I a Seventeenth-Century Odyssey in East Central Europe

A Seventeenth-Century Odyssey in East Central Europe

Editors

Alastair Hamilton (University of London) Jan Loop (University of Kent)

Advisory Board

Thomas Burman (Tennessee) Charles Burnett (London) – Bernard Heyberger (Paris) Noel Malcolm (Oxford) – Jan Schmidt (Leiden) Francis Richard (Paris) – Arnoud Vrolijk (Leiden) Joanna Weinberg (Oxford)

VOLUME 2

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/hos iii A Seventeenth-Century Odyssey in East Central Europe

The Life of Jakab Harsányi Nagy

Gábor Kármán

LEIDEN | BOSTON iv

Cover illustration: “Ungarus” from an Ottoman costume book purchased by Claes Rålamb in 1657–1658. Kungliga Biblioteket (Stockholm)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Kármán, Gábor. Title: A seventeenth-century odyssey in East Central Europe : the life of Jakab Harsanyi Nagy / by Gábor Kármán. Description: Leiden : Brill, 2016. | Series: The history of Oriental studies, ISSN 2405-4488 ; volume 2 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015035475| ISBN 9789004294271 (hardback : acid-free paper) | ISBN 9789004306813 (e-book) Subjects: LCSH: Harsányi Nagy, Jakab, 1615-approximately 1677. | Asianists--Hungary--Biography. | Teachers--Romania--Transylvania--Biography. | Diplomats--Hungary--Biography. | Diplomats--Turkey--Istanbul--Biography. | Babıâli (Istanbul, Turkey)--History. | Secretaries--Moldavia--Biography. | Hungary--History--17th century--Biography. | Transylvania (Romania)--History--17th century--Biography. | Friedrich Wilhelm, Elector of Brandenburg, 1620-1688--Friends and associates. | Turkey--Study and teaching--History--17th century. Classification: LCC CT968.H377 K27 2016 | DDC 943.9/041092--dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc. gov/2015035475

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This book is printed on acid-free paper. ContentsContents v Contents

Acknowledgments vii List of Maps and Figures ix

Introduction 1

1 The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 8 Transylvania and Its Surroundings in the Mid-Seventeenth Century 10 Before Peregrination 13 Peregrination 22 Franeker and Leiden 23 Cambridge and Edinburgh 32 Experiences during Peregrination 40 The Puritan Rector? 45

2 In the Service of the Prince 54 The Office of the Turkish Scribe at the Sublime Porte 58 The Micro-Society of the Transylvanian Embassy in Constantinople 73 Living Conditions in Constantinople 88

3 Years of Turmoil 97 The Last Years in Transylvania 102 Hungary, Moravia, Muscovy 110 Stettin 122 Court Society under the Exiled Voievod 132

4 The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 145 In the Service of the Elector 150 The Colloquia Familiaria: Genre and Sources 158 The Afterlife of the Colloquia Familiaria 166 A Hungarian Emigrant in Berlin 174

5 The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 187 The Bureaucrat 191 The Intellectual 198 Harsányi, the Puritan? 211 vi Contents

6 Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 219 “A Turk” or “Various Turks”? 219 Elements of the Image 225 Greed: “The Emperor of this World is Money” 225 Treachery: “Turkish Friendship” 228 Discipline: “Where a Turkish Soldier Put His Feet, the Grass Grows no More” 230 Contents Contents v Acknowledgments vii Infidels: “But Our People Know the Right Path and the Orders of List of Maps and Figures ix Introduction 1 Chapter 1 8 God” 233 The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 8 Transylvania and its Surroundings in the Mid-Seventeenth Century 10 Before Peregrination 13 A Positive Image of the Turks and its Conclusions 237 Peregrination 22 Franeker and Leiden 23 Cambridge and Edinburgh 32 Experiences during Peregrination 40 What Made Harsányi’s Image of the Turks Change? 237 The Puritan Rector? 45 Chapter 2 54 In the Service of the Prince 54 Different Conclusions: The Legate and the Interpreter 241 The Office of the Turkish Scribe at the Sublime Porte 58 The Micro-Society of the Transylvanian Embassy in Constantinople 73 Living Conditions in Constantinople 88 Chapter 3 97 Harsányi’s Conclusions: A Plea for an Anti-Ottoman War 244 Years of Turmoil 97 The Last Years in Transylvania 102 Hungary, Moravia, Muscovy 110 Stettin 122 Court Society under the Exiled Voievod 132 Chapter 4 145 Instead of a Conclusion 252 The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 145 In the Service of the Elector 150 The Colloquia Familiaria: Genre and Sources 158 The Afterlife of the Colloquia Familiaria 166 A Hungarian Emigrant in Berlin 174 Chapter 5 187 The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 187 Appendix 1 Known Copies of the Colloquia 255 The Bureaucrat 191 The Intellectual 198 Harsányi, the Puritan? 211 Appendix 2 A Glossary of Place Names from the Eastern Half of Chapter 6 219 Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 219 “A Turk” or “Various Turks”? 219 Elements of the Image 225 Europe 259 Greed: “The Emperor of this World is Money” 225 Treachery: “Turkish Friendship” 228 Discipline: “Where a Turkish Soldier Put his Feet, the Grass Grows no More” 230 Bibliography 262 Infidels: “But Our People Know the Right Path and the Orders of God” 233 A Positive Image of the Turks and its Conclusions 237 What Made Harsányi’s Image of the Turks Change? 237 Index 311 Different Conclusions: The Legate and the Interpreter 241 Harsányi’s Conclusions: A Plea for an Anti-Ottoman War 244 Instead of a Conclusion 252 Appendix 1 255 Known Copies of the Colloquia 255 Appendix 2 259 A Glossary of Place Names from the Eastern Half of Europe 259 Bibliography 262 Index 311 AcknowledgmentsAcknowledgments vii Acknowledgments

This book, built upon my doctoral thesis, could not have come into being without the help of numerous people and institutions. I wish to acknowledge them here. In the first place I thank my supervisor, Katalin Péter for the unwavering support I enjoyed from her ever since I first mentioned the idea of this biography some fifteen years ago, still as a graduate student. The constructively critical comments I have received from her on the drafts of the chapters were just as important for my research as her enthusiasm about the often rather unexpected turns in Jakab Harsányi’s career which helped to keep my spirits high during the lengthy writing process. During the years of research I have enjoyed the financial support of three research institutions. Without the scholarship and various grants I was award- ed by the Central European University this work could have never been completed, and I owe special thanks to László Kontler, head of the Department of History during most of my studies, for all the support I received from him both institutionally and personally. Since the autumn of 2007 I have been able to work with the project “Ottoman Orient and East Central Europe” at the Geistes wissenschaftliches Zentrum Geschichte und Kultur Ostmitteleuropas in Leipzig. I am deeply indebted to the head of the project, Robert Born, for including my dissertation in the scholarly program of the project, tolerating my applications to visit manuscript collections in unexpected places, and also for always being ready to carry in his backpack the piles of books I needed from the Berlin libraries. Last but not least, it was my current employer, the Institute of History at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Research Center for the Hu- manities (Budapest) that supported me during the termination of this volume. During my first research trip to German archives I also enjoyed the financial support of Klebelsberg Kuno Foundation. Parts of the text had been read by Gábor Ágoston, Lovro Kunčević, Noel Malcolm, Graeme Murdock, Radu Păun, Gábor Papp, András Péter Szabó, Ist- ván M. Szijártó, Susan Zimmermann, and my colleagues at the doctoral seminar of CEU – I am grateful to them for all their comments as well as for the feedback I received at various workshops and conferences where I presented some of my findings. The linguistic and stylistic quality of the text owes much to the arduous work of Alastair Hamilton and Thomas Szerecz. My thanks go to all those who helped my writing process in all kinds of ways, including Meinolf Arens, Borbála Benda, Wendy Bracewell, Virginia Dillon, István Faze- kas, Ildikó Horn, Gáspár Katkó, Domagoj Madunić, Sarah McArthur, Teréz viii Acknowledgments

Oborni, Mária Pakucs-Willcocks, Manja Quakatz, Matthias Riedl, Teodora Daniela Sechel, Nataša Štefanec, Gerald J. Toomer, Maurits van den Boogert, Christoph Weilbach and Márton Zászkaliczky. I have received valuable help from the staff of the libraries and archives I have visited. I am especially grateful to the staff of the Teleki Téka (Biblioteca Teleki-Bolyai, Târgu Mureş) who sent me a copy of the Colloquia, and to Zsolt Simon, who arranged this for me. George Gömöri and Maxim Mordovin very generously shared with me their own copies of archival material otherwise unavailable to me. Many colleagues were helpful in tracking down the available copies of the Colloquia (see their names in Appendix I), and I could always count on the assistance of my former colleagues Maria Falina and Nedim Zahirović with texts in Russian and Turkish. I strongly hope that Mama and Kati will also like this book after having had to share so much of their time with Jakab Harsányi Nagy. List of MapsList ofand Maps Figures and Figures ix List of Maps and Figures

Maps

1 Europe in the mid-seventeenth century 24 2 Transylvania under the rule of György Rákóczi II 104 3 Northeastern Europe in the second half of the seventeenth century 120

Figures

1.1 Leiden university (1625) 31 1.2 Nagyvárad in the late sixteenth century 51 2.1 The Venetian embassy in Constantinople in the mid-seventeenth century 79 3.1 The fortress of the Seven Towers in the seventeenth century 99 3.2 Stettin castle in the mid-seventeenth century 134 3.3 A page of the Colloquia 160 3.4 Berlin and Cölln an der Spree in the mid-seventeenth century 177 x List Of Maps And Figures IntroductionIntroduction 1 Introduction

Visiting student at Western European universities; rector of the distinguished College of Nagyvárad, accused of Puritan sympathies; scribe at the Greater Chancellery of the Principality of Transylvania; interpreter and diplomat at the Transylvanian embassy in Constantinople; captive in the dreaded fortress of the Seven Towers; counsellor of a Wallachian voievod; secretary of an exiled voievod of Moldavia, his representative at the Diet of Hungary and a member of the retinue during his journey to Muscovy; diplomat at the court of the Crown of Sweden; court councillor of the Elector of Brandenburg and pro- moter of the Hungarian students in Berlin; author of the only early modern treatise on the Ottomans written by a Hungarian – so many roles, widely spread socially, professionally, and geographically, seem surely too much to be included in a single person’s lifetime, even in the troubled years of the seventeenth century. And yet, this list of occupations belonged to one historical character, Jakab Harsányi Nagy. The exceptional versatility of his career makes him an intriguing object of a biography. Yet it is not only his many adventures that are appealing, but, with his multiple careers and the various milieus he frequented, he also provides the opportunity for a historical survey. Biographies of people from the second or third tier of social elites (or entirely outside the elite) have always been useful tools for learning about the history of more than just one person. The relatively smaller influence of these people on the course of “Grand History” renders it possible to see how they fit into the world of their contemporaries – instead of towering over them, as in the case of the classic biographies of the Great (almost always) Men. The extraordinary career of Harsányi enables us to multiply this approach and, with the help of conclusions drawn from the last few decades of writing microhistory, to reach a deeper insight into various spheres of Central European social environments in the seventeenth century, Context, as pointed out by Giovanni Levi, one of the leading promoters of the Italian school of microstoria, has a double function in a biography.1 First, it serves to clarify the reasons for the protagonist’s activities, which might otherwise seem unintelligible to modern historians, and helps to avoid

1 Giovanni Levi, “Les usages de la biographie,” Annales ESC 44 (1989): 1325–1337. See also the methodological considerations about biography as an alternative to “historische Sozialwissen schaft”: Andreas Gestrich, “Einleitung: Sozialhistorische Biographieforschung,” in Biographie – sozialgeschichtlich, ed. Andreas Gestrich, Peter Knoch, and Helga Merkel (Göttingen, 1988), 5–28.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_002 2 Introduction misunderstandings. Through the contrast of the case of the individual with that of other contemporaries, the relevance of his individual solutions becomes clearer.2 Second, context can help fill in the gaps left by the lack of sources. If no sources exist for a certain period of the protagonist’s life, suggestions can be offered by reference to his contemporaries. Even though some historians call attention to the idea that early modern biographies, much more than modern ones, show such a high level of dissimilarity that it makes it almost impossible to talk about an “average, representative career,” this should not deter the historian from making use of this second function of context.3 Besides, an awareness of the relativity of this approach can help one to avoid the pitfalls of this method, that is, the risk that, through an extensive reliance on context, the individuality of the protagonist might fade away. At the same time, as Levi points out, context need not be rigid, schematic, and unchanging. Assuming a dynamic relationship between individuals and their context renders it possible to study how our protagonist tested the limits provided by his social environment and contributed to their reshaping. The study of exceptional cases – and Harsányi’s is certainly one of them – is very useful in pointing out not only individual solutions to the problems surrounding historical actors, but also in defining the limits of action provided by the context, and showing which limits could be transgressed and which ones proved inviolable. When these people, such as Menocchio, a sixteenth-century miller from Friuli, who created his own worldview through his somewhat individual interpretation of what he read,4 come under the investigation of the historian, they present examples of what the most extreme possibility of activities were in their own society. When testing the limits offered by their context, they were also reshaping it. The case of Jakab Harsányi Nagy, with his great ambitions and frequent conflicts during his years in various services, provides an ample opportunity for this kind of inquiry. Besides, his biography also

2 A famous example of this function is The Return of Martin Guerre by Natalie Zemon Davis, where the author has to discuss the elements of identity in sixteenth-century rural France in order to understand how it was possible for somebody to play the role of another person for years while continuing to be accepted by the community. Natalie Zemon Davis, The Return of Martin Guerre (Cambridge, MA, 1983). 3 Arthur E. Imhof, Die verlorenen Welten: Alltagsbewältigung durch unsere Vorfahren – und wes halb wir uns heute so schwer damit tun (Munich, 1985). The author reached the conclusion through prosopographic methods in historical demography. Each case that he reconstructed had such individual features that generalization and averaging were meaningless, since none of the peasants he studied lived a life that would have at least been close to the average. 4 Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth-Century Miller (London, 1980). Introduction 3 affords some insight into micro-societies that have so far remained largely unstudied, such as the Transylvanian embassy in Constantinople or the courts of Moldavian rulers in exile. Connected to the problem of missing documentation and methods of filling in the gap is the other most important development in the writing of biography that took place in the last decades. Poststructuralist theories and developments in the methodology of interpreting life-narratives – primarily transmitted to historiography by feminist authors – called the historians’ attention to the constructed and dynamic character of the self.5 Avoiding the “biographic illusion,” that is, the presupposition of a ready-made, stable, and consistent core of the personality which can be used to interpret the individual’s entire career, came to be seen as one of the most important tasks of a biographer. There has consequently been a growing interest in the analysis of the self-understanding and self-representation of historical agents, also seen as a dynamic process, with special attention to its changing elements and emphases. The usual way of approaching this topic is through ego-documents, such writings of individuals from which the historian can derive information about their thoughts, physical or spiritual development, and changes in self-representation.6 In most instances diaries, memoirs, and family correspondence are used – none of which is available in Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s case. However, alternative sources have also been used as ego-documents. Both types that survive in Harsányi’s hand – diplomatic reports as well as petitions – have already proved their usefulness for the purpose of such surveys.7 On the other hand, the theoretical approaches of poststructuralism also contributed to a stylistic change. Historians who have written biographies, and

5 The impact of the Annales’ social history and poststructuralist theory are highlighted as dominant influences on recent biography writing by A. Lloyd Moote, “New Bottles and New Wine: The Current State of Early Modern Biographical Writing,” French Historical Studies 19 (1996): 911–927. See also Gestrich, “Einleitung,” 14–18. 6 Benigna von Krusenstjern, “Was sind Selbstzeugnisse? Begriffskritische und quellenkundliche Überlegungen anhand von Beispielen aus dem 17. Jahrhundert,” Historische Anthropologie 2 (1994): 462–471. 7 Otto Ulbicht, “Supplikationen als Ego-Dokumente: Bittschriften von Leibeigenen aus der ersten Hälfte des 17. Jahrhunderts als Beispiel,” in Ego-Dokumente: Annäherung an den Menschen in der Geschichte, ed. Winfried Schultze (Berlin, 1996), 149–174; Sven Externbrink, “Das Selbstporträt eines Diplomaten im 17. Jahrhundert: Giustiniano Priandis Memorandum für Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin aus dem Jahre 1644,” in Formen internationalen Beziehungen in der Frühen Neuzeit: Frankreich und das Alte Reich im europäischen Staatensystem: Festschrift für Klaus Malettke zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Sven Externbrink and Jörg Ulbert (Berlin, 2001), 227–243. 4 Introduction who have traditionally tried to hide behind the authoritative voice of the neu- tral storyteller, were successively allowed to come forward and gain an authorial voice of their own. The historiographic commonplace that the personality of the historian has just as much of an impact on the biography as that of the protagonist has thus become increasingly prominent in the text. This does not necessarily have to lead to the solution – which was nevertheless attempted by some – where the author personally appears on the pages of the biography. The discussions around The Return of Martin Guerre by Natalie Zemon Davis aptly demonstrate the range of conclusions to be drawn from this historio- graphical change. In her book she claimed that “what I offer you here is in part my invention, but held tightly in check by the voices of the past.”8 Provocative as “invention” sounds, it is also misleading. As the later debate in the pages of The American Historical Review made clear, this does not mean that the historian has the right to force the interpretation created by her own fantasy on the source material. Instead, when the source material does not give a clear answer, she has the right to invent her own interpretation, which has to be not only self- consistent, but also consistent with the existing sources.9 As Carlo Ginzburg put it, the main distinction in the research and narrative of Davis is not cen- tered around the categories of “true” and “invented,” but around “truths” and “possibilities,” which are nevertheless always clearly segregated.10 Or, as Nina Rattner Gelbart said: if the historian lacks the sources, she is obliged to think out loud on paper, “ask questions and guess.” This would then obviously be her guess. Nevertheless, it cannot be a free guess, but has to be “a very informed kind of wondering.”11 The surviving sources for Harsányi’s career also leave some open questions, but when writing the biography I have seen it as my task not to stop before at least attempting to find an answer to them with an extensive use of contexts, even if many of these answers remain in a conditional mode. Scholarly literature so far has devoted little attention to Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s person. It was mainly for two reasons that he gained some fame in spe- cialist circles. Hungarian historians have mentioned him frequently in

8 Davis, The Return of Martin Guerre, 5. 9 Robert Finlay, “The Refashioning of Martin Guerre,” American Historical Review 93 (June 1988): 553–571; and Natalie Zemon Davis, “On the Lame,” ibid., 572–603. 10 Carlo Ginzburg, “Proofs and Possibilities: In the Margins of Natalie Zemon Davis’ The Return of Martin Guerre,” Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature 37 (1988): 114– 127. 11 Nina Rattner Gelbart, “The Monarchy’s Midwife Who Left No Memoirs,” French Historical Studies 19 (1996): 1014–1015. Introduction 5 connection with the mid-seventeenth-century Hungarian Puritan movement, since he was generally regarded as a member of the group of men who, after returning from their studies at western universities, propagated reform in church administration and liturgy in their home country.12 Among scholars of seventeenth-century Ottoman Studies, however, Harsányi is known for an entirely different reason: the bilingual (Latin and Ottoman Turkish) treatise he composed about the state of the Ottoman Empire, published under the title Colloquia Familiaria Turcico-Latina in 1672.13 This book gained fame above all after a modern edition by György Hazai was published in 1973.14 Hazai, a Hungarian Turcologist, provided a linguistic analysis of the Turkish text of Harsányi’s book. Nevertheless, despite the keen interest of Ottomanists in the work, a historical interpretation of the text has not yet been attempted.15 The complex biography of Jakab Harsányi Nagy, moreover, has raised very little interest among historians so far. In most cases he is introduced in

12 See for instance: Jenő Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak a magyar református egyházban [Puritan movements in the Hungarian Reformed Church] (Budapest, 1911), 144; László Makkai, A magyar puritánusok harca a feudálizmus ellen [The struggle of Hungarian Puri- tans against feudalism] (Budapest, 1952), 115; Ágnes R. Várkonyi, Erdélyi változások: Az erdélyi fejedelemség a török kiűzésének korában 1660–1711 [Changes in Transylvania: The Principality of Transylvania in the age of the expulsion of the Turks from Hungary 1660– 1711] (Budapest, 1984), 271. 13 Jakab Harsányi Nagy, Colloquia Familiaria Turcico Latina seu Status Turcicus Loquens (Cölln an der Spree, 1672) (in the following: Colloquia). 14 György Hazai, Das osmanisch-türkische im XVII. Jahrhundert: Untersuchungen an den Transkriptionstexten von Jakab Nagy de Harsány (Budapest, 1973), 15–19. It seems that even in the linguistic field, the last word has not said been about Harsányi’s oeuvre; see the review of András J.E. Bodrogligeti, International Journal of Middle East Studies 8, no. 2 (1977): 251–265. 15 For the appreciation of the Colloquia in Ottomanist circles we have two examples. Bernt Brendemoen refers to the “famous Colloquia” of Harsányi in his “Some Remarks on Claes Brodersson Rålamb and His Contemporaries,” in Turcica et Orientalia: Studies in Honour of Gunnar Jarring on His Eightieth Birthday 12 October 1987, ed. Ulla Ehrensvärd (Stockholm, 1987), 15, fn. 14. Cemal Kafadar is even more explicit in the assessment of the Colloquia: “the book that Harsany later penned on the Ottoman empire can easily be characterized as one of the most knowledgeable and perceptive works ever written on the subject in early modern Europe. It reflects not only the rigorous humanist education of its author but also the extraordinarily nuanced perspective that a Hungarian could have on the Ottoman world, partitioned and squeezed as his political space was between competing imperialisms, of which the Ottomans represented only one”; Cemal Kafadar, “The City That Rålamb Visited: The Political and Cultural Climate of Istanbul in the 1650s,” in The Sultan’s Procession: The Swedish Embassy to Sultan Mehmed IV in 1657–1658 and the Rålamb Paintings, ed. Karin Ådahl (Istanbul, 2006), 61–62. 6 Introduction footnotes and entries in reference books, with short and unreliable summaries of his life. Even in the introduction to the modern edition of the Colloquia György Hazai provided a somewhat fallacious and fragmentary account.16 The longest existing biographical survey on Harsányi is János Herepei’s ten-page summary in his work on the teachers at Nagyvárad College in the mid-seventeenth century.17 Despite his errors Herepei made important contributions to Harsányi’s life story, especially concerning the years he spent in Transylvania. However, given the reference-like character of the volume, this article could obviously not claim to engage in much analysis or understanding of the career in its contextual relevance. This meager earlier scholarly interest in Harsányi’s biography is all the more remarkable since a considerable amount of the sources, the correspondence from his years in Constantinople, has been available in printed form since the late nineteenth century. The source editions published by Sándor Szilágyi concerning the foreign policy of György Rákóczi II contain no fewer than sixty letters that bear Harsányi’s signature.18 Szilágyi and his collaborators performed their task thoroughly, and my own consultation of the Rákóczi family archives in the Hungarian State Archives (Magyar Országos Levéltár) produced no further findings.19 However, from other minor collections in the same

16 Hazai, Das Osmanisch-Türkische, 15–19. His information has been assimilated by other scholars such as Ion Matei, “Contributions aux débuts des études de turcologie en Rou- maine, XVIe-XVIIIe siècles,” Revue des Études Sud-Est Européennes 26 (1988): 103. Some even duplicated the already existing mistakes, such as Klaus Kreiser, who, basing himself on unknown sources, claimed that Harsányi was a commercial correspondent in Berlin, and from 1676, consul (of a power not mentioned by the author) in Brandenburg; see his “Gefangene, Pilger und Kaufleute: Die Transkriptionstexte des späten Mittelalters und der Neuzeit,” in Germano-Turcica: Zur Geschichte des Türkisch-Lernens in den deutschsprachigen Ländern, ed. Klaus Kreiser (Bamberg, 1987), 21–22. 17 János Herepei: “Adatok a Rákócziak váradi kollégiumának történetéhez” [Data concerning the history of the college of the Rákóczis in Nagyvárad], in Adattár XVII. századi szellemi mozgalmaink történetéhez, vol. 2, Apáczai és kortársai: Herepei János cikkei, ed. Bálint Keserű (Budapest and Szeged, 1966), 52–63. 18 Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Okmánytár II. Rákóczy György diplomáciai összeköttetéseihez [Docu- ments on the diplomatic connections of György Rákóczi II], Monumenta Hungariae Historica. Ser. I. Diplomataria, no. 23 (Budapest, 1874) (in the following: MHHD XXIII); Sándor Szilágyi, “Levelek és okiratok II. Rákóczy György fejedelem diplomacziai össze- köttetései történetéhez” [Letters and documents on the history of the diplomatic connections of György Rákóczi II], in Történelmi Tár 1889 (in the following: TT 1889); Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Erdély és az északkeleti háború [Transylvania and the Great Northern War] (Budapest, 1890–91) (in the following: EÉKH I/II). 19 Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Országos Levéltára (in the following: MNL OL), Magyar Kamara Archívuma E 190 Archivum familiae Rákóczi 43–44. d. A further surviving letter from Introduction 7 archives (and with the help of some colleagues who were aware of my interest) I managed to recover three further documents signed by Jakab Harsányi Nagy. For the later period of his career I was able to find eight letters he wrote to Swedish aristocrats at the Riksarkivet in Stockholm, fifteen letters to Frederick William, Elector of Brandenburg, and his Privy Councillors at the Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz in Berlin-Dahlem, and one more in the Sächsische Landesbibliothek – Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek in Dresden; together with numerous sources that shed new light on his environment. On the basis of these – with the addition of the widest possible contextual evidence – the writing of Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s biography at last became feasible. Before ending my introduction I must raise some technical questions – first of all the name of the protagonist. Even though we find the Latin version of his name, Jacobus Nagy de Harsany on the title-page of the Colloquia, he used this form very rarely. In his international correspondence he used the Hungarian form, Harsányi Nagy Jakab, or, still more frequently, its abbreviated version, Harsányi Jakab, or a Latinized one, Jacobus Harsányi. I therefore also decided to use the Hungarian form throughout the book, even if – due to György Hazai’s decision in the modern edition of the Colloquia – his name is better known in Ottomanist scholarship in the Latin version. For the problem of place names in Eastern Europe – always an individual and questionable decision to make – I opted for only one version in the text and for giving all relevant variants in other languages in the appendix. I use the dating of the Gregorian calendar in the main text – which was already in use in Transylvania in our period, but not in Sweden or Brandenburg – and place in brackets in the footnotes the dates of those letters which originally used the Julian calendar.20

Harsányi’s years in Constantinople, which was not published in the nineteenth century, was preserved in the personal collection of Szilágyi, now available at the University Library of Budapest (ELTE Egyetemi Könyvtár), and was published by Edit Izsépy in II. Rákóczi György levelezéséből 1646–1660 [From the correspondence of György Rákóczi II, 1646–1660] (Budapest, 1992), 46–49 (in the following: BUBFS VIII). 20 The findings of book have been presented in a Hungarian edition in 2013, the text of which was altered somewhat during the work on this English version. Some sections have been omitted, others added for clarification. An abridged version of Chapter Six has been published in the proceedings of a conference. See Gábor Kármán, Egy közép-európai odüsszeia a 17. században: Harsányi Nagy Jakab élete (Budapest, 2013); “Turks Reconsid- ered: Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s Changing Image of the Ottoman,” in Well-Connected Domains: Towards an Entangled Ottoman History, ed. Pascal W. Firges, Tobias P. Graf, Christian Roth, and Gülay Tulaşoğlu (Leiden and Boston, 2014), 110–130. 8 Chapter 1

Chapter 1 The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career

We know of more than 2,854 names of young Transylvanian men who spent some time at Western European universities between 1521 and 1700.1 The only information we have about most of them is the date of their enrollment, and even in the cases where we have some knowledge of their later careers, the only information at our disposal about their university years is given by the dry entries in the university matricula. There are few traces left of their studies, living conditions, and experiences abroad. Most of the letters they sent home have been lost, and the diaries they kept during their journeys and their alba – in which the scholars and fellow students they met during their peregrination were requested to write wise gnomae and sentences – have been largely destroyed. The case of Jakab Harsányi Nagy is not very different from that of the contemporary, non-aristocratic students visiting foreign universities. From the first thirty years of his life we have a minimal amount of contemporary information related to him, and no ego-documents whatsoever. Apart from three entries in university registers our knowledge about his visit to universities can only be distilled from later book dedications, memoirs, and indirect evidence. We know for sure that Jakab Harsányi enrolled at the University of Franeker on 19 June 1640, and later, on 21 July of the same year, at the University of Leiden, where he matriculated once again on 6 October 1642.2 Yet even the report that

1 Miklós Szabó and Sándor Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása a korai újkorban 1521–1700 [Transylvanians visiting universities in the early modern era, 1521–1700] (Szeged, 1992). This register is, obviously, incomplete: it mirrors the state of historiography in 1992. Nor did the authors clearly define what they understood by the term “young Transylvanian man,” as the list also includes those people who arrived from the territory of the Kingdom of Hungary, but with a Transylvanian patron, with the consequence that, after their return, they held ecclesiastical offices in the Principality; see the footnote of András Péter Szabó, “Haller Gábor per- egrinációja” [The peregrination of Gábor Haller], Kút 3, nos. 3–4 (2004): 20, fn. 118. 2 “Jacobus Harzani, Ungarus, theol,” entry on 19 June 1640: Mr. S.J. Fockema Andreae and Drs. Th. J. Meĳer, eds., Album studiosorum Academiae Franekeriensis (1585–1811, 1816–1844), vol. 1, Naamlĳst der Studenten [Name list of the students] (Franeker, 1968), 117 (in the following: ASAF I). “Jacobus N. Harsanyinus Ungarus. 26, T.,” entry on 21 July 1640, and “Jacobus Horsani Transylvanus. 27, T.,” entry on 6 October 1642: Album studiosorum Academiae Lugduno Batavae MDLXXV–MDCCCLXXV, accedunt nomina curatorum et professorum per eadem secula (The Hague, 1875), vol. 1, 315, resp. 335 (in the following: ASALB). See also: Árpád Hellebrant, “A

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_003 The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 9 he visited England and Scotland in the company of Pál Tarczali comes not from a university matriculation, but from a later reference.3 After his return to Hungary he taught at the college of Nagyvárad,4 where he was reprimanded in 1646 by the national synod of the Reformed Church in Szatmárnémeti.5 Fortunately, we do not have to content ourselves with this rather sterile list. Taking into consideration secondary information about the circumstances of the places visited and the experiences of other contemporary university students, some hypotheses can be constructed about Harsányi’s years in academia, his living conditions, and the motivations for his decisions. Although there were hardly any standardized apprenticeships for those young men in the seventeenth-century who, after visiting Western European universities, planned to spend their lives in the service of the church, some common features can nevertheless be perceived in contemporary sources.

franekeri egyetemen tanúlt magyarok” [Hungarians who studied at the University of Franeker], in Történelmi Tár 1886, 605 (in the following TT 1886); resp. Friedrich Teutsch, “Die Studierenden aus Ungarn und Siebenbürgen an der Universität Leyden 1575–1875,” Archiv des Vereins für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde n.s. 16 (1880): 210 (in the following AVSL XVI). 3 Pál Tarczali’s son (under the same name) dedicated his dissertation in 1672 among others to Harsányi, with the following words: “generoso ac vere nobili viro D.D. Jacobo Harsanyi Ung. Quondam studiorum gratia in Germania, Anglia, et Scotia, unacum meo Parente peregrinanti; nunc vero Serenissimi Ducis Brandenburgici, etc. S.R. Imperii Electoris, Consiliario intimo, Domino, benevolo plurimum honorando.” Pál Tarczali, Brevis dissertatio de vocatione gentium et conversione Judaeorum... (Oxford, 1672). 4 His position as a teacher in the Nagyvárad college is attested by the dedication of two disputations, written by Hungarian students in the University of Utrecht: “D. Jacobo Harsanyi, D. Johanni Szeoleosi, in Celeberrima Schola Varadiensi Praeceptoribus diligentissimis, & ad- modum honorandis,” Mihály Tofaeus, Quaestio historico-theologica de Translatione Imperii a Grecis ad Francos (Utrecht, 1647); and “D. Iacobo Harsanyi, D. Iohanni H. Szolosi, In Schola Illustri Varadina, Praeceptoribus assiduis amore & favore singulari mihi devinctis.” Péter Szatmári Baka, Disputationum Theologicarum de signis. Pars VI. (Utrecht, 1648). 5 “Jacobo Harsani conceditur ut in scholis, vocatus, doceat, hoc modo tamen, ut chirographo suo seu reversali obliget se, deinceps pastoribus ecclesiarum et senioribus, in omnibus hon- estis rebus obtemperaturum et obtrectationibus valedicturum, neque quiquam innovaturum contra disciplinam ecclesiasticam et ritus ecclesiae antiquitus receptas; si vero aliquid at- tentaverit ab ecclesia abscindatur.” Imre Révész, “A szatmár-németi zsinat végzései, eddig ösmeretlen eredeti szerkezetökben” [The decisions of the synod of Szatmárnémeti, in a form unknown so far], Sárospataki Füzetek 4 (1860): 245 (in the following SF IV). 10 Chapter 1

