Slide Sets

The last two decades have witnessed much research in cartographic history that has treated maps not as mere representations or as mirrors of reality but, in the words of the late J.B. Harley, as “uniquely rewarding texts for the historian” (Harley 1990, 13). In this view of maps, the profound changes in their appearance and utility between the late fifteenth and late twentieth century are due not just to the greater application to mapmaking of scientific rigor and increasingly accurate techniques. Changing maps have both reflected and caused the wider social and cultural changes in the world that produced them. Harley argued that to truly understand a map and to use it effectively as a text, one needed to place it in the context of its cartographer, of other maps of the same area, and of the society that produced it (Harley 1990, 5-10).

A particularly fruitful subfield in recent cartographic research has been the relationship of maps and political power. Scholars have noted the relationship between increasing European geographic knowledge and the establishment of European overseas empires, as well as the tendency for cartographic centers to be located in the successive culturally and politically dominant areas of Europe. Important work, here too, was done by Harley, who declared that “...the map-maker has always played a rhetorical role in defining the configurations of power in society as well as recording their manifestations in the visible landscape” (Harley 1988, 303). Not only has “the structure of social power in a particular historical society influenced the production of knowledge and its mode of representation,” but the cartographer’s work “...may have influenced aspects of group consciousness or mentalité...” (Harley 1997, 162).

The bulk of this work on the relationship of maps and power either has dealt with the use of maps by the expanding state in early modern and modern Europe and America or has dealt with the growth of European colonial empires. The story has been one of increasingly sophisticated or scientific mapping intertwined with growing internal or external power. Comparatively little, however, has been done on mapping along Europe's southeastern cultural frontier, where the story has not been one of a simple, incremental growth of European power.

Here, rather, in the Danubian Basin and in the Balkans, a defensive Europe confronted a still expanding Muslim Ottoman Empire until the end of the seventeenth century. Even before the fall of Constantinople in 1453, the Ottomans dominated the Balkans, sharing its western fringe with the Venetians and its northern frontier with the Hungarian Kingdom. The Ottomans’ victory at Belgrade in 1521 and their rout of Hungary at the Battle of Mohács in 1526 led to their domination of the Danubian Basin for over 150 years. Despite the failure to take Vienna by siege in 1529, Ottoman conquests continued right up to the eve of the Second Siege of Vienna in 1683: Cyprus (1571), Crete (1668), Podolia (1672). Even the rollback of Ottoman power into the Balkans and out of the Danubian Basin between 1683 and 1699 represented more the establishment of a military equilibrium between Habsburgs and Ottomans than clear Habsburg superiority. In the face of Habsburg invasion deep into the Balkans in 1689, the Ottomans rallied and pushed the Habsburgs northward again. Habsburg victories and Balkan territorial gains in 1716-18 were balanced by Ottoman victories and regaining of territory in Serbia, Bosnia, and Wallachia as late as 1736-39.

The Ottoman threat and Europe’s defensive posture in Southeastern Europe lasted longer than is usually thought. Clear European military predominance appeared only in the eighteenth century. The six maps that follow seek to illuminate this power relationship, so different from that of Europe versus the Americas, by placing each map in the context of its cartographer, of other maps, and of society. These maps show that European cartographic mastery of the Danubian Basin and Southeastern Europe started only at the beginning of the eighteenth century. They also show that by the nineteenth century the threat of Ottoman power, so real for so long, had receded enough to make it possible to conceive of reading the Ottomans out of Europe.

NOTE ON SPELLING: The area depicted on the following maps was both the borderland between Ottoman and Christian Europe and a region where Italian, German, Hungarian, and Slavic culturopolitical regions overlapped. Places and individuals regularly have multiple variants of their names. For places, I have used the names commonly used today by natives, as determined by political borders; hence, Szigetvár, not Siget, Sighet, Ziget, etc. At first usage, I have indicated alternatives common enough to be encountered in basic English-language works. Personal names are more problematic since some historical figures are currently claimed by more than one modern nation. I have made ad hoc decisions here, using, for example, the Croatian variant Nikola Zrinski for the sixteenth-century figure because, while active in both Hungary and Croatia, he seems to have identified himself more with his native Croatia. I have used the Hungarian variant Miklós Zrinyi for his seventeenth-century descendent, more active in Hungarian political and cultural affairs. If my spelling decisions have offended anyone, please accept my apologies.

This first map of the Habsburg-Ottoman borderlands or, as it says, of “all of Austria, Hungary, Transylvania, Dalmatia, and other countries...,” was produced by Paolo Forlani Veronese in Venice, mid-sixteenth-century Europe’s foremost center of map publishing. It is a product of the Italian cartographic tradition dominant in that century, not of native Austrian or Hungarian cartography, although such native traditions had begun to flourish in the fifteenth and early sixteenth century.

Vienna’s place as a German university town and the Hungarian royal court’s humanist connections with Italy had ensured that both the rediscovered Ptolemaic geographic knowledge and the new technology of printing had influenced local mapmakers. The earliest surviving European city map drawn to scale, dating from c. 1422, is of Vienna and nearby Bratislava, then called Pozsony, in Hungary. The first man to print a map that showed the New World (1506), the Florentine mapmaker Francesco Roselli, had earlier spent years at the Hungarian royal court in Buda. The now shadowy Hungarian cartographer known as Lazarus Secretarius published around 1520 a map of Hungary, which survives in only a few copies. Finally, under the patronage of the Habsburg Archduke and later Emperor Ferdinand (reigned 1558-1564), the Viennese court counselor and university professor Wolfgang Lazius produced a map of Austria in 1545 and another of Hungary in 1556.

