić-Trebinjski, of Serbian origin, arrived in Serbia. The Tsar appointed Konstantin Rodofinikin a special envoy whose task was to establish to what extent the rebelling Serbs could oppose the Porte; what was the influence of France and Austria on the Serbs; and what were the real intentions of the Serbian people and Karadjordje. The Russians expected from the Serbian army to help protect their right flank, redirecting the course of the Serbian operations against Turkey only to the east and southeast. The Serbs wished to help the Russians, but in return they expected that Russia would help create an independent state encompassing not only the Serbs in the Belgrade Pashalik, but also the other Serbian states (Bosnia, Herzegovina and the Christians from the pashaliks of Vidin, Niš, Leskovac and Pazar). The issue of the mutual balance of interests emerged during the first Serbian–Russian alliance and continued until 1812, as well as throughout the 19th century. In 1807, the united actions of the allies reaped the first fruits of military and political cooperation, earning victories at the eastern Serbian front. Just when military actions were synchronised, Russia signed the Tilsit peace with France, envisaging an end of military operations at the Russo–Turkish front. The Serbs were again thrown in the whirlpool of European politics. As Russian allies, they wished to be included in the Russo–Turkish truce signed in Slobozia in 1807. Their exclusion from the truce caused deep indignation among the Serbs and their leaders, who were afraid that Russia might change its political course. Some leaders wanted to seek protection and support from Napoleon. The Serbs wished to know in what ways the Russian patronage would reflect on their lives; they posed this question in a memorandum in March 1809, justifying their concerns with the need to avoid future misunderstandings.7 By the end of the Russo–Turkish truce in 1809, the Serbs resumed operations against the Turkish army. Expecting Russian troops to come to their aid, they launched a large-scale offensive that soon ran aground. Russian military help arrived in 1810, preventing the destruction of rebellious Serbia. The Russians helped the insurgents in the battles near Varvarin and Loznica. Russian garrisons were stationed in Negotin, Kladovo, Smederevo and šabac. The Serbian soldiers took heart and Karadjordje said that only owing to the “Moscovites” the Turks had not reached Belgrade.8 But not for long. In 1812 Russia and Turkey signed the Peace Treaty of Bucharest. Peace negotiations were overshadowed by Napoleon’s preparations for war against Russia, and the Russian Empire gave up its own demands along with the ambitious Serbian demands. The insurgents were dissatisfied with significant imprecisions in 7 8

Radoš Ljusić. Vožd Karađorđe. Belgrade 2003, pp. 167-76. Ibid., pp. 319-34.

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Article 8 of the Peace Treaty that referred to the position of the Serbs in Turkey. Still, this was the first international legal document where the Serbs were mentioned, becoming a factor in international relations. The following events proved the great importance of this new standing for the Serbian Revolution.9 In 1813, an enormous Turkish army defeated the rebels and installed a new government in the Belgrade Pashalik, but the war between Serbia and Turkey did not end there. It flared up again the following year with the unsuccessful revolt of Hadži Prodan, and in 1815 with a new uprising. After several successful battles a new Serbian leader, Miloš Obrenović, made a peace treaty with the Grand Vizier. That was the end of the war period of the Serbian Revolution (1804–1815). During the peaceful years of the revolution (1815–1835), the Serbs finally built and organised a state that attained complete autonomy under successive sultan’s edicts in 1829, 1830 and 1833. Akkerman and Adrianople – The Pillars of the Serbian Autonomy Turkey’s persistent refusal to take seriously the Serbian demands tightened the relations between Prince Miloš and the Porte. The Greek Uprising (1821) caused an uproar among the Great Powers, who showed no understanding or benevolence towards the national struggle of the Serbs. The Serbian question before the Porte did not change until Russia undertook to solve it. Russia played a crucial role in the restoration of the Serbian statehood through the following actions. First of all, the Akkerman Convention with Turkey signed in 1826 contained a Separate Act with an ultimative demand to the Porte to implement Article 8 of the Bucharest Peace Treaty within 18 months in agreement with a Serbian deputation. Furthermore, the act envisaged that Serbia be granted the regions that were taken away from it in 1813 (six districts) as well as full national self-government. The Porte assumed obligations, but did not keep its promises. By virtue of the Akkerman Convention Serbia became the object of international obligations for the Porte. Whereas in the Bucharest Peace Treaty the Russian patronage over Serbia was modestly expressed, in the Akkerman Convention it was fully manifested.10 The Russo–Turkish War of 1828–1829 was concluded with the Treaty of Adrianople. In the sixth article of the treaty Russia repeated its demand in far stronger terms. The Porte was ordered without delay to implement within a month all obligations towards Serbia stipulated in Article 8 of the Treaty of Bucharest and Article 5 of the Akkerman Convention. The new treaty reinforced Russia’s patronage over Serbia. Owing to the Russian tutelage and the capabilities of Prince Miloš, a firm basis was established for the autonomy of the Serbian Principality.11 Within a short period of time Serbia received the first Hatiserif in 1829. It did not solve the Serbian question, but was a good indication which of the Serbian demands Ibid., pp. 381-91. Mihailo Gavrilović. Miloš Obrenović, 2 vols. Belgrade 1909, pp. 232-3. 11 Radoš Ljušić. Kneževina Srbija 1830–1839. Belgrade 2004, p. 3. 9

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could be fulfilled. It was significant because it paved the way for the Serbian deputation that in 1830, with stronger pressure and with the support of Russia, attained the second Hatiserif establishing the foundations of the Serbian autonomy. After thirty years of struggle, the Serbs achieved full interior independence, freedom of religion, freedom to open their schools, publishing houses and hospitals, and the right of free trade; all their demands were fulfilled. During the entire life of the autonomous Serbian Principality, taxes represented a basic form of subordination to the Porte. Using Istanbul’s preoccupation with the Egyptian crisis in 1833, when Russia’s influence on the Porte had reached its peak, Prince Miloš acquired the third and final (okoncatelni or tolkovatelni) Hatiserif that at long last solved and settled all relations between Serbia and Turkey. The Turkish authorities were forbidden to interfere in any way in the Serbian affairs. Almost the entire content of the act was elaborated at a conference of the Russian diplomat in Istanbul, Butenev, and the Turkish representative Reis Efendi.12 When the struggle for the autonomy of Serbia was completed and Miloš Obrenović was reading the Hatiserif, the prince did not miss the opportunity to publicly thank the Russian Emperor. Despite Russia’s undeniable contribution, Prince Miloš and the Russian Empire very quickly faced serious disagreements, because their plans for the future development of the Serbian state followed different trajectories. Prince Miloš had plans to expand autonomy and incorporate Serbia in the international system, placing the young Principality under European patronage.

12

Ibid., pp. 4-21.

The Transition from Ecumenical Tradition to a Multinational Perspective: The Historical Evolution of the Orthodox Church in the Ottoman Empire Eleonora Naxidou In 1762 the Istoriya Slavyanobolgarskaya of Paisiy Hilendarski sparked off the long and strenuous process of the emergence of the Bulgarian national identity that led to the ecclesiastical and political independence of the Bulgarians more than a century later. The development of the national movements of the other Balkan peoples followed parallel and, in the case of the Greeks, the Serbians and the Romanians, even faster courses. Yet five years later, in 1767, the Patriarchate of Constantinople formally extended its control over the last autocephalous church in the Balkans, the Archbishopric of Ohrid, responding to the request of its high priests with the permission of the Ottoman ruler. The subordination of the Patriarchate of Peć took place in 1766 under similar circumstances. The Great Church managed to regain its essentially ecumenical character that was challenged in the Middle Ages by the ecclesiastical independence of Ohrid, Peć and Tărnovo. The three Eastern Patriarchates of Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria as well as the Archbishopric of Cyprus had de facto succumbed to the power of the Church of Constantinople at the end of the 18th century, making it the incontestable leader of all Christian subjects in the Ottoman Empire.1 The assumption of its ecumenical role proved short-lived, as it soon confronted an unexpected but very tenacious “opponent:” the gradual prevalence of nationalism in the Balkans that adopted the model of the nation-state, where the church was only one of several constituent elements. Two opposite ideological trends were gradually taking shape from the end of the 18th through the 19th centuries: the concept of an ecumenical ecclesiastical order supported by the Patriarchate of Constantinople and the notion of a national church within the limits of a nation-based political structure as a result of predominant nationalistic ideals. From the Ottoman conquest in 1453 until the beginning of the 20th century the historical evolution of the Orthodox Patriarchate in the Balkans can be seen as a pendulum swinging through a process of “composition” to “decomposition,” from unification to dismemberment: the abolished churches of Tărnovo, Peć and Ohrid (= unification) were replaced by the Greek, the Serbian, the Romanian, the BulgarParaskevas Konortas. Othomanikes Theoriseis gia to Oikoumeniko Patriarheio. Athens: Alexandria 1998, p. 227. 1

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ian and the Albanian churches (= dismemberment). The accomplishment of the first stage curiously coincided with the starting point of the second. This was not the first time that the Orthodox Church in the Balkans encountered the danger of division. The process of “decomposition” can be justifiably compared with the medieval development of the Great Church, when it shared its seat in Constantinople with the Byzantine emperors. The emergence of independent Slavic states as a consequence of the gradual weakening of Byzantine power and the withdrawal of its political control from the extended regions of the Balkan Peninsula similarly resulted in the establishment of autocephalous churches and the subsequent loss of the universality of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. In modern times, the progressive collapse of the Ottoman rule in the Balkans and its replacement by the newborn nation-states deprived the Orthodox Church of its ecumenical role. A similar process was at work twice during almost two millennia of Christianity in Southeastern Europe. The critical element that influenced the ecclesiastical changes was undoubtedly the political factor: the destiny of the church was closely bound to that of the state. The Patriarchate of Constantinople was always inspired by the ecumenical ideology and never ceased to defend this principle whenever it was disputed. This practice can be easily understood in light of three factors: (i) it was consistent with the spirit of Christianity, which conceived the Christian community as one undivisible whole; (ii) it was compatible with the theory of the political universalism of the Roman Empire inherited by Byzantium: only one supreme power was permitted to exist on earth and this privilege belonged exclusively to the emperor of Constantinople; and (iii) no authority would deliberately downgrade its prestige and renounce its sovereign rights unless compelled to do so. In the case of the Church the pressure for concessions was always exerted by the political power not only in the Middle Ages and during the Ottoman period, but in modern times, too. The creation of the Medieval Balkan Churches of Ohrid, Peć and Tărnovo was certainly the product of imperial will. The Archbishopric of Ohrid, as the ecclesiastical head of the Bulgarians, was granted autonomy in 1018 by Emperor Basil II without patriarchal consent.2 Almost two hundred years later, the Byzantine rulers of the state of Nice recognised the independent status of the Archbishopric of Peć and the Patriarchate of Tărnovo in 1219 and 1235, respectively, after Constantinople had fallen to the Latins (1204), this time with patriarchal approval. Both decisions were politically motivated as the Byzantines were in desperate need of allies in order to accomplish the difficult task of retrieving their capital from enemy hands.3 2 Heinrich Gelzer. Der Patriarchat von Achrida. Geschicthe und Urkunden. Aalen: Scientia Verlag 1980 (Neudruck der Ausgabe Leipzig 1902), pp. 3-4; Ivan Snegarov. Istoria na Ohridskata Arhiepiskopia. Tom 1: Ot osnovavaneto i do zavladyavaneto na Balkanskia poluostrov ot turtsite. Sofia: Akademično Izdatelstvo Prof. Marin Drinov 1995 (second phototype edition), pp. 52-63; Eleonora Naxidou. Ekklisia kai ethniki ideologia: apo tin Arhiepiskopi tis Ahridas mehri tin idrisi tis aftokefalis “Madedonikis Ekklisias.” Thessaloniki 1999 [doctoral dissertation], pp. 21-6. 3 For the Archbishopric of Peć see: Dimitris Gonis. Istoria ton Orthodokson Ekklision Voulgarias kai Servias. Athens: Armos 2001, pp. 186-91. For the Patriarchate of Tăîrnovo see:

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For their part, the Patriarchs perceived compliance as a necessary evil and were secretly waiting for suitable circumstances to re-establish the ecumenical ecclesiastical order. This is evident in the general patriarchal policy towards the other eastern Orthodox Churches and in the writings of certain Patriarchs. One example revealing their real disposition about the proclamation of autocephalous churches was written in the middle of the 14th century (1355) by Patriarch Kallist. It was an answer to questions concerning religious matters posed by monks from the Bulgarian Church. Kallist emphatically argued that the Patriarch of Tărnovo should not refuse to commemorate the names of the other four Patriarchs during ceremonies, because he owed his title to the goodwill of the Great Church. The Patriarch of Tărnovo was initially one of the bishops subordinated to the Patriarchate of Constantinople, before the ecumenical seat succumbed to the earnest requests of the Bulgarian king and bestowed the archpriest of Tărnovo the title of Patriarch. The decision was a token act aiming to honour the Bulgarian ruler and his people and by no means equalled the seat of Tărnovo to the rank of the other Patriarchs. Citing the interpretation of the Patriarch who had granted the autocephalous title a century earlier, Kallist claimed this status was not complete: it was agreed that the Bulgarian Patriarch would pay taxes and mention the name of the Patriarch of Constantinople as a proper metropolitan bishop. The Patriarch added that only his reluctance to displease the Bulgarian tsar Ivan Asen prevented him from summoning the head of the Bulgarian Church to Constantinople to account for his uncanonical behaviour in front of the Synod and either repent and be excused, or be deprived of his title.4 Kallist invoked three arguments in order to challenge the independence of the Bulgarian Church: (i) the autocephaly was granted by the Patriarchate of Constantinople; therefore the preservation or revocation of this privilege was exclusively at the Patriarchate’s discretion; (ii) it was limited and should be considered an honorary title rather than a really independent status; therefore it was not exempt from certain obligations towards the Patriarchate of Constantinople; and (iii) it was the outcome of condescension made by the ecclesiastical power to the political power. The views of Kallist are indicative of the firm attitude of the Great Church on this important issue. The patriarchal views remained unchanged in the centuries to come and were instrumental for the abolition of the Churches of Ohrid and Peć in the second half of the 18th century.5 The main cause was at the heart of the ecumenical ecclesiastical ideology that stayed immutable at the eve of the new era. The Patriarchate of Constantinople manVasil Gyuzelev. Papstvoto i bălgarite prez Srednovekovieto IX–XVv. Plovdiv: Fondatsiya Bălgarsko Istorichesko Nasledstvo 2007, pp. 191-4. 4 Franz Miklosich, Joseph Müller. Acta et diplomata graeca medii aevi sacra et profana, 6 vols. Vindobonae: Carolus Gerold 1860–1890, vol. 1, pp. 437-9. For the issue of the autocephalous status of the Balkan Churches see also: Ioannis Tarnanidis. Theoria kai praxi stin istoriki exelixi tou autokefalou ton slavikon ekklision. Thessaloniki: Kiriakidis 2006. 5 For the abolition of the Churches of Ohrid and Peć see: Ivan Snegarov. Istoria na Ohridskata Arhiepiskopiya-Patriaršiya. Tom II: Ot padaneto i pod turtsite do neynoto uništoženie 1394–1767. Sofia: Akademichno Izdatelstvo Prof. Marin Drinov 1995 (second phototype edition), pp. 119-55; Naxidou. Ekklisia kai ethniki ideologia, pp. 76-83.

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aged to achieve its main objective: to regain its authority in the Balkans and become the single head of Orthodoxy in the region. Patriarch Samuel, who took the initiative to reunite the Church, justified his position in an interesting document proving once more how the Great Church faced the loss of its universality. Samuel claimed that the imperial edicts that approved the ecclesiastical division and the creation of the independent Churches of Ohrid and Peć were illegal because they were issued by emperors who ascended the throne illegitimately. Their enforcement was held responsible for the disasters inflicted upon the newly established Churches and their flock. Their annulment restored the legal ecclesiastical order and was to their benefit.6 Samuel clearly regarded the Church dismemberment, undertaken by political decisions, as uncanonical and opposed it. Instead of rejecting political intervention in general, he questioned the rights to the imperial office of the emperors who proclaimed the independency of Ohrid and Peć, Basil II and John III Vatatzis, without explaining on what grounds. His position can be easily understood, if we take into account that his own decree had to be approved by the political ruler, the sultan. At the same time the role that certain factors played in the accomplishment of Samuel’s aim should not be underestimated. Although a thorough examination of this aspect is beyond the scope of our study, it is imperative to make a brief overview. The Great Church had always exerted its influence on the other Orthodox Churches in many different ways, from spiritual guidance to direct interference. The Patriarch of Constantinople was recognised as the principal official authority of the Christian millet in the Ottoman Empire. He resided in the capital and had immediate access to the supreme centre of power. The only option for the clergy to obtain appropriate religious education in order to lay claim to a high office was in schools run and financed by the Patriarchate. Another common practice that promoted dependency was that many high priests served successively in positions under the jurisdiction of different Orthodox Churches. In the case of Ohrid the relationship with the Patriarchate of Constantinople of mighty laymen living in the area also played a role.7 As far as the Serbian Church was concerned, the intervention was facilitated by the flight of thousands of Serbs, including their Patriarch Arsenije III, to the Habsburg Empire where he became the head of a newly created Orthodox metropolitan bishopric at Sremski Karlovci (1690). The massive departure was spurred by fear of Ottoman reprisals after the Serbs’ participation in the war between the Habsburg and the Ottoman states on the side of the former. Under similar circumstances, Patriarch Arsenije IV also followed the route to exile in 1737.8 6 Kallinikos Delikanis. Patriarhikon eggrafon tomos tritos. Constantinople: Patriarchal Press 1905, pp. 898-900. 7 Kuzman Šapkarev. Kratko istorikogeografsko opisanie na gradovete Ohrid i Struga, Sbornik na Bălgarskoto Knižovno Družestvo v Sofia, I (1901), p. 43; Ivan Snegarov. Uništoženieto na Ohridskata Patriaršiya i vlianieto na elinisma v Bălgaria, Makedonski Pregled, 2.3 (1926), pp. 81-2. 8 Dušan T. Bataković, Milan St. Protić, Nikola Samaržić, Aleksandar Fotić. Histoire du Peuple Serbe (transl. Ljubomir Mihailović). Paris: L’ Age d’ Homme 2005, pp. 113-19; Jean Mousset. La Serbie et son Église (1830–1904). Paris: Librairie Droz 1938, pp. 35-45.