Transylvania and its Surroundings in the Mid-Seventeenth Century

The context for the first half of Harsányi’s life is provided by the Principality of Transylvania and Eastern Hungary; and in order to understand his career choices and decisions, we must chart the most important characteristics of the rulership, as well as the social and ecclesiastical composition of the region. Transylvania was a successor state of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary which collapsed in the mid-sixteenth century. Following the battle of Mohács in 1526, where King Louis II perished, the Hungarian estates elected two parallel kings, one from the Habsburg dynasty, and another from the local family of the Szapolyais. In the following years of turmoil it turned out that the latter could not survive without asking for the protection of the sultan – and up until the 1570s his territories, an “eastern Hungarian kingdom”, turned into the Ottoman tributary state of Transylvania.6 The new country was a conglomerate of the medieval voivodate of Transyl vania (which had enjoyed some autonomy inside Hungary) and the adjoining eastern counties of the kingdom. The title of the ruler continued to express the double character of this political entity: he was Princeps Transylvaniae as well as dominus Partium Regni Hungariae, that is, lord over parts of the Kingdom of Hungary. In Hungarian the latter territories bear to this day the grammatically somewhat perplexing name “Partium”. By the mid-seventeenth century the political adherence of the region to the Kingdom of Hungary became more and more fictitious as the counties were integrated into the Principality’s administration: it is symptomatic that their deputies should have attended the Transylvanian diets instead of the Hungarian ones. They thus became part of one of the three “political nations” of the principality: the Transylvanian diet consisted of the representatives of three different administrative regions, the Hungarian noble counties, the Saxon lands with their wide autonomies and the Szekler lands with a Hungarian-speaking population, who also enjoyed ever shrinking privileges as a semi-military society on the country’s southeast-

6 For an overview on the principality’s first century of existence, see Gábor Barta, “The First Period of the Principality of Transylvania (1526–1606),” in History of Transylvania, vol. 1, From the Beginnings to 1606, ed. László Makkai and András Mócsy (Boulder, CO, 2002), 593–770; Katalin Péter, “The Golden Age of the Principality (1606–1660),” in History of Transylvania, vol. 2, From 1606 to 1830, ed. László Makkai and Zoltán Szász (Boulder, CO, 2002), 3–229; Géza Pálffy, The Kingdom of Hungary and the Habsburg Monarchy in the Sixteenth Century (Boulder, CO, 2010); Teréz Oborni, “The Country Nobody Wanted: Some Aspects of the History of Transilvanian Principality,” Specimina Nova: Sectio medievalis 2 (2003): 101–107. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 11 ern borders.7 Since a political nation was not based on ethnicity, but rather on legal status, the relatively large Romanian population never constituted an estate of its own. Many people of Romanian origin were integrated in the nobility, but within a few generations this entailed the loss of their ethnic (and denominational) identity. The religious character of the country was no less versatile than the ethnic composition of its inhabitants. During the 1550s and 1560s Transylvania was regarded as one of the havens for the promoters of the Radical Reformation, and the influence of the Antitrinitarian nobility was palpable on the policies of Prince János Zsigmond Szapolyai, who also accepted their theological direction. After many defeats the Catholic Church survived above all thanks to the activities of the princes from the Báthory family in the 1570s and 1580s. It was they who arranged that the legislation concerning the free choice of religion, codified several times during the 1560s, eventually included four denominations: Catholicism, Lutheranism (practiced in the Saxon lands), Calvinism and Antitrinitarianism. This agreement remained in force until the fall of the autonomous principality in the 1690s. At their inauguration princes took an oath to respect the rights of the four accepted (“receptae”) faiths – even if, during the seventeenth century, the Calvinist princes created a privileged position for their own church and exerted a considerable amount of pressure on the others, especially the Catholics and Antitrinitarians. The Greek Orthodoxy of the Romanian population did not enjoy a similarly privileged status, but its practice was also tolerated.8 As an Ottoman tributary state, Transylvania was bound to deliver a tribute to the Sublime Porte each year, and had to respond to the requests of various sultans for military aid – usually providing provisions and forage for Ottoman campaigns. Although the prince was elected by the local diet, his rule was not legitimate until he received the sultan’s approval. On the other hand, no

7 Katalin Péter, “Az erdélyi országgyűlés a kora újkori magyar fejlődésben” [The Diet of Transylvania in the development of early modern Hungary], in Kálmán Benda and Katalin Péter, Az országgyűlések a kora újkori magyar történelemben (Budapest, 1987), 13–23; Tatyana Gusarova, “A 17. századi magyar országgyűlések résztvevői” [Participants of the 17th-century Hungarian diets], Levéltári Közlemények 74, no. 2 (2005): 93–148. 8 With further literature, see: Graeme Murdock, Calvinism on the Frontier: International Calvi nism and the Reformed Church in Hungary and Transylvania (Oxford, 2000); István Keul, Early Modern Religious Communities in East-Central Europe: Ethnic Diversity, Denominational Plurality, and Corporative Politics in the Principality of Transylvania (1526–1691) (Leiden and Boston, 2009). On the legislation concerning religious plurality, see recently Mihály Balázs, “Tolerant Country – Misunderstood Laws: Interpreting Sixteenth-Century Transylvanian Legislation Concerning Religion,” The Hungarian Historical Review 2, no. 1 (2013): 85–108. 12 Chapter 1

Ottoman troops were permanently stationed in the principality, nor was there any influx of a Muslim population. The foreign policy of the princes was theoretically supervised by the sultan, but in the first half of the seventeenth century Transylvanian rulers managed to secure a relatively wide space for manoeuvring and played a fairly successful part in European conflicts such as the Thirty Years War.9 The tributary status of Transylvania was in any case far less burdensome than that of its neighbours. The Voievodates of Moldavia and Wallachia had higher sums to pay and more commodities to supply, while the failure to satisfy consecutive Ottoman demands frequently led to the deposition of the voievods in the seventeenth century.10 In spite of being part of the Ottoman sphere of interest – according to the Ottoman interpretation, a part of the empire – the principality was connected to Hungary through many threads. The Habsburg kings of Hungary never entirely gave up their claim to rulership and until the 1620s even managed to force princes to acknowledge their subordination in various treaties. Never theless, their influence upon the actual affairs of the country remained largely fictitious. The seventeenth-century princes, on the other hand, developed a keen interest in the political developments in the Kingdom of Hungary and became proponents of a Protestant, anti-Habsburg agenda. István Bocskai (1605–1606) and Gábor Bethlen (1613–1629) were both elected (although never crowned) as rulers of Hungary. The interconnection of Hungarian and Transylvanian affairs gained a new dimension after 1630, when members of the Rákóczi family came to the throne. György Rákóczi I (1630–1648) was one of the wealthiest aristocrats of Upper Hungary (the eastern part of today’s Northern Hungary and Slovakia), and the new prince continued to have large estates in the territories under the rule of the Habsburg king of Hungary. On the other hand, as a result of his successful campaign in 1644–1645, the prince acquired the easternmost seven Hungarian counties in the Peace of Linz (1645). Two of these, Szabolcs and Szatmár, remained under the family’s rule even after the death of György Rákóczi I. His son and successor, György Rákóczi II (1648–1657/1660) consequently also ruled over a small territory that was not

9 Apart from the titles cited in footnote 6, see also Sándor Papp, “The System of Autono- mous Muslim and Christian Communities, Churches, and States in the Ottoman Empire,” in The European Tributary States of the Ottoman Empire in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Gábor Kármán and Lovro Kunčević (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013), 404– 412. 10 Viorel Panaite, The Ottoman Law of War and Peace: The Ottoman Empire and Tribute Payers (Boulder, CO, 2000); Radu G. Păun, “La circulation des pouvoirs dans les Pays Roumains au XVIIe siècle: Repères pour un modèle theorique,” New Europe College Yearbook 1998–1999 (Bucharest, 1999), 265–310; Papp, “The System,” 399–404. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 13 part of the Principality of Transylvania and thus not even theroretically part of the Ottoman Empire. These two counties were going to play an important part during the crisis of the late 1650s and thus also in Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s life story.11

Before Peregrination

As with many of his contemporaries, even the name of Jakab Harsányi Nagy provides a riddle for posterity. In early modern practice it was usually only one of the dual last names that would be considered a surname. Names derived from places (“Harsányi” means “from Harsány”) usually designate a place of origin, in other words where the person was born or at least started his adult life.12 There are cases, however, from the seventeenth century when the desig- nation “Nagy” (“Great”) is not the family name, but rather a cognomen used to differentiate between generations in a single family. The situation is even more confusing since most contemporary sources only refer to Jakab Harsányi Nagy with the first part of his double last name. Only one of the three matriculation entries includes “Nagy,” and even in that case in an abbreviated form. Nevertheless, in Harsányi’s case it is not too difficult to deduce his name. The cognomen “Nagy” is only received when someone already has descendants from whom to distinguish himself. In Harsányi’s case this is unlikely to have happened since, as far as we know, he never had children, and the first appearance of “Nagy” in his name would be too early for such a cognomen. Moreover, many examples from his Brandenburg period – among them, the title page of the Colloquia – show that Harsányi consistently referred to himself as “Jacobus

11 Apart from the works cited in footnote 6, see also Gerald Volkmer, Das Fürstentum Sieben- bürgen: Aussenpolitik und völkerrechtliche Stellung (Kronstadt and Heidelberg, 2002); Teréz Oborni, “Between Vienna and Constantinople: Notes on the Legal Status of the Principality of Transylvania,” in The European Tributary States of the Ottoman Empire in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Gábor Kármán and Lovro Kunčević (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013), 67–89; Gábor Kármán, “The Hardship of Being an Ottoman Tribu- tary: Transylvania at the Peace Congress of Westphalia,” in Frieden und Konfliktmanage- ment in interkulturellen Räumen: Das Osmanische Reich und die Habsburgermonarchie in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Arno Strohmeyer and Norbert Spannenberger (Stuttgart, 2013), 163–183. 12 The latter reservation is important because of people like Mihály Székelyhídi Tofaeus, whose family, according to János Herepei, must have moved from the village Tófő (in Baranya) or Tófej (in Zala) to the fairly distant Székelyhíd when Mihály was already born, see Herepei: “Adatok,” 75–79. 14 Chapter 1

Nagy de Harsány,” which is again an argument in favour of identifying Harsány as the place of his origin and Nagy as his family name.13 In order to establish the year of Harsányi’s birth, we have to turn to the university registers. Confusingly enough, the register compiled in the summer of 1640 states that he is twenty-six years old, while in October 1642 he is still recorded as being twenty-seven. But this problem can be solved by assuming that the first record refers to him being in his twenty-sixth year, while the second shows that he had already turned twenty-seven. Thus the year of his birth can be pinpointed to 1615.14 The place of his birth is not supplied by any source, yet János Herepei is most likely correct when he claims that Harsányi was born in the Partium region.15 The identification of the Partium as Harsányi’s birthplace is further strengthened by his claims in the foreword of the Colloquia. He wrote that he lost his goods as well as his paternal house through the Ottoman conquests of the late 1650s and that this occurred in the Partium territories in the western and south-western parts of the Principality which were affected by the Ottoman conquest.16 If we take the “Harsányi” from his last name to designate his place of origin, we can also accept Herepei’s identification of his birthplace in the Harsány of Bihar County.17 The first buildings of the settlement known today

13 See, with similar arguments: Herepei, “Adatok,” 52. 14 Although he also uses the data of the university registers, János Herepei does not discuss the problem posed by them, and gives 1614 as Harsányi’s year of birth; see Herepei, “Ada- tok,” 52. We cannot, however, exclude the possibility that Harsányi himself, like his contemporary János Rozgonyi Varga, had no clear idea about the date of his birth; see Sándor Tonk, “Rozgonyi Varga János önéletírása” [The autobiography of János Rozgonyi Varga], Lymbus 4 (1992): 143–167. 15 Herepei, “Adatok,” 52–53. Herepei argues for a place of origin in the Partium with a reference to the fact that Harsányi is described sometimes as “Ungarus,” and sometimes as “Transylvanus,” in the university registers. This uncertainty may, however, have a cause other than the border position of the place of origin: János Apáczai Csere, who was a Szekler and came from the territory of Transylvania proper, was also entered in the matricula of Franeker as “Ungarus”; see AVSL XVI, 212. 16 The Colloquia is known in two versions, the description of his escape from Transylvania can be found in both, although in different forms: “per barbarorum tyrannidem, omnibus bonis, mediisque vivendi orbatum” (version A, dedication, 3), and “relictis in manu hostis penatibus patriis” (version B, dedication, 2). 17 Herepei, “Adatok,” 52–53. Some Romanian historians claimed that Harsányi was a Roma- nian from Transylvania; Nicolae Iorga – who gave the “original” Romanian form of his name as “din Hârşani” – even suggested that he was a boyar from the Fogaras region. It is not clear, however, on what they based their claim – they most probably assumed that going into exile with Gheorghe Ştefan was only possible for a Transylvanian Romanian. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 15 under the name Körösnagyharsány, situated on both shores of the Sebes-Körös river, were burned to ashes during the two Ottoman sieges of Nagyvárad between 1658 and 1660, and one of them, Kisharsány, was never rebuilt. So the information from the dedication of the Colloquia supports Herepei’s identification.18 No further information is available about Harsányi’s family, however. In many sources Jakab Harsányi indicated that he was a nobleman. He refers to himself as “Nob[ilis] Ung[arus]” not only on the title-page of his book but also in his signature on letters to Frederick William, Elector of Brandenburg, in his early Berlin years.19 Still, we should be cautious about accepting this. Nagyharsány was one of the so-called hajdú settlements, where the irregular soldiers of the border zone were given land and titles in the first half of the seventeenth century on a massive scale. They received their privileges from Prince István Bocskai (1604–1606). This charter, however, has not survived. In the diploma in which Prince György Rákóczi I confirmed the rights of the inhabitants no fewer than five people are noted with the family name Nagy – any of these could have been Harsányi’s relative.20 If this is the case, the usage

This is contradicted by the fact that Harsányi defined himself on every occasion as “Unga- rus,” as has already been noted by Franz Babinger in Conrad Jacob Hiltebrandt, Dreifache schwedische Gesandtschaftsreise nach Siebenbürgen, der Ukraine und Constantinopel (1656–1658), ed. Franz Babinger (Leiden, 1937), 226. Cf. Nicolae Iorga, “Scrisori domneşti din arhivele dela Stockholm” [Voievods’ letters from the Stockholm archives], Academia Română Memoriile Secţiunii Istorice Seria III 10 (1929): 512 (in the following ARMSI X). 18 On the precedents of Körösnagyharsány, see Zsigmond Jakó, Bihar megye a török pusztítás előtt [Bihar County before the Ottoman devastation] (Budapest, 1940), 255; János Csomor, Körösnagyharsány krónikája [The chronicle of Körösnagyharsány] (Békéscsaba, 1980), 17–23. 19 See the title page of Colloquia and Harsányi’s letters to Frederick William (9 July 1667, and sine dato) Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz (in the following GStA PK) I. Hauptabteilung Geheimer Rat, Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung, J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 2v, resp. Fasz. 2. fol. 11r. Gheorghe Ştefan, voievod-in-exile of Moldavia, when he sent Harsányi to Sweden, also referred to him as “nobilissimus,” see his letter to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie in Ioan Slavici, ed., Documente privitóre la Istoria Românilor culese de Eudoxiu de Hurmuzaki [Documents concerning the history of the Romanians collected by Eudoxiu de Hurmuzaki], vol. 9, pt. 1 (Bucharest, 1897), 205 (in the following: DIR IX/1). This edition followed the copy available of the Moldavo-Valachica collection at the Riskarkivet (Stock- holm, in the following: RA), that has no address – there is, however, also one copy addressed to De la Gardie in RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. 20 The diploma (dated Nagyvárad, 5 May 1631) is found in MNL OL F 1. Libri regii 19. köt. 179b–180b (published in a digital copy in the CD-ROM Erdélyi királyi könyvek [The Royal Registry of Transylvania], vol. 3, 20–29. kötet. 1630–1656. I. és II. Rákóczi György oklevelei 16 Chapter 1 of the noble title is Harsányi’s own. Although it has been repeatedly pointed out that the hajdús settled by Bocskai received their privileges not only as a community, but also individually, their status, especially where its prestige is concerned, was clearly far inferior to those who received their ennoblement on an individual basis (see the detailed discussion in Chapter Five).21 Still, many cases are known of the princes of Transylvania granting individual ennoblement to hajdús, so it is also possible that Harsányi’s family had received a similar favour.22 In early modern Hungary, where a far greater percentage of society was noble (especially in the hajdú towns) when compared with the European average, a title of nobility did not indicate wealth, or even a livelihood, for a family with more than one child. For talented young men from the hajdús or the lower strata of nobility an ecclesiastical career meant a chance for social advance- ment, just as it did for their compatriots of peasant or bourgeois origin. It is very likely that Harsányi’s family had a small estate. Years later he wrote to the Swedish chancellor that he had to leave Transylvania because he had lost it due to the Ottoman conquest.23 This loss would not have been unusual, even if the Nagy family had never been individually ennobled, since the collective ownership of the lands of hajdú towns did not last long – the lands were distributed directly after the settlement among the privileged families, who even had the

[Tomes 20–29, the documents issued by György Rákóczi I and II], ed. Gyulai Éva (Miskolc and Budapest, 2004). On the hajdús of Körösnagyharsány, see also Aranka Erdei, Adatok Körösnagyharsány parasztságának történetéhez [Data on the history of the peasantry in Körösnagyharsány] (Gyula, 1961), 9–11; Miklós Nyakas, A bihari kishajdú városok története [History of the smaller hajdú settlements in Bihar] (Debrecen, 2005), 164–165. 21 István Szendrey, A bihari hajdúk pere a hajdúszabadságért [The lawsuit of the hajdús from Bihar for their privileges] (Debrecen, 1958), 7–9. Although the hajdús, just like the nobility, did not pay taxes and their superior court was at the county tribunal, they were nevertheless under the administration of their captain and lawsuits of minor relevance were decided by the fora of self-government in their own settlements. See István Rácz, A hajdúk a XVII. században [Hajdús in the 17th century] (Debrecen, 1969), 198–206; Erdei, Adatok, 11; Nyakas, A bihari kishajdú városok, 239–246. 22 Miklós Nyakas, “Bocskai István bihari kihirdetésű egyéni nemeslevelei” [The ennoble- ments granted individually by István Bocskai in Bihar], in vol. 5 of Bihari Diéta, ed. Lajos Matolcsi (Berettyóújfalu, 2004), 108–115. 23 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 11[/21] December 1666), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500 Moldau [fol. 1r]. Harsányi’s letters are classified in the collection in chronological order among the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan. The same claim is made in his letter to Frederick William, Elector of Brandeburg (Stettin, 22 September[/2 October] 1666) Sächsische Landesbibliothek – Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Dres- den (henceforth SLUB) Msc. Dresd. C 110a nr. 35. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 17 right to abalienate them later on.24 The adventurous career of Harsányi and his long stays abroad even before 1660 make it seem unlikely that he was the sole heir of his family estate. A nobleman’s estate would have suffered considerably in the seven-year absence of its owner (Harsányi’s length of service in Constantinople), even in the event of his being substituted by an extraordinarily reliable steward. Besides, we do not know of any petition from the years of Harsányi’s service as a diplomat in which he applied for permission to return from the Ottoman capital in order to visit his neglected estates, whereas there are plenty of examples of such requests in the correspondence of his colleagues.25 We can consequently conclude that someone else managed the family lands, and that Jakab Harsányi Nagy had to rely on his talent instead of his family heritage in order to make his living; and that this must be why he chose a career as a Reformed minister. Yet I do not want to claim that he began his studies aware of his talent and with an eye on an ecclesiastical career, but rather that this must have been the result of his school years. It is very likely that there was an elementary (so- called trivial) school in Körösnagyharsány, where the children from the town and its surroundings could learn the catechism and the basics of reading and writing – when they were lucky enough, that is, to have a competent teacher.26 In the region it was customary for children with noble titles but small estates

24 Rácz, A hajdúk, 208–210; László Nagy and Miklós Nyakas, Hajdútisztességnek tüköre [The mirror of the hajdús’ honor] (Hajdúböszörmény, 2001), 37–38; Nyakas, A bihari kishajdú városok, 244–258. 25 There are many examples in the letters of the resident envoys of Transylvania, see Gábor Kármán, “‘Verdammtes Konstantinopel’: Das Türkenbild der siebenbürgischen Gesandt schaft bei der Hohen Pforte im 17. Jahrhundert,” Ungarn Jahrbuch 32. (2014–2015) (forthcoming). Among others, the case of Boldizsár Sebessi can be quoted. He begged to be replaced as resident envoy, referring not only to his wife and child, but also to the fact that “I suffer an inexpressible amount of losses and damage”; see his letter to Prince György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 21 August 1635), in Antal Beke and Samu Barabás, ed., I. Rákóczy György és a Porta [György Rákóczi I and the Porte] (Budapest, 1888), 210 (in the following: RGyP). 26 That this was far from obvious is clear from the examples quoted by István György Tóth, Literacy and Written Culture in Early Modern Central Europe (Budapest, 2000), 5–46. The contemporary documents from the Bihar diocese do not survive. Nevertheless it is clear from evidence from the nearby dioceses of Abaúj, Borsod-Gömör-Kishont, Ung, and Zemplén, that settlements similar in size to Körösnagyharsány did have elementary schools, see Dénes Dienes, Minthogy immár schola mestert tartanak… Református iskolák Felső-Magyarországon 1596–1672 [As they already keep a schoolmaster… Schools of the Reformed Church in Upper Hungary, 1596–1672] (Sárospatak, 2000). From this volume it seems that entirely incompetent schoolmasters – of whom there were so many in Vas 18 Chapter 1

(or no estates at all) to attend elementary school together with the peasant children – a custom which was fiercely castigated by Kelemen Mikes, who, coming of age at the end of the seventeenth century, saw it as one of the reasons for the general ill-breeding of Transylvanian noblemen.27 Harsányi, it seems, was privileged and his studies ran smoothly in their initial phase. Having learned to read and write, he could proceed to secondary school. According to tradition, starting with the entry in Péter Bod’s great eighteenth-century Gelehrtenlexikon of Hungarian church and cultural history, he was a student of the college of Nagyvárad. Although there is no primary evidence for this since the lists of students at Nagyvárad, in contrast to those of Sárospatak and Debrecen, have been lost, it is feasible to think that the young man must have chosen the school of the nearby town only 23 kilometers away from Körösnagyharsány.28 There is no direct information about the curriculum of the college of Nagyvárad, but it is unlikely to have differed greatly from the one followed in contemporary Transylvania. The school was divided into five or six classes. This, however, did not imply that the entire curriculum had to be completed in the same number of years. Many students went to the same classis again in order to increase their knowledge, but outstanding students could also finish it in less than a year. The best-known curriculum is the one from the college of Gyulafehérvár, the elite school of the Principality, and although it varied from place to place, there were always linguistic and philological studies, and, in the higher classes, a focus on formal logic and rhetoric.29 The only purpose of this

County, analyzed in István György Tóth’s study – were uncommon in the Protestant schools of eastern Hungary. 27 See the “Turkish letter” of Mikes Kelemen dated Tekirdağ, 11 June 1725, in Kelemen Mikes, Törökországi levelek és misszilis levelek [Letters and missiles from Turkey], ed. Lajos Hopp (Budapest, 1966), 107. 28 Péter Bod, Magyar Athenas... [Hungarian Athenae...] ([Pozsony], 1766), 351. With similar conclusions: Herepei, “Adatok,” 53. 29 Károly Szabó, “A gyula-fehérvári Bethlen-féle főtanoda szervezeti szabályzata” [The bylaws of the high school founded by Bethlen in Gyulafehérvár], in Történelmi Tár 1879 (Budapest, 1879), 797–805 (in the following TT 1879). From a comparative point of view important data are provided by József Koncz, A marosvásárhelyi evang. reform. kollégium története [The history of the Reformed Church College of Marosvásárhely] (Maros- vásárhely, 1896), 599–600. The philosophical subjects of the highest academic classes in the curriculum of Gyulafehérvár were not taught anywhere else in the Principality. On the different levels of schooling generally, see István Mészáros, Középszintű iskoláink kro nológiája és topográfiája 996–1948 (Általánosan képző középiskolák) [A chonology and topography of secondary schools in Hungary 996–1948 (Secondary schools with general curriculum)] (Budapest, 1988), 30–47. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 19 system, which entirely neglected all practical subjects – not only the natural sciences, which were experiencing a speedy development at the time, but also history and geography – was that the graduating student would be able to read and write in Latin and would have basic skills in understanding (primarily Biblical) Greek.30 But it cannot have been easy to achieve even these goals, since the method of contemporary education consisted mainly in making students learn complex grammatical systems by rote, repeating them over and over again, without providing any opportunity for the practical use of language. Many important educators of the age raised objections to this practice, but the system was slow to change and the same method continued to torment students well into the seventeenth century.31 Besides, the success of a student depended on the personality of his teacher not only at the elementary, but also at the secondary, level. A good schoolmaster or a talented collaborator, that is, a senior student who was commissioned to teach in the lower classes, could be useful. When Harsányi became a senior student, he too probably proved to be talented enough to work as a collaborator in Nagyvárad. The aforesaid Péter Bod even claims that “when he stayed in the college of Nagyvárad, he was the teacher of Prince Mihály Apafi I in his childhood.”32 This information, however, can hardly be accepted as credible, since Apafi never studied at the college of Nagyvárad. He began his college years just when Harsányi left for his peregrination, and, instead of Nagyvárad, Apafi attended the college of Kolozsvár, and later of Gyulafehérvár.33

30 According to Béla Csernák even Hebrew was taught in the Nagyvárad school, but it is not clear on what source he bases this claim. The credibility of this information is questionable, as the language of the Old Testament was not even part of the curriculum in Gyulafe- hérvár. Cf. Béla Csernák, A református egyház Nagyváradon 1557–1660 [The Reformed Church in Nagyvárad 1557–1660] (Nagyvárad, 1934), 160. Imre Bán provides an excellent overview on the curricula and conditions of the Transylvanian colleges in his Apáczai Csere János (Budapest, 1958), 42–59; on Hebrew, ibid., 51. 31 The best known proposal for reform in Hungary and Transylvania, that of János Apáczai Csere, suggested a change in the methodology of teaching languages and the extension of the curriculum to ‘realia’ in the 1650s, see his inaugural speech in the academy of Gyulafe- hérvár in 1653: “A bölcsesség tanulásáról” [On the learning of wisdom], in Magyar gon- dolkodók 17. század, ed. Márton Tarnóc (Budapest, 1979), 609–655. Many other pedagogical works also advocated certain alterations in the teaching methods, see Dénes Dienes, Keresztúri Bíró Pál (1594?–1655) (Sárospatak, 2001), 52–64. 32 Bod, Magyar Athénás, 351. 33 Ernő Tóth, ed., I. Apafi Mihály és II. Apafi Mihály erdélyi fejedelmek naplója [The diaries of Mihály Apafi I and Mihály Apafi II, princes of Transylvania] (Kolozsvár, 1900), 2–3. 20 Chapter 1

The information given by the eighteenth-century church historian Péter Bod is derived from the memoirs of Miklós Bethlen – or rather from a misun- derstanding of the text – where the following can be read about Harsányi: “in his childhood years, he was the praeceptor of the prince [Apafi] for a long time.”34 If it was not at the college of Nagyvárad, where could Harsányi have been a teacher of the young Transylvanian artistocrat who eventually and rather unexpectedly became prince of Transylvania? The term used by Bethlen, praeceptor, did not necessarily refer to a teacher in a college – sometimes it was used for teachers of an elementary school.35 So, theoretically, Harsányi might have taught Apafi in an elementary school after completing his studies at the Nagyvárad college but before setting out on his peregrination. The would-be prince was only eight years old in 1640, “in his childhood,” which in this case could potentially coincide with his meeting Harsányi. At the time, however, Apafi received tuition at the family estate of Ebesfalva, which is at some distance from Nagyvárad. Even if there was an elementary school in this small settlement, the village owner’s son would certainly not have been sent to the same school as his peasants – the claim of Mikes, quoted earlier, sounds highly unlikely when applied to the aristocracy. Apafi must therefore have been referring to his private teachers when he wrote in his diary, “I studied at the hands of masters Suri and Csernátoni.”36 Apafi can hardly have needed any other private teachers besides these two, and this suggests that Harsányi met Apafi not during his elementary, but rather during secondary, school studies, after Harsányi had come back from his peregrination. We will return later to this hypothesis which is important for Harsányi’s biography. Even if he did not teach Apafi in this period Harsányi certainly had a good many students during his years in college, and probably even afterwards. In most cases graduates from colleges could not immediately visit academies abroad, since they first had to prove their diligence as schoolmasters in elementary schools, as well as thereby repaying the services they received from the Church and their patrons during their studies. István Tolnai, minister of

34 Miklós Bethlen, “Élete leírása magától” [A description of his life from himself], in Kemény János és Bethlen Miklós művei, ed. Éva V. Windisch (Budapest, 1980), 663. Similarly, Harsányi is addressed as “noster in tenerioribus annis praeceptor” in a letter written by Mihály Apafi I, dated Fogaras, 25 April 1672; Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Erdélyi országgyűlési emlékek történeti bevezetésekkel [Documents of the diets of Transylvania, with a historical introduction], vol. 15, 1669–1674 (Budapest, 1892), 270 (in the following: EOE XV). This, however, is less surprising since Miklós Bethlen claims in his memoirs that the letter was written by him in the name of the prince (see the page cited above). 35 Tóth, Literacy and Written Culture, 6. 36 AMN 3. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 21

Sárospatak who, because of his office, had a major influence on the selection of students whom the Prince of Transylvania would send abroad, explained to György Rákóczi I in this very period: “Your Highness, I always found an academicus who had earlier experience in a town school more useful.”37 This was not a universal practice – Tolnai mentions a student who was sent on his peregrination immediately despite his reservations – but it seems to have been quite common in the mid-seventeenth century. Considering the age of Harsányi when he set out on his travels, he too is likely to have served as a schoolmaster somewhere before going abroad. For a student with a great talent – and if Harsányi was allowed to travel he certainly was talented – twenty-five years of age was too old to have spent all of one’s previous life in college. There are some known cases when students changed colleges, which could lengthen the study years – Apáczai, for instance, visited Gyulafehérvár after the first years in Kolozsvár – but in Harsányi’s case we have no information about his studies anywhere else. The most obvious interpretation would therefore be that he also had to teach some years in an elementary school before getting a scholarship to begin his peregrination. Getting a scholarship was the last important step to take, as the talented student also had to have a patron who would finance his university studies. It had to be covered by domestic resources. While eighteenth-century Dutch universities provided scholarships from their own budget for Eastern European students, this did not happen a century earlier.38 Seventeenth-century students still had a variety of options at hand. Some colleges had a separate coffer dedicated to this purpose. The college of Debrecen, for instance, used some

37 István Tolnai to György Rákóczi I (Sárospatak, 15 April 1641) Sándor Szilágyi, “I. Rákóczy György fejedelem levelezése Tolnai István sárospataki pappal” [The correspondence of György Rákóczi I with István Tolnai, minister at Sárospatak], Protestáns Egyházi és Iskolai Lap 18 (1875) (in the following: PEIL XVIII), 1446. On this practice, see also Réka Bozzay, “Der finanzielle Hintergrund der ‘peregrinatio academica’ der ungarländischen Stu- denten an den niederländischen Universitäten,” in Studiosorum et librorum peregrinatio: Hungarian–Dutch Cultural Relations in the 17th and 18th Century, ed. August den Hol- lander, István Monok, and Ferenc Postma (Amsterdam and Budapest, 2006), 26. 38 Ödön Miklós, “Magyar diákok a leydeni Staten Collegeben” [Hungarian students in the Staten College of Leiden], Theologiai Szemle 4 (1928): 290, 295; Bozzay, “Der finanzielle Hintergrund,” 27–28; Réka Bozzay, “Leiden, a gondoskodó egyetem: Magyarországi diákoknak nyújtott juttatások és kiváltságok a leideni egyetemen a 17–18. században” [Leiden, the university that takes care: Benefits and privileges given to students from Hungary at the University of Leiden in the 17th–18th centuries], Századok 160 (2006): 986–993. 22 Chapter 1 salt revenues granted them by the prince of Transylvania to fill this budget.39 If the student could not receive a stipend from these funds he could still apply to private individuals or to the councils of various towns.40 Often, however, it was the teachers of the college or influential ministers (as in the case of István Tolnai) who decided the allotment of scholarships offered by aristocrats, taking into consideration the earlier progress and diligence of the applicant, as well as their own long-term preferences.41 Harsányi must have received his scholarship from the Nagyvárad college. This can be deduced from the fact that he taught for some years in the college after his return, supposedly as a repayment of the sums given him for his journey.42

Peregrination

From the Middle Ages to the nineteenth century Hungarian and Transylvanian students had to visit universities abroad since their home country lacked the institutions which provided higher education. Although the first university in Hungary that survives to this day was founded in 1635 in Nagyszombat, this was a Catholic seminary with Jesuit teachers and therefore had no appeal for Protestant students – and Prince György Rákóczi I did his best to keep even the

39 László Makkai, “Debrecen iskolájából az ország iskolája (1660–1703)” [From the school of Debrecen to the school of the country (1660–1703], in A debreceni református kollégium története, ed. József Barcza (Budapest, 1988), 51. 40 Stipends given by the council of Debrecen are quoted by Bozzay, “Der finanzielle Hinter- grund,” 27. 41 Tolnai writes about one of the students (in his letter cited in footnote 37, 1446) that “I sent him with the money of the late Master Herczeg” – which means that the student, Mihály Szentpéteri, received a scholarship to visit academies abroad from some bequest allotted to him by the minister of Sárospatak. In the same letter, Tolnai writes in a despondent tone that one of the students going to foreign universities will be selected by his personal opponent, János Tolnai Dali, which implies that the student will surely not be to his own taste. 42 The information we have about students teaching in colleges after their return from their travels comes mainly from the case of Sárospatak. In the 1630s and 1640s it was István Tolnai who supervised the appointment of the alumni to various posts. He was keen on keeping the college planning in sight when deciding about the allocation of stipends. In 1638 he advised the prince not to send anyone on a peregrination, as the needs of the college had been covered by those who were already abroad. See his letter to György Rákóczi I (Sárospatak, 23 April 1638) PEIL XVIII: 1348. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 23

Catholic youth of his country away from it.43 The Gyulafehérvár college had academic classes and some of its professors were even prepared to call their school an “universitas.” This institution, though, did not have the credentials to give higher academic titles. The young men from Hungary and Transylvania who wanted a true university education had to leave the country.44 The traditional destinations of Protestant peregrination which was developing in the sixteenth century were in the German lands. Of all the Transylvanians, only the Lutheran Saxons visited the Lutheran university of Wittenberg in the seventeenth century. The preference of the Calvinists of Transylvania shifted during the Thirty Years War – and especially after 1622, when Heidelberg, previously of outstanding importance, was occupied by Catholic Bavarian and Spanish troops – to the universities of the Netherlands and, to a certain extent, England.45 Jakab Harsányi Nagy who, with the exception of his rather surprising detour to Scotland, visited these very countries during his peregrination, thus followed the route of many of his contemporaries.