Concerned as he and Ferdinand were with the Ottoman military threat, Lazius tried to base parts of his map of Hungary on direct observation of the regions in question. Most of Hungary, however, including much of the course of the Danube River and many of its major tributaries, were already in Ottoman hands, so that in depicting the river network, Lazius’ later map is more confused than the earlier one by Lazarus. This confusion can be seen also on Forlani’s map. His Danube River lacks its two right-angle bends and the long south-flowing stretch through Buda and Pest. It flows, instead, generally southeastward from Vienna to Belgrade. This misaligned Danube would remain a feature of all published European maps of the region until the early eighteenth-century. Its accurate mapping would, indeed, occur only in the context of the recapture of this territory from the Ottomans at the end of the seventeenth century.

Yet the history of the Danubian region had been very different until the advent of the Ottomans. The medieval Kingdom of Hungary had reached its height in the fifteenth century under King Matthias Corvinus (1458-1490), whose father János Hunyadi had won European-wide fame in 1456 for his defense of the strategic fortress of Belgrade against the Ottomans. Hungary, which had already included Croatia and Slavonia since 1102, now absorbed added territories south of the Sava River in what is today Bosnia and Serbia. It also became a major transalpine center of humanism. After Matthias’ death, however, Hungary’s military might went into a decline under the rule of two kings from the Polish Jagiellonian dynasty. Louis II Jagiellon (1516-1526) presided over the loss of Belgrade to the Turks in 1521 and he himself died, at the age of only 20, fleeing the battefield of Mohács after the Ottomans routed his army.

The untimely death of the childless Louis inaugurated a three-cornered succession struggle in Hungary. Ferdinand of Habsburg, the brother of Emperor Charles V (1519-1558) and since 1522 the ruler of the Habsburg hereditary lands centered on Vienna, claimed the Hungarian throne through marriage and a treaty of succession. János Zápolyai, a Magyar nobleman, represented the hopes of those Magyar nobles who wanted a native king. The victor at Mohács, Sultan Suleiman (1520-1566), “the Magnificent” to Europeans and “the Law-giver” to his Ottoman subjects, had the luxury of building Ottoman power by encouraging dissension among his Christian opponents. He favored Zápolyai and the Hungarian “national” party against the Habsburgs. Only after decades of war was a rough tripartite division of Hungary effected. The center, including Buda and most of the course of the Danube, was controlled directly by the Ottomans. Transylvania and portions of eastern Hungary fell to Zápolyai and a series of elected successors, who bought some freedom of action by acknowledging themselves as vassals of the Ottomans. Ferdinand and his Habsburg successors controlled a strip of territory stretching from the Adriatic Sea across Croatia into western and northern Hungary. Border warfare continued for a century and a half along this long Habsburg-Ottoman frontier from the time of Mohács in 1526 until the Second Siege of Vienna in 1683. While many places changed hands again and again, the Ottomans continued to add territory well into the seventeenth century before the front stabilized. Vienna was first besieged in 1529 and threatened on other occasions, particularly in 1532 and 1566.

This 1566 Forlani map most probably was intended to capitalize on the European public’s interest in the Ottoman threat to Vienna that year, but it can be fully explicated only in the context of earlier threats, especially that of 1532. Vienna had barely survived a siege in 1529, so consternation reigned there when in 1532 word spread that Sultan Suleiman was once more marching northward at the head of a massive army. Making temporary peace with the Lutherans at the Diet of Regensburg, Emperor Charles V decided to lead Vienna’s defense personally, at the head of an international Christian army. He appealed for money and men not only to all the lands of his far-flung empire but to the Kings of Portugal, England, and France as well. The response to his appeal diminished the further from Vienna and from Charles’ direct political control it came. Charles put together a force primarily from the German Empire, with only individuals coming from other lands. Vienna was actually saved in 1532 by the fact that the Ottomans attacked the fortress of Köszeg (Ger. Güns) rather than it.

This Forlani map is typical in many ways of sixteenth-century maps of the Danubian region and northern Balkans, which still include many pictorial features. Small towns such as Zagrabia (Zagreb) on the Sava River are depicted as stylized skylines seen head-on; larger settlements like Vienna, Buda, Pest and Belgrade (Belgrado), all on the Danube (Danubio), clearly show structures within city walls. The names of geographic and political features are also given in Italian variants of pre-Turkish forms, even where they had been in Turkish hands for decades, as had Belgrade (Belgrado) for example. There was no attempt to depict the international border or frontier; well into the next century and beyond, maps of the area seem to have regarded the area’s pre-Ottoman political allegiance as more legitimate than contemporary Ottoman suzerainty. Finally, as on all maps since the Ottoman conquest, rivers, particularly the Danube, bear only the slightest relation to their actual course.

The region appears here and on many contemporary maps primarily as a battleground, as shown by the drawings and stylized representations of soldiers, cannon, and armies. A close look at the captions, however, shows the designations of particular armies to be more fanciful than real. The large French and Spanish armies north of Vienna (labeled “del Re di Francia” and “del Re Catolico”) reflect less the reality of the siege of 1566 or of earlier sieges than the hope, most clearly articulated in 1532, of a Christian crusading army to drive out the Ottomans. Perhaps this map was intended more as propaganda than as a report of current events. It certainly was reprinted later. A version of it was bound into Giulio Ballino’s large 1569 book of views of European fortresses and cities.

This 1566 maplike individual print of the fortress at Szigetvár appeared in the same year as the previous map. It was capitalizing not just on a nascent public interest in current events, like the fall of this fortress to the Ottomans. Images of fortresses and cities, all suspended somewhere between the map and the picture, were a popular genre of printed fare in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Within just a few years of the appearance of this print, the first of many collections of such prints appeared with Giulio Ballino’s De disegni piu illustri città, & fortezze del mondo (Venice, 1569), including a different view of Szigetvár, a print of Vienna, and views of five other fortresses in Hungary: Györ, Komárom, Eger, Tokaj, and Gyula, the last of which also fell to the Ottomans the same year as Szigetvár. Georg Braun and Frans Hogenberg would issue the first volume of their massive six-volume collection of urban views, Civitates Orbis Terrarum, a few years later in 1572. Subsequent Braun and Hogenberg volumes, as well as the works of other printers like Mattheus Merian of Frankfurt would extend the genre well into the seventeenth century.