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In the 18th century both Ohrid and Peć were facing moral and financial decline largely characteristic for the Eastern Orthodox Church under Ottoman domination. Survival of the fittest was the general rule and the archbishoprics shared the same fate. The Patriarchate of Constantinople remained attached to the ecumenical theory in the 19th century and continued to oppose any attempt to reverse its universality. It turned down the requests of the newly formed nation-states to gain ecclesiastical independence with the exception of Serbia. The formal grant of autonomy in 1831 did not release the Serbian Church from its financial obligations towards the Patriarchate. This refusal led to unilateral proclamation of autocephaly in Greece and Romania; their relations with the Mother Church were severed for nearly twenty years before the Patriarchate finally gave way and accepted the new status quo. For the same reason the demand of the Bulgarians to be freed from the ecclesiastical authority of the Patriarchate and be recognised as millet, although they were still subjects of the sultan, was flatly denied. The dispute quickly acquired political implications and finally turned into a sharp conflict between the Bulgarians and the Greeks over the future distribution of the territories of Thrace and Macedonia after the presumable withdrawal of the Ottoman Empire from the European continent. Ecclesiastical independence was finally bestowed to the Bulgarians by imperial decree in 1870 but this failed to bring reconciliation.9 On the contrary, matters grew worse, causing an ecclesiastical schism in 1872. The Patriarchate of Constantinople, reacting to the uncanonical involvement of political power, convened a “Great Local” Synod and not an Ecumenical one, because some Eastern Orthodox Churches, notably the Russian Church, expressed their disagreement to the prospect of an ecclesiastical split and refused to participate. The schism was finally proclaimed by the Synod in the third session; the proceedings took place in a tense atmosphere marked by the dissent and withdrawal of the Patriarch of Jerusalem.10 The decision of the Mother Church to renounce one of its members derived from its ecumenical ideology, elaborated in order to correspond to the current circumstances. According to the argumentation recorded in the Synod Acts, the Bulgarian aspirations were rejected because they were incompatible with the spirit of Christianity in the attempt to introduce the principle of “phyletism” in the Orthodox Church. This newly invented term was understood as “racial distinctions and national disputes in the Church of Christ” and as such was considered hostile to the teachings of the Gospels and the Holy Canons of the Church Fathers.11 For the Bulgarian national movement see: Petăr Nikov. Văzraždane na bălgarskia narod. Tsărkovno-natsionalni borbi i postiženia. Sofia: Nauka i Izkustvo 1971; Zina Markova. Bălgarsko tsărkovno-natsionalno dviženie do Krimskata voina; Bălgarskata Ekzarhia 1870–1879. In: Izbrani săčinenia I. Sofia: Akademično Izdatelstvo Prof. Marin Drinov 2007, pp. 13-231; pp. 238-632. 10 Paraskevas Matalas. Ethnos kai Orthodoksia. Oi peripeteies mias shesis. Apo to ‘Elladiko’ sto Voulgariko Shisma. Irakleio: Cretan University Press 2003, pp. 311-42. 11 M. Gedeon. Eggrafa patriarhika kai sinodika peri tou Voulgarikou zitimatos 1852–1873. Constantinople 1908, p. 429. 9

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Another report signed by ten high priests and submitted to the Synod referred to “phyletism” as the formation of racial Churches in certain areas including only members of the same race, excluding all others and administered only by samerace clergyman. It characterised this kind of ecclesiastical division as unheard-of and unprecedented.12 This standpoint was obviously contradictory to the previous conduct of the Patriarchate. If that was the case, on what grounds did it consent to the autocephaly and autonomy of the Greek and the Serbian Churches? In order to bridge this inconsistency, the document explained that the Church law justified the existence of regional churches having specific geographical boundaries, but by no means the formation of national ecclesiastical organisations. The medieval Churches of Ohrid, Peć and Tărnovo belonged to the first category. The argument was extended to include the creation of the Greek, the Russian and the Serbian Churches: their jurisdiction was limited to the boundaries of a certain political dominion; they were “State” Churches established due to political changes, not nationality. Their flock was not always of the same origin and was not speaking the same language.13 The evidence shows that the Great Church was de facto obliged to make a step back from its ecumenical idea and accept the possibility of the formation of independent churches following the emergence of new political entities. However, it kept ignoring the new realities in the Balkans, denying the ethnic basis of the new states and the principles of national ideology. That is why it chose to introduce and use the term “phyletism” instead of nationalism. After having examined the attitude of the Patriarchate of Constantinople concerning the situation of the Orthodox Church in the Balkans, it is time to look at the opposite ideological trend that challenged the idea of ecclesiastical universalism. The dominant factor that altered completely the political and ecclesiastical map of the Balkans was the development of national ideology. Originating in the 18th century in Western and Central Europe, it was quickly communicated to the Balkan peoples and gradually spread in the region during the 19th and 20th centuries. This trend can be generally called Balkan nationalism, although this evasive term conceals many particularities that escape the common pattern. Here we will discuss one of its common features: what was the connection between the church and the nation-state and how the church became national. It is indeed remarkable that one of the first initiatives undertaken by the newborn states of Greece, Serbia and Romania was to seek – even unilaterally – the creation of separate churches independent from the Patriarchate of Constantinople. The Greek decision is especially noteworthy because the Patriarchs as well as the high clergy were mainly of Greek origin. The policy of the Bulgarians was quite different: they formed their Church before acquiring a state, but even there, church and state were both firmly related to the national ideals. 12 13

Ibid., p. 405. Ibid., pp. 407-8.

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The question is why this happened, given that religion was not considered one of the constituent elements of national identity before the emergence of the nationstates, as many classical theorists of nationalism have pointed out. For example, Antony Smith included in the main characteristics of the eastern model of the nation, which he called ethnic, the notions of common origin, with the implication of the existence of relative bonds, common language and tradition, and local culture.14 The absence of religion is completely natural, if we take into account that the majority of the Balkan peoples were Christian Orthodox. Thus religious faith was not a dividing but a uniting element. Furthermore, it referred to the non-ethnic distinction of the subjects of the Ottoman Empire into Muslims and Christians and was not suitable to serve the national idea. At the same time religion was not exempt from the factors that gave birth to national sentiments because the Christian faith encompassed different religious traditions, as far as saints or worship practices were concerned. The religious beliefs of the Balkan peoples had acquired a distinctive character indicating their different historical evolution and background. Having in mind these general remarks, the main task now will be to explore the reasons that gradually divided the ecumenical church into national ecclesiastical units, and the circumstances that triggered this process. First and foremost, the notion of universality even in the ecclesiastical domain was vastly inconsistent with the principles of nationalism that aimed to replace the multinational imperial structures of the past with one-nation political organisations. Even though religion was not listed among the criteria of national differentiation by the intellectuals initiating the new ideas, the independent ecclesiastical tradition, where it existed, was one of the powerful facets of the common historical past. The medieval autocephalous churches were regarded as part of the glorious national legacy of the Serbs and the Bulgarians. This feeling can first be traced in the main works of the new Serbian historiography: the Chronicles of Djordje Branković, who was the first among the Serbian intelligentsia to display concern about the historical past writing in the beginning of the 19th century; the Biographies of Save, the founder of the medieval Serbian Church, and other Serbian saints, whose author was Gavrilo Stefanović Venclović; the Short Introduction to the History of the Slavo-Serbian People by Pavle Julinać published in Venice in 1765; and the four volumes of the History of Various Slavic Peoples, that is of Bulgarians, Croats and Serbs by Jovan Rajić, the most significant historical oeuvre of the period that made its appearance in 1794/1795.15 Antony Smith. Ethniki tautotita, transl. E. Peppa. Athens: Odysseas 2000, pp. 27-9. Albert B. Lord, Nationalism and the Muses in the Balkan Slavic Literature in the Modern Period. In: Charles and Barbara Jelavich, ed., The Balkans in Transition. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press 1963, pp. 258-96; Jovan Hristić, ed., Srpska Književnost u Književnoj Kritici, 4 vols. Belgrade: Nolit 1972–1973, vol. 3: Od Baroka do Klasicizma; Dragoljub Dragojlović. Classicisme dans la Littérature Ecclésiastique Serbe du XVIIIe siècle. In: Proceedings of the fifth Greek-Serbian Symposium. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies 1991, pp. 163-73. 14 15

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The Bulgarian intellectuals went even further: not only did they integrate the Churches of Ohrid and Tărnovo to their historical evolution, but they also based their claim for ecclesiastical independence on their existence. Paisiy Hilendarski was the first to mention the medieval ecclesiastical status of the Bulgarians in his historical work. He proudly wrote that the Bulgarians were the first of all the Slavs to be converted to Christianity; that they had their patriarch and tsar and spoke their own language.16 He claimed that as long as the Bulgarian reign lasted, their patriarch and their bishops were of Bulgarian origin and the patriarch of Tărnovo appointed the archbishop of Ohrid.17 The example of Paisiy was followed by the leaders of the Bulgarian national movement that began to develop in the middle of the 19th century. In their writings they all emphasised that in the Middle Ages the Bulgarians enjoyed not only political but also ecclesiastical independence. This ecclesiastical tradition was a key argument to support their request for separation from the Patriarchate of Constantinople. They claimed that the abolition of the Church of Tărnovo and especially of the Archbishopric of Ohrid was unjust and uncanonical, but never fought in the earnest for their restoration, because it could not satisfy their national ideals. What they really aimed at was the creation of a new, nation-based church.18 By contrast, the Greek intellectuals of the Enlightenment were not concerned with the church issue for two reasons: (i) the main goal of the Greek efforts was the acquisition of political freedom; and (ii) there was no ecclesiastical independence to recall. Only in 1821, after the Greek revolution, Adamantios Korais, the leading and most prominent figure of the Greek Enlightenment, declared himself for independent Greek Church in the Prolegomena (Introduction) of his edition of Aristotle’s Politics. Korais maintained that the moral improvement of the Greek people and its priests could only be achieved by the separation of the Greek Church from the Patriarchate of Constantinople, because it was not proper for the clergy of the liberated Greeks to obey the orders of a Patriarch elected by the tyrant and obliged to bow to him.19 The case of the Romanians was somewhat different. As their lands were not under the same political authority on the eve of the modern period, the development of their national ideology followed two separate routes: one originating in Transylvania, which was part of the Habsburg Empire, and one emerging from the Ottoman-ruled Principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia. The two streams converged in the same goal: the creation of a nation by establishing the common descent and the historical and cultural continuity of the Romanian people in all three areas as a Paisios Xilandarinos. Slavovoulgariki Istoria, transl. V. Xani-Moïsidou. Thessaloniki: Kiriakidis 2003, p. 148. 17 Ibid., p. 150. 18 Eleonora Naxidou. I Arhiepiskopi tis Ahridas os ideologiko ipovathro tis ekklisiastikis aneksartisias ton Voulgaron 1850–1870, Valkanika Simmikta, 14-15 (2003–2004), 21-46. 19 Adamantios Korais, ed., Aristotelous Politikon ta sozomena. Paris 1821, p. 120. 16

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precondition for their political independence.20 For this reason historiography rated high among the pursuits of the Romanian intellectuals from the beginning of the 18th century when Dimitrie Cantemir initiated this trend with his Chronicles of the Romanian Lands.21 There were few works on ecclesiastical history before the emergence of the Romanian state, all by clergymen of the Romanian Uniate Church of Transylvania who were among the leaders of the national movement: Samuel Clain’s De ortu progressu conversione valachorum episcopis item archiepiscopis et metropolitis eorum and Petru Major’s Istoria bisericii romanilor, both written at the end of the 18th century.22 Although their main objective was to achieve political independence, religious autonomy had a place in the petitions of the Romanians from the Principalities. Their efforts were directed towards the exclusion of priests of Greek origin from the hierarchy of Moldavia and Wallachia. In 1752 the bishops of Moldavia issued a Deed forbidding the appointment of foreigners as high priests under the threat of a curse. Some thirty years later, in 1786, the Moldavians refused to accept the Greek metropolitan proposed by the Patriarchate of Constantinople and, recalling their historical right to choose the head of their church on their own, elected a native who was finally recognised by the sultan. The Wallachians declared in 1784 that no priest ordained outside their country should be accepted, because this was against the customs of their church.23 The Romanians in the Principalities also attempted to change the status of the monasteries dedicated to foreign ecclesiastical establishments on Mount Athos and in the Holy Land that profited from their huge incomes, but managed to gain their administration only for a few years, between 1821 and 1827.24 Finally, in 1829, the petition of the Wallachians for the establishment of an independent Romanian state included the demand for a self-governed church outside the jurisdiction of the Patriarchate of Constantinople.25

For Transylvania see Teodor Pompiliu, ed., Enlightenment and Romanian Society. Cluj-Napoca: Dacia 1980; Keith Hitchins. The Romanian Enlightenment in Transylvania, Balkan Studies XL, 1 (1999), 117-28. For the Principalities see Vlad Georgescu. Political ideas and the Enlightenment in the Romanian Principalities (1750–1831). New York: EEM, Boulder 1971. 21 Teodor Pompiliu. Romanian political Enlightenment. In: Teodor Pompiliu, ed., Enlightenment and Romanian Society, pp. 117-42. 22 George R. Ursul. From political freedom to religious independence: the Romanian Orthodox Church, 1877–1925. In: Stephen Fischer-Galati, Radu R. Florescu and George R. Ursul, eds., Romania between East and West. Historical Essays in Memory of Constantin C. Giurescu. New York: EEM, Boulder 1982, pp. 225-6. For Samuel Clain see Keith Hitchins. Samuel Clain and the Romanian Enlightenment in Transylvania. In: Teodor Pompiliu, ed., Enlightenment and Romanian Society, pp. 230-44. For Petru Major see Dumitru Ghise, Teodor Pompiliu. Petru Major, Aufklärung and Nation. In: Teodor Pompiliu, ed., Enlightenment and Romanian Society, pp. 260-77. 23 Georgescu. Political ideas, pp. 161-2. 24 Ibid., p. 161. 25 Ibid., p. 162. 20

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Having shortly examined the ideological background of the church issue, we will focus now on the creation of the autonomous Balkan Churches. The attempts to acquire a separate church went hand in hand with the efforts of the Serbs, the Greeks and the Romanians to gain national political independence. The settlement of the ecclesiastical status was one of the priorities of the political leadership of the Serbian revolution that broke out in 1804. The first concern was the replacement of the Greek high clergymen appointed by the Patriarchate of Constantinople with a native hierarchy. In 1809, when the metropolitan bishop of Belgrade Leontios departed for Constantinople without making clear whether he was going to return or not, the National Assembly chose a Serbian, Meletij Stefanović, in his place. This proved futile as the new bishop could not be canonically ordained, although he was sent to Russia for this purpose. The goal was partly achieved in 1815, when the Patriarchate nominated another Meletij as bishop of Sabać responding to the request of the leader of the second Serbian Uprising, Miloš Obrenović.26 In 1820 the Serbian delegation sent by Miloš to the Ottoman capital in order to submit a plan of reforms, including provisions leading to ecclesiastical autonomy, failed to fulfil its mission, prevented by the outbreak of the Greek War of Independence.27 Meanwhile Miloš, with the approval of the National Assembly, took several measures aiming at ecclesiastical reorganisation of the liberated areas. They had to do with the clergy’s salaries, the ecclesiastical taxes and the creation of an ecclesiastical Council under his personal control.28 In 1831, less than a year after the Serbs had acquired self-government, they were officially granted ecclesiastical autonomy by the Patriarchate of Constantinople.29 Finally, their political independence in 1878 was accompanied a year later by the patriarchal recognition of an autocephalous ecclesiastical status.30 The close link between the church and the national struggles was clearly established by the active participation of numerous priests and monks in the Serbian revolution and the decisive intervention of political authority in the ecclesiastical matters. The national character of the Serbian church was underlined by the splendid religious ceremony for the ascension of Miloš to the prince’s throne on the same day when the sultan’s decree proclaiming Serbian liberation was read in public (1830).31 Even though the Greek intelligentsia was not preoccupied with the future of the church, shortly after the outbreak of the Greek War of Independence in 1821 the clergy of the liberated areas had to take over the ecclesiastical administration as they were de facto cut off the Mother Church. The major alienating factor was that while many native priests supported the uprising and contributed to its success, the Djoko Slijepcević. Istorija Srpske Pravoslavne Crkve. II kniga: Od pocetka XIX veka do kraja Drugog Svetskog Rata. Munich: Iskra 1966, pp. 331-7. 27 Mousset. La Serbie, p. 49. 28 Slijepcević. Istorija Srpske II, pp. 339-44; Gonis. Istoria ton Orthodokson Ekklision, pp. 237-9. 29 Mousset. La Serbie, pp. 45-66. 30 Slijepcević. Istorija Srpske II, pp. 420-3. 31 Mousset. La Serbie, pp. 57-60. 26

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Patriarch adopted a subservient attitude towards the Ottoman ruler and was obliged to renounce the Greek liberation fight.32 The first Greek Constitution drawn up in 1822 created a Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs responsible for all church issues. The church question remained unsettled for more than a decade until the arrival of King Otto; it persisted throughout the years of revolutionary activity and during the rule of John Capodistrias, the first governor of the newly founded Greek state.33 Then in 1833 an ecclesiastical Synod held in Nauplion, the first capital, declared unilaterally an independent Greek Church headed by the king. The initiative came from the political authority, particularly from one of the Regents, Georg von Maurer, who, having the king’s consent and with the help of one of Korais’s disciples, Theoklitos Pharmakidis, had already formed an ecclesiastical Commission to elaborate the Charter of the new Church. The protagonists of this project shared Korais’s opinion that the liberation of Greece would not be complete, if its Church remained subordinated to a Patriarch who served the Ottoman ruler. They were also worried about the possible consequences for the Greek state from Russia’s overt influence on the Patriarchate of Constantinople.34 What was not a historical tradition became a necessity imposed by the current state of affairs. North of the Danube, as soon as the Principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia were unified to form the autonomous Romanian state in 1859, their first ruler Aleksander Cuza included the church into his plans to organise the country and tried to put it under the control of the political power. In 1863 the land of the dedicated monasteries was confiscated, and on the following year the Romanian church was placed by law under the administration of a Synod. These decisions caused tension with the Patriarchate of Constantinople which bluntly refused to approve them.35 The local church hierarchy supported Cuza’s political initiatives, demonstrating the close alliance between political and ecclesiastical authority. Special prayers praising Cuza were composed when he called a plebiscite in order to legitimise the authoritarian regime he had already established.36 Prince Carol I followed in his predecessor’s steps to make the church a national institution under state protection.37 The autocephalous Romanian Church was officially recognised by the Patriarchate of Constantinople in 1885.38 These preconditions paved the way for the emergence of the autocephalous Balkan Churches in the 19th century. We will now attempt to explain why the nationCharles A. Frazee. I orthodoxos ekklisia kai i elliniki aneksartisia 1821–1852, transl. I. Roilidis. Athens: Domos 1987, pp. 46-66. 33 Ibid., pp. 69-118. 34 Ibid., pp. 118-160; John A. Petropoulos, Politiki kai Sigrotisi Kratous sto Elliniko Vasileio 1833–1843. Athens: Educational Institution of the Greek National Bank 1985, pp. 214-27. 35 Lucian N. Leustean. The Political Control of Orthodoxy in the Construction of the Romanian State, 1859–1918, European History Quarterly, 37.1 (2007), 64-5. 36 Ibid., pp. 66-7. 37 Ibid., pp. 68-76. 38 George R. Ursul. From political freedom, pp. 224-5. 32

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states struggled to be ecclesiastically independent from the Mother Church. The establishment of nation-states was the product of the diffusion of national ideology among the Balkan peoples and the subsequent construction of new collective identities that divided the Christian subjects of the sultan into ethnic communities. This new ideological approach was the driving force that provoked the complete reversal of the political status quo in Southeastern Europe. The new Balkan states owed their creation to the concept of differentiation of the Balkan populations on ethnic criteria; their existence would be inconceivable outside the “national environment” and their destiny was directly linked to that of nationalism. They undertook to consolidate their emerging national identity and proved very effective in this attempt. In order to achieve their aim, they used all basic institutions such as military training, the educational system, the judiciary and the church; all these institutions were organised by their political authority and flourished under their protective shield.39 These mechanisms, as well as other systems of smaller impact such as public services, functioned as the channels through which the national ideals were diffused and cultivated in order to imbue every citizen with a national consciousness. In conclusion, we will examine the relationship between the church and the nation-state, which has a centuries-long “prehistory.” The political and the ecclesiastical power were so closely intertwined in the Middle Ages that they constituted an unbreakable unity. As soon as Christianity became the official religion of the Eastern Roman Empire in the beginning of the 4th century A.D., the Church was destined to be one of the main supporters of the political regime; its head, the Patriarch of Constantinople, officiated the emperor’s coronation, legitimising each time the ascension to the throne. The same practice was adopted by the medieval Slavic states of Bulgaria and Serbia and corroborated their claims for ecclesiastical independence.40 Even the rulers of the hegemonies of Wallachia and Moldova in the 15th century demanded and obtained autonomous metropolitans.41 The ideological tradition that considered the church as a close and faithful ally of the state had deep-seated roots. When the nation-states were founded, there was a historical precedent to follow in order to define their relations with the church. Its services were no longer needed to legitimise authority because, according to the modern political theories, the power to govern emanated from the nation, not from God. But the church still had a mission to fulfil that suited the state interests: being the indisputable spiritual and moral Paschalis M. Kitromilides. ‘Imagined Communities’ and the origins of the National Question in the Balkans. In: Enlightenment, Nationalism, Orthodoxy. Variorum 1994, pp. 160-8; and in Greek, in: Ethniki Tautotita kai Ethnikismos sti Neoteri Ellada. Athens: Morfotiko Idryma Ethnikis Trapezis 2003, pp. 72-87. 40 For Bulgaria see: Georgi Bakalov. Tsărkva i dăržava v bălgarskata istoria. In: Dăržava i tsărkva – tsărkva i dăržava v bălgarskata istoria. Sbornik po slučai 135-godišninata ot učrediavaneto na Bălgarskata Ekzarhia. Sofia: Universitetsko Izdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ohridski” 2006, pp. 1924. For Serbia see: Bataković, Protić, Samaržić, Fotić. Histoire du Peuple Serbe, pp. 19-21. 41 Florin Marinesku. Oi Roumanoi. Istoria kai Politismos. Athens: Iolkos 2007, pp. 214-16. 39

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leader of all the faithful, it could become the ideal mechanism to preach and spread the national ideals. Even under the new circumstances, the church could indirectly support the authority of the state by promoting the national ideology. The nation was the unique source of state power; the church reinforced nationalism; the nationstate ensured its dominant position. In addition, there was another reason requiring the formation of national churches. Every nation-state was trying to clearly differentiate itself from all the others. It developed as a confined entity functioning exclusively within specific borders that outlined its territory; the living space of the nation and its state boundaries should coincide. Limits acquired a specific ideological context. It was impossible and even dangerous for the members of a distinct ethnic unity to belong to a parallel, multinational ecclesiastical community. This could only be permitted in the spiritual sphere, where the Patriarch of Constantinople could still be considered as the spiritual leader of all the Balkan Orthodox Churches. The church was finally transformed into a national institution and a stronghold of nationalism. The process was responsible for another important outcome: religion was included among the constituent elements of national identity. Christianity was divided into smaller subunits whose existence was justified merely by the fact that they were linked to different ethnic groups. The Greek Orthodox Christian, the Bulgarian Orthodox Christian and so forth, became different religious categories of the same faith; we can talk about the “Serbian character” of the Christian faith, the “Bulgarian character” of the Christian faith, etc. After closely examining the dimensions of the relationship between the nationstate and the church, it is time to summarise our arguments. The emergence of the national churches in the 19th century can be attributed to the following reasons: 1. The worldview initiated by the ideals of nationalism completely opposed the notion of an ecumenical ecclesiastical authority. 2. The nation-states strongly wished to cut off every bond with their Ottoman past. Since the ecclesiastical hierarchy of the Patriarchate of Constantinople was closely linked to the Ottoman rule, all the Balkan peoples, including the Greeks who shared the same ethnic origins with the high clergy, were eager to be free from its jurisdiction. 3. The medieval tradition linking the state with the church served as a pattern for their “reunion,” this time around under a different ideological context. 4. The spiritual influence of the church made it a suitable vehicle for the propagation and reinforcement of national identity. 5. The ecclesiastical organisation had to comply with the model one nation – one state – one church because, according to the new principles, no surpassing of the national boundaries was allowed.