Franeker and Leiden It was not only in a metaphorical sense that Harsányi had to walk a long distance before he could enroll at the University of Franeker after having completed his studies at the college, spent some time teaching in an elementary school, and secured the financial backing of his peregrination. The physical distance also presented serious obstacles for the would-be theologian. In seventeenth-century terms, the route between the Partium and Friesland would have been enormously long even if the travellers had not been forced to

43 Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Erdélyi országgyűlési emlékek történeti bevezetésekkel [Documents of the diets of Transylvania, with a historical introduction], vol. 10, 1637–1649 (Budapest, 1884) (in the following: EOE X), 383. 44 Isaac Basire, for instance, who taught at Gyulafehérvár between 1655 and 1658, wrote in the album amicorum of C.J. Hiltebrandt: “Isaacus Basirius, S.S. Theol: D: ac publicus Pro- fessor in Universitate Albensi Transylvaniae.” Hiltebrandt, Dreifache Schwedische Gesandt schaftsreise, 51 (italics added). The general assumption that Gábor Bethlen wanted to found a university in Gyulafehérvár, is questioned by Katalin Péter, who describes the college not as an academy, but rather as a secondary school with extraordinarily good conditions, see her “Das Kollegium von Weissenburg und Strassburg bis Ende des 17. Jah- rhunderts,” in: Beiträge zur siebenbürgischen Schulgeschichte, ed. Walter König (Cologne, Weimar and Vienna, 1996), 185–201. 45 On the shift of the location of universities visited by Transylvanian students, see Mur- dock, Calvinism, 50; Gábor Almási, “Touring Europe: Comparing East-Central European Academic Peregrination of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century,” in A Divided Hungary in Europe: Exchanges, Networks and Representations, 1541–1699, vol. 2, Study Tours and Intellectual-Religious Relationships, ed. Gábor Almási (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 2014), 17–34. 24 Chapter 1 m o l d a v i a ş te T ă rgovi w a l a c h i a Kolozsvár Gyulafehérvár transylvania Nagyvárad Kamieniec Podolski Kamieniec poland-lithuania Warsaw Cracow h u n g a r y Buda Eszék Érsekújvár ottoman empire Danzig Thorn Breslau Pozsony Holešov Vienna Frankfurt an der Oder Frankfurt Prague Dresden Berlin s w e d e n Leipzig Copenhagen Venice Hamburg d e n m a r k Marburg Frankfurt am Main Frankfurt holy roman empire Basle switzerland Franeker t h e Amsterdam Leiden netherlands Paris Cambridge f r a n c e Europe in the mid-seventeenth century in the mid-seventeenth Europe London Edinburgh

e n g l a n d s c o t l a n d MAP 1 The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 25 make detours. At a time when the Thirty Years War was ravaging the Holy Roman Empire, Hungarian and Transylvanian students rarely risked exposing themselves to the incalculable changes of the military situation, and instead chose a long detour that eventually took them to the Netherlands by sea.46 We also have some contrary examples. János Apáczai Csere crossed the territories of Brandenburg in 1648, just before the conclusion of the Peace of Westphalia, in order to follow the Elbe and reach the Dutch Republic via Hamburg.47 By then, however, the Electorate of Brandenburg had not been participating in the war for seven years, and most of the military activities were taking place in southern Germany and Bohemia – so Apáczai did not have to fear any more dangers than the average seventeenth-century traveller.48 For Harsányi, on the other hand, this continental route was not an option since Brandenburg was still one of the major battlefields between Swedish and Imperial troops.49 Most students at the time chose the sea route, and usually boarded the ships in Danzig. There were several ways of reaching this important port of Royal Prussia. A popular solution was to travel through Upper Hungary to Breslau, and from there to follow the Oder. One of the advantages was that this route led through Frankfurt an der Oder, and many students also matriculated at what, after the fall of Heidelberg, was probably the most prominent Calvinist academy in Germany. Frankfurt, however, was repeatedly occupied by various troops after the 1630s, and in February 1640 another Swedish garrison settled in the town.50 It is no wonder, then, that in 1639–40 we find only two Hungarians in the university matriculations.51 So it would not

46 On the various routes taken during the Thirty Years War, see A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 12–14. 47 Bán, Apáczai, 83–87. 48 On the dangers awaiting early modern travellers, see Antoni Mączak, Travel in Early Mod- ern Europe (Cambridge, 1995); Holger Thomas Gräf and Ralf Pröve, Wege ins Ungewisse: Eine Kulturgeschichte des Reisens 1500–1800 (Frankfurt am Main, 2001). 49 On the role of Brandenburg in the Thirty Years War, see Ernst Opgenoorth, Friedrich Wil- helm: Der Grosse Kurfürst von Brandenburg (Göttingen, 1971–1978), vol. 1, 72–89. 50 Wolfgang Jobst, “Kurze Beschreibung der Alten Löblichen Stat Franckfurt an der Oder…,” in Memoranda Francofurtana, ed. Johann Christoph Becmann (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1676), 70. On the relevance of the university in the seventeenth century, see Günter Mühl pfordt, “Die Oder-Universität 1506–1811,” in Die Oder-Universität Frankfurt, ed. Günther Haase and Joachim Winkler (Weimar, 1983), 47–53. On the peregrination of the Hungar- ian students to Frankfurt generally, see Sándor Ladányi, “Ungarische Studenten an der Universität Frankfurt an der Oder,” in Iter Germanicum: Deutschland und die Reformierte Kirche in Ungarn im 16.–17. Jahrhundert, ed. András Szabó (Budapest, 1999), 214–220. 51 In 1639, it was István Szilágyi Benjámin (who will show up again later in this chapter) who enrolled, while in 1640 János Patai matriculated; see Ernst Friedlaender, ed., Aeltere 26 Chapter 1 have been surprising if Harsányi had chosen another itinerary – in any case he did not matriculate at the Frankfurt university. He probably followed the route of the author of the only Hungarian travelogue published in the early modern period, Márton Szepsi Csombor, who sailed north along the Vistula, also visiting Warsaw on his way.52 After students left Danzig they only had to survive the boat trip around Denmark to reach the Netherlands. The sea generally entailed great discomfort for Hungarian students. Those travelogues that mention crossing the sea at all usually devote some passages to the shock of a storm. This is all the more striking since they rarely complain about the hardship of a continental land journey. It was most probably the exceptional nature of the experience, and the fact that they had survived a hitherto unknown danger, that released their loquacity. András Csehi summarized the experience of many students when he wrote:

As long as I was out in the roaring sea I was much shaken for three weeks by the huge ship because of the labour of the merciless waves, but as soon as I reached the mainland, all my previous miseries were dispelled, as if they had never existed, or as if I had been born again.53

We do not know whether Harsányi had to face similar woes, but it must have been a comforting feeling to have reached the first goal of his journey, Franeker. The university of Friesland, established in 1585, second only to Leiden in the list of early Dutch university foundations, counted as the “most Hungarian” institution of higher education in the period. Between 1623 and 1794 a yearly average of ten Hungarian students were enrolled there. Their numbers were at their highest in the decade of Harsányi’s visit, the 1640s, when one eighth of the 110–120 annual students came from Hungary and Transylvania.54 The

Universitäts-Matrikel I. Universität Frankfurt a. O., vol. 1, 1506–1648 (Stuttgart, 1887), 744– 745 (in the following: PKPS XXXII). 52 Márton Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, ed. Péter Kulcsár (Budapest, 1979), 103–122. 53 András Csehi to the Council of Nagybánya ([1648]), Lajos Kaposi, “A régiek” [The ancients], Magyar Protestáns Egyházi és Iskolai Figyelő 6 (1884), 268 (in the following: MPEIF VI). On the phenomenon generally, see András Péter Szabó, “Haller Gábor naplójának forrásai” [The sources of the diary of Gábor Haller], in Emlékezet és devóció a régi magyar irodalomban, ed. Mihály Balázs and Csilla Gábor (Kolozsvár, 2007), 416–417. 54 J.A.H. Bots and W. Th. M. Frĳhoff, “De studentenpopulatie van de Franeker academie: Een kwantitatief onderzoek (1585–1811)” [The student population of the Academy of Franeker: A quantitative analysis 1585–1811], in Universiteit te Franeker 1585–1811, ed. Goffe Th. Jen- sma, F.R.H. Smit, and Frans Westra (Leeuwarden, 1985), 57–62. The data related to the The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 27 percentage of Hungarians is even higher if we only consider the faculty of theology. From all the students enrolled as “Hungarus” between 1640 and 1649, 115 attended this faculty, and only two went to the other faculties, liberal arts and law.55 Between 1638 and 1640 (directly before the arrival of Harsányi), 98 students enrolled at the faculty of theology, one third of whom, or 37, were Hungarians.56 This certainly made the adaptation of the newcomers to the foreign conditions easier, since they encountered a massive body of their compatriots who could help them overcome their initial difficulties. This informal help also stood at Harsányi’s disposal. Just like the majority of the Hungarian students, he arrived to the Netherlands during the summer. Although the academic year started in February, most of them were reluctant to endure the hardships of travel in winter.57 Harsányi did not arrive alone since there were two other “Hungarus” students enrolling on the same day, Mátyás Gönczi and Péter Redmetzi.58 They must have travelled together most of the way. This is all the more likely because it seems that Redmetzi set out from the college of Debrecen, which is very close to Nagyvárad, while Gönczi, whose last name suggests an Upper Hungarian origin, probably joined them slightly later.59 Harsányi, however, did not benefit from the opportunities offered by the “Hungarian colony” at Franeker. His stay there was not even long

seventeenth–eighteenth centuries is from Sándor Ladányi, “Magyar diákok a franekeri egyetemen” [Hungarian students at the Franeker University], Confessio 10, no. 4 (1986): 71. 55 Hilde de Ridder-Symoens, “Buitenlandse studenten aan de Franeker universiteit 1585– 1811” [Foreign students at the Franeker University 1585–1811], in Universiteit te Franeker 1585–1811, 74–76, charter no. 1. As we have seen in Harsányi’s case, even students coming from the Principality of Transylvania could be registered as “Ungarus.” It is therefore regrettable that the author grouped those enrolled as “Transylvanus” together with Bohe- mians and Moravians, separating them from Hungarians. Short of doing the research once more, it will remain unclear how many of the ten theologians and one student of arts in this category should be added to the number of Hungarians. 56 ASAF I, 109–119. 57 Réka Bozzay, “Debreceni diákok a leideni egyetemen a XVII. században” [Students from Debrecen at the 17th-century University of Leiden], Debreceni Szemle 10 (2002): 311. 58 ASAF I, 117; their names are written in the form of “Matthias Gunzi” and “Petrus Redmetzi.” 59 A certain Péter Redmetzi was enrolled at the college of Debrecen in 1631, see Etele Thury, Iskolatörténeti adattár [Database for school history], vol. 2 (Pápa, 1908), 112. We know even less about Mátyás Gönczi: he cannot be found either in any database of church history, or in the lists of the students of the Debrecen, Sárospatak, and Szatmár colleges. Cf. Thury, Iskolatörténeti adattár; Richárd Hörcsik, A sárospataki református kollégium diákjai 1617– 1777 [Students of the Reformed Church College of Sárospatak 1617–1777] (Sárospatak, 1998); László Bura, Szatmári diákok 1610–1852 [Students of Szatmár 1610–1852] (Szeged, 1994). The market town of Gönc, Gönczi’s probable place of origin, is close to Kassa. 28 Chapter 1 enough to accommodate himself, and, after a month, he had already matriculated in Leiden. We do not know the reason for Harsányi’s speedy departure. Although three quarters of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Transylvanian students only enrolled at a single university, it was not uncommon for a student to decide to visit another one after one or two semesters. Compared to these Harsányi’s stay in Franeker was short, but by no means a record. There are more than twenty- five known cases of Transylvanian students from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries matriculating at different universities within less than a month.60 Hypothetically we could suppose that Harsányi went through Franeker only because of his fellow travellers, and then left for his original goal, Leiden. In this case, however, it would not have been necessary to pay the expenses of the immatriculatio at the Frisian university. The only feasible explanation, therefore, seems to be that he wanted to study in Franeker, but changed his mind shortly after his enrollment for a reason unknown to us. It is very unlikely that his sudden change of mind was caused by a concern regarding the quality of training at Franeker. The faculty of theology at the Frisian academy enjoyed an outstanding reputation, even if the best known teacher of the university, the Englishman William Ames who went into exile because of his Puritan ideas, had left the town and died shortly afterwards. Ames, who had many Hungarian students participating in the disputation of his work written against the Jesuit Robert Bellarmine, was not satisfied with the results he achieved in Franeker. He was particularly disappointed about the transformation of the life of the university community and the failure to adopt Puritanism with special attention to keeping the Sabbath. But the theologians he educated nevertheless continued to spread his practical theology,

60 The record is most probably held by Ferenc Bányai, in whose case the time span between his enrollment in Leiden and Franeker was only five days (!). See Szabó and Tonk, Erdé- lyiek egyetemjárása, no. 550. According to the research of these authors, 75.8% of the sixteenth– and seventeenth-century Transylvanian students visited one university, 16% two, 5.5% three, and only the very small remainder attended even more universities. See Miklós Szabó and Sándor Tonk, “Erdélyiek egyetemjárása a középkor és a koraújkor foly- amán” [Transylvanians attending universities in the Middle Ages and the early modern period], in Régi és új peregrináció: Magyarok külföldön, külföldiek Magyarországon, ed. Imre Békési et al. (Budapest and Szeged, 1993), vol. 2, 497. There were nevertheless some who did not find it necessary to sign the university matricula: Dávid Bethlenfalvi, who tutored Gábor Haller in his peregrination, knew that the young aristocrat had planned to send him back to Transylvania some days after their arrival in Franeker, and therefore did not matriculate there (see A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 18). The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 29 based on a deeply experienced faith.61 It is clear from the numbers quoted above that the popularity of the university did not decrease among the Hungarian students after Ames’s departure, and they continued to take part in the public life of the academy as well. In 1640, Mátyás Gönczi, who arrived with Harsányi, was already a respondent at two disputations. He decided not to leave Franeker afterwards either, and in 1642 he received his doctorate there.62 János Debreceni Balyik, the travelling companion with whom Harsányi arrived in Leiden, had already spent eighteen months in Franeker, and even had his disputation published there in 1640. It is thus more understandable why Balyik followed the general custom – Dutch as well as foreign – of Franeker students of leaving the academy and going to the far larger university of Leiden, which was regarded as the best institution for higher education in the Netherlands.63 Although the two students were approximately the same age, they are unlikely to have been in contact with each other any earlier. The known facts about their early careers do not seem to coincide, since Balyik, who was the descendant of one of the most important families of artisans in seventeenth-century Debrecen, studied in the college of that town and started his peregrination earlier than Harsányi.64 So we can only assume that it was

61 Keith L. Sprunger, “William Ames and the Franeker Link to English and American Puri- tanism,” in Universiteit te Franeker 1585–1811, 266–270. On the relations of the Hungarian students with Ames, see Imre Czegle, “Amesius korai magyar tanítványai” [The early Hun- garian students of Amesius], Acta Historiae Litterarum Hungaricarum 10–11 (1971): 107– 123; also Dienes, Keresztúri Bíró Pál, 37. 62 Mátyás Gönczi features with two pieces (“De officio Christi” and “De sanctificatione et cultu Dei per bona opera lege morali praecepta”) in the collection published in 1640 under the title Collegium Hungaricum, that contains the Franeker disputations of fifty- one Hungarian students; see Ferenc Postma and Jakob van Sluis, Auditorium Academiae Franekerensis: Bibliographie der Reden, Disputationen und Gelegenheitsdruckwerke der Universität und des Athenäums in Franeker 1585–1843 (Leeuwarden, 1995) No. 51/1640.9a/36, 50. His doctoral thesis was also published in Franeker under the title “Theses theologicae ex nono Decalogi praecepto depromptae” (Ibid. No. 28/1642.2). On the practice of disputations, see Czegle, “Amesius,” 122–123. 63 The name of Balyik is found in the matricula in the following form: “Johannes Balyick Debrecinus Ungarus. 27, T[eologus],” ASALB I, 315. He enrolled at Franeker University on 18 November 1638 (“Johannes Debrecen, Hungarus, theol[ogus]”), ASAF I, 112. His disputation (“Disputatio theological de Deo”) was also published in the Collegium Hungaricum (Postma and van Sluis, Auditorium, No. 51/1640.9a/5). Most of the students who left Franeker went on to study in Leiden; see Bots and Frĳhoff, “De studentenpopulatie,” 66. The same trend can be seen among foreign students, see Ridder-Symoens, “Buitenlandse studenten,” 83. 64 Bozzay, “Debreceni diákok,” 313. 30 Chapter 1 after his arrival that Harsányi became acquainted with Balyik, who was about to leave for Leiden, and that Harsányi decided to join him. If the reason for his decision was to find a town that was larger and more vibrant than Franeker, then Harsányi made a good choice. Leiden, called a “Paradisus terrestris,” a Paradise on Earth, by Márton Szepsi Csombor, was the second largest town of the United Provinces, with around 50,000 inhabitants.65 Although it was an important centre of the textile industry as well, its economy was mainly concentrated around the university, the oldest in the Netherlands. The students of the academy – four times as many as those of Franeker – had varied backgrounds similar to those of the Frisian academy. But while there were many Hungarians there, the 10–15 matriculations in the better years did not make up a significant percentage of the 450 yearly enrollments between 1640 and 1645.66 1640 was not a bumper year for Hungarian students. Harsányi and Balyik were the first “Ungari,” and there were only three more by the end of that year, while none arrived in the following one.67 As in Franeker, the faculties of theology and the arts were the most international ones in terms of students as well as professors.68 The faculty of theology where Harsányi matriculated was one of the most important educational centers in Calvinist Europe, even if its relevance no longer lay in embracing interesting new ideas and initiating fresh theological debates. The main objective was rather to deepen the students’ knowledge of doctrines already accepted and to provide them with the erudition necessary for defending them. Thanks to its bylaws, which secured the influence of the burghers rather than the Church in its self-government, the university was the place where the Arminian movement was formed. Jakob Harmenszoon (Armi nius) wrote most of his theological works focusing on free will as a theology professor in Leiden. After 1618, however, when the synod of Dort condemned Arminianism as a heresy, orthodox Calvinism got the upper hand in Leiden too. Theologically Leiden gave the impression of being an orthodox and relatively tranquil place by the mid-seventeenth century, without any major debates or convulsions. This “frozen” state of the academy, however, did not

65 Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, 171. 66 On the number of the students, see Bots and Frĳhoff, “De studentenpopulatie,” 57. On the number of Hungarians, see Bozzay, “Debreceni diákok”; Bozzay, “Leiden”; A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 20. 67 ASALB I, 311– 329; AVSL XVI, 210. 68 According to Jan Juliaan Woltjer, the reason for this was that the poorly paid jobs of minister and teacher made a career in the Church unattractive to young Dutchmen; see his “Introduction,” in Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century: An Exchange of Learning, ed. Th. H. Lunsingh Scheurler and G.H.M. Posthumus Meyjes (Leiden, 1975), 15–16. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 31

FIGure 1.1 Leiden university (1625) imply that the students would not have received the best available training in the philological knowledge necessary for theology, studying the best traditions of Biblical source criticism and scriptural theology.69 From the summer of 1640 on, Harsányi spent between twelve and sixteen months in Leiden. He most probably attended the university lectures and disputations diligently, even if, as far as we know, he never acted as the respondent of any of the professors – at least no published version of his disputation has survived.70 Besides the theological debates, Leiden offered many opportunities for education and self-instruction. The observatory of the university was built in 1632, and the library, which also held a large manuscript collection, greatly exceeded that of Franeker in size. The botanical garden and the anatomy theatre were both excellent means of illustrating the new results of the natural

69 On the change in the university’s profile, see Woltjer, “Introduction,” 1–7. Harsányi, however, did not have the chance to meet the two most important people who taught in Leiden during the seventeenth century: Joseph Justus Scaliger was professor there before the 1640s (and he was also exempted from any teaching assignments), while Johannes Coccejus only started teaching Hebrew, Talmud, and New Testament exegesis in Leiden in the 1650s. 70 From the period of Harsányi’s stay in Leiden, there is not a single known disputation by a Hungarian. The first one to appear in print after 1639 came out in 1645, although in the years following, disputations by Hungarians were published frequently; see RMK III, No. 1550–1688. 32 Chapter 1 sciences which went through a revolutionary development in the seventeenth century.71 Although autopsies were mainly visited by students of medicine, they were public events for other faculties too. Gábor Haller, who enrolled at the faculty of arts in 1630, visited the Theatrum Anatomicum twice, although he never studied medicine. It is less likely that Harsányi, like the young Tran sylvanian aristocrat, would have taken classes in dancing and fencing, although fencing could have its uses where public safety in Leiden was concerned, and was therefore recommended by the university which also provided a special room for this practical training.72 It is also very probable that the students made occasional excursions, since the most important towns of the Netherlands were easy to reach from the centrally located Leiden. Harsányi, however, embarked on an even longer trip when he decided to visit England.

Cambridge and Edinburgh England, like the Netherlands, appeared on the horizon of Hungarian students after the outbreak of the Thirty Years War. If they already had to travel as far as the Dutch Republic, many took the opportunity to cross the Channel, and a significant number of Hungarian students started to board ships to Britain in the 1620s. Their exact number is not known, and even an approximation is hard to give because – in contrast to the academies of the Netherlands – Hungarian students almost never enrolled at English universities. This is true even of those who are known to have gone to England not only to “see the provinces,” as a contemporary, István Szilágyi Benjámin, put it, but also to study.73 Information about Hungarian students in Britain can consequently only be gathered from a variety of alternative sources – the survival of which, however, is far from consistent.

71 On the various “auxiliary” buildings of the university, see R.E.O. Ekkart, Athenae Batavae: De Leidse Universitaet / The University of Leyden 1575–1975 (Leiden, 1975); A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 25–27. The library of Franeker, according to its register of 1644, had 550 books, see M.H.H. Engels, “De Franeker academiebibliotheek 1626–1694” [On the Academy Library of Franeker 1626–1694], in Universiteit te Franeker 1585–1811, 165; Christiane Berkvens-Stevelinck, Magna Commoditas: A History of Leiden University Library 1575–2005 (Leiden, 2004). 72 A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 26–27. 73 The quotation is from István Szilágyi Benjámin’s Acta synodi nationalis hungaricae… (1646); see Pál Finkei, “Magyar prot. egyháztörténeti kútfők” [Sources on Hungarian Pro testant church history], Sárospataki Füzetek 1 (1857): 167 (in the following SF I). On the source problems, see György Gömöri, Magyarországi diákok angol és skót egyetemeken 1526–1789 [Hungarian students at English and Scottish universities 1526–1789] (Budapest, 2005), 5–8. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 33

Harsányi’s trip to England and Scotland is documented by a much later source, the dedication of Pál Tarczali Jr.’s dissertation, published in 1672. Here the young theologian noted that Harsányi, who by that time had been living at the court of Brandenburg, visited these places.74 We also know from the same dedication that Harsányi travelled together with Tarczali’s father, who had the same name. We have more information thanks to the research of George Gömöri who called attention to the previously unknown published thesis of Pál Tarczali Sr. on the Eucharist, which he defended in Edinburgh in July 1642.75 Gömöri also tried to identify the places they visited in England and found an entry in the account book of the University of Cambridge from the second trimester of 1642 (traditionally from January to Easter), according to which a stipend was given to a “James, Hungarus.”76 As there is no other Hungarian student with the name Jakab (the Hungarian version of James) known from those years, Gömöri’s identification can be accepted as valid. In the 1630s and 1640s visiting England became much easier for Hungarian students than it had been previously. In those decades there were some individuals on whose help they could count. Many English refugees in the seventeenth century found shelter in the Netherlands, and in Leiden there were no less than two English-Scottish congregations that maintained close relations with their home countries in the hope that the products of their printing presses would find their way there.77 The surviving evidence, which is nevertheless scarce, shows that the Hungarian students did not use these fairly obvious networks. Márton Szepsi Csombor crossed the Channel from Vlissingen (Zeeland) to England on his own initiative and tried to find his way around London alone. It was mainly due to his lack of a local guide that, when he wanted to go to Cambridge (Latin: Cantabrigia), he ended up in Canterbury (Cantuaria) instead.78 It is not clear why Szepsi Csombor did not contact the one person on whose support an increasing number of visiting students could rely since the 1620s, John (János) Bánfihunyadi. This Hungarian alchemist, born in Nagybánya, had been living in London since 1608, and although he planned several times to return home, he could only leave town for shorter periods because of his English wife and his

74 The exact text of the dedication is cited in footnote 3. 75 Pál Tarczali, Theses theologicae de sacra Domini coena... (Edinburgh, [1642]). 76 György Gömöri, “Magyar peregrinusok a XVII. századi Cambridge-ben” [Hungarian students in 17th-century Cambridge], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 79 (1985): 196; Gömöri, Magyarországi diákok, 51. 77 Keith L. Sprunger, Dutch Puritanism: A History of English and Scottish Churches of the Neth- erlands in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Leiden, 1982), 123–141. 78 Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, 192–193. 34 Chapter 1 teaching position at Gresham College – it was during one of these trips that he died in Amsterdam in 1646.79 We know of some occasions on which he was visited by students from Hungary and Transylvania, and it is very likely that he became acquainted with others and helped them during their stays in London. In the case of Gábor Haller it could be assumed that the alchemist had a future advantage in mind when he received the young aristocrat as a guest (and even lent him some money). But future advantages in other cases, such as the successful careers of Pál Medgyesi as court preacher and Pál Keresztúri as the leader of the court school of György Rákóczi I, were hardly possible to predict at the time of their peregrination.80 It is thus possible that, like other students, Harsányi and his company were hosted by Bánfihunyadi, especially since they had to pass through London. If Harsányi was in Cambridge in the second trimester of 1642, and if we assume that he had previously stayed in London, he must have arrived in England in the second half of 1641, probably during the autumn, since crossing the English Channel in winter could be a dangerous enterprise. In this case he must have met Péter N. Szerencsi as well. This alumnus of the Sárospatak college, later a schoolmaster at Szatmár, started his peregrination not long after Harsányi, and they just missed each other in Franeker.81 Szerencsi visited Cambridge before October 1641, where he was the guest of Emmanuel College. He then lived in London until the late spring of 1642, and we also happen to know that he stayed in Bar Lane, close to the Tower. George Gömöri suggests that he did not rent his lodgings alone but shared them with other Hungarian students, probably Benedek Nagyari, who came from Leiden and had also

79 Thorough research has been performed on the activities of John Bánfihunyadi in the last twenty years. Here is a selection of the studies: György Gömöri, “Bánfihunyadi János – alkimista és vegyész” [John Bánfihunyadi – alchemist and chemist], in Angol–magyar kapcsolatok (Budapest, 1989), 66–73; Gömöri, “Bánfihunyadi János eszmevilága és alki mista kapcsolatai” [The intellectual world and alchemist contacts of John Bánfihunyadi], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 106 (2002): 93–100; Gömöri, “Bánfihunyadi János egy skót– lengyel polihisztor műveiben és leveleiben” [John Bánfihunyadi in the works and letters of a Scottish–Polish polihistor], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 110 (2006): 61–66; Martyn Rady, “A Transylvanian Alchemist in Seventeenth-Century London,” Slavonic and East European Review 72 (1994): 140–151. 80 On Haller’s visit, see A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 28; on Medgyesi’s, see Dienes, Keresztúri Bíró Pál, 42. 81 Szerencsi enrolled in Franeker on 19 July 1640, two days before Harsányi signed the matricula of Leiden, see ASAF I, 117. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 35 studied at Sárospatak.82 Harsányi, arriving in England at the same time, may have been among the lodgers there, and must have at least known Nagyari who was his fellow student in Leiden. Harsányi’s acquaintance with Szerencsi might also be why he decided to ask the University of Cambridge for a stipend. England at the turn of 1641 and 1642 must have been a very interesting but also startling experience for the Hungarian students. Harsányi is unlikely to have witnessed the mass movements attending the arrest and conviction of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford – according to contemporary reports 200,000 people gathered around Tower Hill on the day of his execution on 12 May 1641. The growing tension between the King and the Long Parliament, however, was omnipresent on the streets during the following months. It would have been impossible to persuade Charles I to accept the Grand Remon strance that contained the demands of Parliament concerning government and church politics without the pressure of the masses; and the king’s failed attempt at a coup d’état caused a general outcry early in January 1642. The students would have met commoners everywhere discussing current political questions and would have heard with horror the exaggerated news of massa- cres of Protestants in Ireland.83 They probably found the theory of a “Popish plot,” which determined contemporary political attitudes in England, all the more worthy of attention in view of the news from home concerning the griev- ances of Protestants and the insecure position of their co-religionists on the vigil of György Rákóczi I’s Hungarian campaign in 1644–45.84 They could hardly have avoided hearing about the debates that agitated public opinion in London, even if they had not yet learned English by the time