This particular 1566 print is a product of Rome, Italy’s second great map center after Venice, and is characteristic of mid-sixteenth century Roman printing. Rome specialized in Italian topography, views of cities and fortresses, and prints of current events, particularly anything pertaining to either sieges or Turks. The successful Ottoman siege of Szigetvár was thus a natural subject for its publisher, Antonio Lafreri, a Frenchman settled in Rome. In the 1560s he was the foremost engraver of prints in the city. Like other Venetian and Roman printers he would sometimes assemble his individual prints into custom-ordered bound volumes resembling atlases.

The Ottoman-Habsburg frontier provided much fodder for such views of fortresses. For most of the sixteenth century, battles and skirmishes continued along the border in Croatia and Hungary, even during ostensible times of peace. A prominent feature of this war-torn frontier zone was a series of fortresses, some originally dating from medieval times, but many newly built in the 1540s and 1550s to the demands of artillery warfare. On the Habsburg side of the border, these fortresses were maintained sometimes by the ruler and sometimes by prominent local nobles. Accounts of the sixteenth-century Habsburg-Ottoman frontier usually focus on these fortresses. They tell of rebuilding the old, building the new, sieges, defenses, and all too often Habsburg losses like Jajce (1527), Klis (1537), Bihać (1592), Eger (1596), and Nagykanisza (1600). Yet tied as the Turks were during major campaigns to a style of warfare in which the army set out in the spring from Istanbul to distant battlefields on the border, these fortresses could serve to slow the advance of the main Turkish army. The massive Turkish army in 1532 under the command of Suleiman, which had advanced toward Vienna and Charles V, had taken nearly a month to subdue Közeg (Ger. Güns), defended by only 800 men. After its fall Suleiman turned back just short of Vienna and returned to Istanbul.

Perhaps the most famous throughout Europe of these fortresses and sieges was that of Szigetvár (also Sziget), in today’s southwestern Hungary, besieged and captured in 1566 by another massive Ottoman force led by Sultan Suleiman on his last campaign. The 2500 defenders were commanded by Count Nikola Zrinski (Hung. Miklós Zrinyi), one of the largest landholders in Habsburg Croatia, a seasoned veteran of border warfare, as well as Ban (Royal Representative) of Croatia from 1542 to 1556. That the siege of Szigetvár stands out among so many others is due to a number of causes. Contemporary Christendom viewed Zrinski’s gallant and futile defense of Szigetvár as the salvation of Vienna from yet another siege, although it is not at all clear to historians now that Vienna was indeed Suleiman’s target. Added to this are the strange circumstances of Suleiman’s death outside of Szigetvár. The aged sultan died of natural causes during the siege. His ministers supposedly propped his body up daily for more than a week in sight of his troops, his cheeks reddened with rouge, lest the army learn of his death. Finally, there are the ostentatious circumstances of Zrinski’s defense and final capitulation. The seasoned commander of the vastly outnumbered garrison had first met the Turks with bunting and flags decorating the walls and cannonades shot off harmlessly as salutes. Spurning the terms of surrender originally offered by Suleiman, Zrinski and his men fought on until September 16 when the commander theatrically dressed up in his finest clothing, filled his pockets with coins for those who would find his body, and led his several hundred surviving men in a glorious, if futile, attack on the whole Ottoman army. All was not bravado at his end, however, since before his last sally he seems also to have deliberately arranged for the fortress to be blown up in the face of the first victorious Ottoman troops to enter it.

None of these piquant details appear on this print, which, if its engraved date of 1566 is correct, had to have come out either during the siege itself (August-September 1566) or soon after its fall. In view of the time constraints and contemporary printing practices, many of the print’s details were undoubtedly stylized, despite the prominent claim in the cartouche that this was “The true account of Siget” (“Il vero ritratto de Zighet...”). The engraver has, however, correctly emphasized on this print the marshy terrain of the war zone. Repeated fighting had depopulated much of this frontier and allowed former fields to revert to natural wetlands.

This 1605 pen and ink drawing is a unique map of another portion of the Ottoman frontier zone. This is the region where the Ottoman-held Dinaric Alps of the interior of the Balkan peninsula abutted the narrow coastal strip of the eastern Adriatic, controlled by Venice. Both sides of the frontier were inhabited by Slavs who spoke similar dialects, and some of those Slavs called their language Croatian. Many of these Slavs, moreover, both Ottoman and Venetian subjects, seem to have preferred the prospect of being ruled by the Habsburgs. Since the 1526 Battle of Mohács, it was the Habsburg rulers who both were most likely to advocate warfare with the Ottomans and who also bore the title of King of Croatia.

During the contested struggle for the Hungarian throne after Mohács, the fortress of Klis (Itl. Clissa) had been the southernmost site to acknowledge the authority of the Habsburg claimant, Ferdinand. Only a few miles from the coastal city of Split (Ital. Spalato) and dominating the road to Bosnia, this strategically placed fortress was an isolated and untenable point of Habsburg power. The narrow coastal strip, including the major port of Split, was Venetian territory; the mountains behind and to the north of Klis, like it formerly part of medieval Croatia, had already fallen to the Ottomans. The Habsburg Klis garrison was made up of refugees from Ottoman territories called uskoks, who lived by plundering not just Ottoman lands, but the Venetian coastal holdings as well. The Ottomans finally captured Klis in 1537 and the surviving uskoks withdrew northward some 100 miles to the Habsburg fortress in the Croatian town of Senj, from which they continued raiding Ottomans and Venetians alike. Split remained in Venetian hands.

Klis and Split, like Ottomans and Venetians in general, were uneasy neighbors. Although Venice went to war with the Ottomans a number of times, as in 1570-1573 in unsuccessful defense of Cyprus and 1645-1669 in equally futile defense of Crete, this trading city and empire generally preferred to maintain peaceful relations with the Ottomans, and not just because of the power disparity. Venetian trading interests in the eastern Mediterranean were better served by peaceful relations than war. So too was the security of Venice’s coastal holdings on the eastern Adriatic shore, which were necessary for Venetian navigation routes into the Mediterranean out of the Adriatic Sea.