Modernisation in the Ottoman Empire between the Treaty of Karlowitz (1699) and the Reign of Mahmud II (1808–1839): A Process of Cultural Transfer Marlene Kurz The study of the modernisation of non-Western cultures has long been dominated by theories of modernisation. These theories were developed by economists and social scientists in the 1950s and combined the idea of a global and universally valid evolutionary process with the functionalism of the 20th century. Taking the Western world, especially the United States of America, as an example of the definition of modernity, the theoreticians of modernisation described a set of specific factors, such as high economic effectiveness and a democratic constitution, as the ultimate and in every way desirable aim of societies’ and nations’ development. Embedded in these theories is the concept of a dichotomy between allegedly “traditional” types of societies and cultures, and the so-called “modern” types. This dichotomy is associated with the assumption that an incompatibility exists between “traditional” and “modern,” which in the case of non-Western cultures is often tantamount to “indigenous” vs. “Western” or “European.” A diversity of political, economic, social, and cultural aspects was classified as being characteristic of either “tradition” or “modernity.” Some examples of these dichotomies are: – local and personal forms of political rule in traditional societies vs. centralistic and anonymous forms in modern societies; – personal communication as the norm in traditional societies vs. media in modern societies; – homogenous social structure and low degree of social mobility vs. heterogeneous social structures and a high degree of mobility; – individual vs. universal values; – static culture vs. dynamic culture, and so forth.1 However, very soon after their conception, theories of modernisation also became the focus of criticism. Based on empirical material from, for example, India, Japan and China, social and cultural anthropologists questioned the global validity of the idea that all societies are inevitably subjected to an evolutionary process that follows general patterns. The assumption implied in the dichotomies of “tradition vs. Modernity,” namely that the process of modernisation is possessed by some For an extensive list of such dichotomies cf. Hans-Ulrich Wehler. Modernisierungstheorie und Geschichte. In: Id., Die Gegenwart als Geschichte. Munich: C.H. Beck 1995, p. 20. 1

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“inner logic” or internal law of development, according to which a correlated set of traditional institutions is transformed into a set of modern institutions, could not be confirmed empirically.2 Another point of criticism with regard to the modernisation model is its Eurocentric, teleological perspective, i.e. the view that Western societies have in the course of their history produced a pattern of politics, society, economy, and culture that is understood as the “height of civilisation,” worthy of being aspired to and emulated by all other societies and cultures. Factors such as the Vietnam War, the Black Civil Rights Movement, and the increase of violence and poverty in US cities helped to put the Western civilisation ideal into perspective.3 Thus, in order to understand the histories of non-Western societies’ between the 18th and 21st centuries and the profound processes of transformation in this period, it is necessary to look for more flexible, more empirically orientated, and less dichotomous and teleological concepts. An alternative approach is to understand modernisation as a specific form of social and cultural change. In order to do this, we need to understand what causes such transformations. Generally speaking, two factors can be attributed to the initialisation of social and cultural change:4 – Orthogenetic factors, that is, factors arising within the cultural tradition itself. This aspect has long been grossly underestimated by scholars of Ottoman history in particular and of Islamic history in general. Recent studies of Islamic and Ottoman history in the 17th and 18th centuries mainly focused on deconstructing the historiographic myth of the Islamic world’s decline after the 12th century or the Ottoman world’s decadence after the reign of Süleyman I (r. 1520–1566). This enterprise has not as yet resulted in a comprehensive challenge to the notion of a “Westernisation process” to which Islamic societies were subjected from the end of the 18th century onwards and which resulted solely from the “transplantation” of Western knowledge and institutions to the Islamic world. – Heterogenetic factors, that is, factors coming from outside the tradition in question. Of course, when looking at the process of social and cultural transformation as a whole, both factors are heavily intertwined. The transformation of a society, and in this special case its modernisation, is produced by orthogenetic and heterogenetic innovations, that is, by the endless variety of non-essential modifications in a substratum of cultural tradition. In order to understand the dynamics of modernisation properly, the orthogenetic factors cannot be overlooked. However, modernisation theories tend to concentrate only on the second factor, seeing the orthogenetic aspects of a society as the traditional legacy that will be overcome in the process of modernisation.

2 Milton Singer. When a Great Tradition modernizes. An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization. Chicago and London: The University Press of Chicago 1972, p. 383-5. 3 Wehler. Modernisierungstheorie, p. 17. 4 For this approach cf. Singer. When a Great Tradition modernizes, p. 389.

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Apart from giving adequate attention to orthogenetic factors in the transformation process of cultures and societies, a model designed to describe and analyse such a process cannot yield sufficient results while only dealing with macrohistoric factors such as capitalist expansion, market cycles and class formation. The agency of the people, in the case of transformation processes involving impulses coming from outside the society, and most of all the agency of the intermediaries between two cultures and the receivers of foreign goods, have to be brought into greater focus. As Singer puts it: “We [have to] recall that it is people who modernise and not depersonalised cultural artefacts. Individuals, families, and communities can and do modernise by entering modern occupations, using modern artefacts or adopting a modern lifestyle.”5 An approach that can contribute to the exploration of these questions is the concept of cultural transfer, originally developed by the French historian Michel Espagne. It was devised as an alternative to historical comparative studies that, as Espagne pointed out, tended to make absolute the differences between the compared entities, especially national differences.6 His approach focused in turn on the agents of transfer in their original social and cultural context, thus avoiding an interpretation of their actions from a later constructed national – or in the Ottoman case modernising – perspective. Paying attention to the agents allows for a more socially and culturally oriented investigation of the spread of knowledge, techniques and practices. The focus can be shifted much more to the social and discursive circumstances of the transfer, the specific interests of the agents, and the role played by the transfer in the creation and conceptualisation of identities. The agent may be the state, but more often than not, private individuals take the initiative. In Ottoman history, this applies especially to the period from the late 16th to the 18th centuries, when the interest of the state to adopt scientific and cultural goods from the West was at its lowest. During this time many private individuals came in touch with the Western European “Republic of Letters,” among others, either through encounter with Western scholars who visited the empire or translation of scientific works. A well-known example of such a private agent was the Ottoman polymath Hüseyin bin Ca‘fer Hezarfenn (d. 1691). He knew and even befriended some Western diplomats and intellectuals who came to Istanbul in the second half of the 17th century, like the Italian nobleman Luigi Ferdinando Marsili or the French Arabist Antoine Galland. Hezarfenn discussed with them a great variety of scientific and religious questions.7 Moreover, in his books he made extensive use of Western sources, using information he obtained from Greek and Latin works in his geographical, historical and medical treatises.8 Ibid., p. 398. For different aspects of the concept see, for example, the articles in Wolfgang Schmale, ed., Kulturtransfer. Kulturelle Praxis im 16. Jahrhundert. Innsbruck: StudienVerlag 2003. 7 Heidrun Wurm. Der osmanische Historiker Hüseyn b. Ğa‘fer, genannt Hezārfenn, und die Istanbuler Gesellschaft in der zweiten Hälfte des 17. Jahrhunderts. Freiburg im Breisgau: Klaus Schwarz Verlag 1971, p. 122-49. 8 Ibid., p. 85-121. 5 6

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Hezarfenn was not the only one who was open to contact with Westerners and Western sources of knowledge. Ottoman cartographers often knew several languages, particularly Latin, and charted maps by making use of European geographical works.9 Ottoman professional translators and religious scholars with a private interest in astronomy concerned themselves with European astronomical books and tables and translated some of them into Ottoman Turkish.10 Muslim, Jewish, Coptic and Western magicians and alchemists came together in order to discuss their work and conduct common experiments.11 With regard to the Ottoman and broader Islamic context, apart from the activities and contexts of the agents of transfer, the strategies of adopting and indigenising foreign products should also be thoroughly explored. Innovations were sometimes perceived as threatening to the moral integrity of the society by the more conservative strata, for instance, some religious scholars. Individuals prone to accepting foreign goods often modified and reinterpreted them in what can be called a “process of productive appropriation.” Different strategies were employed in order to put a seal of legitimacy and acceptance on an imported foreign institution or product. Now I would like to illustrate the different questions related to the process of cultural transfer with some specific cases from Ottoman history. I will begin by trying to understand the activities and discursive strategies surrounding the adoption of geodetic instruments by the Ottoman religious scholar Ebu Sehil Nu‘man Efendi. Nu‘man Efendi was a member of the Ottoman commission charged to determine the new borderline between the Ottoman and the Habsburg Empires after the Treaty of Belgrade in 1739. This task had to be accomplished in close cooperation with the delegation sent by the Austrian Emperor Charles VI (r. 1711–1740). The Austrian engineers brought new geodetic instruments enabling metering in an unprecedented way. The Ottomans had nothing to compete with that. According to Nu‘man, they did not even have a capable engineer, the Ottoman official appointed to the task being an opium addict. Therefore Nu‘man Efendi decided to shoulder the responsibility of metering for the Ottoman delegation himself. He asked the Austrians about their methods and instruments, but they refused to explain how they worked. Nu‘man Efendi was told that an English monk had invented this “plane-table-method” twenEkmeleddin Ihsanoğlu. Some Remarks on Ottoman Science and its Relation with European Science and Technology up to the End of the 18th Century, Journal of the Japan-Netherlands Institute, 3 (1991), 45-73, here: 62. 10 Ekmeleddin Ihsanoğlu. The Introduction of Western Science to the Ottoman World: A Case Study of Modern Astronomy (1660–1860). In: Ekmeleddin Ihsanoğlu, ed., Science, Technology and Learning in the Ottoman Empire. Western Influence, Local Institutions and the Transfer of Knowledge. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing 2004, pp. 1-44, here: pp. 2-32. 11 Sonja Brentjes. On the Relation between the Ottoman Empire and the West European Republic of Letters (17th–18th Centuries). In: Ali Çakşu, ed., International Congress on Learning and Education in the Ottoman World, Istanbul, 12-15 April 1999. Istanbul: Research Centre for Islamic History, Art and Culture 2001, pp. 121-48, here: pp. 127-8. 9

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ty-five years earlier and France sent a special ambassador with many precious gifts to the king of England in order to acquire the method from him. The Austrian emperor in turn bought the knowledge of this technique from the king of France for a high price. Because this knowledge was so precious and hard to come by, the Austrians were not allowed to teach it to anyone. Pretending to fully understand their position, Nu‘man Efendi turned away and retreated into his tent, secretly observing their doings with his English telescope. His outstanding knowledge of geometry enabled him to figure out the new methods in less than three months. He even managed to craft wooden copies of the Austrians’ geodetic instruments. At first, the Europeans mocked these clumsy looking imitations of their scientific tools, but they soon realised with astonishment how efficient they were. Fully aware of his great accomplishment, Nu‘man Efendi later wrote a book in the Ottoman language entitled Exposition of the Activities of Land Measurement (Tebyin-i a‘mal el-mesahat), in which he explained in great detail not only the geodetic methods but also the underlying principles of geometry. A few weeks later, an Austrian official came to Nu‘man in order to find out which of his engineers had divulged the secret methods. Nu‘man told him, in his own words, “a fantastic story:” The Ottomans and Muslims had possessed since time immemorial the knowledge of geometry and their libraries were full of voluminous books about this science and its principles. Due to this knowledge they were fully aware of the methods of cartography, although they were not much appreciated in the Ottoman Empire and were generally not practiced. The English monk had not developed the “plane-table-method” himself, but only claimed to have done so, because he coveted the fame associated with being the inventor and the gold bestowed by the king of England. In actual fact, he learned the methods from books that had originally belonged to the Muslims, but were captured by the Christians after the conquest of Cordoba.12 Nu‘man Efendi’s narrative contains several aspects related to cultural transfer. First, there is the question of the motivation for transfer of foreign goods and knowledge. The Efendi’s entire book is a severe criticism of Ottoman state officials and their constant failures. The message is loud and clear: Had it not been for him and his initiative, the Austrians would have cheated the Ottomans handsomely. The representatives of the Ottoman state were generally not hostile to the import of foreign goods. On the contrary, they imported products from all over the world, but the context in which they did it, was totally different from Nu‘man Efendi’s acquisition of geodetic methodology. Their interests were neither scientific, nor spurred by the wish to benefit the Empire; all they cared about were consumer needs. As a consequence of these desires, the houses and palaces of Nu‘man’s well-to-do Ottoman contemporaries boasted an abundance of exotic luxury goods from various European countries, as well as Persia, India and China: precious textiles and furniture, Erich Prokosch. Molla und Diplomat. Der Bericht des Ebû Sehil Nu‘mān Efendi über die österreichisch-osmanische Grenzziehung nach dem Belgrader Frieden 1740/41. Graz-Vienna-Cologne: Styria 1972, p. 40-50, 86-94. 12

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all sorts of clocks, mirrors, eyeglasses, and telescopes, finely crafted crystal goblets, diamond plates, and porcelain bowls.13 Second, by claiming that scientific knowledge was essentially Islamic, Nu‘man made use of a pattern that was to become a common strategy used to justify the adoption of Western products in the future.14 Nu‘man’s “fantastic” story of the transfer of geometrical knowledge to the West achieved two ends:15 First, he marked his own culture as superior despite the borrowings it had to make from a supposedly inferior culture. Second, he legitimised the adoption of geodesy by a process of archaisation. He created an origin myth in which the new product was linked to a great traditional set of ancestors and precedents, and thereby was culturally validated. Archaisation is, in this case, a form of modernisation. Another case of archaisation was the way Bursalı Ömer Şifai Efendi (d. 1742) presented the medical system of Paracelsus to the Ottomans. Paracelsian concepts had already been introduced into Ottoman medicine in the 17th century through the private initiative of individual scholars like Salih bin Nasrullah (d. 1669), who in his work Nuzhat al-Abdan quoted from books of European physicians employing the Paracelsian approach and disclosed the composition of their remedies.16 Italian and French doctors practicing the “(al)chemical medicine” (tıbb-i kimyavi) came to the Ottoman Empire and set up offices that attracted great numbers of people, so that by the beginning of the 18th century a strong competition had emerged between the adherents of traditional medicine based on Hippocratic and Avicennian concepts and the proponents of Paracelsian medicine. Spokesman for the former was Sultan Ahmed III’s chief physician Nuh bin Abdülmennab Efendi (d. 1707), a European who was taken captive during the conquest of Resmo in 1646, converted to Islam and made a career as a physician in Ottoman service. He accused the practitioners of the new medicine of killing people with their methods and tried to prevent them from exercising their profession. A Sultanic order in this regard was issued in 1703.17 Ömer Şifai Efendi, on the other hand, who was a resolute proponent of Paracelsian medicine, argued in his book The Precious Jewel of New Medicine that this medicine was nothing new, but simply an aspect of alchemy. Alchemy itself could be traced back to Hermes and other ancient sages, such as Pythagoras and Plato, who were held 13 Selim Karahasanoğlu. A Tulip Age Legend: Consumer Behavior and Material Culture in the Ottoman Empire (1718–1730) [PhD dissertation]. New York: State University of New York 2009, p. 60-72. 14 Cf., for example, the article of Ziauddin Sardar. Islamic Science: The Contemporary Debate. In: Helaine Selin, ed., Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers 1997, pp. 455-8. 15 Cf. Singer, When a Great Tradition Modernizes, pp. 389-99. 16 Ihsanoğlu. Some Remarks, p. 67. 17 Elisabeth Grimus-Böhme. Bursalı Ömer Şifā’ī Efendi: “Das kostbare Juwel (in) der neuen Heilkunde”. Ein medizinisches Traktat aus dem 18. Jahrhundert [Diplomarbeit]. Vienna 1993, p. 4; Markus Köhbach. Europäische Ärzte im Osmanischen Reich am Beginn des 18. Jahrhunderts – der Fall Şināsī, Sudhoffs Archiv, 64 (1980), 79-85.

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in high respect in the Islamic world. Ömer Şifai “proved” that certain Paracelsian concepts were nothing other than adaptations of Aristotelian or Hermetic concepts under new names. For example, Paracelsus’ “highest secret” was identical with Aristotle’s “soul of the world,” or the “primary matter.”18 Another strategy enabling the adoption of foreign goods into Ottoman culture was to introduce them on ritually or religiously neutral grounds, and by constant use to indigenise them until their foreign origin was finally forgotten. We can assume that most products that became part of daily life entered the Ottoman Empire in this way. A good example of this form of transfer comes from the sermon of Ali Fazlizade, a very conservative religious scholar who, in 1740, severely criticised the outrageous moral decline of his fellow Muslims, caused in part by their ready acceptance of harmful innovations. However, the possession and use of watches and telescope – clearly products of Western origin – struck no nerve with Fazlizade and he even employed these items in his religious similes.19 Mechanical clocks fabricated in Europe were used by the Ottomans as early as the first half of the 16th century, arriving mostly as presents from European monarchs. During the second half of the 16th century the demand for clocks grew so rapidly that by the end of the century European clockmakers could establish themselves successfully in Galata. From the 18th century onwards the Empire was flooded with a stream of cheap Western-made clocks and watches designed for the Ottoman taste.20 At no point in this history of clock production and import did the religious conservatives mount serious resistance. We can safely assume that clocks and watches were adopted on religiously neutral grounds. This neutrality was probably never contested and after a while they could transform into undisputed objects of daily use. By contrast, the use of Western textiles was an abomination in the eyes of Ali Fazlizade. They were produced by non-believers. The wool they were made of was spun by non-believers. They were touched by non-believers. They were dyed by nonbelievers. Nobody really knew to what other obscure procedures the non-believers subjected the textiles. In short, they most certainly did not fulfil the requirements of religious purity and should not be used by Muslims.21 Whenever this happened to a new product, whose ritual or religious neutrality was questioned, there was still the chance of having it declared permissible by a great religious authority. For example, when in the late 1830s Sultan Mahmud II (r. 1808–1839) decided to introduce quarantine measures in the Ottoman Empire, Grimus-Böhme. Bursalı Ömer Şifā’ī Efendi, pp. 29, 31-2. Ali Fazlizade. Ayine el-kulub ve mübeyyinet el-ahlak. Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Orientabteilung, Ms.or.quart.1432, fol. 254v-255r, 328v-329r. 20 Ihsanoğlu. Some Remarks, 55-7. 21 Fazlizade. Ayine el-kulub, fol. 336v-r. The most important Western trading partner of the Ottoman Empire in the first half of the 18th century was France, and among the French exports the most important were textiles. Fatma Müge Göçek. East encounters West. France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century. New York-Oxford: Oxford University Press 1987, p. 98 and 107. 18 19

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his ambitions met with great resistance not only from the common people but also from high-ranking scholars. In order to push through his plans, Mahmud charged the şeyhülislam, the highest juridical authority in the Empire, with issuing a legal opinion (fetva) in favour of quarantine. This fetva ran: “Question: “Is there any harm in applying protective measures when a plague strikes a country, thus taking refuge from God’s – glorified and exalted is He! – wrath to His grace?” Answer: ‘No.’”22 Having secured the acquiescence of a respected sharia expert who defined quarantine measures as a divine grace, Mahmud proceeded by ordering the building of quarantine facilities in the provinces. The order was obeyed, but the whole purpose of the enterprise apparently escaped both the officials in the capital and the sultan’s relatives: When Mahmud died shortly after the introduction of quarantine measures, his successor Abdülmecit I (r. 1839–1861) granted an amnesty to anyone who was “imprisoned” in isolation wards.23 This anecdote points to another aspect that the analysis of cultural transfer has to consider: the mindset of the recipients, i.e. the intellectual and mental framework in which transferred goods were adopted and reinterpreted. In a world where illnesses were usually seen as either divine trials or the work of jinns or evil magic functioning on the basis of numerous analogies pervading the cosmos, and remedies were accordingly sought in pious deeds or protective magical charms, being confined to a quarantine ward simply made no sense and was understood as an arbitrary punishment rather than a means of protection.