82 On Péter N. Szerencsi’s stay in England, see György Gömöri, “Egy magyar peregrinus levele William Sancrofthoz” [A letter of a Hungarian student to William Sancroft], Erdélyi Múzeum 62 (2000): 14–18. It is also Gömöri who assumes that Benedek Nagyari visited Britain, with a reference to his book from 1651, Orthodoxus Christianus, for which Nagyari used English authors – and it was obviously easier to learn the language in the country itself. 83 A general overview of the political history of these years, with a special focus on the public debates, is provided by Godfrey Davies, The Early Stuarts 1603–1660, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1959), 99–159. 84 On the debates about confessional politics see recently Tatyana Gusarova, “A vallási kér- dések vitáinak légköre a magyar országgyűléseken a 17. század első felében” [The atmosphere of the debates on confessional questions at the Hungarian diets in the first half of the 17th century], in R. Várkonyi Ágnes emlékkönyv születésének 70. évfordulója ünnepére, ed. Péter Tusor (Budapest, 1998), 308–319. More focused on the turn of the 1640s is István Hajnal, Esterházy Miklós nádor lemondása [The abdication of Palatine Miklós Esterházy] (Budapest, 1929). 36 Chapter 1 of their arrival – and their Latin skills were of no great help in the British Isles, as is evident from the comments of Márton Szepsi Csombor.85 Even if they could not follow the discussions in the inns, there were plenty of intensive disputes in the more Latin-oriented communities of the universities. The seventeenth-century universities of Oxford and Cambridge participated eagerly in the great theological debates of the age. The University of Cambridge, visited by Harsányi, had been divided over many questions since the mid-1630s. The liturgical reforms initiated by William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, which were later suspected of popery and abandoned by the Long Parliament, were accepted by a number of colleges and professors, while others chose to resist them rigorously. After 1640, lawsuits were initiated against many Laudian teachers, and, although none of them were convicted until the outbreak of the Civil War, their cases were nonetheless at the centre of public interest. If Harsányi, following in the footsteps of Szerencsi, was the guest of Emmanuel College, he would have become acquainted with the most Puritan milieu in Cambridge, for Emmanuel was one of the three colleges where even the committee sent by the Parliament in 1641 could find no “Papist transgressions.”86 Jakab Harsányi Nagy, who stayed in Cambridge for the second trimester of 1642, most probably observed the ceremonial entry of Charles I in March 1642 and saw the crowd greeting him with acclamation. Although he may not have understood it, he might also have heard how Richard Holdsworth, master of Emmanuel College and vice-chancellor of the University, known as the most consistent enemy of Laudianism, nevertheless used theological arguments in his speech at Great St. Mary’s in support of the monarchy. This determined the side that the university would take until its “purification” by another parliamentary committee in 1643, and contributed to the growing tension between “town and gown,” the parliamentary Cambridge and the royalist University,

85 According to Szepsi Csombor, in London “it was primarily the lack of Latin among the population that surprised me, because walking up the street among merchants, furriers, tailors, and others, I have not found a single person able to talk with me in Latin”; see his Europica varietas, 184. If they stayed for a longer time, the students obviously had to learn at least to read in English, and seventeenth-century Hungarian publications include a huge amount of translations and adaptations from English, see Pál Berg, Angol hatások tizenhetedik századi irodalmunkban [English influences on 17th-century Hungarian literature] (Budapest, 1946), 80–161. 86 David Hoyle, Reformation and Religious Identity in Cambridge, 1690–1644 (Woodbridge and Cambridge, 2007), 209–215. On the various inner and outer conflicts of the University, see also John Twigg, The University of Cambridge and the English Revolution (Woodbrige and Cambridge, 1990), 42–65. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 37 which Harsányi might also have noticed.87 He did not, however, wait for the armed conflict to start in August 1642. The shadow of the Civil War and the news about troop movements were probably behind the rather unconventional decision taken by Jakab Harsányi Nagy and his fellow traveller Pál Tarczali to go north to the academy of Edinburgh. Scotland was not a particularly peaceful place in this period either. During the previous five years Scottish armies had fought two major battles with the troops of Charles I in the so-called “Bishop’s Wars”, but on both occasions military activities took place mainly on English soil. At the University of Edinburgh, close to the border between England and Scotland, the degree- awarding ceremonies had to be staged without the usual celebrations in 1640, “privately,” as they put it, but in the next two years order was restored.88 Although the Scottish estates followed developments in England with great interest, Scotland, unlike England, saw no military activities in 1642. Visiting the town under peaceful conditions, if they did not yet want to return to the continent, must have been more appealing to Hungarian students than returning to tumultuous London. It might also have proved interesting to visit a country where the Presbyterian system was practised – and, even if it was not necessarily attractive to every one of them, this was the most intriguing phenomenon of church politics for seventeenth-century Hungarian students in Britain.89 Although the college of Edinburgh, established in 1583, had already become more popular by this time than the traditional Scottish universities of Glasgow and St. Andrews, this was mainly due to the fact that it was located in the capital. Many of its students came from the town itself, and it provided excellent networking opportunities for a career after graduation.90 This institution had the curriculum of a secondary school, where children started their studies at the age of fourteen, and it was not officially called a university until 1685, although in symbolic terms it functioned as such. Its rector, for instance, held

87 Twigg, The University of Cambridge, 56–58, 66–87; Hoyle, Reformation, 207–209, 216–217. 88 Thomas Craufurd, History of the University of Edinburgh, from 1580 to 1646 (Edinburgh, 1808), 137–144. On the Scottish–English relationship at the turn of the 1640s, see Allan I. Macinnes, The British Revolution 1629–1660 (Houndmills, 2005), 111–151. 89 On the reception of the Presbyterian system of church government in Hungary, still the most useful is the classic work of Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak. 90 The matriculation fee for the children of the burghers of Edinburgh was lower (two pounds) than for others (who paid three); see Michael Lynch, “The Creation of a College,” in Robert D. Anderson, Michael Lynch, and Nicholas Philipson, The University of Edin- burgh: An Illustrated History (Edinburgh, 2003), 24. 38 Chapter 1 a sceptre from 1640 on, and its instructors were given the title of professor.91 This ambiguity also appears on the title-page of Tarczali’s thesis: his dissertation about the Eucharist was discussed under the presidency of Professor John Sharp at the “academia” of Edinburgh.92 All in all, the high school of Edinburgh did not differ much from the college of Gyulafehérvár, and in peacetime Hun garian students would have been unlikely to have preferred it to Cambridge, which was approximately ten times as big and had a serious advantage in the number of established teachers as well as a better student to instructor ratio. It can generally be said that a single college at the University of Cambridge offered more opportunities than the entire academy of Edinburgh. The same applies to the library. Although it contained 3000 books in 1636 – the Bodleian in Oxford held 7500 volumes in 1615 –, there was no librarian until 1635 and a reading room was only opened to the public in 1646.93 The main advantage of the Scottish town that still made it worth going there was undoubtedly the peaceful condition of the country. The names of Jakab Harsányi Nagy and Pál Tarczali are not only missing from the matricula, but there is no trace of them in the book that users of the library had to sign, promising to keep the rules concerning the handling of the books.94 This suggests that the two Hungarian students did not spend much time in Edinburgh, even though the register of the readers seems to be incomplete.95 Even if, from the point of view of prestige, a disputation in Cambridge was better than one in Edinburgh, it is likely to have been much more expensive. Besides the lower prices of the Scottish capital, Pál Tarczali could probably count on a subsidy from the college, as the fact that his De sacra Domini coena was dedicated to the professors and minister of Edinburgh seems to suggest.96 Tarczali’s disputation was in any case not very different from the events orga-

91 Lynch, “The Creation of a College,” 41. On the curriculum in detail, see Christine Shep- herd, “University Life in the Seventeenth Century,” in Four Centuries: Edinburgh University Life 1583–1983, ed. Gordon Donaldson (Edinburgh, 1983), 1–3; and Eric G. Forbes, “Philoso- phy and Science Teaching in the Seventeenth Century,” in Four Centuries: Edinburgh Uni- versity Life 1583–1983, 28–29. 92 Tarczali Sr., Theses theologicae, title page. 93 Lynch, “The Creation of a College,” 36–39. On the library in detail, see Jonquil Bevan, “Seventeenth-Century Students and Their Books,” in Four Centuries, 16–27. 94 Edinburgh University Library Ms Da.2.1. (EUA–A–16). 95 From the period between 1640 and 1649 altogether 32 people signed it, and in 1642 only five. It seems to be a general trend that no new signatures appear in the second half of the year, see ibid., 11–14. 96 Tarczali Sr., Theses theologicae, 1–2. The dedication lists the names of Alexander Henrison, John Adamson, John Sharp, and Julius Conrad Otto. Unfortunately there is no concrete The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 39 nized for granting master’s titles, where texts written by the professors were rehearsed by students for the sake of practice (“exercitii gratia”). This is also suggested by the date of the disputation, 7 July, since these graduations were always held at the end of the academic year, the beginning of July.97 A couple of weeks after Tarczali’s disputation summer holidays started at the Edinburgh Academy. They usually lasted at least one month, but occasionally even went on until mid-October. The Hungarian students most probably left Scotland, although it is hard to say which way they went. If they had left Cambridge because of the looming conflicts between the king and parliament, they would have been unlikely to risk a trip across England from north to south during July and August, when the actual military campaigns started, and to cross the route of first the royalist, and then the parliamentary, armies. They could have left Edinburgh by sea heading for Leiden, but in that case we might wonder why Harsányi only enrolled at the university again on 6 October. The journey at sea could not have taken that long, and there would have been no obstacle to matriculating earlier in Leiden where the academic year had started in February. Moreover, Harsányi was not alone when he returned to Leiden. He was accompanied by János Gidófalvi Csulak as well as by a medical student from Cambridge, John Southcott.98 Gidófalvi, who was the same age as Harsányi, had been staying abroad for quite a while by then. After his studies at the college of Gyulafehérvár he started his peregrination in 1640 in Franeker, and later enrolled at the universities of Groningen (1640) and Leiden (1641). There is no direct information about his visit to Britain, but George Gömöri is surely right to suggest that he matriculated again in Leiden in 1642 since he was somewhere else for a while between the two registrations.99 Hypothetically it would be possible for him to have come back from Edinburgh together with Harsányi, but the presence of John Southcott renders it unlikely. The Scottish academy did not have a medical faculty at the time, and there is no reason why the twenty-four-year-old English student would have made the detour from Cambridge to Scotland. It is more probable that Harsányi returned to London

reference in the text of the dedication to their sponsorship, but only to their general goodwill and benevolence towards the Hungarian student. 97 Shepherd, “University Life,” 3–4. The author also calls attention to the fact that the theses read at these graduations were not the work of the student, but of the regent. 98 ASALB I, 335. 99 The biography of Gidófalvi was compiled by János Herepei, “Gidófalvi Csulak János,” in Adattár, vol. 2, 324–332. See also Gömöri, Magyarországi diákok, 50. 40 Chapter 1 somehow, perhaps by sea in order to avoid the troops, and then moved back to the Netherlands in early October.

Experiences during Peregrination Peregrination was not only a formative event for early modern Hungarian students because of the university courses they attended. Being far away from home, visiting unknown regions, and getting acquainted with cultures different from their own were important experiences in themselves. Some students paid close attention to domestic skills, examining what might be useful back home. István Kocsi Csergő left some notes behind at the turn of the eighteenth century which, based on examples from England and the Netherlands, elaborate on topics such as how to make “the bread have a white crust so that nothing is lost from it,” or “how to milk a cow that likes to kick, in an easy way.” He even noted some procedures which were otherwise already known in Hungary, such as brewing beer, noting that “the English beer is really famous.”100 Even less enthusiastic students were expected to follow the instructions of travel methodology, the so-called apodemics, that blossomed in the seventeenth century, and take notes about the places visited. In the works of David Frölich there was even a Hungarian version of the handbooks that helped to supply a method of registering everything travellers had seen. Even if no traveller could follow all the complex peculiarities of this elaborate system many of them kept their diaries according to the principles suggested by it.101 The travel diary of Harsányi has not survived, and neither has his album amicorum, the booklet where the signatures of professors and fellow students were collected during a peregrination. It is very likely that Harsányi shared the opinion of his fellow Hungarian and Transylvanian travelers. Despite the rather dry style of contemporary travelogues we find again and again signs of

100 The collected manuscripts of István Kocsi Csergő, Sárospataki Református Kollégium Tudományos Gyűjteményei, Nagykönyvtár, Kézirattár 403, 747–791. 101 On apodemic literature generally, see Justin Stagl, “Der wohl unterwiesene Passagier: Rei- sekunst und Gesellschaftbeschreibung vom 16. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert,” in Reisen und Reisebeschreibungen im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert als Quellen der Kulturbeziehungsforschung, ed. Boris I. Krasnobaev, Gert Robel, and Herbert Zeman (Berlin, 1980), 353–384; Sándor Iván Kovács, “A régi magyar utazási irodalom az európai utazáselméleti művek tükrében” [Old Hungarian travel literature in the mirror of European works on the theory of travel], in Szakácsmesterségnek és utazásnak könyvecskéi: Két tanulmány (Budapest, 1988), 95–200. On Frölich, see ibid., 126–134; Ilona Pavercsik, “David Frölich sajátkezű feljegyzé- sei műveiről” [The autograph register of David Frölich about his works], Magyar Könyvszemle 112 (1996): 292–319, 429–450; József Hajós, “Frölich Dávid,” Magyar Könyvszemle 113 (1997): 16–32. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 41 admiration for the places in Western Europe the authors visited, even if their perspective was somewhat different from that of a tourist today. Like their western contemporaries, they were much less in awe of the artistic value of artifacts. If they noted what kind of artifact they had seen, they hardly wasted any words on its maker, but rather focused on its estimated cost. They were generally far more interested in large and expensive things, be it a splendid public building or the Dutch and English cows praised by Márton Szepsi Csombor.102 In their writings everyday phenomena mingled with extraordinary sights, such as the collections of rarities and cabinets of curiosities, the early modern forerunners of museums. The travellers tried to get the widest possible and most complex impression of the Europica varietas that the much quoted Márton Szepsi Csombor referred to in the title of his book. It is nevertheless remarkable that one element should be missing from the accounts of seventeenth-century Hungarian students that would dominate those of later centuries: the frequent comparisons made between foreign lands and the conditions back home and the laments over the not very flattering results of such a comparison.103 Differences were obviously registered, and where they saw a chance of improving the situation at home they did not hesitate to take it, as the above-quoted example from István Kocsi Csergő shows. To place Western Europe and Hungary/Transylvania on different levels of a civilizational scale, as was done in later centuries, however, was alien to their way of thinking. Sometimes they even felt the need to play on the stereotypes they encountered in western Europe, thereby implying that they did not interpret their otherness as inferiority. The best example of this attitude comes not from a commoner but from a young aristocrat, Pál Esterházy. On the occasion of the coronation ceremonies of Ferdinand IV of Habsburg as king of Rome he drank a litre of wine in one draft from the goblet circulating among the guests, slapped it down contentedly on the table, and impressed those present by vaulting onto his “horse of exceptional wildness … to reveal the glory of the Hungarian nation.”104 Students preferred be exceedingly critical of at least a few phenomena in the territories visited – which might also prove that they

102 Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, 191. For a more detailed discussion, see my “Identity and Borders: Seventeenth-Century Hungarian Travellers in the West and the East,” Euro- pean Review of History 17 (2010): 558–559, and the literature cited there. 103 On this question in detail, see Kármán, “Identity,” 560–562; Graeme Murdock, “‘They Are Laughing at Us’: Hungarian Travellers and Early Modern European Identity,” in Under Eastern Eyes: A Comparative Introduction to East European Travel Writing on Europe, ed. Wendy Bracewell and Alex Drace-Francis (Budapest and New York, 2008), 121–145. 104 See the excerpts from his diary in Ildikó Horn, “Esterházy Pál: Itinerarium ad Germaniam, 1653,” Sic Itur ad Astra 4–5 (1989): 46. For other examples, see Kármán, “Identity,” 561–562. 42 Chapter 1 did not feel inferior. Nor was it only their concerns about the morals of the locals that they shared with their readers, but they even sometimes described their conditions as rather pitiful. Moreover, their criticisms were indeed occasionally pronounced on a “civilizational” level, as in the case of László Sennyey who made many sarcastic remarks about a French priest picking lice from his trousers during a Mass in Rome.105 The problem noted by Szepsi Csombor, that he could find nobody in London who spoke Latin, was also a typical complaint for a student visiting foreign universities. This seemingly innocent remark reveals a deeper significance when we think how low a reputation the so-called “deáktalan” (“Latin-less”) people had in the works of seventeenth-century Hungarian rhetoricians, who often concluded that anyone who lacked education must also have had grave moral deficiencies.106 Nonethless, it was also characteristic of students returning from Western Europe to have a more critical attitude towards the situation in their home country.107 This emerged especially in some situations, such as that of János Apáczai Csere, who argued for his plans for reforming education by castigating the situation in Transylvania and also by referring to the conditions at foreign academies.108 The same pattern can be found in the letters of János Pálóczi Horváth, who added, when describing the universities of Cambridge and Oxford: “I wish our country would at least have a single one of these colleges!”109 Pálóczi’s observation was necessary because the addressee of his letter was István Bethlen, the brother of the ruling prince, to whom he made no secret of his main objective of influencing Transylvanian policies on education.

105 László Sennyey, “Római utazása (1687)” [Journey to Rome, 1687], in Magyar utazási irodalom 15–18. Század [Hungarian travel literature 15th–18th centuries], ed. Sándor Iván Kovács and István Monok (Budapest, 1990), 551. For more examples, see Kármán, “Iden- tity,” 561–562. 106 Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, 184. On the early modern interpretation of being “deáktalan,” see István Bartók, “A casa rustica és a mechanici: Az ‘alacsony stílus’ ismérvei a XVII. századi magyar irodalomelméletben” [The casa rustica and the mechanici: The criteria of “low style” in the 17th-century Hungarian theory of literature], Irodalomtörté- neti Közlemények 96 (1992): 569–578. 107 József Jankovics, “A magyar peregrinusok Európa-képe” [The Hungarian students’ image of Europe], in Régi és új peregrináció, vol. 2, 556–564. 108 Apáczai Csere, “A bölcsesség tanulásáról,” 618–619; see also Murdock, “They Are Laughing at Us?” 109 János Pálóczi Horváth to István Bethlen (Paris, 13 April 1628), Pál Binder, ed., Utazások a régi Európában: Peregrinációs levelek, útleírások és útinaplók (1580–1709) [Travels in old Europe: Peregrination letters, travelogues, and diaries (1580–1709)] (Bucharest, 1979), 88 (based on the Hungarian translation of Magda Kiss) (in the following: URE). The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 43

We know of no such remarks made by Jakab Harsányi Nagy. From the time of his peregrination, as we saw, there is not a single document which might reflect his opinion or personal experiences. Nor are there any sources in which he refers back to the time of his travels. The rather critical tone in his later writings can surely be regarded as a consequence of his university years which, as I will show in more detail in Chapter Five, was the product of a variety of factors. We can state for sure that, during his university years, Harsányi became acquainted with two types of situations that recurred in later phases of his life: the sense of being a foreigner and the lack of money. Where the sensation of being a foreigner is concerned, the experience of being alien was a part of the peregrination, even in everyday aspects of life such as clothing. The Hungarian Palatine, György Thurzó, was cautioned about the importance of changing attire by John George, Elector of Saxony, who warned him that in order for his son not to be laughed at in Wittenberg, he should have German clothes made for him.110 It could not have been an easy decision to abandon Hungarian clothing which, because of its Oriental elements, differed fundamentally from the western fashion (which was none theless itself quite varied), and in contemporary texts we frequently come across metaphors that connect changing clothes with changing character and loyalties.111 Harsányi must have shared the experience that was the lot of the majority of Hungarian students visiting foreign universities – to take temporary leave of his familiar clothing. This was also done by Ferenc Pápai Páriz, who, crossing the Hungarian border towards Silesia, noted in his diary that he “had a German cloth made, at a very high price, a rather bad one,” which leads us to the other question – the financial situation.112 The most recurrent topic in students’ correspondence is money, which never proved to be sufficient. Apart from the prices, which were incredibly high compared to those in Hungary and Transylvania, it was also a shock for the students abroad to discover that, as András Csehi put it, “there is

110 John George to György Thurzó (Neusorg, 31 July 1615), Edit Dományházi et al., ed., A Thurzó család és a wittenbergi egyetem [The Thurzó family and the University of Witten- berg] (Szeged, 1989), 83. János Rozgonyi Varga also noted that the visiting student arriving in Copenhagen caused a sensation among the locals with their Hungarian clothes, see Tonk, “Rozgonyi,” 155–156. 111 In detail, see József Jankovics, “Régi magyar irodalmunk ‘viseletképe’” [The “image of clothing” in old Hungarian literature], in Régi erdélyi viselet: Viseletkódex a XVII. századból (Budapest, 1990), 5–21. 112 See the diary of Ferenc Pápai Páriz, Békességet magamnak, másoknak [Peace for myself and others], ed. Géza Nagy (Bucharest, 1977), 144–145. Many examples of buying clothes are listed by Bozzay, “Der finanzielle Hintergrund,” 29. 44 Chapter 1 very little or no friendship” among the people living there, meaning that “for every small thing in the world, even for showing you a street, they want to have one or two coins.”113 So students frequently ran out of money and had to rely on the loans from their newly arrived colleagues. And yet, to be without money for a longer time happened rarely. We only know about a very few cases of Hungarian students in Leiden being dragged before the forum academicum, the court dealing with students’ debts.114 The prince, it seems, took good care of the recipients of his scholarships and tried to find every means of sending them their allowances. We know, for instance, a document dating from two years after Harsányi’s return, in which an officer of the Swedish army, then allied to György Rákóczi I, undertook to transfer 1100 talers to the Transylvanian students visiting foreign universities.115 This is how János Tolnai Dali, who was the holder of the princely stipend, could help out Gábor Haller, who was in fact far wealthier at home, in his financial straits during his peregrination.116 According to the above hypothesis, on the other hand, Jakab Harsányi Nagy was travelling not on the money of the prince, but on that of the Nagyvárad college. It is very likely that his financial condition did not allow him to spice his student years with much entertainment, which was also a common experience among his Hungarian colleagues. Apart from the atmosphere at the Dutch universities, which was far more modest than in Germany, they were also entitled to fewer amusements because of their age upon entering the university: they were much older than their Western European colleagues. Harsányi nevertheless proved to be creative in finding alternative sources to his stipend from home, as we see from the schol-

113 András Csehi to the Council of Nagybánya ([1648]), MPEIF VI, 268. On the expenses of peregrination, see Bozzay, “Leiden,” 1002–1006. 114 Nor is there a single case of their being charged for anything other than their debts; see Ödön Miklós, “Magyarok perei a leideni rektor előtt” [Lawsuits against Hungarians at the court of the rector in Leiden], Theologiai Szemle 3 (1927): 163–165; Bozzay, “Leiden,” 1002– 1006. 115 Certificate of Alexander Erskein for György Rákóczi I (Camp near Brünn, 8 July 1645), Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Okmánytár I. Rákóczy György svéd és franczia szövetkezéseinek törté- netéhez [Documents on the Swedish and French alliances of György Rákóczi I] (Budapest, 1873), 324–325 (in the following: MHHD XXI). 116 János Herepei, “Tolnai Dali János hazatérésének ideje” [The time of János Tolnai Dali’s return], in Adattár XVII. századi szellemi mozgalmaink történetéhez, vol. 1, Polgári irodalmi és kulturális törekvések a század első felében: Herepei János cikkei, ed. Bálint Keserű (Buda- pest and Szeged, 1965), 413; A.P. Szabó, “Haller Gábor peregrinációja,” 23. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 45 arship he received from Cambridge in a period when English universities did not yet regularly sponsor Hungarian and Transylvanian students.117

The Puritan Rector?

Harsányi’s second stay in Leiden starting in October 1642 did not last very long. He returned to his homeland sometime in 1643. He probably travelled by ship via Danzig, as his entry in the album amicorum of Ludwig Möller written in Thorn survives, and the West Prussian town would have meant a major detour had he chosen the land route.118 This time it is not clear whether he travelled alone or if he was accompanied by another Hungarian student from Leiden. There is a consensus in the historiography that, after his return from peregrination, Harsányi became a rector of the college of Nagyvárad, although the time frame of this office is debated. Not only does the accuracy of the biographical account make a precise dating important, but the moment at which his activities as a rector ended is crucial in defining his position in the debates about church government and the spread of Puritan ideals in Hungary in the late 1640s. The Calvinists in Hungary and Transylvania had been in a state of agitation over the previous ten years thanks to the influx of Puritan ideas connected to the activities of János Tolnai Dali. The young theologian founded a “league” in 1638 with some of his fellow students in London in order to spread the new ideas back home. The mere news of this caused an uproar among the church authorities who found it hard to tolerate any attempts at reform. After his return to Hungary Tolnai became a rector in Sárospatak, where he attempted to introduce a revised curriculum. His aggressive and controversial character, however, proved somewhat counterproductive in the reception of his opinions. Tolnai and his colleagues provided an inexhaustible source of scandal during the entire decade of the 1640s, especially when, besides powerful

117 The bestowal of stipends on Hungarian and Transylvanian students by locals for studies in England seems to have been much more frequent in the period of the Ottoman wars in Transylvania at the end of the 1650s, and then in the “decade of misery for Protestants” in Hungary of the 1670s; see György Gömöri, “Thomas Barlow magyar kapcsolatai és egy ismeretlen Tarczali Pál-levél” [The Hungarian contacts of Thomas Barlow and an unpublished letter from Pál Tarczali], Magyar Könyvszemle 124 (2008): 181–185. 118 Album of Ludwig Möller, Ksiąznica Kopernikańska (Toruń), KM 5. R 8˚8, fol. 53. This source was found by György Gömöri: “Magyar peregrinusok,” 196; Gömöri, Magyarországi diákok, 51. I am also grateful to the author for having personally sent me a photocopy of the entry. 46 Chapter 1 enemies, they also managed to find strong supporters. When, thanks to the plea of the Calvinist bishop, Tolnai was released from his post in Sárospatak by György Rákóczi I, he gained the title of court preacher of Zsigmond Rákóczi, the younger son of the prince, and he later also became rural dean of the Abaúj diocese. The national synod of Szatmárnémeti in 1646 marked an important stage in this ongoing fight. Although the synod was declaredly concerned with questions of liturgy – Tolnai was accused of having restricted baptism to specific days – it was clear to everyone that the decisions to be made there had a far broader relevance. It was generally assumed that the smaller liturgical changes paved the way for larger reforms, for example in the method of church government.119 As we saw at the beginning of this chapter, Jakab Harsányi Nagy also incurred a reprimand from this synod. László Makkai, writing on the history of Hun garian Puritanism, built upon this information when he presented Harsányi as the consistent representative of Puritan ideas, who “did not reach a compromise, but rather left the ecclesiastical field and started on a secular career.”120 He was even more specific in a later work, claiming that Harsányi, who had been teaching at the college since 1642, could have retained his post if only he had not been forced to choose a secular career as a consequence of the decision at the synod.121 Makkai did not specify the date when Harsányi left the college, but it would obviously have been in the period immediately following the synod’s decision – as a heroic last stand for Puritanism –, that is in 1646, or 1647 at the latest. This assumption, however, is hardly defensible since there are disputations dating from December 1647 and July 1648 which were dedicated by their authors to Harsányi as their tutor at Nagyvárad.122 Although both students,

119 On the preparations of the synod and its proceedings, see Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak, 20–173; Imre Révész, A szatmárnémeti zsinat és az első magyar református ébredés [The synod of Szatmárnémeti and the first Hungarian Calvinist awakening] (Budapest, 1947). The proceedings were recently summarized by Murdock, Calvinism on the Frontier, 170– 180; Réka Bozzay, “The Influence of Dutch Universities on the Education of Seventeenth- Century Hungarian Intellectuals,” in A Divided Hungary in Europe: Exchanges, Networks and Representations, 1541–1699, vol. 2, Study Tours and Intellectual-Religious Relationships, ed. Gábor Almási (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 2014), 85–88. 120 Makkai, A magyar puritánusok, 115. 121 Makkai, “Debrecen,” 49–50. In a similar way, the decision of the synod is presented as a compelling measure by Várkonyi, Erdélyi változások, 271. 122 See the exact quotations in footnote 4. It was János Herepei who called attention to these sources that prove beyond doubt that Harsányi was still a teacher in the college during 1647–1648; see Herepei, “Adatok,” 56. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 47

Mihály Tofaeus and Péter Szatmári Baka, began their peregrination in 1646, the flow of information was relatively strong among the students abroad. They would therefore have heard about it if their former teacher had to resign, and most probably would have noted it in the dedication (even if only by adding the word “quondam”). Even if we consider that news needed approximately three months to get from Nagyvárad to the United Provinces, it is certain that Harsányi was still a rector of Nagyvárad in April 1648. This, however, excludes the possibility that he resigned as a consequence of the decision of the Szatmárnémeti synod, since it was taken almost two years earlier, in June 1646. Moreover, it seems that Harsányi did not stop teaching in 1648 either. As noted earlier, he was the praeceptor of Mihály Apafi I, but they could not have met before Harsányi’s peregrination. And it is also clear that he taught the would-be prince somewhere other than Nagyvárad, since Apafi never attended that college. When Harsányi returned from his peregrination Apafi had been studying at the college of Gyulafehérvár for one year, and, according to a letter sent to his mother in 1647, he was also quite enthusiastic about his studies and would have been happy to peregrinate but did not have the opportunity.123 Until 2 May 1649, when he left school for good, he continued to be a student at Gyulafehérvár, although his stay in the Transylvanian capital was interrupted time and again by journeys to Upper Hungary.124 This means that if Harsányi was Apafi’s teacher, he could only have been so if he had worked for a while as a praeceptor in Gyulafehérvár. The dating of this move was made possible by János Herepei, who quoted a passage from the account book of the tax inspec- tor of Kolozsvár which refers to three students who were taking the belongings of a certain “master from Nagyvárad” after him towards Nagyenyed. Since there is no information about Harsányi’s activities in Nagyvárad after 1649, but there is indeed evidence of all of his colleagues still being in town, we can accept Herepei’s conclusion that the aforesaid “master” could only have been Har sányi.125 And if Harsányi moved to Gyulafehérvár (which is in the direction of Nagyenyed from Kolozsvár) at the turn of 1649, he could have taught Mihály Apafi for a few months. His activities as a rector in Gyulafehérvár are thus the final argument against Makkai’s assumption that Jakab Harsányi gave up teaching because he was unwilling to abandon his Puritan convictions.