Venice’s position on the eastern Adriatic was complicated by the fact that some of its ethnically Slavic and Albanian subjects there preferred fighting Ottomans to trading with them. This was particularly true during the so-called Long War (1593-1606) between Habsburgs and Ottomans, when Venice, but not all of her subjects, resisted the blandishments of both Habsburgs and Pope Clement VIII (1592-1605) to join in a crusade to drive the Muslims out of Europe. In the midst of this war, on April 7, 1596, Palm Sunday, to the great consternation of Venice, a group of some 30 men, including Croatian subjects of Venice from Dalmatia and Habsburg uskoks, slipped into the fortress of Klis and took it by a ruse. The Ottomans, however, soon defeated a joint Habsburg-papal relief force of 2,000 men sent to reinforce the miniscule Christian garrison and reoccupied Klis on May 30. Venetian forces took no part on either side and her inaction earned Venice the enmity of all who dreamed of a Christian crusade against the Ottomans, including many of her own subjects in Dalmatia. At the time this map was produced in 1605, Klis was once again in Ottoman hands.

Images like this of the Adriatic coast and its fortresses were not unusual at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Printed maps of the eastern Adriatic, its cities, and fortresses, published particularly in Venice, Genoa, and Ancona, had become fairly common since the mid-sixteenth century, undoubtedly because the Adriatic’s main navigation routes followed the eastern shore. The region was well-represented, too, in the earlier genre of mariner’s books called Isolarii (Books of Islands), which contained maps and sailing directions, originally of the Mediterranean. In fact, the first printed Isolario, that of Bartolemeo dalli Sonetti printed in Venice in 1485, had among its 49 woodcut maps ten of the Dalmatian coast, including one that depicted Klis.

What is unique about this map of Klis is that it is a pen and ink rendering, and the circumstances under which it seems to have been drawn. On the back it is signed “made by Christaforo Tarnowskij.” It is dated 24 July 1605 and is entitled “Clissa, Chief Fortress of the Turk in Dalmatia and Key to the Kingdom of Bosnia, 5 miles distant from Spalato.” Two similar maps in the collection of the Newberry Library are signed by the same man and dated only a few weeks later. One, “Castelnovo on the border of Albania,” dated 20 August 1605, depicts the Ottoman port of Hersek-nova (Crtn., Herceg Novi; Ital., Castelnuovo) on the Bay of Kotor, over 100 miles southeast down the coast from Split and Klis. The other, dated 28 August 1605, shows “Scutari (Alb. Shkodër) chief fortress in Albania, and key to Macedonia.”

The adventurer Cristofaro Tarnowskij who signed these maps, and who also appears in the historical record as Christof Tarnowski, Kristofor Tarnoski, Christoforo Tarnoschi, and Christopher Tarnowsky, is not otherwise known as a cartographer. He may, indeed, merely have supervised the maps’ drawing rather than drafting them himself. These maps also are the earliest historical evidence of Tarnowskij, who otherwise first appears in the historical record in Florence nine years later, in 1614, described as a Pole and as a “descendant of the King of Bosnia.” There he was accompanying the Croatian friar Francesco Bertucci (Crtn. Franjo Brtučević) in his attempt to interest Philip IV (1621-1665) of Spain in another Bosnian and Albanian uprising. Shortly therafter, following Bertucci’s death, Tarnowskij briefly collaborated with “Sultan Yahya,” who traveled tirelessly for years from court to court in Europe purporting to be the Christian son of the late Sultan Mehmet III (1595-1603), the rightful heir to the Ottoman throne, and the ideal man to head a Christian crusade against the Ottomans.

Tarnowskij’s link with Bertucci, the dates, and the inscriptions referring to these fortresses as keys to particular Ottoman provinces all make it likely that this maps and its companions were produced among the circle of ethnic Croatian, many of them Venetian subjects, who were desirous of a crusade against the Turks. It may very well have been produced in an attempt to convince some Western ruler of the feasibility of just such a project. Early in the Long War Bertucci, a Venetian subject, had been instrumental in planning the 1596 assault on Klis. A papal agent in the Adriatic city-state of Dubrovnik, seeking to make contact with Christian Ottoman subjects willing to rise against the Sultan, he and others in 1595 had brought to Pope Clement VIII in Rome the plan for seizing Klis from the Turks. Bertucci then went on to Graz and Prague, where he successfully persuaded the Habsburg Archduke Ferdinand and Emperor Rudolf (1576-1612) to support the attack on Klis, and briefly to contemplate one as well on Hersek-nova, that is “Castelnovo.” Bertucci also personally participated in the brief Christian occupation of Klis in 1596, where he was captured by the Ottomans but ransomed by a friend.

Many papal agents in the western Balkans continued to plot uprisings and try to enlist foreign aid for them through the end of the Long War in 1606 and beyond, although many of them shifted from papal to either Spanish or Austrian Habsburg patronage. Between 1597 and 1605, Bertucci turned up in Prague, Spain, and Italy with various anti-Ottoman schemes and for a time was an imperial Habsburg agent. In July and August 1605, when Tarnowskij drew—or oversaw the drawing of—these maps, Bertucci’s whereabouts are unknown. A few months earlier in March 1605 he was in Spain offering his servicees to the king, and calling attention to his responsibility for seizing Klis in 1596. He does not reappear until January 1606 when he is in Turin trying now to interest the Duke of Savoy in a Balkan uprising. If Tarnowskij was not already associated with Bertucci, there were plenty of other agents flogging similar plans around European courts, in many of which Klis and various Albanian ports figured. And in 1604 and 1605, the Croatian uskoks from Habsburg Senj raided many Turkish points along the Adriatic, including Hersek-nova.