Marlene Kurz. Die Einführung von Quarantänemaßnahmen im Osmanischen Reich. Eine Untersuchung zur Reformpolitik Sultan Mahmuts II. Marburg: Tectum-Verlag 1999, p. 99. 23 Ibid., p. 66. 22

The Serbian Revolution and the Creation of the Modern State: The Beginning of Geopolitical Changes in the Balkan Peninsula in the 19th century1 Nedeljko Radosavljević In recent European history, the Balkan Peninsula represented an area dominated by important geopolitical changes, seen primarily as a consequence of military actions and peace treaties ever since the Ottoman Empire first took possession of these territories. After the Ottoman forces occupied the greatest part of the peninsula, the first significant geopolitical changes occurred in consequence of the Vienna War (1683–1699), as well as the wars conducted by the Christian powers against the Ottoman Empire between 1716–1718 and 1737–1739. The Ottoman Empire was expelled for good from the Pannonian Depression. Nevertheless, these geopolitical changes had no grand proportions, nor lasted long in the Balkan Peninsula. The Venetian Republic managed to expand its power to the hinterland of its possessions in Dalmatia, but Morea, placed under its control by the Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699, was soon reoccupied by the Ottoman Empire during the war of 1716–1718. The Ottoman Empire was fully aware of the strategic importance of the Balkan Peninsula; as soon as its military capabilities recovered from the substantial failures and losses sustained during the war against the Christian Holy League (1683–1699), it succeeded in its attempts to regain control over it. A similar course of events unfolded in the area stretching south of the rivers Sava and Danube that were taken by the Habsburg monarchy in the war of 1716–1718. The legacies of war for the Habsburg monarchy were acknowledged by the Peace Treaty of Passarowitz (1718). Part of the occupied territories whose centre was Belgrade composed a new administrative entity, the Habsburg Kingdom of Serbia (Königreich Serwien), while the narrow stretch of land along the Sava River, formerly incorporated into the Bosnian Pashalik, was administratively attached to Vojna Krajina (Militärgrenze). The Habsburg monarchy ventured unprepared in the following war between the two antagonistic empires; this area was reclaimed by the Ottoman army and its boundary was established along the natural borderline mapped by the rivers Sava and Danube, with the Treaty of Belgrade in 1739. Upon stabilising this border immediately after the Peace 1 This paper was produced under a project conducted under the aegis of the Ministry of Science and Technology of the Republic of Serbia. The project was entitled “Between European Models and Stereotypes: Serbian National Integration 1804–1918” and was implemented at the Historical Institute of Belgrade.

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of Belgrade, the Ottoman Empire obtained a natural frontier that remained de jure (but not de facto) unbroken until 1878 and the Congress of Berlin.2 The territories affected by military operations between 1683 and 1739 suffered massive depopulation. An adequate example was the former Habsburg Kingdom of Serbia that previously comprised the largest part of the Sanjak of Smederevo (Belgrade Pashalik). After the end of the war in 1739, its population numbered not more than 60,000 inhabitants, predominantly Orthodox Serbs.3 The Ottoman Empire eliminated the local dynasty in the Danubian Principalities of Romania (Wallachia and Moldavia) and reduced their military capacities to the level of police, delegating power to the loyal Greek patrician families from Constantinople. The ecclesiastical authority of these principalities was placed under the stable administration of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Nothing in those days hinted that far greater changes, resulting in lasting consequences, were about to occur at the dawn of the 19th century. The significant difference between the territorial changes in the Balkan Peninsula in the first half of the 19th century and the shifts that occurred in the previous two centuries concerned, first, their fundamental reasons and, second, their time span. During the 17th and 18th centuries the Christian states (the Habsburg monarchy and the Venetian Republic) were the agents of change, while the Christian inhabitants of the peninsula were only an additional, albeit important element that supported their military actions.4 Later on, during the First Serbian Uprising that marked the beginning of the military phase of the Serbian National Revolution, the main engines of military activities were the local subjects of the Ottoman Empire, who acted without any initial stimulus from the outside. Nevertheless, the legacy of the Serbian and the Greek national revolutions survived and contributed to the final breakdown of Ottoman power in the Balkan Peninsula almost a century later. The decisions of the Peace Treaty of San Stefano signed between the Russian and the Ottoman Empires, were revised by the Congress of Berlin in 1878, granting full independence to the Principality of Serbia. This ended the symbolic Ottoman presence on the riverbanks of Sava and the Danube in the Principality of Serbia, where the Ottoman flag was hoisted next to the Serbian flag on the ramparts of the fortified towns along these rivers. The flag of the Ottoman Empire was removed from the Belgrade Fortress as early as 1876, at the beginning of the Serbo–Turkish War. 3 This data is based on the Ottoman Register of the reoccupied territories of 1741.���� Nedeljko Radosavljević. Pravoslavna crkva u Beogradskom pašaluku 1766–1831, uprava Vaseljenske patrijaršije. Belgrade: Istorijski Institut 2007, p. 369. 4 The Serbian Uprisings of 1689 and 1737 resulted in Ottoman revenge and the two Great Serb Migrations from Kosovo, Metohija, Stari Vlah and Central Serbia towards the areas controlled by the Habsburg monarchy. The two migrations were led by the Patriarchs of Peć: Arsenije III Čarnojević in 1690 and Arsenije IV Jovanović Šakabenta in 1737. Since the Patriarchate of Peć lost all the trust the Ottoman authorities had put in it due to its support to the Serbian insurgent movements, the high priests of the Great Church started to enter its ranks and thus opened the way to its abolition in 1766. For more extensive details, see: Rajko L. Veselinović. Srbi u Velikom ratu 1683–1699, Velika seoba Srba 1690. In: Istorija srpskog naroda III/1. Belgrade: Srpska književna zadruga (SKZ) 1993, pp. 530-42. 2

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The First Serbian Uprising marked the beginning of new, significant geopolitical changes. The question of its occurrence, as well as the military and political course of events related to the creation and destruction of the insurgent state, have been widely discussed and correctly portrayed in Serbian and other European historiographies. Therefore, this paper will concentrate only on the key facts and will elucidate the reasons that led to the First Serbian Uprising, as well as the manner in which it occurred; it will also explain what made the Serbian insurgent movement different from prior attempts, and will discuss the underlying reasons that caused the Serbian revolt to break out in the Belgrade Pashalik instead of any other Serbian-inhabited province of the Ottoman Empire. The Belgrade Pashalik5 was a border province, but not the largest one, judging by the number of the Serbian Orthodox houses it comprised. This was corroborated not only by the Ottoman registers, but also by the administration of the Great Church. The two Orthodox eparchies with the high rank of metropolises, the one of Belgrade and the other of Užice and Valjevo, existed in the Belgrade Pashalik (Sanjak of Smederevo) shortly before the uprising. On the basis of data concerning taxes paid to the sultan’s treasury by the Ecumenical Patriarchate for the eparchies of the former Patriarchate of Peć, abolished in 1766, we can see that the Metropolis of Belgrade counted approximately 15,000 Orthodox Christian houses. The Metropolis of Užice and Valjevo enumerated precisely 12,597 houses.6 However, four Orthodox metropolises existed in the Bosnian Pashalik, which included the Metropolis of Sarajevo (Dabro-Bosnian Metropolis); it outnumbered the Belgrade Metropolis both in terms of houses and with its body of believers. With it, the three other metropolises in Herzegovina, Zvornik and Raška counted more Orthodox believers than the two metropolises of the Belgrade Pashalik. From a territorial and administrative standpoint, the Belgrade Pashalik in reality represented the former Sanjak of Smederevo, established within the borders fixed before the Vienna War. Still, although the frontiers established in 1739 were identical to its previous territory, there were some differences. Belgrade was the centre of this administrative and territorial unit. It became once more a border area (serhat) governed by a pasha of three horse tails that held the high rank of vizier. Apart from authority over administrative and territorial issues, he had the army of the Sanjak of Kruševac (Aladža Hisar) and the Garrizon of Niš under his command, as well as, if needed, some other units stationed outside the territory under his civil authority. This explains the difference between the Sanjak of Smederevo before the war of 1683–1699, when it was situated in the hinterland of the Ottoman Empire, and after 1739. Due to all these reasons, the term Belgrade Pashalik has prevailed in Serbian historiography, but also in the historiographies of other Balkan nations. 6 From the 100,000 akçe of the miri peşkeş (tax paid to the sultan’s treasury for the abolished eparchies of the Patriarchate of Peć), 15,500 came from the Metropolis of Sarajevo; 15,000 – from the Metropolis of Belgrade; and 12,000 – from the Metropolis of Užice and Valjevo. The remaining metropolises paid significantly smaller amounts of money. Nedeljko Radosavljević. Užicko-valjevska mitropolija 1739–1804. Valjevo: Istorijski Arhiv Valjevo 2000, p. 60; Ivan S. Jastrebov. Podatci za istoriju crkve u Staroj Srbiji. In: Glasnik Srpskog učenog društva (SUD) XL. Belgrade: Srpsko učeno društvo 1874, pр. 231-2. 5

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Clearly, the number of Serbs in the Bosnian Pashalik was substantially greater than their population in the Belgrade Pashalik. Both pashaliks were situated in the European outskirts of the Ottoman Empire, bordering the Christian Habsburg monarchy. Still, the Serbian Revolution broke out in the Belgrade Pashalik, not in its Bosnian counterpart. More than one reason can be found. As already mentioned, the population of the Belgrade Pashalik, predominantly of Slavonic origin – Christians as well as Muslims, – was decimated in the three great wars. The process of demographic recovery never stopped since 1739, but a considerable disproportion was created between the Orthodox population that was growing in numbers, and the Muslim one, gradually reduced to approximately 10% of the entire urban population living under the ramparts of the big garrisons (suburbium). By the end of the 18th century, the Ottoman society of the Belgrade Pashalik (unlike its authority) was practically dying out.7 On the other hand, the Muslim population of the Bosnian Pashalik was noticeably more numerous, very conservative and militant, and represented a visible reserve force ready to fill the ranks of the army.8 The favourable demographic conditions in the Belgrade Pashalik were not an important factor that incited the Serbs to organise an uprising, but they greatly contributed to its successful development. The main factor was the usurpation of power by the deserting janissary elements in the Belgrade Pashalik, supported by Osman Pazvanoğlu from Vidin, against whom even the three great expeditions launched by the Ottoman army proved futile. The usurpers, known as the Dahis, annulled the existing privileges of the Serbian population that essentially offered an important form of semi-autonomy, allowing the Serbian society to lead an autonomous life on the internal scene. The usurpers were preparing measures that would endanger even the physical survival of the Serbian Orthodox population of the Belgrade Pashalik. The janissaries planned to kill all male inhabitants of the province, aged ten or older during the last Habsburg–Ottoman War (1788–1791), and to force the rest of the population to embrace Islam!9 Even during the greatest wars and riots the Ottoman authorities never chose to take such radical measures. In 1804, shortly before the First Serbian Uprising, between 180,000 and 200,000 inhabitants dwelt in the Belgrade Pashalik. Counting the towns, their number was maximum 230,000 people. Vasa Čubrilović. Razvitak seoske samouprave u Srbiji i borbe s Turcima. In: Istorija naroda Jugoslavije, vol. 2. Belgrade: Prosveta 1960, p. 1279. 8 See more extensively: Milorad Ekmečić. Mesto Bosne i Hercegovine u Srpskoj revoluciji 1804–1815. In: Srpska revolucija 1804–1815 i Bosna i Hercegovina. Banja Luka: Akademija nauka i umjetnosti Republike Srpske, naučni skupovi, vol. 6. Odjeljenie društvenih nauka, vol. 8, 2004, pp. 37-71. 9 Dušan Pantelić. Beogradski pašaluk pred Prvi srpski ustanak 1794–1804. Belgrade: SANU 1949, pp. 417-9. According to data cited by Vladimir V. Zelenin, the janissaries planned to kill the entire male population beyond 15 years of age. Vladimir V. Zelenin. Islam i politicheskoe, sotsialno-economicheskoe i kulturnoe polozhenie serbskogo naroda nakanune Pervogo Vosstania. In: Islam, Balkan i velike sile (XIV–XX vek). Belgrade: Istorijski Institut SANU, Zbornik radova, vol. 14, 1997, p. 277. 7

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The question whether the janissaries had the military resources to put this plan in action, remains open. Nevertheless, by the end of 1803 and in the beginning of 1804 they started executing Serbian knights and leaders (the Slaughter of the Knezes) after getting wind that an armed rebellion against them was being prepared without opposition from the central Ottoman authorities. This extreme situation, where no one had guarantees for their life or property, was not attested in the Bosnian Pashalik, where the vizier Abu Bekir Pasha managed to maintain control, or in the other neighbouring pashaliks and sanjaks populated by Serbs and situated deeper in the hinterland of the Ottoman Empire.10 Some years later, numerous Serbian insurrections broke out in the Bosnian Pashalik, but they were poorly coordinated and organised and were effortlessly crushed by the Ottoman authorities.11 The First Serbian Uprising broke out on the Orthodox feast day of the Visitation of the Virgin, the 2nd (14th) of February 1804. In the beginning, it showed all the inherent features of a rebellion against the usurpers, who represented an equally serious threat for the central authorities, rather than a war for independence against the Ottoman regime. The principal demands of the rebels concerned the restoration of the privileges enjoyed by the Serbs in the Belgrade Pashalik before the onslaught of the janissaries.12 The insurgent forces soon settled accounts with the janissaries, but 1805 brought confrontation with the regular army because the Porte showed no intention to provide guarantees for those privileges by some Christian power.13 Confrontation between the Ottoman authorities and the Serbian rebels continued until 1806, when the Russian Empire entered the war. This largely determined the further course of events, including the failure of the insurgent state after the global Ottoman offensive in 1813. Between 1807 and 1812, the Russian and the Serbian armies performed joint military actions and the Serbian army even formed regular units after the Russian model. However, the Russian diplomacy managed to use the Serbs to achieve its own ends in the larger arena. It thwarted a favourable separate peace treaty with the Porte, even though the significant military success achieved by the Serbian army presented several opportunities. The Peace Treaty of Bucharest (1812) between the Ottoman and the Russian Empires guaranteed autonomy for the Serbs, but they rejected it, fearing that the Ottoman authorities might decide not to implement its regulations during Napoleon’s campaign against 10

30-1.

Vasa Čubrilović. Prvi srpski ustanak i bosnanski Srbi. Belgrade: Geca Kon A.D. 1939, pp.

11 Čubrilović. Prvi srpski ustanak, pp. 34-85; Djordje Mikić. Buna Jovana Jančića. In: Srpska revolucija 1804–1815 i Bosna i Herzegovina, pp. 219-38. 12 Radoslav Perović. Prvi srpski ustanak, akta i pisma I. Belgrade: Narodna knjiga 1977, doc. 15, p. 68. 13 In the summer of 1805 in Ivankovac a regular Ottoman military unit commanded by Hafiz Pasha was defeated by the Serbian rebels for the first time. Vladimir Stojančević. Prvi srpski ustanak 1804 i ratovanje Srba s Turcima 1804–1813 godine. In: Istorija srpskog naroda V/1. Belgrade: SKZ 1981, p. 35.

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Russia. Nonetheless, all future Serbian diplomatic activities undertaken after the Second Serbian Uprising of 1815 were based upon this treaty.14 The difference between prior Serbian insurgent movements and the First Serbian Uprising can be summed up in three key aspects: – The First Serbian Uprising set the stage for the creation of the new state. Although unacknowledged in the diplomatic sense, it nonetheless had all the state’s attributes: an army, police, government, judiciary, total control of the territories, military frontiers, even an educational system. All this had never been achieved since the fall of the Serbian medieval states. The newly established state was also supported by Russia, which entered the war. – The uprising would not have been organised without the support of the most prominent local ecclesiastical representatives. The number of participants in the uprising would have been insignificant, and the population would have probably fled in far greater numbers to the neighbouring areas or the Habsburg monarchy as it was in reality. The high priests of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, although favourably inclined towards the rebels, had to engage in persistent diplomatic activity, but the secular and monastic clergy of Serbian origin supported and blessed the rebellion against the Dahis. – The failure of the uprising in 1813 was only temporary; Hadži Prodan’s Uprising of 1814 followed by the Second Serbian Uprising of 1815, was its logical continuation and triggered the persistent diplomatic activity undertaken by Prince Miloš Obrenović with the aim to establish the new state. This was successfully accomplished upon the creation of the Principality of Serbia in 1830 and the autonomous Orthodox Church in 1831. The religious factor was very important, since Serbia would not have gained full autonomy without the existence of an autonomous church, free from the direct administration of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. The period from 1815 until the creation of the autonomous state in 1830 and the obliteration of the last remaining residues of the Ottoman feudalism in 1835, marked the peaceful phase of the Serbian Revolution. The Serbian uprising served as an example that inspired analogous movements among other Balkan peoples. However, the Greek Uprising of 1821 obtained much larger support throughout the world. While only the Russian Empire stood openly behind the almost forgotten Balkan Slavs, the philhellenic mood in Great Britain The Second Serbian Uprising broke out in the Belgrade Pashalik on the 11th (22nd) of April 1815, provoked by numerous lawless actions against the Christian population by the provincial government headed by Sulejman Pasha Skopljak. The insurrection ended in the same year with an agreement to establish a joint Serbo–Turkish administration, negotiated between Miloš Obrenović, the leader of the uprising, and Seraskier Marasli Ali Pasha. The agreement was confirmed by a series of edicts issued by the central Ottoman authorities, while the Serbian privileges were increasingly expanded. This was the platform upon which Prince Miloš Obrenović based his diplomatic activity for the creation of the modern Serbian state. See more extensivily on this issue: Vladimir Stojančević. Drugi srpski ustanak 1815 i prva vladavina kneza Miloša Obrenovića (do 1830). In: Istorija srpskog naroda V/1, pp. 100-19. 14

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and France incited the three powers (Russia, France, and Great Britain) to enter the war against the Ottoman Empire in 1827.15 This resulted in the defeat of the Ottoman troops, the signing of the Peace Treaty of Adrianople in 1829 and the creation of the independent Kingdom of Greece, confirmed by the three victorious powers in February 1830 in London, where the Greek borders and government structure were established.16 The autonomous Principality of Serbia was created in the same year. This calls for a comparison between the status and the potentials of the two nation-states. Although still de facto under the supreme authority of the sultan, the Principality of Serbia had greater human and military resources than the independent Kingdom of Greece.17 Serbia enjoyed the recognised protection of Russia and its wide frontier bordered on another Christian power, the Habsburg monarchy, while Greece was vastly surrounded by Ottoman territories. For the first time since the Ottoman Empire had set foot in the Balkan Peninsula, part of the Serbian population managed to achieve a major national goal through diplomatic activities: the creation of a state. During the same period, the Greeks suffered great losses for limited gains. During the First Serbian Uprising, the situation was very different. The Serbs and those Bulgarians that found themselves on the way of the rebel forces were the only two Balkan nations fighting against the Ottoman Empire, while all the others stayed passive. The failure of the Serbian uprising led to a massive exodus of the population, with tens of thousands of people being killed or enslaved. The creation of the two nation-states south of the Sava and the Danube, especially the Principality of Serbia, influenced the more rapid development of the Bulgarian national liberation movement. The majority of the Bulgarian national intelligentsia received education in Serbian high schools, in the Theological Academy and the Great School (University), while the Bulgarian political emigration even established military formations (the Bulgarian Legion) supported by the Serbian government that engaged in combat during the Ottoman bombardments of Belgrade in 1862.