123 Mihály Apafi to his mother, Borbála Pettki (Gyulafehérvár, 1 September 1647), Arhivele Naţionale Direcţia Judeţeană Cluj (National Archives, Directorate of the Province Cluj, in the following: ANCJ), Colecţia Sámuel Kemény no. 11. fol. 70r. 124 AMN 3. His diary lists a trip to Lőcse in 1647, and one to Bártfa in 1648. 125 Herepei, “Adatok,” 56. 48 Chapter 1

Furthermore, the sanction concerning Harsányi among the decisions of the synod of Szatmárnémeti does not seem to be overly strict, since it ordered the young teacher to sign a statement saying that he would conform to the magistrates and not spread any innovations contrary to the accepted dogma of the church.126 Nor is it in any way extraordinary that the sanction should stipulate that if he acted contrary to his certificate he would lose his ecclesiastical appointment. This passage was also part of the oath that was prescribed by the synod for every student returning from peregrination.127 More surprising is the fact that the decisions of the synod mentioned him at a specific point, also adding his name. His case must have been dealt with rather briefly, inde pendently of the proceedings against Tolnai. This is also suggested by the fact that, according to the list of the participants, Harsányi was not present in Szatmárnémeti.128 We thus have to conclude that the synod considered Harsányi’s misdemean- our less important than an accusation of openly siding with Tolnai would have been. There is a remark in the protocols of the Diocese of Zemplén according to which a senior of Nagyvárad (that is, a distinguished student from the higher classes) got into trouble in the years preceding the synod for stating in a sermon that “the true faith would have started to advance, if it had not been obstructed by some.” This excerpt could easily be understood as a reference to the synod of Tokaj that condemned Tolnai in 1645. The utterance of the student caused a minor scandal. According to the anonymous author of the report “it almost worked out badly for him, as well as for his master; he was even put in chains for it.”129 The source does not give the name of the master, but it might have been Harsányi (as suggested by Jenő Zoványi). Nor can it be excluded that this was the reason for his condemnation at the synod. The audacity of his student might have placed him too under suspicion but it did not allow his accusers to take harsher measures.130 It can thus be assumed with good reason that Harsányi was not an outspoken supporter of Puritan ideas,

126 See the Latin text in footnote 5. Péter Bod, who probably used another version of the decisions, adds in his summary that “he does not befoul and defame others”; see Bod, Magyar Athénás, 351. 127 Protocols of the Diocese of Zemplén, Sárospataki Református Kollégium Tudományos Gyűjteményei Levéltár (in the following: SRKLt.) Kgg. I.2. fol. 178v. 128 In contrast to him, the preachers and teachers involved in the Tolnai case (István Keresz- túri, Mihály Köleséri, István Győri, and Péter Kovásznai) attended the synod personally. The list of participants is in Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak, 150–154. 129 Both quotations are taken from the anonymous and undated short treatise “An Joannes Tolnaeus juro merito privatus?,” SRKLt. Kgg. I.2. fol. 180v. 130 Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak, 144. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 49 liturgical changes, and reforms of church government, while at the same time we do not have to infer that his thought and way of life remained uninfluenced by ideas coming from England, which will be the topic of a later chapter. We can conclude that Harsányi started to teach in Nagyvárad immediately after returning from his peregrination in 1643, and moved to Gyulafehérvár at the end of 1648. Changing schools was an uncommon phenomenon among the theologians who worked as teachers after their peregrination.131 Few of them would have had the time for this, since they tried to leave their reluctantly held posts as teachers and obtain a position as a minister as soon as possible. The church authorities responsible for filling up the ranks of teachers often had to face the same situation as confronted István Tolnai in 1637. In a letter to his prince Tolnai wrote that, although very satisfied with the work of the rector Ferenc S. Veréczi in Sárospatak, “I would be happy if he stayed another year, but he [Veréczi] was invited to be a minister in Szatmárnémeti, and once his year is over here, I do not know what he will decide.”132 There were only a few young men who felt the vocation to dedicate their entire life to teaching, such as János Apáczai Csere or Pál Keresztúri Bíró, and, if we are to believe the bitter remarks of the former, their decision was not generally appreciated.133 Those whom Harsányi met during his peregrination also tried to become ministers in the next few years and two of them, Gönczi and Tarczali, even became deans at the dioceses of Nagybánya and Zemplén respectively.134 Harsányi, it seems, did not want to abandon teaching as quickly as his contemporaries. In his case, however, it is not difficult to find a reason for his change of college, since the Gyulafehérvár College was, as we saw, the most

131 Apart from Harsányi’s, there are only five known cases. In two of them the change was due to the suppression of the school itself; in another two, the teacher could not stay in his first place of work because of some serious conflicts with the college. We have no information about why Daniel Klein left the college of Brassó for that of Nagyszeben. See Szabó and Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása, No. 122, 391, 435, 782, and 1256. 132 István Tolnai to György Rákóczi I (Sárospatak, 6 July [1637]), PEIL XVIII, 1123. 133 See János Apáczai Csere, “Az iskolák felettébb szükséges voltáról és a magyaroknál való barbár állapotuk okairól” [On the foremost necessity of schools and the reasons of their barbaric state among Hungarians], in Apáczai Csere János válogatott pedagógiai művei, ed. Lajos Orosz, 2nd ed. (Budapest, 1976), 198–200. The case of Keresztúri shows the very opposite: his career and influence at court were built upon his pedagogical skills. It is also clear, however, that the post of tutor of the princely offspring was only open to one person at a time. See Dienes, Keresztúri Bíró Pál, 65–104. 134 On Gönczi, see János Soltész, A nagybányai reformált egyházmegye története [History of the Reformed diocese of Nagybánya] (Nagybánya, 1902), 26; on Tarczali, Dénes Dienes, ed., Zempléni vizitációk 1629–1671 [Visitations in Zemplén 1629–1671] (Sárospatak, 2008), 219. 50 Chapter 1 important and most prestigious institution of education in Transylvania. To teach there must have seemed a lucrative position, even if the school of Nagyvárad also gained some fame under the rule of György Rákóczi I and became the second best school of the Principality. The donation of the prince that enabled the college to pay for two or three “academicus” praeceptors (that is, those who came back from peregrination) brought the Nagyvárad College into prominence among the colleges that could usually not hire more than one adult teacher; and it seems that these available posts were regularly filled.135 At the same time, Nagyvárad had good facilities for education. The college building, rebuilt after the old school burned down in 1598, was one of the largest edifices of the town. In central Nagyvárad it grew to be one of the centres of Transylvanian intellectual life.136 At the same time, Nagyvárad must have looked rather insignificant compared to the places Harsányi had visited during his peregrination. Contemporary engravings show that the area of the town was not very large, and it had no city walls – although next to it stood the most important fortification of the Principality, nearly as large as the town itself. The contemporary chronicle of János Szalárdi confirms this impression since his very detailed description of the town also suggests a versatile and lively place that nonetheless only consisted of a few streets.137 Nor was Gyulafehérvár, although the centre of Transylvanian government, particularly large. The townscape was a square-shaped area inside the city walls which was relatively loosely built. There were hardly any buildings except for those of the magistrates and court officeholders.138 The college of

135 Herepei, “Adatok,” especially 20–22. 136 The most important period in the architectural history of the College, however, was the 1650s, when, thanks to a donation of Zsuzsanna Lorántffy, the building was extended and each classis could have its own teaching hall. See the contemporary account in János Sza- lárdi, Siralmas magyar krónikája [Hungarian chronicle of laments], ed. Ferenc Szakály (Budapest, 1980), 422–423. On the place of the college in the town, see Zoltán I. Péter, Nagyvárad 900 éves múltja és épített öröksége [The 900 years past and architectural heritage of Nagyvárad] (Budapest, 2005), 75–76. The Nagyvárad of the early seventeenth century is presented as “a Protestant Athens” by Jenő Horváth, Váradi fresco: Nagyvárad története [Fresco of Várad: The history of Nagyvárad] (Budapest, 1940), 77–78. 137 Szalárdi, Siralmas magyar krónikája, 414–423. Several contemporary illustrations are published by Jolán Balogh, Varadinum: Várad vára [Varadinum: The castle of Nagyvárad], vol. 1 (Budapest, 1982). On the seventeenth-century building process of the castle, see ibid., 55–71. 138 On the buildings of Gyulafehérvár, see András Kovács, “Az építkező Bethlen Gábor és székvárosa” [Gábor Bethlen, the commissioner of buildings and his residence town], in Emlékkönyv Jakó Zsigmond születésének nyolcvanadik évfordulójára, ed. András Kovács, The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 51

FIGure 1.2 Nagyvárad in the late sixteenth century

Gyulafehérvár was nevertheless the leading educational institution in Transylvania, the only one that had an academic classis, and some of whose teachers were therefore also given the title of professor. The donation of Prince Gábor Bethlen, which ensured the eminent financial situation of the college, was also maintained by György Rákóczi I. Only half of the buildings in Bethlen’s ambitious plan were actually finished, but even so the college, with its thirty rooms, provided excellent conditions for its students and teachers.139

Gábor Sipos, and Sándor Tonk (Kolozsvár, 1996), 230–246; Kovács, Késő reneszánsz épí- tészet Erdélyben 1541–1720 [Late Renaissance architecture in Transylvania 1541–1720] (Budapest and Kolozsvár, 2006), 43–44; the ground plan of the town from 1711 is published on page 43, on the palace, see pages 75–83. See also Kovács, “Gyulafehérvár, Site of the Transylvanian Princely Court in the 16th Century,” in Studies in the History of Early Modern Transylvania, ed. Gyöngy Kiss Kovács (Boulder, CO, 2011), 319–358. On the cathedral that in this period belonged to the Calvinists, see Kovács, “A gyulafehérvári Szent Mihály székesegyház” [The Saint Michael cathedral in Gyulafehérvár], in Épületek emlékezete: Nevezetes épületek Erdélyben (Budapest, 2007), 11–39. 139 On the later development of Bethlen’s donation, see János Herepei, “A fehérvári kollégi- umi alapítvány sorsa Bethlen halála után” [The history of the foundation for the Gyulafe- hérvár college after Bethlen’s death], in Adattár, vol. 2, 7–18. On the building of the college, see Kovács, “Az építkező Bethlen Gábor,” 242–244; Kovács, Késő reneszánsz építészet, 43. 52 Chapter 1

At the end of 1648, when Harsányi most probably arrived in Gyulafehérvár, only one of the three professors who had been invited from the academy of Herborn by Gábor Bethlen in the late 1620s, Johann Heinrich Bisterfeld, was still alive. But he enjoyed quite a reputation. Apart from his academic activities, he also influenced the foreign policy of György Rákóczi I.140 Aside from the professor who taught theology, there were four academicus Hungarian teachers responsible for training in syntax, poetics, rhetoric, and logic (at least in the late 1650s, when Miklós Bethlen was a student at the college).141 Harsányi must have been one of the pedagogues who held the title of rector.142 It is not clear how Harsányi had the chance of changing his teaching post in Nagyvárad for one in Gyulafehérvár. It might even have been in connection with the death of György Rákóczi I in 1648. The new prince, György Rákóczi II, had previously been the holder of the most important military post in the Principality, the Captain of Nagyvárad, which meant that he spent a great deal of time in the castle of Nagyvárad before 1648. During this period he might have become acquainted with the rector Harsányi, who was only five years older than himself, and when there was a need for a new teacher in Gyula fehérvár he might have promoted him to this position. Even the suspicion about Harsányi’s Puritan connections might not have been a serious obstacle, since – according to the slight surviving evidence – György Rákóczi II had some sympathy for the church reformers at that time – only to become later a rigid opponent of Presbyterianism as a prince, mainly because of the

140 His biography was summarized by Johann Kvacsala, “Johann Heinrich Bisterfeld,” Unga rische Revue 13 (1893): 40–59, 171–197; Noémi Viskolcz, “Johann Heinrich Bisterfeld: Ein Professor als Vermittler zwischen West und Ost an der siebenbürgischen Akademie in Weißenburg, 1630–1655,” in Calvin und Reformiertentum in Ungarn und Siebenbürgen: Hel- vetisches Bekenntnis, Ethnie und Politik vom 16. Jahrhundert bis 1918, ed. Márta Fata and Anton Schindling (Munster, 2010), 201–214. 141 Bethlen, “Élete leírása,” 547. In the lower classes of the college the teachers may still have been at a stage prior to their peregrination. Mihály Apafi, for instance, studied under the tutorship of Imre Pápai Páriz, who only matriculated later, in 1645, at the Universities of Leiden and Utrecht. See AMN 3; Szabó and Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása, 49 (No. 473). The most detailed work on the college’s history remained unfinished: Ferenc Váró, Bethlen Gábor kollégiuma [The college of Gábor Bethlen] (Nagyenyed, 1903). See also K. Péter, “Das Kollegium.” 142 We might conclude that since Harsányi was Apafi’s praeceptor in his last year of study, he may have had to teach the graduating class (of logic). This, however, is by no means certain: Apafi also noted the teachers of his classes in his diary, and Harsányi is not among them. So it is possible that the future prince was not a member of Harsányi’s class and that they knew each other as the teacher and graduating student of the same college. The Beginnings of an Ecclesiastical Career 53 developments in England, such as the execution of Charles I.143 Whether it was thanks to the recommendation of the new prince or not, Harsányi undoubtedly made a good career move, because the teachers at the Gyulafehérvár college received an exceedingly high salary, many times higher than what they would have received in a smaller secondary school. While their salary in Kolozsvár was 45 florins, in the capital they could earn as much as 250 florins, and some extra allowances in kind. Their income thus came close to that of a minister in a well-off town.144 It seemed that a successful career awaited Harsányi within the pale of the Church.

143 Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak, 142–143; Makkai, A magyar puritánusok, 118. 144 According to Imre Bán’s calculations, the allowances in kind were the following: 36 vats (“köböl”) of wheat, 200 buckets (“veder”) of wine, 15 sheep, 1 hive of bees, and firewood worth 16 florins. The comparative data also come from his account: Bán, Apáczai, 395– 396. 54 Chapter 2

Chapter 2 In the Service of the Prince

In view of his precedents and hopes for an ecclesiastical career, it is surprising to find the name of Jakab Harsányi Nagy among the scribes of the Greater Chancellery of Transylvania. in several documents dating from between 1650 and 16521 He is most unlikely to have had the post of scribe as a part-time job beside his office as a teacher at the Gyulafehérvár college. There are no known examples from the period that would suggest this, and the work-load of the teacher, as far as we can see from contemporary accounts, would not have permitted such an option either. This means, then, that Harsányi spent less than two years at the Gyulafehérvár college after he left Nagyvárad. There is no surviving information about his reasons for leaving his post as a teacher and giving up an ecclesiastical career for a secular one. We cannot even rely on other contemporary examples, as there are very few people known to have done the same thing in this period. There are only four known cases of students who came back from peregrination and eventually went into state service, and of three Saxon academici, who became notaries of their towns after some teaching experience.2 Among them the only one at whose motivation we can guess is Gáspár Bojti Veres, but this would not help us to understand Harsányi’s decision. Bojti, who came from a peasant family and served as the tutor of the nephew of Prince Gábor Bethlen for a while, left the college of Marosvásárhely in order to return to the court and become a court historiographer of Prince

1 Zsolt Trócsányi, Erdély központi kormányzata 1540–1690 [The central administration of Transylvania 1540–1690] (Budapest, 1980), 260. He refers to two documents, one from Brassó (1650), and one from Nagyszombat (1651). Further evidence can be found from 23 October 1650 (MOL P 1961 1. cs. 1. t. fol. 68–69.); 25 April 1651 (MNL OL F 1 28. k. fol. 607–614., EKK III.); and 26 October 1652 (MNL OL P 1960 87. t. fol. 99.). For the documents from the Bethlen archives, I am grateful to András Péter Szabó. 2 About the academici among the requisitors serving at the princely archives kept at the Chapter of Gyulafehérvár and the Convent of Kolozsmonostor in the 16th–17th centuries, see Attila Sunkó, “Levélkeresők: A Gyulafehérvári Káptalan és a Kolozsmonostori Konvent requisitorainak archontológiája a XVI–XVII. században” [Letter-seekers: The requisitors at the Chapter of Gyulafehérvár and the Convent of Kolozsmonostor in the 16th–17th centuries], Fons: Forráskutatás és Segédtudományok 11 (2004): 277–327; and Zsolt Bogdándi, “A kolozsmonostori konvent fejedelemség kori levélkeresői” [Letter-seekers from the Convent of Kolozsmonostor from the Age of the Princes], Erdélyi Múzeum 72, nos. 3–4 (2010): 43–72. On the Saxon cases, see Szabó and Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása, nos. 605, 633, 1156.

Gábor Bethlen.3 In any case, it is clear from these examples that there was no official obstacle to Harsányi’s making this move, even if it was generally expected that students returning from their peregrination would remain in the service of the Church. In 1582 a synodal decree prescribed that those who did otherwise had to pay back the money spent on their education.4 As Harsányi had served the Reformed Church as teacher for almost seven years after his return home he most probably did not need to make such a reimbursement. As we have seen, the seven years he spent as a teacher give the impression that Harsányi enjoyed his office and found it important. Otherwise he would have left much earlier and tried to obtain a ministry. In this case, though, it would be hard to believe that he simply had enough of teaching and thus looked for other ways to support himself. Nor is there any information about a conflict in the Gyulafehérvár college that would have been so serious as to lead to the expulsion of one of its teachers. An obvious means of proceeding, though probably incorrect, would be to look once more at his Puritan contacts since he had to acknowledge after the synod of Szatmárnémeti that he would lose his ecclesiastical office if he were ever again involved in an “innovation” of faith. In spite of the fact that the documents of the college itself have not survived, a conflict of such proportions would at any rate be mentioned in the correspondence of contemporaries who followed the inner politics of the Reformed Church. The years of 1649 and 1650 can, however, be regarded as remarkably peaceful since the great convulsions of the 1650s were still in preparation and Puritan reformists needed more time to get over their defeat at the Szatmárnémeti synod.5 Another important argument against the Puritan connection as the motivation for Harsányi’s decision is that he subsequently joined the service of the prince, György Rákóczi II. Owing to the developments of the English Civil War, the prince felt less and less empathy with the Puritans

3 In any case, apart from becoming the historiographer and the requisitor of the archives at the court, Bojti also remained a preacher (the so-called concionator) to Gábor Bethlen; see Sándor Makoldy, Bojthi Veres Gáspár élete és történetírói munkássága [The life and historiographic activities of Gáspár Bojthi Veres] (Nagykároly, 1904), 10–11; Emma Bartoniek, Fejezetek a XVI– XVII. századi magyarországi történetírás történetéből [Chapters from the history of 16th–17th- century historiography in Hungary] (Budapest, 1975), 327–338. 4 On this decree, see Gusztáv Bölcskei, “A kezdetektől a váradi iskola beolvadásáig (1660)” [From the beginnings to the incorporation of the school of Nagyvárad, 1660], in A debreceni reformá- tus kollégium története, ed. József Barcza (Budapest, 1988), 33. 5 The book that prepared the way for the greatest debate of the 1650s about the introduction of the Presbyterian system of church government, Pál Medgyesi’s Dialogus politico-ecclesiasticus, was published in 1650; the debate around it (most importantly between János Tolnai Dali and Ferenc S. Veréczi) only started during 1651; see Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak, 247–269. 56 Chapter 2 of Hungary and Transylvania and would not have trusted a person involved in scandals of this kind in such a confidential office as that of “Turkish scribe” which Harsányi acquired during 1651–1652. The interpretation of the most peculiar event in Harsányi’s career must therefore be left open since, on the basis of the information we have today, it is impossible to say why he exchanged an ecclesiastical career for a secular one. After leaving his post as a teacher it might have seemed obvious to take up that of a scribe instead. In the first years of György Rákóczi II’s rule, the number of scribes grew remarkably – from an average of fifteen in the 1640s to around thirty at the beginning of the next decade – and it seems that this post was chosen by many for a short term, as a “springboard” for a future career.6 Moreover, from Harsányi’s point of view the fact that he did not have to move away from Gyulafehérvár in order to join the state administration was an advantage. Like many of his contemporaries, Harsányi did not spend much time as a chancellery scribe. From July 1652 we have a letter from Márton Boldvai, the envoy of György Rákóczi II at the Sublime Porte, claiming that Jakab Harsányi, “due to his love for the country, and expecting the future princely grace of Your Highness … convinced himself to learn the tasks of the Turkish scribe.”7 It seems that Harsányi had already been in Constantinople for a while. In the Colloquia he claimed to have spent seven years at the Porte, and, since he left Constantinople in 1658, his arrival must be dated to 1651. This is also supported by a letter of Harsányi written early in 1656, in which he referred to his having already served the prince in Constantinople for five years – yet another indication that 1651 was the year of his arrival.8 We can assume that he arrived at the Porte together with Boldvai in early November 1651. This could also explain how he entered the diplomatic service in the first place. Boldvai was the alispán (deputy lieutenant) of Bihar County. He consequently had to spend most of his time in Nagyvárad and could have already been acquainted with Harsányi from his time as a rector.9 So the only question left to be answered is why

6 On the scribes of the Chancellery, see Trócsányi, Erdély, 188–205. 7 Márton Boldvai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 July 1652), MHHD XXIII, 110. 8 See the dedication of the B version of Colloquia, 9; as well as the letter of Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), EÉKH II, 218. 9 Both dedications that attest Harsányi’s position as a teacher in the college (cited in footnote 4 of the previous chapter) also name Boldvai as the supporter of the students. The latter arrived in Constantinople with the embassy bringing the Principality’s tribute to the sultan on 5 November 1651; see the report of Simon Reniger (Constantinople, 6 November 1651), Österreichisches Staatsarchiv, Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Türkei I. Kt. 124. Fasc. 62/a. Conv. D. 1651 Nov.–Dez. fol. 20r (in the following: HHStA). In the Service of the Prince 57

Harsányi, if he had already been at the Porte in November 1651, only decided to take up the office of Turkish scribe during the summer of the following year. This is unlikely to have been his purpose when he arrived at the Ottoman capital, and the idea that he could learn Turkish and gain a more prestigious post than that of a simple secretary must have only been raised during the spring of 1652.10 In the light of the relatively slight information that exists about such matters, it seems that the manner in which Harsányi acquired the office was rather unconventional. The example of Dávid Rozsnyai from ten years later shows less spontaneity, and the clearer influence of a well-planned state administration. According to his autobiography he appeared at the court of the newly established Prince Mihály Apafi I as a twenty-two-year-old in the hope of entering his service.11 Several patrons helped him to meet the prince who, after having seen a sample of his handwriting and judging it to be decent, imposed only one more condition for his consent: that the future Turkish scribe find someone to give assurances that he would not “turn Turk,” that is, not convert to Islam and enter the service of the sultan once he was in Constantinople. Rozsnyai also noted in his autobiography that another young man from Transylvania was sent to the Porte together with him in order to be educated as a Turkish scribe, György Brankovics. Harsányi’s decision seems to have been much more haphazard. There is also a fundamental difference in the fact that, while Rozsnyai was only twenty-two when he accepted the hardships of diplomatic service, Harsányi was over thirty-five. He clearly also needed someone to vouch for him – this may have been Boldvai – and, like any other Transylvanian official sent to the Porte, he must have signed a certificate in which he promised fidelity to the prince.12 In any case, Harsányi, who accepted the offer after

10 In Boldvai’s letter cited above (footnote 7), Harsányi’s case is mentioned in the following manner: Boldvai answers the prince’s question concerning the issue and claims that Harsányi also informed János Boros about his decision. Boros, as a chief envoy of Rákóczi, left Constantinople in late May 1652; see Boldvai’s letter to György Rákóczi II (Constanti- nople, 28 May 1652), MHHD XXIII, 97. This interpretation could at least partly explain how it was possible for the compilers of a list of the Greater Chancellery’s scribes to forget to erase Harsányi as late as October 1652 (see the source cited in footnote 1). 11 Dávid Rozsnyai, “Önéletrajza (1663, 1669–73)” [Autobiography, 1663, 1669–1673], in Rozs- nyay Dávid, az utolsó török deák történeti maradványai, ed. Sándor Szilágyi (Budapest, 1867), 317–320 (in the following: MHHS VIII). 12 Although many of the obligatory letters signed by Transylvanian officeholders at the Sub- lime Porte are preserved, none of them are related to Turkish scribes. Their “reverzális” was most probably similar to that given by the interpreters of the ambassadors (on the difference between the two offices, see the next section of this chapter). 58 Chapter 2 having already spent some months at the Porte, could have had a clearer idea of what was awaiting him and must have felt less anxiety than Rozsnyai, who later referred to himself as “Joseph sold to a foreign country” when leaving for the Porte and prayed for the help of God to fulfill “this office of his, accepted with high hopes.”13

The Office of the Turkish Scribe at the Sublime Porte

The novelty of early modern diplomacy was the establishment of permanent embassies. During the sixteenth century there were a growing number of examples even outside Italy of a ruler stationing agents in several power centres of Europe. Naturally the Ottoman Empire, which became an increasingly important actor in the theatre of European politics, was among the main goals of these missions. During the sixteenth century French, English, and Habsburg representatives joined the Venetian bailo at the Sublime Porte, and in the seventeenth century the Netherlands too established a permanent embassy in Constantinople.14 The Transylvanian state – presumably because of its limited

13 Márton Kaposi and Sándor Iván Kovács, “Rozsnyai Dávid kiadatlan kéziratos imádsága” [An unpublished prayer manuscript of Dávid Rozsnyai], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 64 (1960): 487. 14 The classic work about the changes in the system of early modern diplomacy is Garrett Mattingly’s Renaissance Diplomacy (Baltimore, 1955); also informative on the seventeenth century is Matthew Smith Anderson, The Rise of Modern Diplomacy 1450–1919 (London, 1993). General overviews on the history of embassies in Constantinople include Bertold Spuler’s “Die europäische Diplomatie in Konstantinopel bis zum Frieden von Belgrad (1739),” Jahrbücher für Kultur und Geschichte der Slaven 11 (1935): 53–115, 171–222, 313–366; and “Europäische Diplomaten in Konstantinopel bis zum Frieden von Belgrad (1739),” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 1 (1936): 229–262, 383–440. The most important works focusing on single national embassies are by George Frederick Abbott, Turkey, Greece and the Great Powers (London, 1916); Alexander H. De Groot, Ottoman Empire and the Dutch Republic: A History of the Earliest Diplomatic Relations 1610–1630 (Leiden and İstanbul, 1978); Daniel Goffman, Britons in the Ottoman Empire 1642–1660 (Seattle, 1998); Michael Hochedlinger, “Die französisch–osmanische ‘Freundschaft’ 1525–1792: Element antihabsburgischer Politik, Gleichgewichtsinstrument, Prestigeunternehmung – Aufriß eines Problems,” Mitteilungen des Institut für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 102 (1994): 108–164; and Eric R. Dursteler, Venetians in Constantinople: Nation, Identity, and Coexistence in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Baltimore, 2006). There are recent overviews of the peculiarities of the Ottoman diplomatic activities by Bülent Arı, “Early Otto- man Diplomacy: Ad Hoc Period,” in Ottoman Diplomacy: Conventional or Unconventional?, ed. A. Nuri Yurdusev (Houndmills, 2004), 36–65; G.R. Berridge, “Diplomatic Integration In the Service of the Prince 59 income – did not follow this transformation of the system of foreign policy, and only established one permanent embassy in the seat of its overlord, the sultan.15 Just as in the case of the voievods of Moldavia and Wallachia, it was the obligation rather than the right of the prince of Transylvania to keep an envoy at the Sublime Porte. This person functioned as a representative of the interests of the Principality and was also the first target of the sultan in times of conflict – in fact a hostage. The structure of the Transylvanian embassy was relatively constant during the seventeenth century.16 Its most prestigious post was that of the chief ambassador (főkövet). The task of these diplomats, frequently of high noble birth and in any case coming from the higher administration of the Principality, was to deliver the tribute of Transylvania to the Sublime Porte. They also han- dled the most important negotiations of issues concerning the entire country. One grade lower on the administrative, and also social, scale were the permanent envoys, or “orators,” an office whose Hungarian name (kapitiha) comes from the distortion of the Ottoman Turkish term “deputy” (kapı kethüdası / kapı kehayası), used for various envoys at the Sublime Porte by the Ottoman authorities.17 They resided in Constantinople, or, following the move of the sultan’s court for a considerable part of the second half of the seventeenth century, in Adrianople. Their task was to keep the prince informed and to deal with minor issues. The office was generally filled by individuals of a humbler social

with Europe before Selim III,” in Ottoman Diplomacy, 114–130; and Gábor Ágoston, “Az oszmán és az európai diplomácia a kölcsönösség felé vezető úton” [Ottoman and Euro- pean diplomacy on their way to mutuality], in Híd a századok felett: Tanulmányok Katus László 70. születésnapjára, ed. Mariann Nagy (Budapest, 1997), 81–96. 15 On the structural framework of Transylvanian diplomacy, see my “The Diplomacy and Information Gathering of the Principality of Transylvania (1600–1660),” in A Divided Hungary in Europe: Exchanges, Networks and Representations, 1541–1699, vol. 2, Diplomacy, Information Flow and Cultural Exchange, ed. Szymon Brzeziński and Áron Zarnóczki (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 2014), 69–84. 16 The structure of the Transylvanian embassy and the daily life of the representatives of the Principality in Constantinople are described by Bíró, Erdély követei. His survey is still very important, despite the fact that he conveys a rather static image, failing to take the subtle changes of the structure into account. In spite of the title of his book, István Molnár also concentrates on the organisation of the Transylvanian embassy in the second half of the seventeenth century; see his Rozsnyai Dávid török deák [The Turkish scribe Dávid Rozs- nyai] (Budapest, 1909), 39–128. 17 For a discussion of the term, see my “Sovereignty and Representation: Tributary States in the Seventeenth-Century Diplomatic System of the Ottoman Empire,” in The European Tributary States of the Ottoman Empire in the Sixteenth–Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Gábor Kármán and Lovro Kunčević (Leiden, 2013), 165–167. 60 Chapter 2 origin than that of the chief ambassador. The prestige of the post was much lower than the chief ambassador’s, who had representative functions, and the orators had to face severe conditions during their stay in the Ottoman capital. So it is no wonder that they did not attempt to extend the one-year period they were assigned to serve. Indeed, we know of a significant number of letters in which the orators petitioned their princes not to make them spend any longer “in this hateful land of pagans without God, where there are neither relatives, Christianity, nor mercy.”18 So, unlike the representatives of the Western Euro pean powers, among whom it was not uncommon to stay in the Porte for more than ten years, the Transylvanian orators replaced each other frequently, usually after one year.19 A long-term connection was more characteristic of the auxiliary personnel of the embassy, the couriers (literaly “post envoys”), who served for decades on end and administered the correspondence between the seat of the princes in Gyulafehérvár and Constantinople. And then there were the Transylvanian interpreters and the so-called Turkish scribes. Like most of the Christian embassies at the Porte, the Transylvanian embassy had to cope with the problem of communication with the overlord, since the vast majority of diplomats, chief ambassadors as well as orators, did not speak Ottoman Turkish. There was always a variety of interpreters offered by the Porte. In the sixteenth century these were mostly of renegade origin, and later so-called Phanariots, Greeks from the Fener quarter of Istanbul. The reliability of these people was, to say the least, questionable. Their loyalties lay primarily with the sultan and there was always a high risk that they would transfer any important information that they encountered to the Ottoman administration.20 The diplomats of the smaller embassies, such as that of Transylvania,