Even given the strong likelihood that this map and its two companions was drawn to interest some Christian ruler in leading a Balkan uprising, one cannot gainsay that the map is an attractive example of Renaissance mapmaking and that there was some effort to make it pleasing to the eye. If Tarnowskij, or the craftsman he supervised, took the liberty of magnifying the size of Klis to emphasize the threat to Christian Split, he also tried hard to depict accurately the region around the coastal city. Neighboring fields, strong points, bridges, mills, and churches, the last usually identified by name, are depicted. So, too, are the ruins of classical Salona, labeled “Salona, Citta antiqua ruinata.” Trees appear among the fields and in the mountains, which appear to be topped by a thin layer of clouds. Finally, an attractive compass decorates “Mare Adriaticum,” the Adriatic Sea, a terminology that perhaps reflects some of the locals’ estrangement from their Venetian mistress, who called this body of water the Gulf of Venice.

At the time of its publication in 1705, this reprint of an often reprinted map of the western Balkans was already obsolete, overtaken by startling political and military changes on the ground at the end of the seventeenth century. (See next slide). When it first appeared in the 1660s, however, it marked an important advance in the mapping of this region, despite its seemingly strange use of the classical term of Illyria for much of the Western Balkans. The circumstances of its publication also demonstrate how in the seventeenth century the new cartographic center of Amsterdam surpassed in importance the earlier Italian publishing centers, while at the same time continuing some of their business practices.

The Long War that had ended at the beginning of the seventeenth century had caused much devastation in the Habsburg-Ottoman frontier zone, as a number of fortresses changed hands repeatedly and as tactical shifts led to fighting and the maintenance of armies in the field during winter months as well as during the fair weather campaign season. The Treaty of Zsitvatorok that ended the war in 1606 was significant symbolically because it eliminated the requirement of Habsburg tribute to the Ottomans, first agreed to in 1533. The Ottomans now were unable to maintain the fiction that the Habsburgs were their vassals. But the war had resulted in little practical difference along the Habsburg-Ottoman frontier. The Habsburgs had re-conquered a few border territories in Croatia and northern Hungary but they had lost other territories to the Ottomans, including two major fortresses, Eger and Nagykanisza. All the attempted Balkan Christian uprisings had also failed.

The first half of the seventeenth-century was relatively quiet along this border. The Ottomans experienced a period of dynastic instability, while also fighting wars with Poland and Persia. Meanwhile the Thirty Years War both redirected Habsburg interests to Central Europe and absorbed the military manpower of the border into the imperial armies that were fighting Protestants, Swedes, and French. The end of the Thirty Years War saw a resumption of cross-border raiding, despite the opposition to this practice of Emperor Leopold I (1658-1705), who focused his concerns on the west and the French threat to the Empire.

Leopold’s own frontier nobility, however, wished to resume warfare against the Turks, particularly the brothers Miklós and Péter Zrinyi (Crtn. Nikola and Petar Zrinski), great-grandsons of the commander at Szigetvár, and successive Bans of Croatia (1647-1664 and 1664-1671). This period also saw the rise in Istanbul of a more bellicose foreign policy advocated by the reformist Köprülü grand viziers, Mehmet (1656-1661), his son Fazil Ahmet (1661-1676), and his nephew Kara Mustafa (1676-1683). Full-scale Ottoman-Habsburg war, provoked in part by border raiding, erupted in 1663 and resulted in a Habsburg victory in 1664 at the frontier village of Szentgotthard on the road to Vienna. Despite this victory Leopold, worried about French intentions, concluded with the Ottomans the disadvantageous Truce of Vasvár, which confirmed Ottoman control of some disputed border regions and awarded to the Ottomans a monetary “gift” that looked like tribute.

The Zrinyi brothers and much of the Hungarian nobility, particularly Protestants among them, interpreted Vasvár as a betrayal by the Habsburgs of their interests. An anti-Habsburg noble conspiracy ensued in which all conceivable outside allies, including the French, were considered, until improbably enough the conspirators decided to offer their allegiance to the Ottomans! With occasional injections of French money, the plotting continued in desultory fashion until 1670, although Leopold was aware of it as early as 1667. Miklós Zrinyi had been one of the prime instigators of the plot, but he died in late 1664, killed while wrestling a wild boar during a hunt. His brother Péter, who succeeded him as ban of Croatia, was involved in the plot the entire time he held office. In 1670, the Habsburg court decided to more against the conspirators. Most escaped abroad, but a few, including Péter Zrinyi, were tried, convicted of high treason, and executed. The only clemency shown them because of their noble status was that they lost only their heads and not their right hands as well, as the law required.

It was during this secret conspiracy that this map first appeared in 1666, without a dedication, and again in its final format in 1668, with a Latin dedication to Ban Péter Zrinyi, a man soon to be executed as a traitor. The publisher of both versions of the map was the renowned Amsterdam map publisher Johannes Blaeu. He included it as one of six maps in the historical work De Regno Dalmatiae et Croatiae libri sex, written by the Croatian historian known usually by a Latinate form of his name, Ivan Lucius (Crtn., Ivan Lučić; Ital., Giovanni Lucio). The map is a product of Lucius's intellectual milieu of Croatian Catholic clergy and literary figures, resident in Rome, who were likely unaware of Zrinyi’s plotting.

In the 1660s Lucius was head of the College of St. Jerome, the “Illyrian” College in Rome, a post-Tridentine Catholic educational institution charged with the preparation of priests from among the South Slavic population of southeastern Europe. This was very much an institution of the Catholic Reform movement, which, contrary to popular conceptions, sought to train a more worthy clergy not only to counter Protestantism, but also to re-establish union with Orthodox Christians and to preach in Ottoman territories. This so-called Illyrian College, like similar institutions, was designed to recruit priests who would be able to preach to people in their vernaculars, so the basis of its organization was language. Its field of operation was among the Slavs of the Venetian-Habsburg-Ottoman border zone, Orthodox as well as Catholic, who spoke dialects close enough to be mutually intelligible. These people then were called or called themselves by various names-Slavs, Croats, Serbs, Morlachs, Vlachs, and various regional designations. The term Illyrian, a revived classical term that had had a totally different ethnic meaning in Roman times, was meant as a name that could encompass all of these Slavs. Moreover, its classical associations were particularly congenial to the college’s staff and students, recruited heavily from the Venetian-controlled cities of Dalmatia, whose high culture was permeated with Renaissance classicism.