In spite of the prevalent philhellenic mood, the war the three powers fought against the Ottoman Empire was based not only on the enlightened and classicist traditions stemming from the spiritual legacy of Ancient Greece and Rome; commercial and military interests played no lesser role, particularly the desire to prevent Russia from potentially resolving the Eastern Question all by itself. Čedomir Popov. Građanska Evropa II (1770–1871); politička istorija Evrope. Novi Sad: Matica Srpska 1989, pp. 36-44. 16 Although the three great European powers entered the war against the Ottoman Empire and the united navy sank the Ottoman fleet at Navarino in 1827, the Porte considered Russia to be its main enemy, against whom it declared a Holy War by rejecting the Akkerman Convention. Barbara Jelavich. Istoria na Balkanite XVIII–XIX vek, vol. 1. Sofia: IK АМАТ-АH 2003, pp. 235-7. 17 As a vassal state with full internal autonomy, the Principality of Serbia did not have the right of being diplomatically represented abroad (jus legandi), the right to declare war (jus belli gerendi), or the right to sign international treaties (jus contrahendi). 15

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Countless Bulgarian volunteers enrolled in the Serbian army in the Serbo–Turkish War of 1876–1878, which granted full independence to the Principality of Serbia.18 In 1866, when the Principality of Serbia was already an incontestable reality and the Danubian provinces of Romania reunited into the vassal Principality of Romania, while the Ottoman Empire staggered under the pressure of numerous uprisings, Fuad Pasha, the Ottoman pro-reform minister of foreign affairs, exposed his intriguing view to count Ignatieff, the Russian representative in Constantinople. In his opinion, the loss of the Romanian lands would not significantly affect the integrity of the Ottoman Empire because the Danube would establish a natural border. According to him, the tribute from the Romanian regions could barely cover the cost of telegrams and the maintenance of minor military formations. However, if the border was to be established south of the Sava and the Danube, that would present a very serious problem leading to a radical outcome of the Eastern Question, and the Porte would by no means allow it.19 Ignatieff concluded from Fuad Pasha’s words that the Principality of Serbia and its ruler Prince Mihailo Obrenović represented the major predicament for the Ottoman Empire. The Prince’s subjects were as energetic and militant as the Romanians were peaceful, “and they will never share but a superficial and unnatural bond with the Latin peoples, while the Serbs are members of the big Slavonic family, and Russian brothers by blood and faith.”20 Judging by the conversation between the two diplomats, the territorial disposition of the two Balkan peoples represented the main problem for the Ottoman Empire; the Porte would have found it much more convenient, if the situation had been reversed. As it were, the Principality of Serbia under the rule of Prince Mihailo Obrenović would still be a problem even after the secession of Romania due to its unambiguous plans to liberate the remaining compatriots from Ottoman authority and offer its help to the Bulgarian people, related to the Serbs by ethnic and religious affiliation. This vague and simplified depiction has never been proved to be completely accurate. Nonetheless, the Great Eastern Crisis, the Serbo–Turkish War (1876–1878) and the Russo–Turkish War (1877–1878) partly confirmed Fuad Pasha’s conclusions.

Žana Koleva. Rakovski Georgi Stoykov. In: Koi koi e sred bălgarite XV–XIX v. Sofia: Anubis 2000, pp. 233-5; Vera Boneva. Văzraždane: Bălgaria i bălgarite v prehod kăm novoto vreme. Šumen: Universitetsko Izdatelstvo Episkop Konstantin Preslavski 2005, pp. 367-72. 19 Graf N. P. Ignatiev. Diplomatičeski zapiski 1874–1874; Donesenia (1865–1876), vol. 1. Translated with introduction and commentary by Ilia Todev. In: Arhivite govoryat 48. Sofia: Dăržavna Agentsia Arhivi – Institut po Istoria pri BAN 2008, p. 55. 20 Ibid, p. 55. 18

Revolution and Socio-economic Change in the Ottoman Periphery: The Case of the Island of Crete in 1821 Manos Perakis The Greek revolution of 1821 was a crucial step that marked the beginning of Modern Greek history. On the one hand, it liberated a large part of the Greek population from the Ottoman rule and led to the establishment of the independent Greek state. On the other hand, it produced considerable, multi-level immediate and long-term consequences for the society, economy and politics of the revolted regions that remained outside the borders of the Greek state. The case of Crete is typical of those regions where the revolutionary activity was not successful: despite the widespread expectations of the population, Crete was excluded from the Greek state established in accordance with the London Protocol of 3 February 1830. The island was decisively diferrentiated from the other regions in that it seceded from the Ottoman Empire. In 1830, the sultan offered Crete to the viceroy of Egypt Muhammad Ali in exchange of his support to put down the Greek revolution. However, 10 years later (1840), following the defeat of Muhammad Ali in the Turko–Egyptian war, Cretan sovereignty was restored to the sultan. The Effects of the 1821 Revolution on the Population The revolution of 1821 played a crucial role in the subsequent socio-economic development of the island. Despite discrepancies between the available sources about the size of the population prior to the revolution, it can be estimated at 260,000 – 280,000, if the most extreme calculations are omitted.1

1 1817 (Sieber) and 1819–20 (Jowett): Eleni Aggelomati-Tsougaraki. Crete in the travel documents (end of the 17th – beginning of the 19th century). In: Proceeding of the 6th International Congress of Cretan Studies. Chania 1990 (in Greek), vol. 3, p. 25. 1821 (Gosse): Constantinos Vacalopoulos. Quelques informations statistiques sur la Crete avant et apres la revolution de 1821. In: Proceedings of the 4th International Congress of Cretan Studies, Athens 1981, vol. 3, p. 28. 1821 (Bourquelot): Felix Bourquelot. Huit jours dans l’Ile de Candie en 1861. Moeurs et Paysages. Paris: Arthus Bertrand 1863, p. 50.

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Table 1. Distribution of Cretan population around 1821 and 1840 according to religion and residence Religion/ Residence

Around 1821

Around 1821 %

Around 1840

Around 1840 %

Total population

260,000 – 280,000

100

152,760 – 172,450

100

Christians

130,000 – 141,650

50–53

106,760 – 140,450

70–81

Muslims

124,705 – 140,000

47–50

32,000 – 46,000

19–30

Towns

46,000

17

25,760 – 32,450

17–19

Countryside

220,355

83

127,000 – 140,000

81–83

11,000

24

6,760

26

35,000

76

19,000

74

130,650

59

100,000

79

89,705

41

27,000

21

Christians in towns Muslims in towns Christians in countryside Muslims in countryside

Figure 1. Population 1821, 1840 (religion, residence) 1821

24% 26%

1840 41%

Christians in countryside

21%

Muslims in towns

Christians in towns

Total population 1821: 260.000-280.000 1840: 152.760-172.450

76% 74%

59%

Countryside

Towns

Muslims

Christians

90 70-81% 80 70 50-53% 47-50% 60 50 19-30% 40 30 17% 17-19% 20 10 0

79%

Muslims in countryside

83% 81-83%

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Sources for Table 1 and Figure 1

Around 1821 John Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia. London 1840, p. 156 (total population = 260,000; Christians = 130,000; Muslims = 130,000). Michail Chourmouzis. Cretan. Athens 1842 (in Greek), p. 104 (total population = 266,355; Christians = 141,650; Muslims = 124,705; towns = 46,000; countryside = 220,355; Christians in towns = 11,000; Muslims in towns = 35,000; Christians in countryside = 130,650; Muslims in countryside = 89,705). Victor Raulin. Description physique de l’Ile de Crete, 2 vols. Paris: Arthus Bertrand 1869, vol. 1, p. 207 (total population = 260,000 – 280,000; Christians = 130,000 – 140,000; Muslims = 130,000 – 140,000). Charles Scott. Rambles in Egypt and Candia, 2 vols. London: Henry Colburn 1837, vol. 2, p. 257 (total population = 280,000). Around 1840 John Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, London 1839, p. 157 (total population = 152,760; Christians = 106,760; Muslims = 46,000; towns = 25,760; countryside = 127,000; Christians in towns = 6,760; Muslims in towns = 19,000; Christians in countryside = 100,000; Muslims in countryside = 27,000). Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Archives Diplomatiques, Correspondance Commerciale des Consuls, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Charpentier a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 32, 30/11/1840, 449-50, enclosed “Mémoire politique, commercial et statistique sur l’ile de Crète (Candie),” 450-61 (total population = 172,450; Christians = 140,450; Muslims = 32,000; towns = 32,450; countryside = 140,000).

If we ignore the largest part of the 1830s,2 characterised by considerable population mobility (return of Christians and departure of Muslims), around 1840 we estimate the total population between 152,760 and 172,450, approximately 40% down compared to the total population in 1821 (Table 1, Figure 1). The reduction of the Cretan population was followed by significant qualitative changes. Most sources agree that before the revolution the island enjoyed a religious balance or slight numerical superiority of Christians over Muslims3 (53% to 47%). In the first half of the 1830s, the Cretan population has been estimated between 98,000 and 130,000. See: Michail Chourmouzis. Cretan. Athens 1842 (in Greek), p. 104 (115,900); John Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia. London 1840, enclosed “Notes on the island of Candia” by Patrick Campbell, p. 184 (98,000); Robert Pashley. Travels in Crete, 2 vols. London: Cambridge 1837, vol. 2, p. 325 (129,000); Manolis Peponakis. Conversions to Islam and back to Christianity in Crete (1645–1899). Rethymno: Holy Cathedral of Rethymno and Mylopotamos 1997 (in Greek), p. 87, n3 (120,000 – 130,000). 3 The vast majority of the Cretan Muslims consisted of local Christians who converted to Islam during the Ottoman occupation. Administrators, pashas and military forces of Turkish origin were a minority. After 1669 there was no significant settling by Turkish populations from other regions of the Empire. See: Molly Greene. A shared world. Christians and Muslims in the Early Modern Mediterranean. New Jersey: Princeton University Press 2000, p. 39; Emile Kolodny. La Crete: mutations et evolution d’une population insulaire Grecque, Revue de Géographie de Lyon, 43/3 (1968), pp. 246-7; Vassilis Dimitriadis. Conflicts of interest between local 2

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Around 1840 the Christians were calculated to represent between 70% and 81% of the population, while the Muslims were estimated to represent no more than 19% to 30% (Table 1, Figure 1). The pre-revolutionary religious proportions were maintained in the three main cities of the northern coast of Crete (Chania, Rethymno and Heraklio) (Figure 2). Figure 2.

In 1821 Christians were estimated to represent 24% and Muslims 76% of total urban population, with a slight alteration in 1840 to 26% and 74%, respectively (Table 1, Figure 1). The limited urban presence of Christians can be explained by the fact that they preferred to live outside the Muslim-dominated political, administrative and military centres of the island. In the countryside, the Muslim population drastically dropped from 41% in 1821 to 21% in 1840, while the Christian population increased from 59% to 79%. Population proportions per place of residence remained more or less unchanged. In the post-revolutionary period, urban population made up between 17% and 19% and rural population varied between 81% and 83%, staying close to pre-1821 proportions of 17% and 83%, respectively (Table 1, Figure 1). The radical population changes were the effect of the revolutionary period. Military confrontations, poverty and misery led to significant Christian and Muslim losses.4 Initially, there was a drastic fall in birth rates in accordance with the common Muslims and the central government in Istanbul during the Greek War of independence, 1821–28. In: Antonis Anastasopoulos and Elias Kolovos, eds., The Ottoman Rule and the Balkans, 1760–1850: Conflict, Transformation, Adaptation. Rethymno: Department of History and Archaeology of the University of Crete 2007, p. 206. 4 Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 207.

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pattern following prolonged wars. Then, the Muslim population suffered considerable losses in the three main cities following the outbreak of a plague epidemic; Muslims were dislodged from the countryside and fled to the cities trying to save their lives from the furious Christians.5 The increased population density in the cities raised significantly the contamination and death chances among the Muslims.6 During the revolution, many Christians, mainly civilians (approximately 30,000),7 had also abandoned the island8 fearing for their life. The ağas that dominated the countryside in the pre-revolutionary period were severely hit by the revolution. Since the first days of the Ottoman occupation of Crete (1669) and throughout the Ottoman era, the term “ağa” – an honorary title for the officers of the various military corps – accompanied the names of the Muslims on the island. From 1669 to 1821, the ağas controlled a significant part of the Cretan lands. They constituted the Muslim landholding aristocracy and were often engaged in farming out of the tithe instead of paying a fixed annual amount in cash or in kind to the imperial treasury. In reality, the ağas were appropriating part of the collected taxes that belonged to the Ottoman public sector. The annual amounts they delivered to the Ottoman public sector represented a minimal share of the taxes they had collected;9 they often paid no money at all. Farming out of the tithe was often hereditary and for life.10 With regard to the rural Christian population, the ağas’ demands were not limited to the usual obligations of the peasants (e.g. payment of the tithe). The Christians had to suffer abuse and oppression.11 Until the revolution of 1821, the ağas were enjoying considerable influence over the population in their regions12 and, to a certain extent, over the different general Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 155; Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Archives Diplomatiques, Correspondance Commerciale des Consuls (henceforth: MAEADCCC), Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 18, 18/7/1838, 332-333, enclosed “Réponse aux trois questions posées par le Ministère du Commerce aux relations Etrangères et par celles ci au Consulat de France a la Canée le 20/7/1838,” 333-9; MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Charpentier a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 32, 30/11/1840, 449-50, enclosed “Mémoire politique, commercial et statistique sur l’île de Crète (Candie)”, 450-61; Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 202. 6 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 155. 7 Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol. 1, introduction, p. 24. 8 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 155. 9 Ibid., p. 166. 10 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 28, 16/7/1834, 82-4, enclosed “Journal d’une tournée faite dans l’intérieur de l’île de Crète par Monsieur August Fabreguettes Consul de France le 5/7/1834,” 84-106; Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 166; Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol. 1, introduction, pp. 25-6. 11 Franz Sieber. Travels in the island of Crete in the year 1817. London: Sir Richard Phillips and Co. 1823, pp. 45, 47, 52, 66, 78, 113-114; Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, pp. 154-5. The social, economic and political status of the ağas was undergoing various changes during the period 1669–1821. This discussion, however, falls outside the scope of this paper. 12 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 166. 5

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governors of Crete. The governors were often obliged to respect and obey the ağas’ orders; there were even times when they could not oppose their demands.13 According to the French Consul Fabreguettes, “the ağas were the real masters of the island…” and the governors of Crete were obliged “…to subside to this insubordinate flock.”14 Although in the beginning of the 19th century, before the revolution, the central Ottoman administration put pressure on the ağas seeking their compliance,15 the revolution played a decisive role in their decline. During the revolution, many of the ağas died and were not succeeded by their descendents.16 Those who survived lost their incomes and were forced to abandon their lands and homes; they had no other option but to move to the cities as the Christians rapidly gained control of the countryside. For nearly a decade of revolutionary turmoil, the ağas were deprived of the Christian workforce that was essential for the cultivation of their lands and the production of wealth. A large part of the Christians who earlier worked on the ağas’ lands either left the island or fled with their families to the mountains.17 Those who stayed were released from the obligation to pay taxes and were allowed to keep the income from the land, no matter how modest it was under the combined effects of the revolution and lack of cultivation.18 The rural Muslims of the lower strata either permanently moved to the cities, or a part of them (approximately 3,000 to 4,000) joined Muhammad Ali’s missionary army in 1830 to make ends meet; many never returned to the island. Finally, some of the big Muslim landowners sold their land, left Crete and moved to regions under the suzerainty of the sultan,19 where they found the security they had lost on Crete. The prolonged revolutionary period made this situation largely irreversible. Population Rearrangement during the Egyptian Rule 1830–1840 The rearrangement of the population that had started during the revolution continued throughout the Egyptian rule. The policy adopted by Muhammad Ali in the post-revolutionary period amplified the changes initiated by the revolution. He treated Crete as Egypt’s satellite and following the Egyptian economic development model,20

Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 50; Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 154. MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 15 Eleutheria Zei. Issues pertaining to Ottoman rule in the region of Candia (seventeenth – early nineteenth centuries). In: Nikos M. Gigourtakis, ed., Heraklion and its area. A journey through time. Heraklio: Center for Cretan Literature. General Secretariat for the Olympic Games 2004 (in Greek), p. 363. 16 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 17 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 155. 18 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 19 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 156. 20 Kenneth Cuno. The Pasha’s peasants: Land, society, and economy in Lower Egypt, 1740–1858. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1992, pp. 103-8; Alan Richards. Primitive accumulation in Egypt, 1798–1882. In: Huri İslamoğlou-İnan, ed., The Ottoman Empire and the WorldEconomy. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press 1987, p. 215. 13 14

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promoted concentration of the production surplus in the hands of the state.21 This policy necessitated two events: first, the return of the Christian population to Crete and especially the return of the rural population to the countryside;22 and second, the ouster of the big Muslim landowners from the countryside. Muhammad Ali facilitated the return23 of part of the Christian population that during the revolution had moved to the neighbouring regions of the Greek state (Peloponnese, Cyclades).24 The returning refugees received back their confiscated properties or compensation for properties already sold by the government.25 By offering chiefly financial incentives,26 implementation of a directional agricultural policy27 and adoption of mandatory decisions,28 Muhammad Ali achieved resettlement of the countryside by the Christian population, an increase in production and enhancement of productivity. On the other hand, like in Egypt,29 he took away the land of those ağas and beys (members of the aristocracy), that survived the revolution but did not possess the necessary legal titles; he demanded the payment of all their debts (current or older), if they wanted to avoid the confiscation of their property.30 Nikos Stavrakis. Statistics of the population of Crete. Athens: Palligenesia 1890 (in Greek), p. 157. 22 Even in Egypt during the first decade of the 19th century Muhammad Ali had ordered the compulsory return of peasants that had migrated to the cities (Cuno. The Pasha’s peasants, pp. 112, 121). 23 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 14, 15/5/1837, 264-9; MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834– 40), Consul Fabreguettes a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 20, 342, enclosed “Copie de la lettre écrite par Monsieur Gaspary a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères Direction Politique le 1/10/1838”, 343-4. 24 Raulin. Description physique, p. 56. 25 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, enclosed “Notes on the island of Candia” by Patrick Campbell, p. 181; Ismat Rasent Zenap. Crete under Egyptian rule, 1830–1840. Heraklio: Cultural Association Development of Heraklion 1978 (in Greek), pp. 34, 36; Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 57. 26 Exemption from payment of poll tax until 1831, increase of the tax of the tithe and the presumptive tax on foregone production from uncultivated lands (Zenap. Crete under Egyptian rule, p. 33; Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol.1, introduction, p. 32), concession or lease of land that had remained uncultivated for more than 3 years (Zenap, p. 33; Pashley, p. 32), elimination of tariffs on sheep and cattle (Pashley, p. 35), allocation of loans and animals (Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 182; Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 57). 27 Athanasios Politis. Les rapports de la Grèce et de l’Egypte pendant le règne de Mohamed Ali (1833–1849). Rome: Istituto poligrafico dello stato per la Reale societa di geografia d’ Egitto 1935, pp. 510-2. Before the end of the second year of the Egyptian rule official instructions were distributed regarding production increase (Zenap. Crete under Egyptian rule, pp. 22-3). 28 Punishment of those who left the land uncultivated, compulsory movement of peasants to neighbouring villages in case of uncultivated fields (Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol. 1, introduction, p. 32). 29 Cuno. The Pasha’ s peasants, p. 103. 30 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 166; Zenap. Crete under Egyptian rule, pp. 33-4; Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol.1, introduction p. 25-6; MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 21

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The ağas that possessed the necessary land titles were deprived of their previous privilege to take advantage of the mukatáas, the income from which was now directed to the state.31 The right to collect the tithe in the Christian villages was now granted to the Christians.32 The ağas also lost a great deal of their political power because they were deprived of the valuable protection of the janissaries that had made them almost invincible in the past.33 Another consequence was their loss of authority to influence the island’s governors and their policies, especially under governors directly commissioned by the viceroy of Egypt. The policy of equal treatment of ağas and Christians introduced by Muhammad Ali was a major drawback to the ağas who lost their previously undisputed authority over the Christian population. The policy was reflected in the level of participation in the regional administrative institutions. For example, the newly established councils of the three prefectures that had legislative and judiciary competences, monitored the state of public health and the implementation of public construction works, consisted of both Muslims and Christians. For the very first time, the Christian community was granted political representation (even though only procedural).34 Throughout the period of the Egyptian rule, the big Muslim landowners faced extreme difficulties to maintain their lands. As the Christians now possessed their own land, the available Christian workforce was in short supply and was very costly. Even the limited numbers of Christians that owned no property and cultivated the lands of the ağas were now working under much more favourable conditions than prior to the revolution. The ağas were obliged to provide their Christian workers with a small cottage, as well as the seeds and all the equipment required for the management of the rural economy. The final income after taxes and the cost of seeds (1/7th of gross production) was equally distributed between the ağas and the peasants.35 The rural Muslims of the lower strata who after the end of the revolution gradually returned to the countryside, no longer constituted a reliable workforce for the ağas because, according to the French Consul Fabreguettes’ observations in 1834, they were “… more reluctant to work than the Greeks.”36 Furthermore, the problem in Crete was aggravated by the seasonality of work, notably the high demand for workforce during the olive harvest from November to February.