18 László Kubinyi to Mihály Apafi I (Constantinople, 2 October 1677), Áron Szilády and Sán- dor Szilágyi, eds., Török-magyarkori állam-okmánytár [State documents from the Turkish- Hungarian age], vol. 5 (Pest, 1871), 452 (in the following: TMÁO V). For good measure we must add that it was not unusual either for an orator to return to Constantinople after having spent some time at home after his first year in the Ottoman capital; see my “Ver- dammtes Konstantinopel.” 19 The list of the known members of the Transylvanian embassy was compiled by Vencel Bíró, Erdély követei, 113–137. Although his register could be updated with more (and more precise) data, it still remains very useful to this day. 20 On the dragomans as sources of information in general, see E. Natalie Rothman, “Inter- preting Dragomans: Boundaries and Crossings in the Early Modern Mediterranean,” Com- parative Studies in Society and History 51 (2009): 771–800; Tijana Krstić, “Of Translation and Empire: Sixteenth-century Ottoman Imperial Interpreters as Renaissance Go- Betweens,” in The Ottoman World, ed. Christine Woodhead (London, 2012), 130–142. On the dragomans of the Habsburg embassy, see Peter Meienberger, Johann Rudolf Schmid In the Service of the Prince 61 could also be sure that their interpreters would be paid to act as informers by hostile powers in order to find out their secrets. The Transylvanian embassy tried out various solutions to the communication problem. Apart from using the services of the renegade dragomans of the Porte, and occasionally hiring Jewish interpreters, there were sometimes Transylvanians appointed for an ad hoc task of translation in the second half of the seventeenth century. The couriers, who learned some Turkish during their long journeys, were recurrently used as interpreters.21 At the same time the Principality created the office of the Turkish scribe which solved the problem in a manner to which many other embassies also resorted. The holders of the post were interpreters specialized in diplomatic tasks and trained in Constantinople at the expense of the prince. It was the Venetian embassy which first established an institution for edu- cating interpreters in the Ottoman capital. The students, called giovani della lingua, were introduced to the Ottoman language and political culture, while at the same time maintaining their links with the Serenissima. The Venetian example was followed a century later by the French with the introduction of the institution of jeunes de langue. The trainees were also educated in the earlier period in Constantinople, and later, in the eighteenth century, in Paris. The Sprachknaben of the Habsburg embassy underwent a similar development with initiatives as early as 1578 to train future interpreters in Constantinople, but the question was finally solved by the establishment of the college for

zum Schwarzenhorn als kaiserlicher Resident in Konstantinopel in dem Jahren 1629–1643 (Bern, 1973), 94–95. On the dragomans at the seventeenth-century Dutch embassy, see Alexander H. De Groot, “The Dutch Nation in Istanbul, 1600–1985: A Contribution to the Social History of Beyoğlu,” Anatolica 14 (1987): 131–150. On the dragomans at the French embassy, see Marie de Testa and Antoine Gautier, “Les drogmans au service de la France au Levant,” in Drogmans et diplomates européens auprès de la Porte Ottomane (Istanbul, 2003), 17–39. On the office of the grand dragoman, created in the mid-seventeenth century, see Nestor Camariano, Alexandre Mavrocordato le Grand Dragoman (Thessaloniki, 1970). On the Transylvanian situation, see János B. Szabó and Balázs Sudár, “’Independens fejedelem az Portán kívül’: II. Rákóczi György oszmán kapcsolatai: Esettanulmány az Erdélyi Fejedelemség és az Oszmán Birodalom viszonyának történetéhez” [Independent prince out of the Porte: The Ottoman contacts of György Rákóczi II: Case study for the history of the relationship between the Principality of Transylvania and the Ottoman Empire], Századok 146 (2012): 1022–1024. 21 On more details, see Gábor Kármán, “Translation at the Seventeenth-Century Transylva- nian Embassy in Constantinople,” in Osmanischer Orient und Ostmitteleuropa: Perzep- tionen und Interaktionen in den Grenzzonen zwischen dem 16. und 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Robert Born and Andreas Puth (Stuttgart, 2014), 253–277. 62 Chapter 2 teaching Oriental languages by Johann Baptist Podestà in 1674.22 Even the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth regularly sent men to Constantinople in order to learn the language and serve as interpreters from the second half of the sixteenth century on, in spite of the fact that the state did not have a permanent representative at the Sublime Porte until the eighteenth century. Attempts to establish an institution for teaching Oriental languages in Poland, however, were only successful after 1700. The Ragusan interpreters had their initial training in the Republic, and were only sent to Constantinople after a longer stay in one of the major Ottoman provincial centres, such as Thessaloniki, Adrianople, Smyrna, or Plovdiv.23 Transylvania could not provide such an elaborate, multiple-stage system for the training of its Turkish scribes. We have very little information about the procedure of their education, most of which comes again from the fragments of Dávid Rozsnyai’s autobiography. His case, however, is less than typical because, although he started his journey to the Porte in 1663 in the company of the chief ambassador and the orator, he only arrived in Constantinople two years later due to the military and political situation of the period. In Eszék the

22 See an overview of the question in Ágoston, “Az oszmán és az európai diplomácia,” 94–95; Dóra Kerekes, “Transimperial Mediators of Culture: Seventeenth-Century Habsburg Interpreters in Constantinople,” in A Divided Hungary in Europe: Exchanges, Networks and Representations, 1541–1699, vol. 2, Diplomacy, Information Flow and Cultural Exchange, ed. Szymon Brzeziński and Áron Zarnóczki (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 2014), 51–68. On the Venetian and French institutions for training interpreters, see Isabella Palumbo Fossati Casa, “L’École vénitienne des ‘giovanni di lingua,’” in Istanbul et les langues orientales, ed. Frédéric Hitzel (Paris, 1997), 109–122; and Andrei Pippidi, “Drogmans et enfants de langue: La France de Constantinople au XVIIe siècle,” in Istanbul et les langues orientales, 131–140; Stefan Yerasimos, “Istrian Dragomans in Istanbul,” in Image of the Turks in the 17th Century Europe, ed. Nazan Ölçer, Filiz Çağman and Polona Vidmar (Istanbul, 2005), 36–43; also, de Testa and Gautier, “Les drogmans,” 41–51. On the Imperial education of interpreters, see Clara Reiter, “Vermittler zwischen West und Ost: Hofdolmetscher am Habsburger Hof (1650–1800),” in Politische Kommunikation zwischen Imperien: Der diplomatische Aktions raum Südost- und Osteuropa, ed. Gunda Barth-Scalmani, Harriet Rudolph and Christian Steppan (Innsbruck, 2013), 269–272; Kerekes, “Transimperial Mediators”; on the early attempts Meienberger, Johann Rudolf Schmid, 95–96. On the problems of translation in mid-seventeenth-century Imperial administration, see also István Hiller, “A tolmácsper” [The interpreters’ lawsuit], in Perlekedő évszázadok: Tanulmányok Für Lajos történész 60. születésnapjára, ed. Ildikó Horn (Budapest, 1993), 147–186. 23 Tadeusz Majda, “L’École polonaise des langues orientales d’Istanbul au XVIIIe siécle,” in Istanbul et les langues orientales, 123–128; Dariusz Kołodziejczyk, Ottoman–Polish Diplo- matic Relations (15th–18th Century) (Leiden, 2000), 178–179; Vesna Miović, “Dragomans of the Dubrovnik Republic: Their Training and Career,” Dubrovnik Annals 5 (2001): 83–84. In the Service of the Prince 63

Transylvanian envoys met the grand vizier, who was making his way with the army towards Hungary, and the chief ambassadors wanted to return to Transylvania immediately after the negotiations. The orator, however, wished to take only one of the two Turkish scribes to the Ottoman capital, and since György Brankovics knew some Turkish already, he was chosen for the task. Rozsnyai would have returned to the Principality had it not been for the fact that the grand dragoman of the Porte, the Greek Panaiotis Nicousios, needed someone to translate for him from Latin into Hungarian. This is how Rozsnyai stayed in the retinue of the grand dragoman and spent almost the whole of the following year in Belgrade, where he learned the basics of Ottoman Turkish, a skill that he later put to the service of princes for five decades.24 Rozsnyai followed the example of other Turkish scribes in at least one point: he learnt the basics, such as the Arabic script, by hiring an Ottoman instructor, a so-called hoca. Another general feature of his individual career was that he was not exempted from other duties during his training and frequently received orders from Gábor Haller, the Transylvanian aristocrat held hostage at the grand vizier’s side, or other diplomats from the Principality who visited the camp.25 It is highly unlikely that, like Brankovics, Jakab Harsányi Nagy had some elementary knowledge of Ottoman Turkish when he arrived at the Sublime Porte. He most probably already hired a hoca at the beginning of his stay in Constantinople, although the first information about him is dated later, 1654.26 We nevertheless have evidence from an earlier period that János Romosz, another Turkish scribe at the Porte who probably started his studies somewhat earlier, did have a hoca.27 In any case, Harsányi found an excellent instructor in his hoca who had also taught the Turkish script to Panaiotis Nicousios, and it is obvious from the later career of Nicousios, who was by that time interpreter to the Habsburg embassy, that his education was successful.28

24 MHHS VIII, 276–278, 320–330. 25 Molnár, Rozsnyai, 20–21. 26 Ferenc Thordai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 19 May 1654), MHHD XXIII, 349. 27 Ferenc Sebessi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 14 September 1653), MHHD XXIII, 129–131. On Romosz, see Kármán, “Translation,” 264–265; and later sections of this chapter. It is very likely that the reason why there is no information about the stay of Romosz in Constantinople prior to 1651 is that the correspondence from the years between 1649 and 1651 is only preserved in fragments. 28 See the letter of Ferenc Thordai, cited in footnote 26. On the career of Nicousios, see Gunnar Hering, “Panagiotis Nikousios als Dragoman der kaiserlichen Gesandtschaft in Konstantinopel,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 44 (1994): 143–178; Damien Janos, “Panaiotis Nicousios and Alexander Mavrocordatos: The Rise of the Phanariots and 64 Chapter 2

It would be hard to tell with any precision how long the training period was, that is, how much time was needed to learn the language at a level that was good enough for the interpreter’s tasks. The first letter from which it is obvious that Harsányi translated a part of the Transylvanian documents to be submitted to the Porte dates from January 1655, but the passage there suggests that it was not the first time he had done so.29 After just over three years of training Harsányi was thus judged competent to translate diplomatic correspondence of great importance and to participate in the negotiations of the orator as an interpreter. The same letter also informs us that the Turkish scribe was not “ready”, had not yet abandoned his lessons, and was visited each day by his hoca (although Harsányi only had enough free time to pursue his training twice a week). He asked the prince several times to be exempted from other duties so that he could dedicate himself to learning.30 It was probably this dis- satisfaction with his skills and his desire to perfect his command of the language, that induced him not to leave the Ottoman capital after a few years. In the other known cases of Turkish scribes the practice seems to have been that, after the years of training, they worked at the princely court in Gyula fehérvár and only returned to Constantinople irregularly, in the retinue of chief ambassadors or other diplomatic missions, for no longer than one year. Apart from Brankovics and Rozsnyai, this was also what Romosz did. He was already back in Transylvania in December 1655.31 Jakab Harsányi Nagy thus had a multitude of other tasks to perform besides learning Ottoman Turkish and, later on, making translations and working as an interpreter for the embassy. He also seems to have invested a considerable amount of energy in these extraordinary duties. Any reader of his correspondence gets the impression that he always took upon himself new assignments of his own free will, or even that he tried, at least partly, to redefine the function of the Turkish scribe. There is no other known example of a Turkish scribe

the Office of Grand Dragoman in the Ottoman Administration in the Second Half of the Seventeenth Century,” Archivum Ottomanicum 23 (2005/6): 177–196. 29 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 January 1655), EÉKH I, 539. 30 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 June 1656), MHHD XXIII, 398. Rozsnyai needed a similar amount of time to learn the language and was used as an interpreter at an audience with the grand vizier for the first time two and a half years after having started his studies; see Tibor Komlovszki and Margit S. Sárdi, “Rozsnyai Dávid,” in Rozsnyai Dávid, Koháry István, Petrőczy Kata Szidónia és Kőszeghy Pál versei, ed. eidem (Budapest, 2000), 535. 31 For other Turkish scribes, such as András Majtényi and János Váradi Házi, we only have evidence about this later period of their lives which they spent in Transylvania or travelling between the Principality and the Porte; see Kármán, “Translation,” 263–264. In the Service of the Prince 65 working as a general scribe beside the orator, but we have a number of letters bearing the signature of both the orator and Harsányi in the latter’s handwriting. Harsányi even aimed to do more than simply fulfilling the task of a scribe. These letters were not dictated by the orator: it was Harsányi himself who penned them, probably after having agreed upon their content with the envoy.32 Apart from these, there are other letters to the prince that were written by Harsányi in his own name, which is not altogether extraordinary. Several other examples are also known of Turkish scribes visiting the prince with their letters and informing him about questions which may have been left out of the orator’s reports.33 There are, however, no fewer than thirty-three such letters written by Harsányi between 1654 and 1656, with references to some more which have not survived.34 It seems that his reports were soon in serious com- petition with those of the orator, especially with those which he had not penned himself. In some cases, moreover, Harsányi explicitly noted that he shared some information with the prince that the orator did not know about.35 The innovations of Harsányi in communication with the princely court were not limited to a multiplication of the reports (and the information included in them) sent to Gyulafehérvár. The technical characteristics of his correspondence also differed widely from those applied by his direct predecessors, since his reports included a fair amount of text in ciphers. Cryptography was certainly not introduced to the administration of Transylvanian foreign policy by Harsányi. Since the early 1640s a great many letters are known from the Porte which apply the code used by him as well and which exchanged certain characters according to a key.36 This practice seems to have been forgotten

32 This method of writing the reports of the embassy is obvious from the following letters, bearing the signatures of Máté Balogh and Harsányi: Constantinople, 22 January 1656 and 30 July 1656 (MHHD XXIII, 296–299, 421–423). Harsányi also refers to it in his own letter dated 3 February 1656: EÉKH II, 216. 33 Péter Bakó to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 9 March 1636), Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Levelek és okiratok I. Rákóczy György keleti összeköttetései történetéhez [Letters and documents on the history of the eastern contacts of György Rákóczi I] (Budapest, 1883), 292– 296 (in the following: RGyKÖ); János Romosz to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 7 July 1651), MHHD XXIII, 79–80. 34 For instance, the first information that Harsányi wrote his own report refers to a letter now unknown: Ferenc Thordai informed the prince that the Turkish scribe had a deeper knowledge about some questions. He therefore asked him to write about them to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 13 May 1654), MHHD XXIII, 144. 35 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 22 July 1655 and 22 February 1656), TT 1889, 669; resp. MHHD XXIII, 319. 36 Many examples can be found in RGyP and RGyKÖ. 66 Chapter 2 in the early 1650s, however, and not until 1654 do we have a letter from the orator Ferenc Thordai that again includes parts in cipher.37 Harsányi might have learned cryptography from him, since the technique is to be found in his letters from this period. While in a letter written in July 1654 there is only a single word in cipher, two years later a large part of another report with similar contents is written in code.38 By this time Harsányi saw cryptography as such an integral part of diplomatic correspondence that he noted that he could not inform the voievod of Moldavia about some things “because he does not have any scribes who would be at all acquainted with ciphers”. The prince consequently had to forward the information to Iaşi with his own post.39 It seems that Harsányi was especially eager to use cryptography in the cases of letters being sent not through the couriers of the prince, but through the postal service of the voievods of Moldavia or Wallachia. In such instances Harsányi did not even sign his name under the fully ciphered text, and only noted his mono- grams.40 He was clearly proud of his newly achieved skill, which was all the more understandable since cryptography was hard to master. And while the autograph letters of Harsányi prove that he developed quite a routine – at first sight it is impossible to separate the coded words from the non-coded ones since they are in the same handwriting – in the letters written personally by the orator Máté Balogh, we encounter incomprehensible words due to mistakes in ciphering.41 There was also another method for preserving the secrecy of the diplomatic correspondence the use of which is known only from Harsányi’s letters from the Transylvanian embassy in Constantinople. A short letter dating from

37 Ferenc Thordai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople 7 July 1654), MHHD XXIII, 148–150. As is clear from the original, the letter is an autograph of Thordai, see MNL OL E 190 Nr. 8781. 38 Cf. for instance the letters of 7 July 1654 and 10 June 1656 (MHHD XXIII, 146–147; resp. EÉKH II, 221–222). 39 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 12 May 1656), EÉKH II, 221. 40 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 20 July 1654), BUBFS VIII, 48. On the support of the Moldavian and Wallachian agents for the activities of the Transyl- vanian embassy, see Klára Jakó, “Havasalfölde és Moldva szerepe Erdély portai kapcsolataiban” [The role of Wallachia and Moldavia in the contacts of Transylvania to the Porte], in Identitás és kultúra a török hódoltság korában, ed. Pál Ács and Júlia Székely (Budapest, 2012), 140–157. 41 See, for instance, Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 September 1656), MHHD XXIII, 443. He was not the only orator who had trouble with cryptography. István Rácz summarized his problems in a letter to György Rákóczi I with the following words: “I had struggled a great deal, Your Highness, but I cannot grasp it. Whether it is the fault of the key or of myself, I do not know” (RGyKÖ, 655). In the Service of the Prince 67

March 1655 is preserved in his handwriting in which he informs Prince György Rákóczi II that the missions for purchasing jewelry, which he bestowed upon his envoys in Constantinople, are progressing well, and that all is quiet in the Ottoman capital. However, the last line which is in cipher makes it clear that this was not all the Turkish scribe wanted his ruler to know: “I only wrote this letter, Your Highness, so that, if the courier met Siyavuş Pasha, he might show this to him.”42 This extra caution was necessary because the powerful pasha of Silistria did not agree with Rákóczi’s policy on the ongoing revolts of Wallachian soldiers. He would thus have been expected to subtract the letters from the envoy crossing his territory. There must have been a real letter which is unfortunately unknown and which reported important issues at the Porte, sent simultaneously with the fake one. I do not want to suggest that this solution was Harsányi’s invention. Only a year later a similar method was used by another Transylvanian diplomat, Ferenc Sebessi, who presented some fake documents to the king of Poland when he was arrested and questioned about the contents of the ongoing negotiations between Transylvania and Sweden.43 Yet, even if the solution was not introduced by Harsányi, its application proves that he was familiar with the tools available to contemporary diplomacy, and did his utmost to solve the tasks assigned to him in the most effective way. That Harsányi did not only serve as a scribe and interpreter is quite clear from his monopoly of information not all of which he shared with the orator, which could not have accumulated if he had simply limited himself to these activities. The reports written by earlier Turkish scribes transmitted infor mation according to the schemes available to an interpreter. They informed the prince about what they had learned at the negotiations of the orator, sometimes giving more details or shifting the focus. Harsányi did something fundamentally different. He not only completed the news reported by the orator, but he also tapped entirely different channels of information. In his letters from between 1654 and 1656 there are no fewer than thirty names of people with whom Harsányi talked about the issues of his prince, or at least from whom he received important information. In some cases what happened was simply that Harsányi met the officeholders of the Porte, who were important for the foreign policy of Transylvania, more often than the orator did. This was the case with the valide kihaya (the representative of the sultan’s mother), the “younger Yusuf Pasha” (an important member of the divan and husband of a

42 Letter of Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Constantinople, 10 March 1655), EÉKH I, 540–541. 43 On Ferenc Sebessi’s points created for the king of Poland: MHHD XXIII, 305–306. On the conflict concerning Wallachia, see Szabó and Sudár, “Independens fejedelem,” part 2, 963–965. 68 Chapter 2 relative of the sultan), and the nakib effendi (actually nakib-ül-eşraf, one of the principal magistrates of Islam and a direct descendant of the Prophet Moham med, who was among the most constant allies of the prince of Transylvania in the fast changing political life of the 1650s).44 The same is true of the Christian envoys at the Sublime Porte who frequently appear in the diplomatic correspondence of the Principality. In 1656 Oliver Cromwell commissioned his ambassador in Constantinople to assist the endeavours of György Rákóczi II. It was thus that Harsányi came into touch with Thomas Bendyshe.45 Apart from him, Harsányi also had temporary contacts with the French, Dutch, Polish, and even Habsburg ambassadors – with the last primarily because, as an exception in the tempestuous history of Transylvanian–Habsburg relations, copies of his reports were transmitted by the Transylvanian envoys to Vienna.46 There were, however, many people in the social network of Harsányi at the Sublime Porte who were only connected to the Transylvanian embassy through Harsányi. It was Harsányi who won over Panaiotis Nicousios for the Tran sylvanian information system in early 1656. This interpreter of the Habsburg embassy committed himself to György Rákóczi II not only for a yearly salary of 150 talers but also on the condition that no one should know about his oath of

44 All of them appear for the first time in Harsányi’s reports from 14 August 1654 (MHHD XXIII, 156–158) and become regular protagonists of the Transylvanian diplomatic correspondence in the next two years. They maintained this contact even after they had lost their offices (in contemporary terms: became mazul); see the letter of Máté Balogh and Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Constantinople, 16 October 1656), MHHD XXIII, 390, resp. 484. The post of the nakib effendi is presented by Harsányi in the Colloquia as an office that enjoys higher prestige than that of the şeyh-ül-İslam (497–499). 45 The first appearance of the English ambassadors is in the letter from Harsányi and Balogh ([no day] October 1656), EÉKH II, 223. On Bendyshe’s activities, see Goffman, Britons; Florian Kühnel, “Ein Königreich für einen Botschafter: Die Audienzen Thomas Bendishs in Konstantinopel während des Commonwealth,” in Die Audienz: Ritualisierter Kulturkon- takt in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Peter Burschel and Christine Vogel (Cologne, Weimar and Vienna, 2014), 125–160; on the support of the Lord Protector to Transylvania, see Dávid Angyal, “Erdély politikai érintkezése Angliával” [Transylvania’s political contacts with England], Századok 34 (1900): 502–503; Sándor Márki, “Cromwell és Erdély” [Cromwell and Transylvania], Erdélyi Múzeum 18 (1901): 16–37; Gábor Kármán, Erdélyi külpolitika a vesztfáliai béke után [Transylvanian foreign policy after the Peace of Westphalia] (Buda- pest, 2011), 360–361. 46 On the “Gallic” ambassador: EÉKH I, 146; MHHD XXIII, 423; EÉKH II, 228; on the Dutch: MHHD XXIII, 399; on the Polish: EÉKH I, 545; on the “German orator”: TT 1889, 668; MHHD XXIII, 315, 400. On forwarding the Habsburg envoy’s correspondence, see Kármán, Erdélyi külpolitika, 290. In the Service of the Prince 69 allegiance apart from Harsányi and the prince.47 There are other sources of information too which appear in Harsányi’s correspondence. At one point he refers to “a Greek priest,” or even “my friend, an ağa.”48 The latter deserves special attention since it seems that Harsányi managed to establish an intimate contact with Ottoman officeholders (even if we can assume that they were not of the highest rank) – something which must have proved very useful in col- lecting information. For the orators who did not speak Turkish this option was not available. Harsányi noted that he could not take the orator with him to certain negotiations because, “no matter how he disguises himself, [when] someone talks to him from the crowd, he cannot speak Turkish. [Then] everyone points at him, [saying] that these are giaurs [that is, infidels].”49 We do not know of any previous Turkish scribe who masterminded an information network of such size, and, even if we have to reckon with the loss of sources from some periods, Harsányi’s practice seems to have been extraordinary. This was obviously a consequence of his unusually long stay at the Porte. János Romosz, for example, could not have created a similar network because he returned to Gyulafehérvár as soon as he learned the language. We therefore only know about one source that Romosz provided the Transylvanian embassy with through his contacts: his hoca, the only Ottoman from Constantinople, with whom he was unquestionably in daily contact.50 In short, we can say that Jakab Harsányi Nagy played a far more important role in the service of the Transylvanian embassy at the Sublime Porte than the Turkish scribes usually did. He not only performed the usual tasks at a high level but he also took new ones upon himself. Besides, he often exceeded his brief in his reports, not only concentrating upon gathering and transferring information, but also giving advice to his ruler about the policies to follow. In the 1650s the Ottoman Empire went through one of the greatest political crises of its history.51 The court of the infant sultan was characterized by the

47 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656 and 26 April 1656), EÉKH II, 216; resp. MHHD XXIII, 362. 48 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 19 March 1655 and 23 July 1655), TT 1889, 660; resp. MHHD XXIII, 214. 49 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 23 May 1655), EÉKH I, 544; and the letter of 22 July, cited in footnote 35, 699. 50 See the letter of Ferenc Sebessi, cited in footnote 27, 129–131. 51 On the crisis, see Jozef Matuz, Das Osmanische Reich: Grundlinien seiner Geschichte (Darmstadt, 1985), 165–178. The revolts are described in detail by Joseph Hammer [von Purgstall], Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 5, Vom Regierungsantritte Murad des Vierten bis zur Ernennung Mohammed Köprili’s zum Grosswesir 1623–1656 (Pest, 1829), 583– 658. 70 Chapter 2 constant struggle of various factions and frequent political changes. The grand viziers, replacing one another at an accelerated pace, had to face a series of acute problems, among them financial dificulties that led to irregularities in the payment of the armies and often to revolt. The war against Venice entailed serious defeats in the second half of the decade, and the fleet of the Serenissima almost managed to cut off Constantinople from the Mediterranean in 1656.52 In this chaotic situation the Porte did not have the means to exert a strong control over its tributary, the prince of Transylvania. The usual tasks for the Transylvanian diplomats in Constantinople, the debates with the pashas of neighbouring eyalets about the taxation of the border zone or the building of new fortifications, required less of their energy in this decade. A new challenge arose from the Tatar khan whose envoys demanded from Rákóczi the payment of a tribute in 1656. However, on this occasion the network of the prince at the Porte functioned well, and a strict order was dispatched in the name of the sultan to Mehmed Giray IV, also an Ottoman vassal, to abandon these attempts.53 It was above all the active foreign policy of György Rákóczi II that provided the diplomats with work in this period.54 Between 1653 and 1655 the prince succeeded in bringing the two neighbouring tributary states of the Ottoman Empire, Moldavia and Wallachia, under his protection. The voievods of both countries owed Rákóczi their thrones, had a military alliance with him, and even paid a yearly tribute. The military actions leading to this situation provided the Transylvanian diplomats in Constantinople with somewhat complicated tasks since the Sublime Porte had to acknowledge the new voie vods for their rule to be legitimate. Working for the establishment and confirmation of the new voievods’ rule, and elaborating effective counter- manoeuvres against the attempts of Vasile Lupu and other pretenders to these two thrones, kept the diplomats constantly busy in the middle of the decade. Otherwise we find surprisingly little in the diplomatic correspondence about the prince’s most ambitious plan: the attempt to seize the Polish throne. Even when this question was raised by Ottoman dignitaries, the diplomats denied

52 Ekkehard Eickhoff, Venedig, Wien und die Osmanen: Umbruch in Südosteuropa 1645–1700 (Munich, 1970), 138–149; Kenneth M. Setton, Venice, Austria and the Turks in the Seven- teenth Century (Philadelphia, 1991), 172–189. 53 There are numerous references to the debates with neighbouring pashas in contemporary diplomatic correspondence. On the issue concerning the Tatar khan, see Szabó and Sudár, “Independens fejedelem,” part 2, 965–967. 54 The most recent accounts of György Rákóczi II’s foreign policy: Sándor Gebei, II. Rákóczi György erdélyi fejedelem külpolitikája (1648–1657) [The foreign policy of György Rákóczi II, prince of Transylvania, 1648–1657] (Eger, 1996); Kármán, Erdélyi külpolitika. On the activities at the Sublime Porte, see Szabó and Sudár, “Independens fejedelem,” part 2. In the Service of the Prince 71 that their lord had any such thing in mind. Clearly, György Rákóczi II thought that he would be able to act without the involvement of the Sublime Porte.55 The analyses of the political situation and advice sent by Jakab Harsányi probably contributed to the fact that György Rákóczi II started to feel secure where the Sublime Porte was concerned – only to be proven wrong later on, with dire consequences. The Turkish scribe could observe for years how the internal political life of the court of Constantinople functioned. He observed the games played by various factions, and, because of his personal experiences, joined the camp of those promoting the theory of the fall of the Ottoman Empire: “Here, Your Highness, there is no consistency; what they like today they will abandon tomorrow.” Similar experiences led Harsányi to draw the following general conclusion:

This Porte is not as it was in the old days, when it would gain something with power and common sense. It flounders and grabs in every direction like a man drowning. It fawns and aggravates its anger as it sees its own impotence. Good advice is scarce here. Even they do not predict a good future for themselves any more.56

He did not often openly encourage the prince to act – despite his extended interpretation of his office – but here too there are some examples: “if Your Highness knows what You intend to do, just start doing it, because the Turk will always side with the winners.” At the same time he also noted that this strategy could backfire: “(God forbid) if luck did not serve Your Highness, the tongues and arms of the Turks would, believe me, extend against Your Highness; but if God helps the endeavours of Your Highness, their tongues will go numb and their arms shorten.”57 It is most unlikely that Prince György Rákóczi II first heard from Harsányi the expression – otherwise very popular in Transylvania

55 See Máté Balogh and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 16 Octo- ber 1656), in which Balogh states that he spread the news at the Porte that the prince did not even think about going to Poland (letter cited in footnote 44, 482). On Rákóczi’s policies towards the two Voievodates, see my “György Rákóczi II’s Attempt to Establish a Local Power Base among the Tributaries of the Ottoman Empire 1653–1657,” in Power and Influ- ence in South-Eastern Europe 16th–19th Century, ed. Maria Baramova et al. (Berlin, 2013), 229–244. 56 Harsányi and Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 29 May 1656), MHHD XXIII, 704; Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 June 1655), MHHD XXIII, 191. 57 Máté Balogh and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 16 October 1656), cited in footnote 44, 484. 72 Chapter 2

– that the Turk is the child of fortune (fortunae filius), but the reports of the Turkish scribe must have reinforced his conviction.58 With his strongly stated opinions and the image of the politics of the Sublime Porte that emerges from his writings, Harsányi must have contributed to the prince’s erroneous appraisal of the situation. It is ironic to read with hindsight how Harsányi, in a letter written together with the orator, informed György Rákóczi II about the inauguration of the same Grand Vizier Köprülü Mehmed who later devastated Transylvania with his troops and dethroned the prince: “It was a happy event [that he became the grand vizier], as the other one [that is, the previous holder of the office] wanted to have gifts and got involved in many bad issues.”59 At the same time, no contemporary could have possibly known that the seventy-year-old grand vizier, the eighteenth in ten years, would be the one to settle the political crisis of the Porte with an iron hand. And it would be unjust to blame the ill-qualified Transylvanian diplomats in Constantinople for the eventual fiasco of Rákóczi’s politics, as some nineteenth-century historians have done.60 The breadth of the information network masterminded by Jakab Harsányi Nagy was extraordinary in the history of Transylvania, and some letters that indicate how much money was supposed to be spent on various individuals in order to support Transylvanian policies in Constantinople give the impression that the ambitions of the Turkish scribe did not consider the capacities of the Principality. The expenses of such an active diplomacy would have entailed a serious burden for a far richer ruler than the prince of Transylvania.