The basis for Lucius’s map was a dispute that began within the College in 1651. At issue was whether the Slavs of Habsburg Carniola, Styria, and Carinthia—the modern Slovenes—were Illyrians, and thus eligible for benefices. The German nobility of these provinces, when queried, protested their inclusion within the competence of a Slavic-language college. Many Dalmatian priests in Rome also denied that the Slovenes were Slavs. A formal church court deliberated two years and decided against the Slovenes, some of whose partisans had unsuccessfully used maps by Ortelius and Mercator in their defense. In the aftermath of the dispute, the College ordered the drafting of a map to delineate once and for all the borders of Illyria, defined to include the regions of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, and Bosnia. The work, entrusted to a Roman artist, took two years to complete, because the members of the College worried the drafter over nearly every detail. Their interference, however, ensured the incorporation of local knowledge, including some from people who had been born or lived in Ottoman territory.

The historian Lucius seems to have had little role in this dispute, but he was able to use the resulting map for his own purposes. He had spent the 1650s working on his six-volume history of Croatia, usually considered a landmark work because it was based on the critical use of documents. It was also a precocious work in its use of maps. Historians of cartography have detected in the seventeenth century a map awareness increased enough that historical works were more and more illustrated by maps. A concern for a chronological sequence depicted in maps has, however, been considered a later development. Nevertheless, Lucius’s De Regno was accompanied by six maps of the same region, one of pre-Roman times, two of the Roman era, two of the middle ages, and the last, “Contemporary Illyria,” a reworking of the College’s earlier map. Of note, too, is the fact that, despite the hankering for a better, classical past, Lucius’s map of contemporary Illyria stands out because in the lower left cartouche it calls attention to its depictions of political boundaries, including the boundaries of Ottoman sanjaks.

Lucius’s difficulty in getting his book published in Rome, a major printing and mapmaking center in the previous century, illustrates some of the changes and continuities of seventeenth-century map publishing. Despite the support of the head of the Vatican Library, himself a Croat and former head of the Illyrian College, no Roman publisher would accept Lucius’s work without his paying all the publishing costs. The distant publishing house of Johannes Blaeu, however, in the newly vibrant map printing center of Amsterdam, was willing to take a chance on the manuscript. The vagaries of long-distance communication and the outbreak of war between England and Holland delayed publication of the book and accompanying maps from 1661 until 1666. The work was successful enough, however, that Blaeu brought out a second edition in 1668, this one with the sixth map now bearing the soon-to-be embarrassing dedication to the highest political figure in Croatia. Blaeu also asked for and received the right to reprint this last map in his future atlases. A more entrepreneurial attitude may have won Blaeu the rights to a new map, but copper plates, once engraved, have a long life. Blaeu’s atlases continued to carry this “contemporary” map long after the execution for treason of its dedicatee, and long after the boundaries alluded to so proudly in the cartouche had ceased to be valid.

This 1717 map printed in Paris was one of the earliest European depictions of the correct course of the Danube as far as the vicinity of Belgrade. It was based on the most up-to-date scientific cartographic techniques pioneered in France and on observations made during Habsburg military campaigns against the Ottomans in the spring and summer of 1696. Count Luigi Ferdinanado Marsigli, a native of Bologna, a baroque scientific polymath, and a colonel in the Habsburg army, and Johann Christian Müller, an imperial subject and the assistant to the Nuremberg astronomer, engraver, and instrument maker Georg Einmart, accomplished the mapping. The noble Marsigli conceived the idea; the commoner Müller did the actual work of measurement. Nevertheless, the results of their surveys, carried out under Habsburg military auspices, came to be popularized outside of the German-speaking lands by the Frenchman Guillaume Delisle. He in turn was a protégé and popularizer of the work of Jean-Dominique Cassini, a member of the French Royal Academy, head of the Paris Observatory, and pioneer in the use of astronomical observations to determine exact geographic locations. The story of how Austrian military mapping came to be popularized by Austria’s traditional foes, the French, says much about political and cartographic power at the turn of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The late seventeenth and early eighteenth century had seen major changes along the Habsburg-Ottoman frontier. In 1681 the Ottoman grand vizier Kara Mustafa began supporting a Protestant Hungarian rebel, Imre Thököly (1657-1705), the son-in-law of the executed Péter Zrinyi. Ottoman support for Hungarian anti-Habsburg forces was not new. In this case, however, the outcome was to be a major change in the balance of power in the Danubian region. In 1638, Kara Mustafa, aided by his Hungarian allies, led a vast Ottoman army to the outskirts of Vienna. This renowned Second Siege of Vienna resulted in an Ottoman rout on September 12, 1683, the execution of Kara Mustafa on December 15 of the same year, and some sixteen years of Habsburg-Ottoman warfare.