(1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 28, 16/7/1834, 82-4, enclosed “Journal d’une tournée faite dans l’intérieur de l’île de Crète par Monsieur August Fabreguettes Consul de France le 5/7/1834”, 84-106. 31 Pashley. Travels in Crete, vol. 1, introduction, p. 25. 32 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 166. 33 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 34 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 183; Charles Scott. Rambles in Egypt and Candia, 2 vols. London: Henry Colburn 1837, vol. 2, pp. 344-5. 35 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 162. 36 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid.

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The unfavourable status of the ağas grew worse since most of them relied solely on the production from their land. Only a few were now considered rich and fewer still possessed monetary resources.37 Pressed by the difficult financial conditions of the first post-revolutionary decade and limited production,38 they were forced to take high-interest loans (at 2-3% monthly interest rate, i.e. 24% to 36% annual interest) and eventually sold parts of their property to make ends meet and keep their remaining land in good condition.39 Many of the ağas and beys sold their properties to the Christians and either moved to the cities to practice urban professions or abandoned the island and permanently migrated to areas under Ottoman suzerainty.40 The number of rural ağas drastically diminished, as well as the size of their property. The French Consul observed in 1834 that there were “…very few rich ağas.”41 According to information provided by the English Consul in Egypt John Bowring (based on accounts leaked by the ağas), at least three-quarters of the tithe now belonged to the government.42 During the Egyptian rule, the countryside was rapidly transformed following the intensive transfer of land from the hands of the big Muslim landowners (who were hunted down by Muhammad Ali) to the hands of the Christians. The size of land property was also altered with the partition of the large properties and the emergence of a new social class of small landholders across the island. In 1838 John Bowring claimed that “…almost every peasant has his own farm…,”43 while 21 years earlier, in 1817, the Austrian traveller Franz Sieber had called the Muslims “landowners.”44 For their part, the Christians were buying large pieces of Muslim land with private loans at exorbitant interest rates (up to 20% and 30% annually) despite the hostile financial environment.45 The choice of the rural populations to buy land during the difficult post-revolutionary period and later cannot be easily explained, especially considering the cruel lending conditions. Yet the risk was worth taking: for the rural populations the ownership of land was synonymous to survival, particularly in periods of agricultural crisis. The transfer of land to Christian ownership under the Egyptian rule was not limited to peasants who – prior to the transfer – lived and worked in the lowlands. Ibid. Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 154. 39 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 40 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 156. 41 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid. 42 Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 166. 43 Ibid., p. 162. 44 Sieber. Travels in the island of Crete, p. 35. 45 MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 26 (1841–51), Consul Charpentier a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 9, 12/4/1843, 123, enclosed “Mémoire sur la situation politique, administrative, agricole, commerciale, industrielle et de navigation de l’île de Candie en 1842,” 124-32. The increased demand for land by the Christian population has been verified by the drastic increase in land prices demonstrated by the relevant sources (MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 25 (1834–40), Consul Fabreguettes, ibid.; Bowring. Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 162). 37 38

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Many people abandoned the mountainous regions and moved to the plains.46 Since the mountains were inhabited primarily by Christians, this movement indicated a Christian settlement of the plains except the cities that remained mostly populated by Muslims. The Continuities of the Late Ottoman Period (1840–1898) Despite the increase of the population (estimated at 357,000 in 1898),47 from 1840 onwards the transition from Egyptian to Ottoman rule and the span of the Ottoman period until 1898 did not alter the composition of the population per place of residence and religion. Figure 3. Population 1840-98 (religion, habitude)

Christians/Muslims

69-81%

Towns/Coutryside

81-86%

Total population 1840: 152.760-172.450 1898: 357.000 19-31% 14-19%

Christians

Muslims

Towns

Countryside

Sources for Figure 3

Manos Perakis. Researches on the economy and society of Crete in the 19th century. The economic, social and political conditions leading to the collapse of the “Chalepa” regime, 1878–1889. 2 vols. Rethymno 2005 [unpublished PhD thesis, University of Crete, Library of the University of Crete] (in Greek), vol. 1, pp. 29, 34-41, 45, vol. 2, pp. 636-9, 643.

From 1840 to 1898 urban population varied between 14% and 19% and rural population accounted for 81% – 86%. Christians were calculated to represent between 69% and 81% and Muslims were estimated between 19% and 31% (Figure 3). Manos Perakis. Researches on the economy and society of Crete in the 19th century. The economic, social and political conditions leading to the collapse of the “Chalepa” regime, 1878–1889. 2 vols. Rethymno 2005 [unpublished PhD thesis, University of Crete, Library of the University of Crete] (in Greek), vol. 1, pp. 83-5. 47 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 629. 46

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The acquisition of Muslim land by the Christian population and the movement of Christians from the mountains to the plains continued. This migration was facilitated throughout the late Ottoman period by several factors: the eradication of the plague that had been emerging every once in a while up to 1821; the decline of disease in the marshlands; and the constantly intensifying economic pressure faced by the mountainous populations until the end of the 19th century. Migration was further facilitated by the stabilisation of the political conditions that promoted equal treatment of the Christian population under reforms introduced by the Sublime Porte in Crete in 1858, 1869 and especially in 1878. These conditions were linked to the much broader attempt to control local élites all over the Ottoman Empire.48 Especially during the 1880s, the implementation of the new Chalepa regime (Chalepa was the suburb of Chania where the pact was signed) led to the relative autonomy of the Cretan people from the Ottoman centre, a transfer of political power from the Muslim to the Christian populations, and simultaneous weakening of the Muslim land aristocracy in the three cities of Crete.49 From an economic point of view, the continued restriction of the financial power of the big Muslim landowners during the late Ottoman period narrowed their social and political power. In the last decades of the 19th century, the large Muslim land properties retreated to the periphery of the big cities and the central and eastern areas of the most prosperous part of the island, the Messara plain (Figure 2). Both Christians and Muslims cultivated these lands, while the big Muslim landowners lived in the cities. The status of the ağas and beys was constantly declining.50 Conclusion The Greek revolution of 1821 constituted a defining moment in modern Cretan history. It marked the beginning of a long process that finalised the economic, social and political empowerment of the Christians and the decline of the Muslim landed aristocracy. This process remained unaltered throughout the 19th century and merged with the nationalist movements that dominated the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. It ultimately led to the departure of the Muslim inhabitants of Crete in two massive waves. The first wave (1898–1899) was the result of 48 Halil Inalcik and Donald Quataert. An economic and social history of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914, 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, vol. 2, pp. 854-6; İlkay Sunar. State and economy in the Ottoman Empire. In: İslamoğlou-İnan, ed., The Ottoman Empire and the World-Economy, p. 79; Şevket Pamuk. Commodity production for world-markets and relations of production in Ottoman agriculture, 1840–1913. In: İslamoğlou-İnan, ed., The Ottoman Empire and the World-Economy, p. 196. 49 Μanos Perakis. The end of Ottoman Crete. The conditions of the collapse of the Chalepa regime (1878–89). Athens: Bibliorama and National Research Foundation “Eleftherios K. Venizelos” 2008 (in Greek). 50 Raulin. Description physique, vol. 1, p. 59; MAEADCCC, Turquie, La Canée, 26 (1841–51), Consul Hitier a Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, no. 4, -/4/1848, 330, enclosed “Mémoire sur l’état de l’agriculture en Crète,” 331-73.

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the withdrawal of the Turkish troops from Crete and the declaration of the island’s autonomy; it marked the mass departure of approximately 50,000 Muslims.51 The second wave (1923) took place while the island was part of the Greek territory. The exchange of Muslim population from Greece for Greek Orthodox population from Turkey eliminated all Muslim presence in Crete a century after the revolution of 1821.

Foreign Office, Further Correspondence respecting the Affairs of Crete, Consul Biliotti to Marquis of Salisbury, no. 110, Canea, 1/7/1899, Turkey no. 1 (1901), London, May 1901, in continuation of Turkey no. 1 (1899). 51

The Greek War of Independence and the Emergence of a Modern Nation-State in Southeastern Europe (1821–1827) Elpida Vogli Introduction In March 1821, as soon as he was informed about the circulation of a Greek translation of a paper originally written in French, purporting to contain secret directions for a Greek uprising in the Peloponnese, William Meyer, the British Consul General at Ioannina, reported to his Foreign Office: … in the event of any great disaster befalling the Turks, such as the loss of a battle in this country, a foreign war etc., the dissolution of the Sultan’s power in these provinces may take place more suddenly than is generally imagined. Nothing can be more favourable to its advancement than the recent events and tendency of affairs in this quarter, more especially when coupled with the present revolutionary movements in Italy and in other countries.1

At that time, few Europeans believed his prediction. Most of them were not aware of the revolutionary preparations among the Orthodox subjects of the sultan in the southwestern part of his empire, nor of the existence of the Society of Friends (the secret society set up to prepare the ground for a broad Greek revolution in which other Christian subjects of the sultan could participate in order to overthrow his dominion).2 Meyer was the first British Consul who had at his disposal evidence about the mobilisation of the members of the Society of Friends. Not surprisingly, the conservative British diplomat worried about the rumoured intervention of Russia in the Society’s revolutionary plans.3 Meyer explained that the greatest danger came from the Russian agents who had “joined” the Society of Friends and supported, for their own purposes, its work for dissemination of the revolutionary ideas to all the Greeks living inside and outside the Ottoman W. Meyer to Castlereagh, disp. no 7, 15.03.1821. Ιn: E. Prevelakis and K. KalliatakiMertikopoulou, ed., Epirus, Ali Pasha and the Greek Revolution. Consular Reports of William Meyer, 2 vols. Athens: Academy of Athens 1996, vol. 1, p. 321. 2 Ioannis Philimon. Dokimion peri tis Philikis Etaireias. Nauplion 1834; George D. Frangos. The Philike Etaireia, 1814–1821: A Social and Historical Analysis [PhD dissertation]. Columbia University 1971. 3 For an interesting approach to the British fears of the Russian influence over the Greeks, see Francis Francis. The Diplomatic History of the Greek War from the Foundation of the Hetairia to the Treaty of Adrianople. London: J. A. Brooks, 1877, pp. 1-47. 1

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domain, in European countries as well as on the Ionian islands, then under British jurisdiction. Consul Meyer focused on the danger of the Ionian subjects participating in a possible uprising for a good reason. His predictions are interesting not only because he exalted the progressive decline of the Ottoman Empire to a cause of the Greeks’ possible prevalence in the Greek War of Independence, but mainly because he connected the Greek mobilisation with the European revolutionary movements that had already swept neighbouring Italy and Spain. The possibility of a second French Revolution or even worse, a broad European Revolution following the French model, caused great concern among the European diplomats.4 Consul Meyer connected the beginning of the Greek movement with the potential outbreak of a second revolutionary wave inspired by the French ideas in the last multinational empire that included European soil but had not been immediately affected by the revolutionary upsurge of 1789. Napoleon had reached the Ionian Islands where eminent Greeks from the Peloponnese were planning in 1809 to entrust him with the spread of the revolution in their native land, but the meeting never took place because of the conquest of Zakynthos by England in June of the same year.5 Given the long competition among the Great Powers, it is not surprising that a British diplomat watched amazed, in the spring of 1821, the quick spread of the revolution in the Peloponnese and the Ionian islands, suspecting the intervention of a Great Power. However, neither Meyer nor many of his European colleagues paid attention to the impressive “dissemination” of the revolutionary ideas to several groups of the Greek Diaspora in various places. The massive participation of the Greek Diaspora in the War of Independence made it both a national and an international cause; some Greek immigrants before 1821 were citizens of their host foreign countries and the vast majority had integrated smoothly into their new homelands. The term “Greek Diaspora” (not used at the beginning of the 19th century) here means the “Greek worlds” developing outside the national centre that was going to emerge in the late 1820s. Since it would be misleading to talk about “Greece” or a “Greek domain” before its recognition by the international community (especially when the borders of the so-called revolutionary domain were redefined daily by the outcome of various battles), it seems safer to refer to the “Greek worlds” that took part in – and influenced – the development of the revolution. These “Greek worlds,” as they were defined in the revolutionary constitutions based on their right of access to the “nascent” society of citizens beyond the “world” of the native citizens, were: a) firstly, the Christians from the rest of the Ottoman Empire, once they had moved to the liberated regions, so that there should be no obstacle to make the “distinction” between the two fighting nations Eric Hobsbawm. The Age of Revolution, 1789–1848. London: Vintage Books, 1996, p. 109. Theodore K. Kolokotronis. Diigisis ton Symvanton tis ellinikis filis apo ta 1770 eos ta 1836. Athens: Nikolaou Filadelfeos 1846, p. 37-8. For more details see Nikolas Vernikos. To sxedio autonomias tis Peloponnisou ypo galliki epikiriarxia. Athens: Brothers Tolidi 1997. 4 5

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that the European diplomacy was insisting upon at that time;6 and b) secondly, the Greeks by descent [ius sanguinis].7 In most of the studies regarding the Greek War of Independence the wave-like spread of the revolution across the Greek Diaspora is examined using as a reference point the roles taken on by the Greeks who went to the warring country to help. Similarly, the diplomatic tactics of the revolutionary administrations were less important compared to the military triumphs or the intervention of the Great Powers in the so-called Eastern Question. This article focuses on the processes of making the Greek Revolution a legal European movement. The diplomatic moves of its masterminds are analysed in conjunction with the political developments, mainly the introduction of Greek citizenship that in effect internalised the Greek movement, as well as the creation of the first nation-state and, in the long run, the increasingly intense national competition among the Christian peoples of Southeastern Europe. Inventing a Strategy to Legitimise the Greek Uprising On 25 March 1821 the Messenian Senate, one of the administrative authorities assigned by the local assembly of the rebels to manage the affairs of the revolution, issued the first manifesto of the Greek Revolution to the European nations. It declared the reasons and the aims of the movement that broke out in the Peloponnese, emphasised the determination and the ability of the Greeks to fight for their independence and, finally, asked for help from the free and civilised world. It was the first formal briefing (“warning,” as the manifesto was characterised by its writers) of the European governments and European public opinion about the declaration of war to Turkey by the Greeks. A few days later, the manifesto was given to the European consulates in Patra, accompanied by the assurances of the local revolutionary authorities that the war was exclusively against the Turks and the rebels fully respected the other powers.8 In the following months, the same text was published in the first newspaper printed in the insurgent areas, as well as Italian, French, English, German and American newspapers.9 The developing Greek movement became a topic of broad discussion. The authors of the manifesto were not members of the local assembly or the Messenian Senate that signed it. According to a more convincing version, the manifesto was written by some Greek scholars in Paris, maybe Adamantios Korais himself, This condition was imposed for the first time in the St. Petersburg Protocol, 23 Mar/4 Apr. 1826: Nikolaos Skoufos. Syllogi ton synthikon, protokolon, kai diplomatikon eggrafon, apotelounton to ousiodesteron meros tis diplomatikis istorias tou neou ellinikou kratous. Nauplion 1834, pp. 64-5. 7 Elpida K. Vogli. ‘Ellines to genos’: I Ithagenia kai i tautotita sto ethniko kratos ton Ellinon (1821– 1844). Heraklio: Crete University Press 2007, pp. 37-151. 8 Spyridon Trikoupis. Istoria tis Ellinikis Epanastaseos, 2nd ed., 4 vols. London: Taylor and Francis 1860-1862, vol. 1, pp. 62-3. 9 See the manifesto in the newspaper Salpix Helliniki, no. 3, 20 August 1821. More about its publication in the European and American newspapers see in Dimitrios A. Petrakakos. Koinovouleutiki Istoria tis Ellados, 2 vols. Αthens: Zacharapoulou publ., 1935, vol. 1, pp. 247-8. 6

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who took care to enclose a French translation to the Greek original and arranged for its dispatch to an eminent scholar in Boston to ensure publicity in the United States, too. The authors of the most revolutionary proclamations and several circulars and guidelines that were occasionally addressed to the residents of the uprising towns and islands, the Greek army or the navy, were not necessarily the eminent politicians or military officers that signed them. There are notable similarities in the contents of these texts: repeated appeals for protection of human rights and respect of the Christian religion; frequent references to the unanimous decision of the Greeks to fight for their independence and their remarkable social and national solidarity since the beginning of the war; and, most importantly, references to the rebels’ relation with their ancient ancestors, whom Europe knew and respected and to whom it owed at least part of its “light” and civilisation. Of course, these arguments did not persuade the European governments in the legality of the Greek movement. But the Greek authors of these texts, familiarised with the European mentality and habits, knew that such arguments would have a great appeal to the European and the American citizens. Within the first year of the revolution more than a thousand European and American volunteers – known as Philhellenes – abandoned their studies, their professions and their families and went to Greece to take part in the Greek war. Most of their compatriots who remained in their countries, admitted that the Greek struggle was “fair.” Philhellenic committees were set up in most European countries and the USA, raising money and offering the rebels, besides material help, advice on the organisation of an effective Greek army according to the European model, plans for the establishment of a European state, even suggestions for the choice of king from a European royal family (Colonel Leicester Stanhope’s correspondence following his orders from the London Greek Committee to go to Greece,10 is an exemplary record of the wide spectrum of philhellenic action). Philhellenism was undoubtedly a great European movement with an impressive geographical scope by the standards of the time.11 The revolutionary governments had every reason to honour several of the Philhellenes who fell on the battlegrounds, especially Lord Byron, the most famous Philhellene visiting warring Greece as a delegate of the London Greek Committee. After his death in April 1824, Mavrokordatos declared a general mourning for twenty-one days12 and cancelled all scheduled events for the approaching Easter. In practice however, the political influence the philhellenic movement could exert on the European governments was rather limited. 10 Colonel Leicester Stanhope. Greece in 1823 and 1824; being a Series of Letters and other Documents on the Greek Revolution, written during a Visit to that Country. London: Sherwood, Jones and Co., 1824. 11 For a new, interesting and insightful approach to the subject see Natalie Klein. ‘L’Humanité, le Christianisme, et la Liberté’. Die internationale philhellenische Vereinsbewegung der 1820er Jahre. Mainz: von Zabern 2000. 12 See a detailed description of Lord Byron’s funeral ceremony in Samuel G. Howe. An Historical Sketch of the Greek Revolution. New York: Gallaher & White, 1828, pp. 185-92.