58 This well-established metaphor of the seventeenth-century Hungarian language appears in the letters of György Rákóczi II already before the time when Harsányi wrote his first report, at least according to the surviving material. See the prince’s letters to his mother, Zsuzsanna Lorántffy (Földvár, 1 June 1653, and Radnót, 6 August 1653), Sándor Szilágyi, ed., A két Rákóczy György családi levelezése [The family correspondence of the two György Rákóczis] (Budapest, 1875), 459, resp. 470 (in the following: MHHD XXIV). 59 Máté Balogh and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 16 Septem- ber 1656), MHHD XXIII, 710. 60 Ignác Acsády, Magyarország története I. Lipót és I. József korában (1657–1711) [The history of Hungary in the age of Leopold I and Joseph I (1657–1711)] (Budapest, 1898), 25–39. It is ironic that Acsády should quote Harsányi’s devastating remarks about the incompetence of his colleagues, while his discussion about diplomats spreading the false idea about the fall of the Empire could best be applied to Harsányi. In the Service of the Prince 73

The Micro-Society of the Transylvanian Embassy in Constantinople

Harsányi thus excelled in performing his duties, even if, for the effective functioning of the embassy, it was not enough for him to maintain his contacts with officeholders at the Porte and other personalities in Constantinople. He should, rather, have tried to work more harmoniously with his closest colleagues. And in this he hardly ever succeeded. There was hardly any member of the embassy with whom the hyperactive Turkish scribe did not, for some reason, have a quarrel during the seven years he spent at the Sublime Porte. These conflicts – according to letters of his own and his contemporaries – were only partly due to Harsányi’s inflexibility. In many cases his difficulties arose from the structural problems of the embassy. With the wisdom of hindsight we can say that it was inevitable that Harsányi should come into conflict with those who held a similar office. Nor was it only Harsányi who ended up by quarrelling with the aforesaid János Romosz. It seems that the other Turkish scribe trained in the 1650s also wanted to achieve a greater professional importance than simply that of interpreter. In May 1654 Romosz was still at the Sublime Porte and must have enjoyed the special attention of his prince, since he was given individual commissions to obtain documents from the Ottoman chancellery and buy stately horse-riding equip- ment for György Rákóczi II.61 Romosz was trying to be secretive about these tasks, and this annoyed his colleagues, especially after he had made several mistakes. Because of his delays the embassy forfeited the opportunity to receive some important information. Worse still, he had little sense of protocol, as was demonstrated by the following incident. Members of the orator’s retinue once had a street fight with some Turks who then came in large groups to the lodgings of the Transylvanian embassy. Ferenc Thordai, the orator, tried to appease them, but Romosz mistranslated his words, and his utterances made the crowd even angrier. When he was taken to task for it by the orator, he started to quarrel with him in front of the entire crowd, so that Thordai, in order to win back his dignity, publicly slapped the scribe in the face. It is no wonder that Romosz left Constantinople within a year.62 Harsányi did not have a high opinion of his colleague’s language skills either. “It is written in a child-

61 Ferenc Thordai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 28 May 1654), EÉKH I, 352. 62 On the incident, see Ferenc Thordai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 2 May 1654), TT 1889, 490. During this conflict Romosz had a quarrel with Harsányi as well; see the latter’s report (Constantinople, 7 July 1654), MHHD XXIII, 146. Jakab Harsányi writes in his letter dated 17 December 1655 that Romosz had written to the Porte, which implied that he must have already been in Transylvania by that time (EÉKH I, 565). 74 Chapter 2 ish style,” he said of a letter penned by Romosz in Turkish. This comment might be construed as biased, but Harsányi claimed that his judgment would be confirmed by András Majtényi, who had been serving the prince as a Turkish scribe since the 1620s.63 Romosz nevertheless received assignments later on as well. In 1657 he negotiated in Bakhchisaray with the Tatar khan who held the Transylvanian army captive.64 If one suspects a rivalry over competence to have been behind Harsányi’s conflict with János Romosz, the same rivalry emerges clearly from the case of the dragoman assigned to the Transylvanian embassy by the Sublime Porte, Zülfikar Ağa. He was already regarded as an old man in the 1650s. Our earliest information about him dates from 1618, and he had been continuously in the service of the Principality ever since the 1620s.65 Although he did not speak any language apart from Hungarian and Ottoman Turkish, he not only served the Transylvanian embassy as an interpreter, but he often received letters from the Habsburg Empire, Poland, or Muscovy for translation. He was consequently an excellent source of information for the Transylvanians since he occasionally had the orator translate the Latin texts into Hungarian in order to translate them into Ottoman Turkish later on.66 On the other hand Zülfikar also passed on the information he acquired at the Transylvanian embassy. We come across Zülfikar’s name frequently in the correspondence of Simon Reniger, the Habsburg resident ambassador in Constantinople during the 1650s, because of the news he provided and also because of the salary he earned. The Transyl vanian diplomats were aware of his relations with the Habsburg embassy, and

63 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 22 July 1655), cited in footnote 35, 672. For a short biography of Majtényi, see Kármán, “Translation,” 264. 64 Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Bakhchisaray, 20 October 1657), EÉKH II, 468. After this, he disappears from the sources. 65 Zülfikar was recommended to Prince Gábor Bethlen in several of the reports of his orator, Tamás Borsos, in the late 1610s as a possible solution for the problems of translation at the Transylvanian embassy. In this period the ağa was only ready to take ad hoc assignments, see Tamás Borsos, Vásárhelytől a Fényes Portáig [From Vásárhely to the Sublime Porte], ed. László Kocziány (Bucharest, 1972), 164–165, 326–327. On the 1620s, see János Kemény, “Önéletírása” [Autobiography], in Kemény János és Bethlen Miklós művei, ed. Éva V. Windisch (Budapest, 1980), 87. Recently on the ağa, see Szabó and Sudár, “Independens fejedelem,” part 1, 1023–1024. 66 On the language skills of Zülfikar Ağa, see the report of Johann Rudolf Schmid (12 Novem- ber 1643), Meienberger, Johann Rudolf Schmid, 268–269. On the letter of the emperor that the Transylvanian orator translated to Hungarian for Zülfikar, see István Rácz to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 7 February 1642), RGyP, 576. In the Service of the Prince 75 were unhappy about them: in 1652 the orator of the Principality called Zülfikar to account because he had attended Reniger’s audience.67 For the Transylvanian embassy this filtering out of news was much less important than the frequent suspicion that Zülfikar Ağa might have been secretly helping the prince’s political opponents. In the early 1650s this con jecture was raised regarding the Transylvanian pretender, Mózes Székely, imprisoned in Constantinople. But the orator could not prove that the two were in contact with one another, and the ağa fiercely denied the accusations.68 Later on, however, the suspicion increased. In any case, he was the one who complained about how much of his income had disappeared with the fall of Vasile Lupu. In the years following many diplomatic letters reported Zülfikar’s negotiations with Greek circles in Constantinople and with Ottoman dignitaries in favour of the ex-voievod of Moldavia, who was overthrown with the active help of György Rákóczi II. Besides, Zülfikar was rumored to be supporting anti-Rákóczi pretenders not only to the throne of Moldavia, but also to that of Wallachia – most specifically Radu Leon, the son of a former voievod, who lived in Constantinople.69 The dragoman needed these incomes from various sources since he tried to maintain a relatively high living standard for himself and his family. Apart from his house in Constantinople, he also had a small estate two miles from the city, and a garden on the shores of the Black Sea, with four sons and one daughter to look after.70 It was obviously very important for the ağa that any exchange of information between the Transylvanian ambassadors and the dignitaries at the Sublime Porte should pass through him. It is no wonder, then, that his dealings with Harsányi were not particularly amicable. There is no information about

67 See the report of Márton Boldvai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 26 June 1652), EÉKH I, 239–240. In his letter to Emperor Ferdinand III (Constantinople, 16 June 1653), Simon Reniger reports that he withheld a part of the 100 ducats intended for Zülfikar because he had not received any useful information from him since the previous autumn (HHStA Staatskanzlei Türkei I. Kt. 126. Fasz. 62/b. Konv. D. fol. 168v). 68 Ferenc Gyárfás to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 20 December 1648), EÉKH I, 21. 69 On the complaints of Zülfikar, see Ferenc Thordai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 19 May 1654), cited in footnote 26, 348. On his connections to the Greeks, see among others the report of Máté Balogh and Harsányi (Constantinople, 22 January 1656), cited in footnote 32, 298. Radu Leon was the son of Leon Tomşa, and later became voievod of Wal- lachia himself (1664–1669); on Zülfikar’s support for him, see Harsányi’s report to the prince (Constantinople, 7 September 1656), MHHD XXIII, 460. On the years of Vasile Lupu’s imprisonment, see Constantin Şerban, Vasile Lupu, Domn al Moldovei (1634–1653) [Vasile Lupu, the voievod of Moldavia, 1634–1653] (Bucharest, 1991), 213–221. 70 On the living standards of Zülfikar, see Bíró, Erdély követei, 97. 76 Chapter 2 an open conflict, even though the Turkish scribe wrote several times to his prince: “Your Highness knows, that [Zülfikar] has not been my friend since the beginning; he was offended by the fact that I went to the high dignitaries secretly, without his company.”71 In spite of the animosity, which was probably mutual, Harsányi supported the ağa on various occasions. When it seemed that Zülfikar had given up backing Vasile Lupu and translated the words of the Transylvanian orator against the ex-voievod accurately at the grand vizier’s audience, Harsányi asked the prince to send the dragoman the clothes he was begging for. Harsányi did not conceal the ambivalence of the situation, but, in his own words, he practised Christian compassion and recommended Zülfikar even to Gheorghe Ştefan, the new voievod of Moldavia:

Your Highness, God knows, not being jealous nor wishing ill, and seeing [Zülfikar’s] miserable condition, I was moved to compassion (although he never showed the same towards me), and wrote honourably to the voievod on his behalf, even if I know of his many broken pots [that is, the mischief he caused].72

Harsányi could not count on similar goodwill on the part of the ağa, who unequivocally turned against him in the most critical period of his career at the Porte – his quarrel with Orator Máté Balogh. As we saw in the case of Ferenc Thordai and János Romosz, the contacts between the orators and the Turkish scribes were not automatically cordial. As in the case of Romosz, we must assume that the orator was upset about the interpreter’s attempts to broaden the remit of his office – that is, beyond the mere auxiliary personnel of the embassy – and it was almost unavoidable that the extraordinarily active Harsányi would come into conflict with his direct superiors. Thordai did not have a bad opinion of him, and even recommended

71 Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 16 August 1656), MHHD XXIII, 434. He wrote in a similar tone in his report of 27 June 1656 that Zulfikar’s aim from the very beginning had been to ensure that Rákóczi would have no one in Constantinople who knew his way around the Porte. He would thus have been confident that all information would pass through his own hands (cited in footnote 30, 397–398). He explicitly stated in his report of 17 December 1655 that Zülfikar wanted the prince to remove him from Constantinople, because he was afraid that “I [would] become the interpreter instead of him” (cited in footnote 62, 565). 72 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), cited in footnote 8, 307. On Zülfikar’s reversion against Vasile Lupu, see the report of Máté Balogh and Harsányi (Constantinople, 4 February 1656), MHHD XXIII, 311; on Harsányi’s intercession for the gifts to be given to Zülfikar, see his report of April 1656, EÉKH II, 219. In the Service of the Prince 77 him to the prince as someone who “does not spend his time in vain, and does not spare himself in the service of Your Highness.” By the time the orator left Constantinople, however, some tension had developed between them. Unlike Harsányi’s feuds with the orators of the following two years, István Váradi and Máté Balogh, we do not know in what this tension consisted.73 We do not have much information about István Váradi, and his rather common name does not help us with his identification.74 The orator, who probably came from the petty nobility, arrived in Constantinople in late October 1654 with the embassy bringing the Principality’s tribute.75 It seems that Váradi did not aim at a long term diplomatic career – in contrast to István Réthy, for instance, who spent more than nine years, with intervals, in the Ottoman capital between 1634 and 1646.76 To put it mildly, he did not find it necessary to be particularly active in fulfilling his duties. He had been in the Ottoman capital for less than six months when Harsányi informed the prince that Váradi “only sits at home,” because he is an “incompetent sluggard.” His laziness was not the only problem for Harsányi: Váradi’s servants brought prostitutes to the Tran sylvanian house “before the eyes of the neighbours,” and when the Turkish scribe reprimanded the servants, they threatened him with murder. Harsányi also knew that Váradi had accused him in front of the prince of wasting his allowance to eat at inns. He defended himself by claiming that it was necessary because, owing to his arduous work for the Principality, he often returned to the Transylvanian lodgings too late to receive his share of the communal dinner.77

73 The quotation is from Ferenc Thordai’s letter to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 28 May 1654), cited in footnote 61, 354. Harsányi wrote the following about Thordai some time after the orator’s return to Constantinople, when he already had ongoing quarrels with István Váradi: “there is enough legitimate criticism that can be made against the orators of two successive years”; see his report of 17 December 1655 (cited in footnote 62, 566). Máté Balogh also knew that Harsányi had quarrelled with two orators before him; see his report of 8 September (actually December) 1655 (EÉKH I, 555). 74 He is most probably identical with the István Váradi among the assessors of the Princely Tribunal from 1667 (Trócsányi, Erdély, 361). 75 According to the report of Simon Reniger, the Transylvanian embassy arrived at the Porte on 30 October 1654, see his letter from 16 November, HHStA Türkei I. Kt. 127. Fasc. 63/a. Conv. C. 1654 Octob–Dezemb. fol. 24v. 76 On the first mission of Réthy, see his letter to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 18 Sep- tember 1646) RGyP, 782; also Bíró, Erdély követei, 123–126. Apart from him, the office of orator was accepted more than once also by Boldizsár Sebessi in the same period (ibid.). 77 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 13 May 1655), EÉKH I, 543– 544. 78 Chapter 2

Because of the loss of documents we only know Harsányi’s version of the situation and have no way of verifying it, but many elements from his complaints are known from different periods of the activities of the Transylvanian embassy. The Transylvanian House (the so-called Erdel Sarayı), which stood in Balat, the Jewish quarter of Constantinople, was a source of many problems. It was most probably a simple Turkish house of two stories.78 It was almost continuously in need of renovation, and few diplomats were prepared to expend any energy on its maintenance. And yet the lack of reconstruction was not the only drawback of a building which was supposed to have a representative function. A report from the 1630s noted that so much horse manure had accumulated in the courtyard during the service of the previous orator that no horse other than the envoy’s could fit in there any more.79 So it would not have been unprecedented if the representative character of the embassy lodgings was not respected by Váradi’s servants. Nor would it have been the first case in the history of the Transylvanian embassy if Váradi turned his position as an envoy into an opportunity for profi- teering – as Harsányi put it. Although the orators had to give a financial account of their activities after their return to Transylvania, their veracity was hard to check because of the long distances. Many of them were accused of having stolen a part of the sums given to them by the prince for specific purposes. Some of the orators were also blamed for selling the allowance received from the sultan in kind (the so-called ta’yin, or according to the Transylvanian usage, praebenda), and expecting the prince to make up for the deficit.80 It seems that

78 In contrast to the embassy palaces built during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, in this period even the representatives of Western European states lived in the same kind of building, as can be seen in the painting of the house of the Venetian bailo, preserved in an Ottoman costume album; see Franz Taeschner, Alt-Stambuler Hof- und Volksleben: Ein türkisches Miniaturenalbum aus dem 17. Jahrhundert (Hannover, 1925), vol. 1, no. 48. 79 See Boldizsár Sebessi to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 21 February 1636) RGyKÖ, 345. Generally on the Transylvanian House, see Sándor Mika, “Az erdélyi ház Konstantinápoly- ban” [The Transylvanian House in Constantinople], Budapesti Szemle 103 (1907): 1–21. The topographic identification of the building was made by Imre Karácson, “Az erdélyi ház Konstantinápolyban” [The Transylvanian House in Constantinople], Budapesti Hírlap 27 (1907), no. 125, 31. 80 The ta’yin consisted not only of food and money given for food, but also of forage, firewood, candles, and similar goods. Several orators during the seventeenth century reported that their rations were cut by the Ottomans; see the notes of Tamás Borsos from 1618 (Bor- sos, Vásárhelytől, 101–102), or Boldizsár Sebessi’s report (Constantinople, 21 October 1640), RGyP, 529. It was also Sebessi who had to face severe reprimands from the prince for alleg- edly having turned his allowance into money for private use; see his undated letter (from the summer of 1640) to György Rákóczi I: RGyP, 548–549. As an example of such an In the Service of the Prince 79

FIGure 2.1 The Venetian embassy in Constantinople in the mid-seventeenth century

György Rákóczi II believed Harsányi and rebuked the orator, as the Turkish scribe noted in the summer 1655: “Master Váradi has no open quarrel with me now, because he is afraid of Your Highness.” In any case there could not have been any remarkable developments, for Harsányi continued to complain about the same problems.81 Although it was not easy to handle the quarrel with Váradi – especially if Harsányi really had to face death threats – the period of the next orator, Máté Balogh, entailed even deeper misery for Jakab Harsányi Nagy. The new resident must have been in his early thirties, and already had a family. He subsequently gained fame as the defender of Nagyvárad in 1660, and received posts in the middle ranks of the Apafi administration in the 1670s.82 He arrived at the Porte in November 1655, and Váradi warned him in good time that cooperation with

account, see Zsigmond Boér’s calculations, submitted after his return to Transylvania in 1671: EOE XV, 208–209. 81 Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 22 July 1655), cited in footnote 35, 672. 82 The known facts of Balogh’s biography are summarized by the note of Sándor Vogel in Georg Kraus, Erdélyi krónika 1608–1665 [Transylvanian chronicle, 1608–1665], ed. and trans. Sándor Vogel (Budapest, 1994), 719; and Trócsányi, Erdély, 392. He refers to his four children in his letter of 1 October 1656; MHHD XXIII, 479. On Váradi’s contribution to the 80 Chapter 2

Harsányi was not going to run smoothly. This was probably why Balogh requested the prince in his letters to order the Turkish scribe to work harmoniously together with him.83 This seems to have been successful for a while. In February 1656 Harsányi wrote that “we do not have a quarrel with Master Máté Balogh, we work in perfect harmony, as our unity in the service of Your Highness expects from us,” and he even added that the orator – contrary to his predecessor – was “a quick and busy man.”84 This idyllic state did not last long, however. In June 1656 Harsányi let György Rákóczi II know in an indignant letter that Máté Balogh did not share the information coming from Transylvania with him, and even obstructed his work wherever he could and antagonized the representatives of the Moldavian and Wallachian voievods towards him. According to Harsányi’s report, when he called Balogh to account for not involving him in the business of the embassy in spite of the fact that he was the expert in finding his way through the labyrinth of the politics at the Porte, the orator told him that it was none of his business. “After this”, Harsányi continued, “he reprimanded me, calling me names, and what is more, grabbed a stick and ordered his servants to chase me out of the house of Your Highness; because, as he says, I have nothing to do with that house, because I am nothing other than a miserable scribe.”85 Harsányi sent similar complaints to Rákóczi during the rest of the year, claiming that the orator obstructed all information from him, and even told the orators of the Moldavian and Wallachian voievods that he was no longer in the service of the prince. These titbits of information were completed later on with the characterization of Balogh as a man who would put his own interests before that of the ruler, and intrigued together with Zülfikar Ağa.86 The situation was so bad after a while that when Máté Balogh’s period as an orator was reaching its end – which was when most orators wrote eloquent applications

initial tension between Balogh and Harsányi, see the latter’s report to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 22 December 1655), EÉKH I, 568. 83 See the letters of Máté Balogh (Constantinople, 8 [December] 1655), cited in footnote 73, 555; repeated in his report of 30 December 1655 (MHHD XXIII, 280). He also arrived at the Porte in the company of the chief envoy who brought the Principality’s tribute on 3 November 1655; see the report of Simon Reniger (Constantinople, 7 November 1655), HHStA Karton 127. Fasc. 63/a. Conv. F. 1655 Sept.–Dez. fol. 66r. 84 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), published in two parts, the first quote comes from EÉKH II, 218, the second from MHHD XXIII, 306. 85 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 15 June 1656), MHHD XXIII, 707. 86 See the letters of Jakab Harsányi from 7 and 27 September 1656; the first cited in footnote 69, 457–459; the second, MHHD XXIII, 474–475. In the Service of the Prince 81 to the prince to let them return home – he placed the emphasis not on the usual motivation of escaping from Constantinople but rather on at last escaping from Harsányi.87 A characteristic example of their conflict was the issue of the renovation of the Transylvanian House in Constantinople, started by Balogh in the summer of 1656. The orator gave frequent accounts of how the work was proceeding. By October the new rooms were ready, of which the one belonging to the chief ambassador was especially lavish, the courtyard had received a new pavement, and the fence had also been repaired.88 It seems that the result was satisfac- tory, but Harsányi was indignant because Balogh did not allow him to be involved: “he says I have nothing to do with it, as he was commissioned with it.” Although he could not report any concrete abuses, he observed to the prince that Máté Balogh was easy to fool as he did not speak Turkish. Just for added emphasis he also reminded György Rákóczi II that it was thanks to him that two years earlier it was not another master builder, who in the meantime went bankrupt, who received the commission for the renovation.89 Even the last brushstrokes were ground for a quarrel because Harsányi claimed that the orator allowed an erroneous version of the epigraph, compiled by him and including the names of György Rákóczi II and the sultan, to be carved on the marble plaque.90 If Máté Balogh denied Harsányi any involvement with the renovation he must have had a good reason for it. Time and again larger sums were sent by the princes for the building of the Erdel Sarayı and led several diplomats into temptation. Orator Tamás Borsos, for example, complained in 1619 that the princes had already sent him money for the renovation three times, but it was never given to him by the chief ambassadors. It is no wonder, then, that in 1640 Prince György Rákóczi I did not give the commission to supervise the building to the orator, but sent a special envoy, counting on the likelihood that two

87 “I will let Master Harsányi write more; I wish the grace of Your Highness and God would free me from his company”; Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 15 Sep- tember 1656), MHHD XXIII, 467. 88 On the process of the work, see the report of Harsányi and Balogh (Constantinople, 10 June 1656), cited in footnote 38, 375; and Balogh’s letters (Constantinople, 29 July, 19 August, and 3 September 1656), MHHD XXIII, 419, 435; the last one cited in footnote 41, 443–444. 89 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 June 1656), cited in footnote 30, 398. 90 We know about the case from a report written by Balogh, and it is not clear whether it was the text carved on the marble plaque which was faulty or only the copy of it that was sent to Gyulafehérvár; see Balogh’s letter from 1 October 1656 (cited in footnote 82, 479). 82 Chapter 2 diplomats would work as checks on each other.91 Likewise, Balogh also could count on Harsányi’s discovering anomalies if involved in the matter, particularly since the latter liked to monitor his colleagues anyway. In a similar instance, when the prince told Harsányi to help Mihály Száva, who had been serving the Transylvanian embassy as a courier for fifteen years, to purchase grandiose Turkish tents and horse trappings, it dawned on Harsányi that Száva was unwilling to purchase anything in his presence. After the courier had left, he went back to the merchants and discovered that Száva had lied about the price and kept one fifth of the money for himself.92 Balogh probably thought that if Harsányi once broke the tacit agreement about hoodwinking the distant centre of power, he should then be kept at a distance from transactions involving an even larger amount of money. The unpopularity of Harsányi, derived from similar cases, was also why his most ambitious enterprise at the Porte, the endeavour to put his own political plans into practice, eventually failed. This time the person behind the scandal was another pretender to the Wallachian throne in Constantinople, Mihnea, who was known as the son of an early seventeenth-century voievod, Radu Mihnea, although some people suspected that he was the descendant of Greek merchants instead. He nevertheless had excellent contacts at the Sublime Porte, even with the sultan’s family. But he also maintained a good relationship with the Habsburg ambassador.93 He must have appeared on the horizon of

91 It is nevertheless doubtful whether this method proved to be efficient: Mihály Maurer, as well as Boldizsár Sebessi, reported that the renovation of the house was a success. The latter even claimed that “there will be no need to spend any money on it for ten to sixteen years from now” (see their letters of 30 August 1640 and 5 September 1640, RGyKÖ, 622, resp. 520). In spite of this, Orator György Hajdu wrote only four years later that “I see a great need for renovation; the ceiling, loft, walls, and roof of the house are in a damaged state” (letter of 30 December 1643, RGyP, 662). On the complaints of Borsos, see his, Vásárhelytől, 305. 92 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 17 December 1655), cited in footnote 62, 566. Száva appears for the first time in the register of the Transylvanian diplomats at the Sublime Porte in 1642 (Bíró, Erdély követei, 125). The last information about him dates from 1664, when he declared the election of Mihály Apafi as prince in Vienna (Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 504). 93 Gábor Kármán, “The Networks of a Wallachian Pretender in Constantinople: The Con- tacts of the Future Voievod Mihail Radu 1654–1657,” in Europe and the Ottoman World: Exchanges and Conflicts (Sixteenth–Seventeenth Centuries), ed. Gábor Kármán and Radu G. Păun (Istanbul, 2013), 119–139. See also the further literature on Mihnea: Alexandru Ciorănescu, “Domnia lui Mihnea III (Mihail Radu) 1658–1659” [The rule of Mihnea III (Mihail Radu) 1658–1659], Buletinul Comisiei istorice a Romăniei 14 (1935): 88–93; Ştefan Andreescu, Restitutio Daciae, vol. 2, Relaţiile politice dintre Ţara Românească, Moldova şi In the Service of the Prince 83 the Transylvanian embassy at some time during the summer of 1654, and he proved to be a very useful link. He provided a continuous flow of information, and he even opened his social network to the Transylvanians: it was he who won the support of the nakib effendi and Yusuf Pasha for the prince.94 After a while Harsányi was ready to write – more than once – that “he serves us better than any orator or protecting patron. He is the chief kapı kehayası of Your Highness.”95 Mihnea obviously did not act out of sheer altruism. From the events of 1653, when Gheorghe Ştefan replaced Vasile Lupu on the throne of Moldavia thanks to György Rákóczi II’s role as an active bystander, he could easily conclude that the weakness of the Porte rendered the prince of Transylvania the “voievod- maker.” The first opportunity to test this hypothesis came in 1655 when a military revolt forced the voievod of Wallachia, Constantin Şerban, to leave his country. Rákóczi hesitated about whether he should respond to the pleas of the voievod and support his return. In this situation Mihnea raised the topic in one of his conversations with Harsányi about whether it would be right to help Constantin Şerban back to the throne, since he is “not suited to being a voievod, and he supports the Cossacks, Greeks, and Muscovites; he cajoles Your High ness in his misery, but his heart belongs somewhere else.” The “voievod-son” Mihnea did not only recommend himself, he also called Rákóczi’s attention to one of the Wallachian dignitaries who escaped to Transylvania, but nevertheless assured the prince that “he would, as long as he lived, be a true well-wishing servant of Your Highness.”96

Transilvania în răstimpul 1601–1659 [Political relations between Wallachia, Moldavia, and Transylvania in the period 1601–1659] (Bucharest, 1989), 245–250; Radu G. Păun, “Pouvoir, Croisade et Jugement Dernier au XVIIe siècle,” in Ius et ritus: Rechtshistorische Abhandlun- gen über Ritus, Macht und Recht, ed. Ivan Biliarsky (Sofia, 2006), 213–281. Radu Mihnea, the supposed father of Mihnea, was the voievod of Wallachia and Moldavia consecutively between 1601 and 1626, with four intervals. 94 Mihnea’s first appearance in the documents is in Harsányi’s letter of 7 July 1654 (cited in footnote 38, 147). Although the text does not mention his name, only “the voievod-son mentioned before,” the information (that he swore loyalty to Rákóczi) clearly refers to him, as suggested by later documents. Another argument for the identification is that not much later it was he who organized the first audience with Yusuf Pasha; see the letter of Harsányi of 14 August 1654 (cited in footnote 44, 157). 95 Harsányi’s letter of 7 September 1656 (cited in footnote 69, 458). 96 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 14 June 1655), TT 1889, 668. On the conflict in Wallachia, see Lidia A. Demény, Lajos Demény, and Nicolae Stoicescu, Răscoala seimenilor sau răscoală populară? 1655, Ţară Românească [The revolt of the seimens or a popular revolt? 1655, Wallachia] (Bucharest, 1968); Lajos Thallóczy, “II. Rákóczy György és az oláh szemények” [György Rákóczi II and the Wallachian seimens], Századok 84 Chapter 2

The conflict was solved shortly thereafter and the support of the pasha of Silistria helped Constantin Şerban back to his throne; but he remained unpop- ular, and Harsányi could start his campaign in favour of Mihnea, regularly calling the attention of his ruler to the services provided by the voievod-son, his loyalty and reliability. In one of his letters he told György Rákóczi II that “Voievod Constantin could never be a help for Your Highness against any of your enemies, because his country would abandon him. I hear it said even now that his countrymen would not need him, but Your Highness forces him upon them.” This reasoning led to the obvious solution: “But, Your Highness, if your neighbour could be the son of Radu, you could freely become a king [of Poland]. You could believe him as you believe your own eyes.”97 These attempts to gain the throne of Wallachia for Mihnea ended around February 1656 when Mihnea suggested that, for a certain sum, he would be ready to take an oath that he would not attempt to deprive Constantin Şerban of his throne as long as he lived, and would even support the voievod’s cause at the Porte. This oath was taken some time during the spring, in spite of the fact that even Harsányi’s arduous attempts could not convince Constantin Şerban to agree to payment – the voievod left no less than seventeen of Harsányi’s letters unanswered.98 In any case, it seems that György Rákóczi II trusted Mihnea unconditionally, even asking his opinion about the possible reaction of the Sublime Porte to his negotiations with Swedish diplomats which he otherwise kept strictly secret.99 Probably adding to Rákóczi’s sympathy for Mihnea was the Wallachian pretender’s support for attempts to reconcile Orthodoxy and Protestantism, a movement whose most famous protagonist in the first half of the seventeenth

26 (1892): 449–456; Kármán, “György Rákóczi II’s Attempt;” Szabó and Sudár, “Indepen- dens fejedelem,” part 2, 963–965. 97 Harsányi’s postscript to a letter signed together with the orator (Constantinople, 6 Janu- ary 1656), EÉKH II, 213; Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 2 October 1655), MHHD XXIII, 254. These manoeuvres of Harsányi remained largely unnoticed by historiography. Only Alexandru Ciorănescu mentioned the attempt to make Mihnea a voievod of Wallachia already in 1655 – although he thought that Máté Balogh was also a supporter of the issue – see Ciorănescu, “Domnia,” 96. 98 The idea of the oath appears in the letters of Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Constantinople, 22 February 1656 and 23 March 1656), cited in footnote 35, 320; resp. MHHD XXIII, 342–344. A referenceto the fact that the oath had been taken is found in Harsányi’s letter of 19 August 1656 (cited in footnote 88, 320–321); it must therefore have taken place some time between the two dates. On the unilateral character of the correspondence between Harsányi and Constantin Şerban, see the letter of the former of 7 September 1656 (cited in footnote 69, 459). 99 See the opinion of Mihnea, related by Harsányi in his letter to the prince of 16 October 1656, cited in footnote 44, 483–484. In the Service of the Prince 85 century was Cyrillos Lukaris, Patriarch of Constantinople. And this is most probably why Harsányi referred so frequently to the voievod-son as the “man of God.”100 It is owing to Harsányi’s support that Máté Balogh was so opposed to Mihnea, whom he only referred to as “the bey.”101 Harsányi, as we saw, was convinced that the orator, at the very least, prevented the representatives of the two voievods from talking to him. If Máté Balogh really told them that he was no longer employed by the Transylvanian embassy, this surely contributed to the neglect of the voievod-son’s requests. At the same time, during the summer of 1656, Balogh himself was already using the services of Mihnea, and he even wrote to his prince, “if only this man [that is, Harsányi] would not incite him, the bey would be a good person.” It is clear from his letter that he did not hesitate to add some further accusations against Harsányi. He even suggested that the Turkish scribe supported Mihnea so fervently only because, since he was incapable of writing decent Turkish, he wanted to get away from the Porte and receive the position of a “chief vornic,” that is, the post of the majordomo (vor-

100 On Mihnea’s ideas about the Orthodox-Protestant reconciliation, see Harsányi’s report to György Rákóczi II from 8 November 1656, MHHD XXIII, 495. Later on, the synod of Tărgovişte, supervised by Mihnea in January 1659, passed similar decisions; see Ovidiu Victor Olar, “Orthodoxie et politique: I. Le Synode de Târgoviste (janvier 1659),” Archævs 11–12 (2007–2008): 177–204. An excellent summary on the activities of Lukaris, especially his contacts with the Protestant European powers, is provided by Gunnar Hering, Öku- menisches Patriarchat und europäische Politik 1620–1638 (Wiesbaden, 1968). On similar views among the Transylvanian Protestant theologians, see Levente Nagy, “Az erdélyi iré- nizmus és a román reformáció, avagy Bethlen Gábor esete Kirill Lukarisszal” [Irenicism in Transylvania and the Reformation among the Romanians, or the case of Gábor Bethlen and Kyrillos Lukaris], in Bibliotheca et Universitas: Tanulmányok a hatvanéves Heltai János tiszteletére, ed. Gábor Kecskeméti and Réka Tasi (Miskolc, 2011), 31–33. It became possible to identify Mihnea with the “man of God” through the letter of 7 September 1656: in this one, Harsányi reports that the “man of God” was pondering leaving the Porte; the news of which was not much earlier connected to “the son of Voeivod Radu” (cited in footnote 69, 458). 101 Through this he managed to successfully confuse György Rákóczi II: Harsányi had to explain to the prince that “the bey” and “the son of voievod Radu” actually referred to the same person; see his postscript to their common report of 6 January 1656 (cited in footnote 97, 213). Mihnea is mentioned as “Goian-Bei” also by the reports of the Habsburg ambassador, Simon Reniger; see Eudoxius de Hurmuzaki, ed., Fragmente zur Geschichte der Rumänen, vol. 3 (Bucharest, 1884), 237 (in the following: FGR III). According to Ştefan Andreescu, this must be a distortion of the term Civan bey (“young prince”), see Andreescu, Restitutio Daciae, 246; the interpretation of which is reinforced by Máté Balogh, who also used the form Csiván bék once (in his report of 22 July 1656, MHHD XXIII, 418). 86 Chapter 2 nic mare) of the Wallachian court. He also added that Harsányi emitted an extremely foul smell because of some disease: “if he sits down, I have to sit upwind, so that the wind might blow away his stench.” His letter gives the impression that Harsányi must have had some kind of skin disease, as the orator says: “When he scratches and the stench is spreading, I feel sick.” Harsányi’s disease would be hard to identify, since Balogh also adds to the diagnosis, as if it were a crime, that he only eats food cooked in water.102 This last remark shows how hard it is to take the arguments of both sides into account when reconstructing the conflict between Harsányi and Balogh. The Turkish scribe sent long complaints to his prince which focused on concrete problems and placed them in the more general context of his views about the duties of a diplomat. The orator, on the other hand, hinted repeatedly at petty misdemeanours which were not even always coherent. Balogh noted several times that Harsányi was unwilling to come when called for, once even adding that he had turned to drink, which would hardly be compatible with the diet he was accused of observing.103 While in the aforesaid letter Balogh suggested that Harsányi was interested in receiving high offices in Wallachia, in other cases he insinuated – placing the words in the mouth of Zülfikar Ağa – that he wanted to “turn Turk,” that is, convert to Islam.104 He even alluded, unsuccessfully, to a supposed fraud by Harsányi, accusing him of saving up for a horse, while a horse was only needed because the orator refused to give him one of the embassy’s mounts with which he could have gone about his business at greater speed.105