During the course of this long struggle, fighting ranged from the outskirts of Vienna across the Danubian basin, and down deep into the Balkan Peninsula. At first, the initiative was with the Habsburgs. Buda fell to them in 1686; Belgrade in 1688. During 1689, they also took Vidin in Bulgaria, Niš in Serbia, and Priština in Kosovo, while burning Skopje in Macedonia to the ground. Then the Ottomans rallied in 1690, driving the Habsburgs from the Balkans, retaking Belgrade, and making the southern Danubian Basin once again a battlefield. The seesaw course of the struggle continued throughout the 1690s, and the Habsburgs found their greatest general of all times only late in the struggle, when Prince Eugene of Savoy assumed the post of commander-in-chief in 1697. After his victory at Zenta in September 1697, Eugene swung south and his forces burned down Sarajevo in October before returning north of the Sava River. But the Ottomans had repeatedly proved adept at rising again after defeats, and a lull in the fighting now allowed peace preliminaries to begin, resulting in 1699 in the Treaty of Karlowitz. It ended the warfare, left the Balkans in Ottoman hands, and most of the Danubian Basin to the Habsburgs. Two further wars in the eighteenth-century, in 1716-1718 and 1736-39 first extended Habsburg power south of the Danube into the north-central Balkans and then stabilized the Habsburg-Ottoman frontier along the lines of the Sava and Danube Rivers as far east as the Iron Gates, a line that persisted with only minor variations until 1878.

The mapping carried out by Marsigli and Müller during these battles eventually saw the light of day in a 1709 German-language four-sheet Habsburg map of Hungary, which appeared under the name of Müller alone. The former assistant had gone on, initially in conjunction with Marsigli, to join the commission delineating the postwar Habsburg-Ottoman border. Later Müller produced many maps for the Austrian military, most of which were not disseminated but treated as state secrets. Those few maps he did publish during his moderately successful career as a Habsburg mapmaker, such as 1720 maps of Bohemia and of Moravia to complement his earlier one of Hungary, circulated primarily in the Habsburg and other German-speaking lands.

The popularization of Cassini’s new methods and of Marsigli and Müller’s new mapping of the Danube, which employed those methods, fell to Delisle and French map printing centers. Cassini was the progenitor of a four-generation mapmaking dynasty that produced over a full century a large-scale topographic map of all France based on triangulation. Cassini, Delisle, and Cassini’s son, Jacques Cassini de Thury, all enjoyed the beneficence of the wealthy absolute French monarchy of Louis XIV (1643-1715) and Louis XV (1715-1774). With royal monetary support for mapping early in the eighteenth century, and a monarchy willing to publicize these new maps to reflect French scientific glory, Paris succeeded Amsterdam as Europe’s preeminent mapmaking city.

And Marsigli, who had pioneered Cassini’s new techniques in the Habsburg lands in the 1690s, was willing to share the results with French mapmakers because of political developments. Having served with Müller on the boundary commission, Marsigli, after the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714) broke out, was posted in 1702 with his regiment to face the armies of France, the Habsburgs’ traditional foe. Assigned as second in command to the fortress of Breisach along the Rhine, near the Black Forest, Marsigli spent his days corresponding with Müller and Einmart about maps and quarrelling with Breisach’s commander. In September 1703, in the face of a French siege, the Habsburg officers at Breisach agreed to surrender the poorly provisioned fortress, but were surprised to face a court-martial for their actions. The commander was executed. The court-martial spared Marsigli what it termed a merited death sentence, but cashiered him in disgrace in early 1704. Unsuccessful in an appeal to his former patron, the Emperor Leopold, Marsigli left the Habsburg lands.

Eventually he returned to Bologna, but not before traveling in France in 1706-08 and 1711. Unsuccessful in angling for a French military commission—the French preferred that he work as an agent among another generation of Hungarian rebels—he devoted himself primarily to scientific research, in the course of which he encountered some provincial students of the Cassinis. How exactly Delisle acquired the information for his map of Hungary is unclear, but these provincial contacts are one possible avenue. Marsigli, at the start of his mapping in 1596, had actually received a letter of advice from Jean-Dominique Cassini, apparently in reply to a now lost letter from Marsigli, so a direct contact is also not impossible. Perhaps Delisle just copied Müller’s 1709 map for his own 1717 version. In any case, Marsigli, embittered at his Habsburg patrons, undoubtedly took pleasure in the line between the title and the scale, which read “Based on the observations of Count Marsigli and several other accounts.” (“Dressée sur les Observations de Mr. le Comte Marsilli et sur plusieurs autres Memoires.”)

This 1848 German map combines many strands of early nineteenth-century cartographic and European history. It demonstrates the growing intellectual predominance of Germany and its emerging importance as a cartographic center. It shows as well the new cartographic possibilities opened up by technical advances. It reflects both a concern with the differences among and locations of peoples characteristic of the era of Romantic nationalism and the century’s fascination with science. It is illustrative of greater Western European interest in southeastern Europe, what one scholar has called “the discovery of the Balkans” (Todorova, 62). It is, finally, one of many nineteenth-century European attempts to disentangle into two separate notions the formerly intertwined concepts of Ottoman and Turk, a project inconceivable until the balance of power between Europeans and Ottomans had changed radically during the preceding century.

Despite their success against the Habsburgs in the war of 1736-39, the eighteenth century was clearly a period of decline for the Ottomans. The emergence of Peter the Great’s Russia as a Great Power meant that the Ottoman Empire, already weakened by the loss of the Danubian Basin to the Habsburgs, now also faced a second Christian power to the north. Local Ottoman notables, in the empire’s Asian and African territories even more than in its European holdings, took advantage of the empire’s weak international position to bolster their own power and become virtually independent. The weakened central authority in Istanbul could not even assure simple security to its subjects, as brigandage spread.

In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, sultans and their ministers intent on restoring central authority and regaining international prominence increasingly modeled their policies on those of Europe. Sultan Selim III (1789-1807) unsuccessfully pursued a westernization of Ottoman military structure and tactics, being overthrown and executed for his pains. His successor Mahmut II (1808-1839) finally succeeded in modernizing the army, paving the way for the westernizing administrative and political reform period known as the Tanzimat, which began in 1839. These periods of Ottoman political decline and then of copying Western models coincided with the era of increasing Western contact with this part of the world. In addition to the occasional diplomat, increasing numbers of European merchants, scholars, and, for the first time, tourists came to the Ottoman Empire. The former “scourge of God,” the Ottoman Empire that had threatened Vienna barely 100 years before had now become the “Sick Man of Europe.”