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The view presenting the Philhellenes as political pressure groups that managed to reverse their governments’ policy in favour of the Greek Revolution is rather exaggerated. According to a more convincing version, this interpretation is not based on the facts of the early 1820s, but belongs to the cycle of national myths regarding the Greek Revolution.13 Those of the Greeks who had followed the international developments after the Vienna Conference knew that the European governments did not indulge the desires of public opinion (furthermore, it is impossible to measure the desires of public opinion) and did not adopt practices conflicting with their interests. Maybe the same Greeks were aware of the reactions of some European governments towards the Philhellenes. The great absolute monarchies of Russia, Austria and Prussia considered the Philhellenes, at least until 1822, as dangerous radicals working for the pan-European dissemination of the revolutionary ideas and the revitalisation of Jacobinism. The cold acceptance of Philhellenism by Europe during the first steps of the revolution made the Greeks of the Diaspora, who were well aware of the European affairs, agree at least on one point: they should exploit every means for the recognition of the Greek struggle as a legal national movement by the European governments. If this aim were to be achieved, their first priority was to disconnect their national cause from “Carbonarism” and “Jacobinism.” If the European governments saw the Greek movement as an “apostasy” aiming to overthrow the Establishment, they would not only support the Turkish efforts to put it down, but they would probably agree to send European troops to crush it – as they had decided in 1822 at the Congress of Verona to suppress the movement in Spain. As a result, the foreign policy and the diplomatic initiatives of the revolting Greeks – in other words, their actions in order to influence the international community in favour of their struggle14 – were becoming the most important means for the ultimate success of their movement. Although the concepts of foreign policy and diplomacy are not necessarily synonymous, in warring Greece, not recognised by the international community and deprived of consular networks, they seemed not very different. The Internationalisation of the Revolution The Greek governments that were, according to the revolutionary constitutions, responsible for foreign policy, could not send ambassadors and diplomatic representatives to foreign countries. Especially in the first stages of the uprising, when the European powers would not even recognise the Greek delegates as representatives William St. Clair. That Greece Might Still be Free. The Philhellenes in the War of Independence. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1972; The Philhellenes and the War of Independence. In: John T. A. Koumoulides, ed., Greece in Transition. Essays in the History of Modern Greece, 1821–1974. London: Zeno Publishers 1977, pp. 272-82. 14 For a definition of “foreign policy” in a state that lacked international recognition, see Krateros M. Ioannou. Exoteriki politiki kai diethnes dikaio sto Ikosiena. Athens-Komotini: Ant. Sakkoulas 1979, pp. 14-7. 13

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of a state, their minimal diplomatic power towards the foreign governments substantially limited their choices. In 1822 Theodoros Negris, the Home Secretary of the first Greek government, bitterly discovered that it was impossible for “a crowd of people,” even “if they were forever at war winning the most glorious and brilliant victories” to be recognised by the other nations, if its national administration had not laid a clear plan of its foreign policy or was not in the position to enforce it.15 During the wars, the needs of the home and the foreign policy of the revolutionary diplomacy looked like interlocking loops. Revolutionary administrations were formed since the first days of the struggle, not only to manage the practical issues of the war, but mainly to meet the need Negris had mentioned: to persuade Europe that they had supplanted the until then legal Turkish authorities and guaranteed the order in the revolting areas – including the commercial interests of the European countries.16 The revolutionary constitutions supplied the revolting country with all the institutions and the bureaucracy necessary for the functioning of a modern nation-state. However, under the extraordinary circumstances of the ongoing war, the organisation of most institutions was implausible. As George Finley, the eye-witness British historian of the Greek Revolution, remarked, the Greek statesmen wrote proclamations, created liberal laws and declared the formation of democratic institutions more to create impressions in Europe and less because they laid the foundations for the organisation of the Greek state.17 Not accidentally, until 1827 the revolutionary constitutions were “provisional.” According to Alexandros Mavrokordatos, the prime-minister of the first revolutionary government, the ideological needs of a revolution compel its lawmakers to seek liberal models. In this framework, the temporary character of the Greek constitutions acted as additional proof of the diplomatic flexibility of the Greek administration, because it showed that the Greeks were willing to accept reform suggestions by the Great Powers.18 The Greek policymakers could also claim that they were pleased to accept suggestions by expatriated scholars and eminent Philhellenes who were willing to spend time and resources on making plans how to organise ideally the future Greek state. The willingness of the Greek administration to accept suggestions was equal to granting an indirect right of participation in the Greek affairs to two key groups of players: on the one hand, to all Greek expatriates, with whom it wanted to maintain strong bonds; and, on the other hand, the civilised and Ibid., pp. 23-34. See the best work on the administrative aspects of the Greek war: George Dimakopoulos. I dioikitiki organosis kata tin Ellinikin Epanastasin, 1821–1827. Symvoli is tin Isotria tis Ellinikis Dioikiseos. Athens: Klisiouni Brothers 1966. 17 George Finlay. History of the Greek Revolution and of the Reign of King Otto, 2 vols. (reprint of the 1864 edition, Douglas Dakin, ed.). London: Zeno Publishers, 1971, vol. 1, p. 299. 18 Mavrokordatos declared so during his meeting with an Austrian agent sent secretly by Metternich. See his detailed report (8 July 1824): Istorikon Archeion Alexandrou Mavrokordatou, 6 vols. Athens: Academy of Athens, Monuments of Greek History Series 1974, vol. 4, p. 610. 15 16

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liberal Europe, which it invited to support the Greek interests. This by no account meant that their suggestions would lead to revision of the Greek laws. There was no change in the Greek constitution when Korais promulgated his comments about the first “provisional” text to the Greek administration;19 or when the conservative Panagiotis Kordikas20 and the eminent British liberal thinker Jeremy Bentham21 sent their suggestions to Mavrokordatos. Furthermore, during the War of Independence there were no permanent legislative committees. The committees that designed the revolutionary constitutions were designated by each National Assembly, completed their work within a few days and consisted of eminent men, but not necessarily legal experts. Many of them received political office in government, the parliament or local administration after the end of each National Assembly.22 All the proposals and suggestions culminated in sending a few thank-you letters to their exponents. By contrast, both the government and the parliament exercised their right to initiate laws, from taxation to issues of desertion and disobedience, aiming above all to enforce the rebels’ compliance with the European system of war making. Yet again, it is impossible to ascertain whether their decrees and guidelines to the army and the navy, underscoring the need to conform to the rules of international law (for example, respect for neutrals, war captives and others), were always followed. Which Greek authorities could control the smooth enforcement of the law during the war? And what penalties could be given, if the courts rarely functioned, there were no prisons and every potential soldier was badly needed in the military camps?23 These decrees and orders offered the Greek diplomacy the valuable argument that the Greek rebels conformed to the dictates of the European system;24 this was particularly important during the first stages of the revolution, when the proclamations of the revolutionary administration were the only means available to the Greek foreign policy. The manifesto of the Messenian Senate, and the dispatch of appeals and revolutionary proclamations to all European governments without exception, at least Adamantios Korais. Simioseis is to Prosorinon Politeuma ths Ellados tou 1822 etous. In: Them. P. Volids, ed., Ta dyo prota dimokratika politeumata tis Neoteras Ellados, 2 vols. Athens 1933, vol 2. 20 See the letter sent by Panagiotis Kordikas to Alexander Mavrokordatos in 1823: Istorikon Archeion Alexandrou Mavrokordatou, Athens 1968, vol. 3, pp. 15-26. 21 Alexis Dimaras. The Other British Philhellenes. In: Richard Clogg, ed., The Struggle for Greek Independence. Essays to mark the 150th Anniversary of the Greek War of Independence. London: Macmillan 1973, pp. 205-7; Filimon Peonidis. Bentham and the Greek Revolution: New Evidence, Journal of Bentham Studies, 11 (2009), pp. 1-4. See also: www.ucl.ac.uk/Bentham-Project/ journal/Peonides_JB_%20GrK_%20Revn.pdf.) 22 Dimakopoulos. I dioikitiki organosis, pp. 96-106 and 141-4. 23 This was admitted later by those who held public offices and had immediate knowledge of the conditions during the struggle. See Christodoulos Klonaris. Ekthesis tou epi tis dikaiosynis Grammateos pros tin S. Syneleusin. Nauplion 1832, pp. 2-3; Nikolaos Dragoumis. Dikaiosini, Paideia, Ekklisia en Elladi, 1821–1831. Athens: Parnassos 1873, p. 6. 24 Ioannou. Exoteriki politiki. 19

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proved that the Greek struggle was not connected with the Russian policy towards the Ottoman Empire. The revolutionary Greek state appeared as an emerging European state of Christians, not necessarily Orthodox Christians, challenging any intention of placing it under the exclusive influence of the only Orthodox Great Power, Russia. The first search for a European king whose enthronement would guarantee, as many Greeks and Europeans believed, the acceptance of rebellious Greece as a member of civilised Europe, was among several European courts except that of Orthodox Russia. The consent and approval of the entire monarchical Europe was a vital legalising element of the nascent Greek state. Monarchy – preferably constitutional, but if necessary absolute – was expected to guarantee the necessary legality favoured by the restoration monarchies in Europe.25 The attempt of the first revolutionary government to approach Pope Pius VII during the conference of the European Directorate in Verona in 1822 (in whose agenda the Greek issue was going to be discussed under the title “Russo–Turkish dispute”) pursued similar aims, seeking to supplicate the Pope’s sympathy and assistance.26 Before long, the disconnection of the Greek movement from the Russian policy proved very beneficial. Whether this was the revolution policymakers’ intention from the beginning or not, by asking all the European Great Powers for help to find a solution to the Greek question, they fuelled each Power’s ambition to ensure its greater influence on the future Greek state; to achieve this goal, it was necessary to contribute more to the material support and the diplomatic protection of the Greek Revolution. The greatest success of the Greek revolutionary diplomacy was that the struggle benefited from the competition between the Great Powers,27 especially after the first English loan was contracted in 1823. Thereafter, the struggle became an international issue. Finding a “solution” was now transferred to the British authorities who wanted to get their money back and to their rivals, the European leaders. As Samuel G. Howe remarked, despite the growing rivalries between the rebels, after the internationalisation of the Greek issue the decline of the Ottoman Empire appeared more and more dynamically as the factor that favoured their movement: [the Greek Revolution] at least was strengthened by the mere continuance of the struggle; as every insurrection gains strength, each moment that it is left uncrushed. (…) The insurrection had continued three years; the whole power of the vast Turkish empire had been turned upon one of its smallest provinces; it had been foiled in three successive campaigns in its attempts to put down this revolt. How was this? Had the Greeks suddenly become heroes; or were their means inexhaustible? Neither the one nor the other; the secret was, the weakness and imbecility of the Turkish government, which had neither money nor credit. Elpida K. Vogli. Politeuma Europaikon: Apopsis gia to politeuma ton Ellinon kata ton Agona, 1821–1828), Hellinika, 49, 2 (1999), 347-65. 26 Ioannou. Foreign Policy, pp. 54-8. 27 Vasilis Kremmydas. Apo to Spyridona Trikoupi sto simera. To Ikosiena stis nees istoriografikes proseggisis, isagogikos tomos stin Istoria tis Ellinikis Epanastasis tou Spiridonos Trikoupi. Athens: The Hellenic Parliament Foundation 2007, p. 91. 25

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“…” It was from all these causes, and not from the spirit and resolution of the Greeks alone, that the insurrection was gradually but surely gaining ground, and better deserving the name of a revolution.28

The Greek Revolution as the First National Movement in Southeastern Europe The continuance of the Greek struggle was connected both with the progressing decay of the Ottoman Empire and the recruitment of the sultan’s Christian subjects who were not necessarily Greek-speaking or Greeks by descent. Religion was adopted as the primary determinant of the Greek identity, because it implied the spread of the Christian civilisation and the expansion of “Europe” (perceived as a civilised unity) to a part of the Muslim and anachronistic Ottoman Empire. It also differentiated the Greeks from the indigenous Muslim inhabitants of the insurgent provinces who, as enemies of the revolution, should be excluded from Greek citizenship. But religion did not differentiate the Greeks from the other Christian peoples of the Ottoman Empire: the Bulgarians, the Serbs, the Wallachians and the Christian Albanians, some of whom participated in the Greek struggle from the beginning. The revolutionary administration was obliged to discuss the issue of excluding the non-Greeks only once during the struggle: in 1823, when the mother tongue appeared in the second “provisional” constitution as one of the criteria for Greek citizenship. Indeed, this proved much more provisional than the constitution. In the discussions of 1823 the prevalent opinion was that such exclusion would be “unfair” and even detrimental to the course of the revolution. The services of the Christians from the empire who were fit for battle were absolutely necessary for the auspicious outcome of the war. Language as a determinant of the Greek identity was regarded as a restrictive criterion for the future development of the Greek nation, because it was likely to leave out of the “one and indivisible” Greek nation many former Greek-speaking Christians that had adopted Turkish without converting to Islam; furthermore, it would undermine the prospect of “Hellenising” or “re-Hellenising,” as many Greeks like to believe, the non-Greek speaking Orthodox Christians in the sultan’s European and Asiatic dominions. As long as the War of Independence continued, indigenous Christians of the insurgent dominion, the “heterochthonous” Christians of the other Ottoman provinces, Greeks still remaining in Europe and those who had returned to Greece, as well as foreigners who offered great services to the insurgent country, were considered potential citizens of the emerging state. The access of all these categories of people to Greek citizenship was not necessarily connected to the legislators’ attempt to define and protect the rights of the Greek citizen. On the contrary, it apparently reflected their effort to satisfy the indigenous Orthodox majority without alienating newcomers, or those envisaging to transform Eastern and backward Greece into a progressive Western state.

28

Howe. An Historical Sketch, pp. 172-3.

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The institution of Greek citizenship offered, following the French Revolution model, the foundations for the formation of one indivisible Greek nation. It was not the result of a long process of nation-building, nor did it spring from increasing knowledge of the theories and practices of political activity. The use of criteria such as religion or mother tongue, which had never appeared in the French or other European laws, showed that, in order to “invent” citizenship, the Greek legislators had to adapt the Greek institution to a different reality where, at least until the early 1820s, there was no Greek nation-state, nor the pre-existing political framework in other countries such as France. In theory, Greek citizenship was expected to offer a common identity to all the “Greek worlds” and the other groups who identified themselves with – or had the right to identify with – the emerging society of Greek citizens, elevating this society to a cohesive and homogenous national unity. In practice, the right of access to the future Greek nation-state for all Christian subjects of the sultan made insurgent Greece appear as the land of freedom, justice and equality in the previously inseparable Ottoman dominion. Greek citizenship was closely connected with the intent of expanding the body of citizen soldiers during the revolution. It was expected to bring additional long-term benefits: already in the last stages of the revolution, when the international recognition of a Greek state was almost certain, it was equally certain that several Greek groups, dispersed in the vast Ottoman Empire, would be left out of its borders. The unavoidable religious boundaries that were raised to differentiate the Greek nation from its enemy during the war provided the pivot of the future Greek claims to liberate more Greek Christian groups and annex more Ottoman provinces to the national territory. The revolutionary authorities had decided to recognise as potential integral parts of the insurgent territory all those provinces where various forms of rebellion had been put down by the Turks, but the vast majority of the local population had already acquired Greek citizenship and continued to fight for the Greek independence. Taking for granted that “territory and membership are closely related,” as Rogers Brubaker has suggested, the modern state constitutes “a territorial organisation and a personal association,” since the former presupposes the latter.29 However, during the Greek Revolution the opposite was the case. The members of a provisional, and to an extent imaginary territory, access to which was to be controlled by a likewise provisional state that had not yet crystallised its final form and lacked international recognition of its independent status, were defined by the Greek citizenship laws. In consequence, the free access to this imaginary territory of all the aforementioned groups (indigenous or non-indigenous, Greek or non-Greek Christian subjects of the sultan, Greeks by descent and foreigners who would be naturalised), symbolically enlarged its presumed boundaries and spread the appealing national values of the Greek struggle. Rogers Brubaker. Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press 1996, pp. 22-3. 29

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The intended development of religious boundaries at the expense of national differentiation in the Balkans was suggestively described by a Greek senator several decades later: Before the Revolution, the Dacian, Serbian, Bulgarian races, along with the Greek, constituted one single nation; nobody would even imagine a division among us. On the contrary, the feelings and hopes were common, because common was the destiny of all these races.30

The absence of any national claims by the other Christian nations of Southeastern Europe during the 1820s allowed the formulation of religion-based theories that divided the world into Christians and Muslims, into the emerging Christian Greece and the Ottoman Empire. The parallel paths followed by the national achievements of the Greek struggle and the nationalism of the other Christian nations of the empire were neither intended, nor could be imagined by the insurgents of 1821. Conclusion The establishment of the Greek nation-state in the early 19th century was the product of the only successful independence movement among the “first wave” of European uprisings. What was so revolutionary about the Greek Revolution? Neither did the Greeks become suddenly heroes, nor was the progressive decay of the sultan’s power the crucial factor that allowed the insurgents to establish their nationstate. They managed to overcome the despair and the chaos of two civil wars and Ibrahim’s devastation of the Peloponnese. What proved to be the important factor for this auspicious outcome, were the consent and the approval of the restoration monarchies. Since the first year of the revolution the Greek leaders, coming in their vast majority from the Greek Diaspora, were conscious of the Great Powers’ geopolitical and economic rivalries and the need to obtain international support; they made persistent efforts to “internationalise” the revolution and the “nascent” state. The achievement of these goals was closely connected with the “invention” of Greek citizenship, which was invoked (in a style reminiscent of the French revolutionary citizenship) to justify the Greek claim to self-determination, create “one indivisible nation” and even provide the emerging Greek society with a measure of internal sovereignty (albeit still imaginary).

See Senator Christidis’ speech (27 April 1860) in: Praktika ton Synedriaseon tis Gerousias. Athens: Public Printing House 1860. 30

Chronicling ottoman history in the chronicle of 1570 in the 18th century Dean Sakel The Chronicle of 1570, written in Greek in Constantinople in the year 1570, narrates world history from the creation of the world through 1570 and even later.1 Its form is in keeping with the world chronicles of the Byzantine period. Accordingly, the structure of history is in terms of the succession of empires.2 These begin with the history of Israel up to the time of the Babylonian conquest, and is followed by the Medes, Persians, Ptolemies and Romans. Roman history passes first to the Byzantines and then to the Ottomans. A list of emperors, first of Rome, then of Constantinople, Byzantine and Ottoman, precedes the narrative on Roman history. Thus the Ottoman sultans emerge as the legitimate successors to their predecessors; the Roman and the Byzantine Empires. Within the narrative of the chronicle, the authority of the sultans remains unquestioned, and they are praised according to their measure of justice towards their subjects, most notably their Christian subjects. The Chronicle of 1570 circulated extensively in manuscript form from 1570 onwards. In 1631 it was printed in Venice under the general title Vivlion Istorikon (or the Book of History), and to it was attached the name of Dorotheos of Monemvasia.3 From that point onwards the circulation of the manuscript tradition diminished substantially, to be replaced by successive editions of the printed work. The latter had a history of two centuries of ongoing publication, probably becoming the most read book in Greek of its time.4 In addition, the Vivlion Istorikon was, for all practical purposes, the only book the Greeks from the period would consult to learn of their past. As such, it is immensely valuable in establishing the mindset of the Greeks during the reviewed period. For a basic statement on the chronicle, see Theodor Preger. Die Chronik vom Jahre 1570 (‘Dorotheos von Monembasia’ und Manuel Malaxos), Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 11 (1902), 4-15. 2 On the place of the chronicle within the tradition of Byzantine chronography, see Karl Krumbacher. Geschichte der Byzantinischen Literatur von Justinian bis zum Ende des Oströmischen Reiches (527-1453), 2nd ed. Munich: C. H. Beck 1897 (repr. New York: Burt Franklin 1958), pp. 319-23. 3 In 1584, a particular section of the book, the Patriarchal History, was printed in the Turcograecia of Martin Kraus (Martinus Crusius), which was published in Basel and was meant for European circulation. On the editio princeps of the Vivlion Istorikon, see Émile Legrand. Bibliographie Hellénique ou description raisonnée des ouvrages publiés par des grecs au dix-septiéme siecle. vol. 1. Paris: Alphonse Pichard et Fils 1894 (repr. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation 1963), pp. 290-298. 4 For a general statement on the editions of the chronicle, see Triantaphyllos E. Sklavenitis. Bibliologika 1 – Gia tis ekdoseis tou Chronografou, Mnēmōn, 8 (1980–81), 337-49. 1

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While in manuscript, the chronicle took various forms. That which came to be printed dates originally to 1580, with events added later to cover history up to 1591 in the time of Sultan Murad III (1574–1595).5 In the late 1620s, when being prepared for publication, new material was also added. This included an extension to the list of the Venetian Doges, which is present as a sort of an appendix to the chronicle, giving little more than the accession and death of the Doges. This list previously ended with the time of Pietro Lando (1538–1545), as is the case in all manuscripts of the chronicle where the list happens to be present. In the editio princeps of the Vivlion Istorikon the list was similarly extended down to Doge Giovanni Corner I (1624-1630), at which time the manuscript was evidently submitted for printing. After reappearing in at least one reprint, in 1637, the chronicle came to be republished with relative frequency in the later part of the 17th century. On those occasions, substantial additions were made, not only to the list of Venetian Doges, but also to the list of emperors and particularly the narrative about their succession. This expansion took place in three stages over a period of fifteen years, as can be seen from the surviving editions of 1676, 1684 and 1691. I will go through these additions in some detail, as their appreciation is necessary in order to understand the significance of the changes made to the text in the 18th century.6 In 1676 an extension to the list of Doges covered the period from Giovanni Corner I until Domenico Contarini (1659–1674). The addition is substantial in volume and details mostly the affairs in Venice with an exceptional sympathy towards the Venetian State. As to the main body of the chronicle, the only addition made is to the list of emperors. Here two further sultans are added, namely “Ibrahim, the brother of Murad,” then Ahmet. Previously, the list ended with Murad III, not with Murad IV, who was the predecessor and brother of Ibrahim (1640–1648). A historical gap was left in which the history of the sultans Mehmed III (the actual son of Murad III), Ahmed I, Mustafa I, Osman II and Murad IV is altogether ignored. The extender, who was the Catholic Cretan Ambrosius Gradenigus, evidently had no serious appreciation of, or interest in, contemporary Ottoman history. In 1684 the “list” of Doges was extended further to include the three Doges of the period: Nicolò Sagredo, Luigi Contarini and Marcantonio Giustinian. This extension is in line with the form and style of the intervening 1676 additions, but is concerned especially with the military relations between the Ottomans and the Western powers. In particular, for the rule of the second and the third Doge, there is a fairly detailed coverage of the siege of Vienna, the constitution of the Holy 5 On the chronicle, as it was supplemented up to 1591, as well as nearer to the stages of publication, see my recent article: Some matters concerning the printed edition of the Chronicle of 1570. In: Marina Koumanoudi, Chryssa Maltezou, eds., Dopo le due cadute di Costantinopoli (1204, 1453): Eredi ideologici di Bisanzio, Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Venezia, 4-5 dicembre 2006. Venice: Istituto ellenico di studi bizantini e postbizantini di Venezia 2008, pp. 147-71. 6 For greater detail, see my forthcoming article: The Late Seventeenth-Century Additions to the Printed Chronicle of 1570. In: Acts of the 9th Cretological Congress.