Well into the eighteenth century, Europeans’ awareness of the ethnic complexity of the Ottoman Empire seems to have been a dim one, at best. An early attempt at an ethnographic map of Europe, the 1730 Europa Polyglotta, had recognized only three languages in the Ottomans’ European territories, Turkish, Greek, and Iliri-co-Slavonica [sic]. The groups neatly divided the Balkan Peninsula among themselves, Greeks to the south and Iliri-co-Slavs to the west, while the Turks, on this eighteenth-century map, dominated the whole eastern half of the peninsula. While this was a crude view of both the relevant ethnic distinctions and their distributions, it did recognize linguistic distinctions. Europeans earlier were wont to indiscriminately label as “Turks” all the members of the multiethnic Ottoman ruling class, any Muslim whether ethnically Turkish or not, or sometimes even any Ottoman subject.

An important result of the larger numbers of Europeans with first-hand experience of southeastern Europe was the attempt to map the ethnic diversity that people encountered. Four major maps of the ethnography of the Balkans appeared between 1821 and 1848, three in the 1840s alone. Three of these four maps were by Germans, the fourth by a Czech. Many more maps followed later in the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth. These many maps depict widely differing views of the ethnographic situation, and some today seem grossly partisan toward one group or another.

Even though it shares many of the problems of other European ethnographic maps of the Balkans, this map that appeared in Heinrich Berghaus’s Physikalischer Atlas was an important one, because of the prestige of Berghaus’s atlas and its claims to scientific validity. That two-volume work was a major conceptual breakthrough, composed solely of thematic maps of “natural” phenomena, with sections devoted to, among other things, climate, geology, botany, and zoology, as well as ethnography. In the words of one student of the atlas, it “took on a life of its own as a self-contained representation of nature” (Camerini, 479). It claimed to be not just science, but hard, no-nonsense physical science. Moreover, the source for this ethnographic map was Ami Boué, a French geographer and geologist who had traveled through the Ottoman Empire. In 1830 he had published a description of the Balkan Mountains, scientifically proving—to Europeans at least—that that range did not extend, as they believed, all the way across the peninsula. In 1840 he published a monumental four-volume historical, geographical, and ethnographical account of the Balkan Peninsula entitled La Turquie d’Europe. His name on Berghaus’s map gave it the scientific imprimatur of one of Europe’s foremost living experts on the Ottoman Empire.

Boué openly acknowledged that Europeans had to overcome prejudices when dealing with the Ottoman Empire, yet his work is in some ways one of the more extreme examples of the nineteenth-century Balkan ethnographic map in that it seems to grossly underestimate the extent of Muslims and Turks in the Balkans. The largely Muslim Albanians should cover a larger area, and rural Turks are conspicuous by their absence. Boué thought that rural Turks were rare anomalies. In many parts of the Balkans that was true, but in other areas there were significant groups of them. Boué did rightly recognize that Turks were a significant urban presence virtually everywhere in the Balkans and most cities on his map have a symbol indicating a Turkish population. The visual impact of the map, however, comes from the intense colors, and the symbols recede into the background.

Boué's map could neither exist nor be subject to misinterpretation without technical innovations that encouraged the use of widespread printed color in maps. In 1796 the Bavarian Alois Senefelder had invented lithography, a printing process in which the image to be reproduced is chemically transferred, so that it need not be incised onto a copper plate or carved out of a block of wood. Lithography allows shading on a map; and printers, Senefelder among them, soon began experimenting with color lithography. The French in particular excelled in pioneering such techniques and in 1843 produced an eleven-color geologic map of the Paris Basin. Color lithography was still in its infancy, however. Various established printers continued to experiment with alternative color techniques in order both to keep up with the demand for relatively inexpensive printed color maps from a public now widely exposed to them and the exploit the possibilities of using color to depict what previously was difficult to show. (The black and white Europa polyglotta had depicted linguistic areas by the ingenious expedient of writing across them the first words of the Lord’s Prayer in appropriate languages and alphabets.) Berghaus’s publisher, the already prestigious Gotha mapmaking firm of Justus Perthes, continued to use copper plate engraving but experimented with chemical methods like aquatint.

Boué’s map also could not have existed without the changed power relationship between the Ottoman Empire and Europe. Even if the reading of the Turks off of the map of the Balkans is partially a function of the greater vividness of color representation, and even though Boué’s is only one among many nineteenth-century ethnographic maps, some much more favorable to the Turks than his, his map would have been inconceivable to a sixteenth- or seventeenth-century European, and not just for technical reasons. To people who conceived of “the Turk” as a vast army marching across Hungary, a fortress of Islam towering over a Christian city, or a state that had divided into something called sanjaks most of the Illyria of classical Rome, a miniscule symbol next to a city’s name would surely have seemed insufficient.

1. Paolo Forlani Veronese, Vera et ultimma descrittione di tutta l’Austria, Vngheria, Transilvania, Dalmatia et altri paesi come nel disegno apare graduata, con la scala di migla Italiani (Venice, 1566).
2. Antonio Lafreri, Il vero ritratto de Zighet, con il suo Castello, fortezza nuova, paludi, lago, fiume & ponte & alter Cose Notabili per lettere annotate, con monstra del monte fatto da Turchi, & con l’assato daiogli da esi (Rome, 1566).
3. Christofaro Tarnowskij, Clissa Principal Fortezza del Turcho nella dalmacia et Chiave dil Reg° di Bosna Lontano da Spallato miglia 5 (Split[?], 1605).
4. Johannes Blaeu, Illyricum Hodiernum (Amsterdam, 1705; original, 1668).
5. Guillaume Delisle, Carte particuliere de la Hongrie, de la Transilvanie, de la Croatie, et de la Sclavonie, dresseé sur les Observations de Mr. le Comte Marsilli (Paris, 1717).
6. Ami Boué and Heinrich Berghaus, “Ethnographische Karte des Osmanischen Reichs,” from Berghaus’ Physikalischer Atlas (Gotha, 1848).

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