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League and Admiral Francesco Morosini’s actions in the Ionian Sea. In the edition of 1684, the list of emperors is left as it stood previously, with no additions to the chronicle’s narrative. The Doges are praised substantially in the new extension in the same way as in 1676. The final extension from the 17th century was made in the edition of 1691. Indeed, we have here the most substantial expansion in terms of volume ever made to the printed chronicle. The most important change is the extension to the chronicle’s narrative, covering, in three fairly lengthy chapters, the reigns of the sultans Ibrahim I, Mehmed IV (both of whom, as we saw, had been mentioned in the previous edition in the emperors’ list) as well as Süleyman II. The emperor list itself was corrected for the first time with Ahmet becoming “Mehmet, his son,” as Mehmed IV was in fact the son of Ibrahim. The list now closed with the phrase “Süleyman, his brother.” The fact remains, however, that all sultans for the forty-five year period from 1595 to 1640 are still absent from the chronicle. As for the newly added narrative, it deals in three chapters, one for each of the sultans, with the Ottomans’ wars against Venice and the Habsburgs. It is of interest that the account of the siege of Vienna is almost completely an extended version of the “1684” edition’s text from the Doge list. This fact, together with the intervening historical gap of almost fifty years that still remains, suggests that the writer was not working from a written source. A special feature of this newly introduced section of narrative within the principal portion of the chronicle is its strident anti-Ottoman sentiment, something that had never before been part of the work. The strong anti-Ottoman element is also to be found in the addition to the “list”of Venetian Doges. Here the extender first reworked the material previously added to the edition of 1684. In addition to removing the account of the siege of Vienna (in order to place it within the narrative on the Ottoman sultans), he changed the layout of the material on Marcantonio Giustinian. This Doge had previously been seen as heralding a return of the “Justinianic” dynasty to Constantinople, but died without achieving this goal. Accordingly, in the new edition, he is presented as having been totally responsible for the Venetian involvement in the Holy League, as well as having been more personally involved in the despatch of Morosini and his fleet than had previously been claimed. This leads to a substantial extension on the Venetian invasion of the Morea, and continues to a point after Morosini succeeded Giustinian as Doge. The entire extension is written in a particularly strong anti-Ottoman tone. The extender of the 1691 edition is announced on its title page as George Maiotes, who like Gradenigos was a native of Crete. Although not a Catholic like the previous editor, Maiotes’ staunch pro-Western position is in line with his having been schooled at the College of St. Athanasius in Rome, an institution established by the Papacy a century earlier to further its interests in the East. We have then in the three editions of the Vivlion Istorikon of the later 17th century, apart from a not too sound acquaintance with Ottoman history, a progressive ampli-

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fication of both pro-Venetian and anti-Ottoman sentiment. This is to be understood in terms of the political and military events of the time involving Venice and the Ottomans. Gradenigos’ attitude is fairly moderate, yet this attitude becomes stronger in the edition of 1684. This was immediately after the unexpected Ottoman defeat at Vienna, the formation of the Holy League and the Venetian victories in the Adriatic. It is evidently on account of the swift Ottoman expansion into the Balkans that followed these events, that Maiotes took this approach to the extreme. It ought to be stated here that this attitude towards the Venetians and especially towards the Ottomans was certainly not one shared by the average Greeks of just a few decades earlier. The evidence for this comes from the Nea Synopsis Diaphoron Istorion of Matthew Cigalas, which was published in Venice in 1637, just a few years after the Vivlion Istorikon (and of which Cigalas’ work was in fact a sort of review).7 In his work Cigalas makes a special point of chronicling contemporary sultans, thereby filling a gap left by the Vivlion Istorikon. Early 17th-century sultans are praised as good governors, just men and protectors of the Christians in keeping with the general content of the Chronicle of 1570. As for the history of Venice, one innovation Cigalas made was to place a note on the founding of Venice, which was always present in the Vivlion Istorikon in the context of the Council of Ferrara–Florence, immediately before the Doge list functioning basically as an introduction to it. As for the list itself, it now became narrower in scope than what was present even in the Vivlion Istorikon. Cigalas himself was a Venetian Greek, originally from Cyprus: an interesting fact because this was a place only relatively recently incorporated into the Ottoman realm. The Nea Synopsis, in contrast to the ongoing publications of the Vivlion Istorikon, was to see only one reprint in 1650; like the history of the Ottoman sultans it was extended in like fashion to the original work. To return, however, to the Vivlion Istorikon. There were, on the available evidence, no reprints of the chronicle between 1691 and 1743. It is possible that this was as a result of official Venetian policy following its defeat by the Ottomans and its effective withdrawal from the eastern Mediterranean earlier in the century. Nonetheless, beginning with 1743 right through to the final known request to the Venetian authorities for a reprint in 1832 (for no copy of the work coming out of this request has ever been identified), we have at least two to three reprints of the chronicle on average every decade (except for a notable gap in the 1820, which is to be explained as the result of the Greek revolt at the time).8 One would think it particularly interesting On this work, see Legrand. Bibliographie, pp. 355-6. For all that follows here on the Nea Synopsis, see also my forthcoming article previously cited. 8 An edition for 1740 is recorded in the relatively recent census of Greek books of the period. See: Thomas Papadopoulos. Hellēnikē Bibliografia, 1466 ci. – 1800, vol. 1. Athens: Academy of Athens 1984, pp. 155, 462. This however is on account of a mistaken reading of the original source by a previous bibliographer. The original source of the error is: Jean Alexandre C. Buchon. Chroniques étrangéres relatives aux expéditions françaises pendant le XIIIe siécle. Paris: 7

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then to see how the Greeks would handle recent history in later printings, following the dashed hopes from the Venetian–Ottoman wars of the later 17th century. In the edition of 1743 we find that the extension of the narrative on the Ottomans from the 1691 edition is absent. As for the history of Venice, the Doge list is back to its pre-1676 form. Indeed, it is again little more than a list of the dogal succession plus the celebration of the deliverance from the plague in the time of Nicolò Contarini. This represents a summary account of this topic from the 1676 addition and is the lengthiest digression in the list. In respect of the text inherited from the 1676 addition, the 1743 review gives in brief both the conquest of Lemnos and Tenedos under Bertuccio Valier and the peace treaty with the Ottomans under Domenico Contarini. An equally brief statement of the Ottoman defeat at Vienna in the time of Marcantonio Giustinian is all that has remained at this point from the text originally introduced with the addition of 1684. The outbreak of war with the Ottomans under Marcantonio Giustinian and the peace treaty in the time of Silvestro Valier are the only notable events in the new material that follows.9 After the expected historical adjustments of the dogal succession in the edition of 1750, some further prominence is given to Venice in the edition of 1761.10 For one, the note on the founding of Venice is brought in immediately before the Doge list, as it was present in Cigalas. The list itself is now extended with a eulogy to the greatness and well-being of the Venetian State.11 Here we ought to note that in the Chronicle of 1570 no such eulogy is anywhere to be found, not even in respect of the Ottoman state; the latter is viewed as destined to come to an end according to Byzantine oracular tradition, no matter what praise may be accorded to a reigning sultan. The eulogy of Venice introduced in the 1761 edition is retained in the reprint of 1767, at the end of the new extension on the dogal succession, to lead, in 1781, to extension alone, without eulogy, again repeated in the edition of 1792. Throughout this period, the chronicle was updated, in its repeated reprintings, with additions for the dogal accessions. It is of interest that the list, without eulogy, remained even after the extinction of the Venetian Republic in 1797. This was finally announced as late as in the 1806 edition, and was explicitly confirmed only in the edition of 1814. Auguste Desrez 1840 (repr. New York: Norton 1965), p. XV, who in fact refers to the edition of 1743, not to one for the year 1740. The bibliographer in question is: Pavlos I. Lambros. Katalogos 2 Spaniōn Bibliōn. Athens: Ch. N. Philadeleus 1864, pp. 11-12 9 Vivlion Istorikon 1743, pp. 541-2. �� There may have been further editions in the intervening years. There is evidence, though no known copy, for an edition in 1759. For this, see Georgios Kechagioglou. Nea stoicheia gia hellēnika entypa tou 18ou aiōna endeixeis tou benetikou archeiakou hylikou, Epistēmonikē Epetēris tēs Filosofikēs Scholēs tou Panepistēmiou Thessalonikēs, 22 (1984), 231-50; 241. The evidence however concerns a request by the publishing house of Theodosiou, so it may involve the edition by this firm which finally came out only in 1763. 11 Ibid., p. 542; for the extension on the doges: /Fragk‹skoj Lored£noj e„j toÝj cil…ouj ˜ptakos…ouj penÁnta dÚo. tÕn Ðpo‹on KÚrioj Ð QeÕj n¦ diaful£ttV polucrÒnion ™n p£sV eÙtuc…v. Ðmoà dš n¦ diasšpV p£ntote t¾n Galhnot£thn tîn `Enetiîn ‘Aristokrat…an, Øpot£sswntaj ØpÕ toÝj pÒdaj aÙtÁj p£nta ™cqrÕn kaˆ polšmion/.

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The most notable aspect of the edition of 1761 is that it included an extension to the narrative on the Ottoman sultans. This involved a full coverage of the period from the death of Murad III to the accession of Mustafa III (in 1757). This was however relatively brief, with a period of over one hundred and sixty years being dealt with in only four pages, mostly on the rise and fall of the succession of sultans. A special point about the extension is that it was included in this publication at the last moment. This is evident from the lack of numbering on these pages consistent with the remainder of the book (corresponding to pages 460b–460e). The extension was fully integrated within the work through standard pagination in the edition of 1767 (which actually came out in 1768). As for the emperor list, despite the narrative additions, it remained in the previous incomplete and erroneous form, indeed that of the edition of 1676 rather than 1691. No editors are stated or known for the editions of 1743 and 1761. At this point, reference must be made to another Byzantine-style chronicle that came out in Venice around this time. This was the Vivlos Chroniki, which was published in six volumes, all in 1767, and was the work of the then Greek publisher in Venice Ioannes Stanos.12 In this work, history is covered from the Creation until 1703 (and the end of the reign of Mustafa II), though the permission for publication from the Venetian authorities talks of a history from the Creation until 1718. Why coverage was not meant to extend until the 1760s is unclear, though it may have had something to do with the Venetian–Ottoman war that came to full conclusion around those years earlier in the century. In any case, the text only goes up until 1703 because, as Stanos stated, there was no ready source for the following period. The publisher of the final volume of the Vivlos Chroniki made clear his intention to bring out a seventh volume to take history up to his time. This never materialised, according to the contemporary scholar Zaviras on account of insufficient interest amongst the Greeks. Stanos wrote his enormous work in the years just after the appearance of the extension to the narrative on the Ottoman sultans that was hastily included in the edition of 1761. Indeed, evidence exists that Stanos’ work was already complete by 1765 (given the transcription of a section from the work at that date while still in manuscript form). On account of this, it is tempting to suggest that the whole idea for the Vivlos Chroniki is to be attributed, at least in part, to the incomplete and unbalanced coverage on the Ottoman sultans in the Vivlion Istorikon. It would also suggest Stanos as a possible writer or at least instigator of the extension of 1761. Another potential candidate for the authorship of this extension would be Spyridon Milia, editor of the Vivlion Istorikon in 1767, who however made no changes of political interest in that particular edition. A point of some interest about Stanos is that the edition of 1761 came out from the publishing firm of Glykis, with which Stanos had been associated at some time, though his own world chronicle was to come out a few years later from the rival firm of Theodosiou. For all that follows here on the Vivlos Chroniki, see Nikos G. Svoronos. Iōannēs Stanos, Athēna, 49 (1939), 233-42. 12

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The Vivlion Istorikon was supplemented again for Ottoman history in the edition of 1778. The addition is made up of no more than a small paragraph on the Russo–Ottoman war in the time of Mustafa III and a reference to the conclusion of this war under Abdul Hamid I soon after his accession (thus taking history down to 1774). The stated editor of this edition was Spyridon Papadopoulos, who was also the editor of the third and fourth volumes of Stanos’ chronicle. Papadopoulos was moreover the author of the History of the Present War between Russia and the Ottoman Porte, which came out in Venice in six volumes in 1770–1773.13 This work was in fact more of a translation than an original work, its original being the Storia della guerra presente tra la Russia, la Polonia e la porta Ottomana, which has been attributed to the journalist, publisher and student of the Enlightenment Domenico Caminer (1731–1796). Given this book and the related nature of the content of the addition made to an edition of the Vivlion Istorikon whose stated editor was Papadopoulos, it can be taken as virtually certain that Papadopoulos wrote the minor extension in question. Indeed, it is perfectly possible that Papadopoulos may also have been the author of the original, 1761 extension itself. We ought to note something more about the content of the original extension. Apart from the rise and fall of successive sultans, with which most of the account is concerned, the following political and military developments were presented, albeit fairly briefly: Osman II’s notable defeat at the hands of the Cossacks and Poles; the onset of the Cretan war by Murad IV; the Ottomans’ defeat by and subsequent treaty with the Habsburgs, as well as the Ottomans’ final victory in Crete, all under Mehmet IV; the Ottomans’ naval victory over the Venetians near Corinth and their notable defeat by the Venetians some years later, under Mustafa II; there is as well for this reign, a line on an uprising further to the East, in Tunis. One finds a lengthier section for the reign of Ahmet III dealing with his wars with Russians, Poles and Habsburgs. Also, with Mahmud I, there are some lines on his wars with Persia. All these political and military facts, numerous as they may be, make up only a small portion of an account whose palpable interest lies principally in documenting the rise and fall of successive sultans. One fact of interest about the narrative addition of 1761 is that it owed nothing to the extensions of 1691. The writer has looked elsewhere for his material, and he included coverage of the reigns missing from the editions of the late 17th century. The new 18th-century account, moreover, has nothing of the anti-Ottoman sentiment of the extensions made in the late 17th century. It has nothing of the praise for successive sultans either that were part of the central sections of the chronicle (as well as of the early 17th-century work of Cigalas). Rather, the attitude towards the Ottoman order can best be described as neutral, with events being narrated in a detached fashion without any personal involvement by the author. This having On this work, see the competent study of Paschalis M. Kitromilides. Ideologikes epiloges kai historiografikē praxē. Spyridōn Papadopoulos kai Domenico Caminer, Thēsaurismata, 20 (1990), 500-17. 13

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been said, the point also needs to be made that the successive Ottoman sultans were still referred to as rulers of the “Empire of Constantinople.” Equivocal allegiances notwithstanding, the basic principle of the work, according to which the Ottoman sultans are seen as the legitimate successors to the Caesars, still holds, even for writers and publishers in the West in so late a period. The age is, of course, that of the Enlightenment, and it has been noted both of Stanos and Papadopoulos that despite writing their works within traditional frameworks, they nonetheless displayed elements of the prevailing social trends. In particular, the former expressesed criticism of traditional, Byzantine-chronicle views of the natural order, while the latter, who was both a monk and a priest, recorded lines that have been seen to point to the birth of national consciousness.14 One may make reference here as well to the editor of the 1767 edition, Spyridon Milia, who included a point in the margins of the chronicle that questioned the work’s more bizarre claims on the origin of canines. The fact remains that the Vivlion Istorikon, despite its totally traditional approach to history, continued to be read for a further half century at least, indeed more so than at any point in the past. By contrast, the books of Stanos, Papadopoulos and like-minded authors remained isolated cases, rarely going through more than a single edition. Nonetheless, certain features of the Vivlion Istorikon point to a change in attitudes toward the existing order. One is the neutral tone of the extension in the 1761 edition. Another is the reprinting of the Vivlion Istorikon from the second half century without any further narrative extensions at all. This we may note was in line with the lack of interest for a seventh volume for the Vivlos Chroniki as early as 1767.15 Furthermore, there is the fact that the emperor list of the Vivlion Istorikon remained forever incomplete and factually incorrect, with no attempt being made to rectify things despite the minor nature of the point in question and the ongoing opportunity offered with every new publication. “World” history of the traditional form indeed Most notable here is the statement “For faith, fatherland and freedom,” which the Poles wrote on the standard they had raised at Warsaw in revolt, and whose significance could not have been lost either on Papadopoulos or his readers. Ibid., p. 511. 15 Sklavenitis’ supposition of a possible edition from around 1800 with a narrative extension up to about that time is almost certainly wrong. Sklavenitis, Vivliologika, p. 347. The claim is made on the basis of an edition included in a list of titles on offer by the Theodosiou publishing house, which is stated to include a new supplement on Ottoman history. On this, see Sklavenitis, Bibliologika, 349-69. The Ottoman narrative in the Theodosiou edition of 1805 however concludes with 1774, as in fact do all known editions beginning with that of 1778. Indeed it is hardly likely that Theodosiou would have published an edition with an update and then a few years later would reprint an older edition containing more outdated content. Another point is that the same expression present in the Theodosiou advertisement can be found word for word in an advertisement by the publishing house of Glykis for the year 1812. As such, the reference has to be to the supplement of 1778. Moreover, the Theodosiou catalogue could be referring to an edition by Glykis. On the Glykis catalogue, see: Konstantinos D. Mertzios. Katalogos tōn koinōn bibliōn tēs Typografias Nikolaou Glykē tou ex Iōanninōn, Ēpeirōtika Chronika 10 (1935), 158-75; 171. 14

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continued to be read, but it was increasingly fossilised, without direct relevence to contemporary times. This augured badly for the future of the chronicle and indeed in time the narration of history by and for eastern Christians according to universal empires, especially in terms of the Ottoman state, became a thing of the past. The 18th-century narrative in the Chronicle of 1570 on the Ottoman sultans is then a notable source for Ottoman Christian cultural history. Elsewhere I have reproduced the additions to the printed chronicle of the late 17th century.16 Below I give the additions of the 18th century, thereby completing the ready access to this cycle of extensions. The form of the account is that present in the edition of 1778, whose orthography and style I have followed faithfully despite inconsistencies except the obvious typographical errors.

In my forthcoming article in the Acts of the 9th Cretological Congress, as well as in: A lost account of Peloponnesian history rediscovered, Études Balkaniques, 44, 3 (2008), 159-76. 16

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edition of 1778, whose orthography and style I follow faithfully, despite inconsistencies, other than for the obvious typographical errors.

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