102 Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 16 July 1656), MHHD XXIII, 410. 103 Letters of Máté Balogh (Constantinople, 19 June 1656 and 19 August 1656), MHHD XXIII, 383; resp. cited in footnote 88, 436. 104 Letter of Máté Balogh (Constantinople, 19 June 1656), cited in the previous footnote, 381. When Harsányi heard that Mihály Száva, referring to Zülfikar Ağa, transmitted this information to the prince, he immediately thought that this happened at Balogh’s instigation; see his letter of 21 December 1656, MHHD XXIII, 508. 105 The text is as follows: “of lion talers (oroszlyányos tallér), we gave 200 to Yusuf Pasha; although Master Harsányi wrote 200 (!), he probably meant that it would be good for a horse” (the report of Balogh of 29 July 1656, cited in footnote 88, 418). As also struck the nineteenth-century editor of the text, Balogh must have meant that Harsányi reported a more precious gift to the prince and kept the difference himself, but unfortunately he made a mistake with the numbers. Harsányi, in his turn, accused the orator of keeping no less than four horses at the embassy’s expense which he wanted to sell in order to pocket the price for himself. That is why he would not let Harsányi use them for his everyday activities; see his letter of 7 September 1656, cited in footnote 69, 475. In the Service of the Prince 87

When weighing their mutual accusations against each other we also have to remember that it was part of Harsányi’s job to produce well-composed texts. In his original office as a theologian-teacher, as well as in his new position as a scribe, it was crucial for him to be able to give an appropriate form to his thoughts. In this respect Balogh, who was more inclined to a military career, was certainly at a disadvantage – some of his letters contain completely unintelligible sentences – and he was aware of this.106 Even so, Harsányi’s perspective seems to be better justified. While it would be impossible to understand the motivation of Harsányi’s activities from Balogh’s letters, the image drawn by him of the orator is easy to interpret: Balogh was jealously trying to defend his position and competences – and the princely favour deriving from them – against the very ambitious and extraordinarily active Turkish scribe. Moreover, while the orator’s activities are described in similar ways by both of them – unlike Váradi, Balogh was never accused of idleness by Harsányi – the image of feverish activity Harsányi drew of himself stands in contrast to Balogh’s charge that he neglected his duties. The lack of details in the latter’s account certainly does not support his arguments. Harsányi may have also had his own interests in mind when supporting Mihnea, but he surely caused less damage to the prince than Zülfikar did when he stood up for Rákóczi’s sworn enemy, Vasile Lupu. Besides, as the connection with the voievod-son was strengthened, his social network also expanded to the benefit of the embassy of Transylvania, thereby successfully assisting the Principality’s interests. To sum up, we can say that the most important elements behind Harsányi’s conflicts with the orators – Váradi and Balogh – were due to the nature of their offices. The orators were only sent to Constantinople for one year, and few of them would have found this post lucrative enough in the long run. For most of them it was enough not to make huge mistakes during their stay in the Ottoman Empire, and they could count on the appreciation of the prince afterwards. They were also ready to avail themselves of those opportunities that offered some financial gain owing to the weak control of a distant court. Turkish scribes, on the other hand, chose a career when they accepted the post. It was therefore in their personal interest to perform their duties as precisely as possible. It was also to their advantage if, by doing so, they could continuously

106 He referred to his “bad writing” in several of his autograph letters, see his reports of 16 July 1656 and 19 August 1656 (cited in footnotes 102, 409; and 88, 435). After his return to Tran- sylvania, although the orator expressed his wish to remain in the service of the prince, he specifically said that he did not want to be in the administration of the Rákóczi estates; see the letter of Ákos Barcsai to Zsuzsanna Lorántffy (Kolozsmonostor, 1 June 1657), MNL OL E 190 Nr. 7242. 88 Chapter 2 demonstrate their importance for the prince, were it only by emphasising the contrast between them and their colleagues and becoming the self-appointed tools of princely control over the activities of the embassy. The conflicts thus stemmed from the peculiarities of the situation. For such an intensive outbreak of hostilities, however, two more elements were also necessary: the uncompromising style of Harsányi and the obstinacy of Balogh. The prince, in any case, did not want to decide in favour of either of them. Not many of his letters sent to the Porte are known, but it is clear from them, as well as from the reactions of his two correspondents, that he did little more than admonish the snarling diplomats for failing to work in harmony.

Living Conditions in Constantinople

While György Rákóczi II most probably had a healthy distrust of his orator, he must also have assumed that his Turkish scribe would misuse the money he sent. When Harsányi complained about the high living costs and the relatively modest allowance received from the prince, Rákóczi wrote in the margins of the letter, in his own hand: “it is a lie, he spends it [that is, his salary] on lemons and oranges.”107 It would be hard to find a reliable source for whether the Turkish scribe really spent his allowance on luxury goods (even if, in Istanbul, tropical fruits were considered less of a luxury than in Gyulafehérvár). Harsányi’s own reports, less surprisingly, state the opposite. And even though Máté Balogh wrote to the prince that Harsányi was spending money lavishly, it is far more surprising, in view of their relations with each other, that Balogh should have said this only once.108 Taking indirect sources into account, we can nevertheless conclude that Harsányi did not have enough money at his disposal to be spendthrift. It seems that an officeholder assigned with the job of translation at the Transylvanian embassy received a salary of 100 florins (200 talers) a year from the prince, regardless of whether they were dragomans of the Porte or interpreters of Transylvanian origin. This was the annual allowance of Zülfikar Ağa and also of Dávid Rozsnyai in the 1670s.109 It is very likely that Harsányi also

107 Marginal comment of György Rákóczi II on Harsányi’s report of 4 January 1655, cited in footnote 29, 540. 108 Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 29 July 1656), cited in footnote 88, 420. 109 On the salary of Zülfikar, see Samu Barabás, “Brandenburgi Katalin országos kiadásai jegyzéke 1630. júliusból” [The registry of Catherine of Brandenburg’s state expenses from July 1630], in Történelmi Tár 1881, 365–367 (in the following: TT 1881). On Rozsnyai’s salary, In the Service of the Prince 89 received this amount of money because he notes in one of his letters that he received 200 talers from György Rákóczi II. Moreover, in the same letter he reminds the prince of the detail that his expenses exceeded 300.110 We also learn from other letters that his income was not sufficient to make a living. According to the above-mentioned passage in Balogh’s report about Harsányi’s extravagance, the Turkish scribe had accumulated a debt of 150 talers. In a letter dating from 1654, Ferenc Thordai also mentioned Harsányi’s debts.111 This is no wonder if we consider that the salary of the English embassy’s interpreter in the same period was three times as much as that of the Transylvanian Turkish scribe, and even the second interpreter received 250 talers per year.112 Harsányi himself listed all the commodities he had to cover from his allowance: “my table, clothing, training, and other expenses in the service of Your Highness.” And here he did not even mention the rent he had to pay for his lodgings; probably because, when he wrote this letter, he was already staying at the Transylvanian House.113 In the first phase of his service the fact that he had his own lodgings involved an extra expense. Turkish scribes learning the language rented rooms for themselves in Constantinople so that they could spend as much time as possible in a native-speaking environment. Not long after his arrival in the Ottoman capital, Harsányi also rented “a house” (which could also mean only a room) for himself, and, for a while, lived independently of the other members of the embassy. But this segregation was not easy to maintain. Although János Romosz, for example, could afford to pay for his own lodgings,

see Mihály Elekes, Rozsnyai Dávid élete és művei [The life and works of Dávid Rozsnyai] (Szeged, 1905), 24. The salary of András Majtényi in 1630 was 125 florins, and the same amount was given to Rozsnyai in 1669 and 1682 (TT 1881, 366; Komlovszki and S. Sárdi, “Rozsnyai,” 537; TT 1883, 169. Zsidó Juda (“Judah the Jew”), also known as Judah Mehmet, a Turkish interpreter in Transylvania, was paid 124 guldens in 1664. However, this sum might have included arrears from the earlier years; see Mihály Apafi’s instruction to Demeter Logofet (Gyulafehérvár, 4 June 1664), MNL OL Erdélyi Kormányhatósági Levél- tárak F 12 Lymbus 11. cs. 6. sz. Orator Zsigmond Boér owed 60 talers (30 gulden) to his interpreter for his payment in money and clothing. This does not, however, necessarily refer to a full yearly salary; see his letter to Mihály Apafi I (5 August 1670), TMÁO V, 499. 110 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 January 1655), cited in footnote 29, 540. 111 See the letter of Balogh cited in footnote 88, 420; and the report of Ferenc Thordai from 28 May 1654, cited in footnote 61, 354. 112 A figure from 1650 is quoted by Wood, A History, 226–227. Somewhat later, in 1667, the three dragomans employed by the English at Smyrna earned 400, 300, and 200 talers, plus a 25-taler gift on New Year’s Eve and further allowances in kind; see Sonia P. Anderson, An English Consul in Turkey: Paul Rycaut in Smyrna, 1667–1678 (Oxford, 1989), 108–110. 113 Report of Jakab Harsányi Nagy of 4 January 1655, cited in footnote 29, 540. 90 Chapter 2 there was no money left for eating separately. As the prince was informed by Orator Márton Boldvai: “the poor thing [Romosz] has to come home to my table to eat. That I do not regret, but speaking only Hungarian among us, he cannot learn anything.”114 It is certain that in 1656 Harsányi had already been living in the Erdel Sarayı, but we do not know whether he moved because his language skills were already good enough for it not to be a problem if he was surrounded by Hungarian-speakers, or if he was forced to do so for lack of money. By doing so, however, he could only save on rent and not on the expense of food, as we see from the above-quoted letters in which he complained that he often missed dinner because of his duties and had to eat at an inn. Although he stayed at the embassy, moreover, his illness – for which he was reproached by Balogh – forced him to observe a special diet, at least in the summer of 1656, and his servant had to cook separately for him. His food would not have been covered by the ta’yin designed for the alimentation of the orator and his retinue.115 Rent and food were probably a significant financial burden, even if other expenses, such as payment of the hoca, could not have been very great. Judging from Rozsnyai, Harsányi must have paid approximately 3–5 talers a year for his teacher. Apart from this, Rozsnyai also spent a considerable amount of money on buying documents issued by the sultan. These must have been of use in learning the language employed in the Chancellery.116 We have no concrete data about such expenses in the case of Harsányi, but he too must have needed similar tools for his studies.

114 Márton Boldvai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 July 1652), MHHD XXIII, 111. The information about Harsányi renting his own lodgings is from the same letter. It is clear from the letter of Romosz to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 20 July 1654) that the house which he rented stood next to that of Zülfikar Ağa (MHHD XXIII, 152). 115 See the complaints of Harsányi to György Rákóczi II in his letter of 27 September 1656, cited in footnote 86, 475. Máté Balogh had already stated in a letter dating from May that year that Harsányi ate in the Transylvanian House. Characteristically, however, his statements concerning this topic were quite contradictory. First he reproached Harsányi on 16 July for having his servant cook separately for him; then, on the 29th, he already added to his complaints about Harsányi’s lavish spending that the Turkish scribe did not have to spend money for his alimentation since he ate at the embassy’s table (see the references in footnotes 102 and 88, 410, resp. 420). 116 According to his diary, Rozsnyai hired a hoca for 2 akçes per day in May 1664, and then in August he chose another one who demanded 4 akçes per day. If we consider that Harsányi met his hoca twice a week (104 times in a year), he could not have paid more, even for a better (and more expensive) teacher, than 500 akçes (approximately 5 talers) a year. Con- cerning the purchase of the sultan’s documents, Rozsnyai noted once in his diary that “I bought a donation letter of the Turkish emperor from the hoca,” and this costed him 206 akçes; see MHHS VIII, 276–277. In the Service of the Prince 91

Clothing is worth mentioning again, not because it would have been a major item in Harsányi’s budget, but because it represents an important element in the Constantinople experience of Transylvanians (which will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Six). In the letter of Márton Boldvai, in which he informs the prince about Harsányi’s final decision to take the office, he says that the new Turkish scribe would want to be paid in money (the sum is unspecified) and with a set of clothes.117 The fact that Harsányi wanted to have his clothes from Transylvania would suggest that – contrary to their eighteenth-century Western European colleagues who frequently had themselves painted in caftan and turban – Transylvanian diplomats of the seventeenth century did not wear Ottoman dress in Constantinople. A later remark in one of Harsányi’s letters shows, however, that the situation was by no means unambiguous. Harsányi drew the attention of his ruler to the fact that the green fabric he sent would only be enough for a pelisse and a dolman if they were made according to the style of the “robes by the Danube.” Harsányi writes, however, that this is “not suitable for me,” because “here [in Constantinople] a longer one should be worn.”118 Does this mean that Harsányi indeed wore Turkish dress? It is unlikely since, in that case, he would not have emphasized in another report that it was too difficult to organize a meeting with the valide kihaya because of the spies of the grand vizier. He concluded: “I met him dressed up in Turkish costume.”119 It is therefore most probable – and this is confirmed by the images of Hungarians in contemporary Ottoman costume books – that Harsányi modified his clothing according to the local customs, but, in contrast to his West European peregrination, did not change his clothes entirely. The mental border towards the East proved to be far more solid (as we shall see in Chapter Six).120

117 Márton Boldvai to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 July 1652), cited in footnote 114, 111. 118 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 21 December 1656), cited in footnote 104, 508. On the depictions of ambassadors from Western Europe, see Friedrich Polleroß, “Gesandte im Bild: Repräsentationsformen der Diplomatie,” in Politische Kom- munikation zwischen Imperien: Der diplomatische Aktionsraum Südost- und Osteuropa, ed. Gunda Barth-Scalmani, Harriet Rudolph and Christian Steppan (Innsbruck, 2013), 42–55. See also the Oriental clothing worn by Venetian interpreters of Istrian origin at the Sub- lime Porte in the catalogue Nazan Ölçer, Filiz Çağman and Polona Vidmar (eds.), Image of the Turks in the 17th Century Europe (Istanbul, 2005), 276–286. 119 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 14 August 1654), cited in footnote 44, 156. 120 The two “Ungarus” characters in the Ottoman costume book purchased by Claes Rålamb during 1657–58 (see one of them on the cover) evidently represent the contemporary 92 Chapter 2

All in all the diffuse evidence about Harsányi’s allowance gives the impression that the salary of 100 florins would only have been sufficient if the Turkish scribe received it regularly and if nothing extraordinary occurred. But this was never the case. Harsányi frequently had to petition for the payment of his allowance, and he did not have much support for this because of his quarrels with the orators. On the other hand, there were always events that raised his expenses – either an illness or the rise of prices in the Ottoman capital due to the chaotic military and political situation. These problems multiplied during 1657. The year had a promising start for Harsányi when, with the arrival of the tribute of the Principality at the Sublime Porte, he at last got rid of Máté Balogh in December 1656. The next orator, István Tisza, assured György Rákóczi II at length that he would do everything possible to create a harmonious and good working atmosphere with Harsányi.121 And indeed, in the ensuing period we have no evidence of any quarrel between the two of them – although it remains unclear to what extent this unanimity was due to the critical situation of the Transylvanian embassy at the Porte. In 1657 György Rákóczi II started the most ambitious enterprise of his rule. In alliance with the king of Sweden and the hetman of the Zaporozhian Cossacks, he turned his army against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, aiming to become king of Poland. He not only failed to ask the consent of the Ottoman dignitaries for this, but, as noted before, any information concerning his Polish plans was bluntly denied by his diplomats at the Porte. It was natural then that Köprülü Mehmed, who became grand vizier half a year earlier and had already introduced serious measures to end the political crisis of the Porte, should have called the Transylvanian diplomats to account for the deeds of their ruler in consecutive audiences.122 There was no practical retaliation until

Hungarian-Transylvanian fashion, in contrast to the more Oriental patterns of the Walla- chian, who wears a caftan and altogether looks very similar to the depictions of the Greek in the same album. As the booklet was produced in Istanbul, the illustrations obviously show the Hungarian-Transylvanians living there, that is, the members of the embassy. See Tadeusz Majda, “The Rålamb Album of Turkish Costumes,” in The Sultan’s Procession, 256–258. 121 István Tisza to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 13 December 1656), EÉKH II, 225–226. The embassy bringing the tribute left Constantinople, together with Máté Balogh, on 6 December 1656; see the report of Simon Reniger (Constantinople, 2 January 1657), HHStA Türkei I. Kt. I. 128. Fasc. 63/b. Conv. C. 1657 Jänner–Juni fol. 10v–11r. 122 There is evidence of at least two audiences during January–February. According to the chronicle of János Szalárdi, the Transylvanians were told by Köprülü Mehmed that the prince should return home on 24 January. In his dispatches, the Dutch resident, Levinus Warner, mentions an audience some time in February. See Szalárdi, Siralmas magyar krónikája, 355; Willem Nicolas Du Rieu, ed., Levini Warneri de rebus Turcicis epistolae In the Service of the Prince 93 the news of Rákóczi’s defeat reached Istanbul in the late summer, together with the information that most of his army had been taken hostage by the Tatar khan. The diplomats of the Principality nevertheless had to endure severe pressure during the first half of the year, especially since no chief ambassador, nor even a letter, arrived from Rákóczi in this period. Ákos Barcsai, the locum-tenens of the prince in Transylvania, did not respond to the questions sent to him by the orator and the Turkish scribe either.123 Their situation became worse as the Porte abandoned the granting of the praebenda to the Transylvanian embassy for the duration of the conflict. The diplomats had been eagerly awaiting information from Gyulafehérvár, as well as money to cover their living costs.124 They desperately tried to call the attention of the locum-tenens to the fact that the anger of the grand vizier should be taken seriously, because “one should think about the issues at the Porte otherwise than usually, because the grand vizier is now absolutus dispensator concerning everything. He can do whatever he wants”.125 Until the chief ambassador arrived, however, the resident members of the embassy tried to assess the attitude of the Porte as precisely as they could. From the relatively small corpus of surviving correspondence it is nevertheless clear that the network built up during the previous years now worked much less efficiently. No one would have dared stand up for Transylvania against the heavy-handed Köprülü Mehmed.126 Harsányi, however, was not idle. His fran-

ineditae (Leiden, 1883), 34 (in the following: LWE). On Rákóczi’s Polish campaign, see recently Sándor Gebei, “II. Rákóczi György lengyelországi hadjárata, 1657” [The Polish campaign of György Rákóczi II, 1657], Hadtörténelmi Közlemények 105, no. 2 (1992): 30–64; Gábor Kármán, “II. Rákóczi György 1657-es lengyelországi hadjáratának diplomáciai hát- tere” [The diplomatic background of the 1657 Polish campaign of György Rákóczi II], Századok 146 (2012): 1049–1084. 123 István Tisza and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Ákos Barcsai (Constantinople, 30 April 1657), EÉKH II, 360. On the situation of the Transylvanian diplomats at the Porte, see Gábor Kármán, “Svéd diplomácia a Portán 1657–1658: Claes Rålamb és Gotthard Welling kon- stantinápolyi követsége” [Swedish diplomacy at the Porte, 1657–1658: The embassy of Claes Rålamb and Gotthard Welling], Sic Itur ad Astra 13, nos. 1–2 (2001): 63–64; Sándor Papp, “II. Rákóczi György és a Porta” [György Rákóczi II and the Porte], in Szerencsének elegyes forgása: II. Rákóczi György és kora, ed. Gábor Kármán and András Péter Szabó (Budapest, 2009), 147–157; Szabó and Sudár, “Independens fejedelem,” 974–979. 124 On cutting the praebenda, see the letters of István Tisza and Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Con- stantinople, 18 May and 6 June 1657), EÉKH II, 362, 364. 125 István Tisza and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Ákos Barcsai (Constantinople, 4 May 1657) MNL OL E 204 46. d. 126 It is quite remarkable that, in contrast to the previous correspondence, the letters from this period hardly ever refer to specific Ottoman dignitaries. The only person whom we 94 Chapter 2 tic activities can best be followed through the diary of a Swedish envoy, Claes Rålamb, who was sent to Constantinople by his king to support the cause of the Transylvanians. Two days after his arrival, Harsányi had a detailed discussion with Rålamb and introduced him to the ceremonial order of the Sublime Porte. Harsányi must have made an impression on the otherwise quite critically-minded Swede, because, although he had a Turkish interpreter of his own, he petitioned the grand vizier to allow Harsányi to be the interpreter at his audience. He believed he could rely on the latter’s experience in the sensi- tive questions of politics and protocol. Harsányi, together with other members of the Transylvanian embassy, was also present at the audience of Rålamb in the sultan’s chambers.127 The Swedish envoy does not say whether the question of interpretation at his audience was solved in the manner he requested. In any case, a quite absurd solution was found for the same problem one month later when an audience was given to another envoy of Charles X Gustav. It illustrated the struggle for competence and the problems deriving from the price of information described earlier. The Latin speech of Gotthard Welling before the sultan was translated by Harsányi, but into Hungarian, which was then translated into Turkish by Zülfikar Ağa.128 Harsányi would not have been true to himself, though, if he had considered that his tasks went no further than interpreting. From the beginning of June until mid-August there are entries in Rålamb’s diary on every third to fifth day relating how he was visited by Harsányi, who brought him news or negotiated with him about the policies to be followed. The Turkish scribe not only helped the Swedish ambassador personally, but also through his network. Mihnea visited Rålamb several times, and although it is not clear from the diary that he was introduced to him by Harsányi, it seems unlikely that their acquaintance could have been a sheer coincidence. Harsányi definitely tried to maintain his earlier contacts, bringing good news to the Swedish envoy from Panaiotis Nicousios, and it was most probably he who mentioned the nakib effendi as a potential supporter of their cause.129 We can assume that Harsányi also

hear about is a çavuş named Ali, who had been in Transylvania several times on diplomatic missions. He had lunch at the Transylvanian House in mid-May and entertained the diplomats with some good news. See their letter of 18 May 1657, cited in footnote 124, 361. 127 Claes Rålamb, Diarium under resa till Konstantinopel 1657–1658 [Diary on his journey to Constantinople 1657–1658], ed. Christian Callmer (Stockholm, 1963), 99, 103–105. On the mission of Rålamb in detail, see Kármán, “Svéd diplomácia.” 128 Hiltebrandt, Dreifache schwedische Gesandtschaftsreise, 115–116. 129 In the diary Rålamb only notes that he asked Mihnea whether it would not be worth requesting the nakib effendi to call on the sultan with a letter of support; see Rålamb, In the Service of the Prince 95

frequently visited the English ambassador, Thomas Bendyshe, who was particularly open in his support of the Swedish diplomats. Nevertheless, because of the irregular communication between London and Constantinople, Bendyshe could not be sure whether the Lord Protector would want him to stand up for Transylvania. This meant that cooperation never became very close.130 This very active period came to an abrupt end: On 14 August 1657 Rålamb still noted that Harsányi had visited him and informed him about the rapid spread of the news of György Rákóczi II’s defeat in Constantinople. The next day Harsányi was imprisoned together with Zülfikar Ağa. The Swedish envoy, who had a well-developed sense of law and justice – he later became known as one of the most important early modern legal theorists of his country – immediately tried to pull every string possible to file an official complaint at the Sublime Porte. Bendyshe, who had already been in Constantinople for fifteen years by then, modified his expectations, saying that it seemed that Harsányi had been arrested on the personal orders of the sultan, so it would probably be better to wait a few days. On 19 August, however, the grand vizier had the entire Transylvanian embassy arrested and imprisoned – together with Harsányi and Zülfikar, who had previously been kept in an unknown place – in the Seven Towers, the infamous prison fortress of Constantinople. Rålamb discovered that the official reason for their arrest was a letter of Harsányi in which he presumably described the Ottoman war against Venice in unfriendly terms.131 But

Diarium, 135–136. On the period (with the details about Harsányi and Mihnea), see ibid, 103–146. 130 See the letter of Bendyshe to John Thurloe, in which he complains that it was already October when he received an order of the Lord Protector written in May. By then it was already impossible to follow because of the change of circumstances in the meantime (Pera, 22 October 1657); Thomas Birch, ed., A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, vol. 6 (London, 1742), 571 (in the following: TP). On similar problems from the first half of the year, see his letter to John Thurloe (Pera, 16 April 1657), Bodleian Library (Oxford), Rawlison Mss. A 37 fol. 391r. Unfortunately Bendyshe’s diary from this period has somewhat fragmentary entries, cf. Essex Record Office D/DHf O4 (in the following: ERO). On the problems of communication, see Goffman, Britons, 196–201. 131 According to other, hardly credible information, Harsányi was imprisoned because of a letter by Ferenc Rákóczi I, the son of György II, and elected prince of Transylvania (only 12 years old by that time), in which he spoke unfavourably about the sultan. See Rålamb, Diarium, 148; on the entire period, 146–149. On the biography of Claes Rålamb, see the article by Björn Asker in Svenskt biografiskt lexikon (vol. 31, 168–173); and Sten Westerberg, “Claes Rålamb: Statesman, Scholar and Ambassador,” in The Sultan’s Procession, 26–57. On his career as a legal theorist, see Jan Eric Almqvist, “Clas Rålamb som rättvetens- kaplig författare” [Claes Rålamb as an author of legal sciences], in Svensk juridisk 96 Chapter 2 it was clearly only a pretext: Köprülü Mehmed had started the retaliations against György Rákóczi II, who had fallen into disfavour, with the arrest of his diplomats. After these events Rålamb abandoned his plans to call the Sublime Porte to account for not observing the diplomats’ right to immunity. And for Jakab Harsányi Nagy a period spent as the Turkish scribe of the prince of Transylvania in Constantinople ended, only to be followed by a decade of exis- tential uncertainty.

litteraturhistoria (Stockholm, 1946), 150–162. According to a somewhat later report by the French ambassador, Jean De la Haye, Harsányi had already been incarcerated on 14 August; see his letter to the Doge of Venice (Pera, 28 August 1657), Ioan Slavici, ed., Docu- mente privitóre la Istoria Românilor culese de Eudoxiu de Hurmuzaki [Documents concerning the history of the Romanians collected by Eudoxiu de Hurmuzaki], vol. 5, pt. 2, 1650–1699 (Bucharest, 1886), 34 (in the following DIR V/2). It is more likely that Rålamb’s dating is the correct one. Years of Turmoil 97

Chapter 3 Years of Turmoil

Sultan Mehmed II had the fortress of Yedikule built to include the formidable looking Byzantine city walls on the inner side of the former main gate (the so- called Porta Aurea) during the fifteenth century. Even today its visitors can feel their preconceptions being confirmed. Ever since the early modern period the Seven Towers, the awesome prison of the Ottomans, served as a metaphor for utter despair. Over the centuries, admittedly, many important personages who had displeased the Porte were kept in the fortress, particularly in its easternmost tower which had served as a treasury until the sixteenth century. Executions also took place inside the walls. The best known among them was the strangulation of Sultan Osman II in 1622, in the part of the building known today as the “bloody well.”1 The prison had also been infamous in seventeenth- century Transylvania. According to the Transylvanian orator Farkas Bethlen, the aristocrats who revolted against the prince in 1677 and then fled to the Porte “were promptly taken to the Yedikule on foot, and are now held there at the bottom of a dark tower, so that they cannot see even during daylight without a candle. They are confined in the narrowest of cells and are in a desperate situation.”2 Contemporaries, however, could know perfectly well that not everyone held there was kept under such strict arrest. Although the orator could write with satisfaction that a Transylvanian pretender, Mózes Székely, was put in a place in the Seven Towers, “where he cannot see anything other than the sky and the white sea,” his colleagues in the following years had to invest much energy in keeping track of who visited Székely there, or even whether the pretender himself did not repeatedly leave the building.3 The bare

1 On the architectural history of, and the executions at, the Seven Towers, see Wolfgang Müller- Wiener, Bildlexikon zur Topographie Istanbuls: Byzantion, Konstantinopolis, Istanbul bis zum Beginn des 17. Jh. (Tübingen, 1977), 339–341; Halil Ethem, Yedikule Hisarı [The fortress of the Seven Towers] (İstanbul, 1932), 28–33. On the bad reputation of the building, see also Hammer, Geschichte, 505; and Wood, A History, 231. 2 Farkas Bethlen to Mihály Teleki (Constantinople, 28 April 1678), Sámuel Gergely, ed., Teleki Mihály levelezése [The correspondence of Mihály Teleki], vol. 7, 1675–1677 (Budapest, 1916), 178 (in the following: TML VII). 3 Boldizsár Sebessi to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 29 July 1635), RGyKÖ, 319. On later developments, see his letter dated Constantinople, 10 November 1635 (RGyKÖ, 325), and the reports of István Réthy and István Rácz to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 1 May 1639, and 30 April 1642), TT 1894b, 497; RGyKÖ, 668.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_005 98 Chapter 3 inner court of the fortress, as it appears today and which can be observed from any place on the wall, suggests a parallel to the empty courtyards of modern prisons. But it made an entirely different impression in the seventeenth century. As we see from a very detailed contemporary drawing, the area within the circle of the Seven Towers was densely built and had a mosque of its own. There was even a small garden in the northwestern corner.4 The captives had to face widely different fates depending on their social prestige, political relevance, and the intentions of the Ottoman Empire towards them – from sitting in chains in a dark cell to a form of house arrest, when the person in detention was not allowed to leave the fortress, but could move freely inside its walls and could even have his own house and poultry yard.5 Harsányi and the other Transylvanian diplomats do not seem to have spent their imprisonment in fetters. The Habsburg ambassador in Constantinople noted that they had to face an embarrassing reception. Vasile Lupu, the ex- voievod of Moldavia who had been an inhabitant of the Seven Towers since 1654, and whose incarceration was one of the most important tasks for the embassy in the previous few years, greeted them “with frequent vilification and sarcastic words.”6 It does not, however, seem to have got any worse than this. In September they received a letter in the Seven Towers from the prince, which they forwarded to the grand vizier, petitioning him for their release.7 The Transylvanian diplomats described life in prison as “turpis et sordidus” (that is, foul and filthy), but this should not necessarily be taken literally. Rather

4 A reproduction of the original, held by Museo Correr, Venice, is published in Müller-Werner, Bildlexikon, 339; and in Stéphane Yerasimos, Constantinople: De Byzance à Istanbul (Paris, 2000), 210. 5 On the latter, see the examples quoted by Sándor Takáts, “A török és magyar raboskodás” [Turkish and Hungarian captivity], in vol. 1 of Rajzok a török világból (Budapest, 1915), 188–190. From the diary of Johann Ferdinand Auer, one also gets the impression of a house arrest: Auer János Ferdinánd pozsonyi nemes polgárnak héttoronyi fogságában írt naplója 1664 [The diary of the noble burgher of Pozsony, János Ferdinánd Auer, written in his captivity at the Seven Towers], ed. Imre Lukinich (Budapest, 1923), 193–206. As the case of Sebastiano Molin, Harsányi’s fellow captive, shows, the circumstances of imprisonment sometimes changed with time: the Venetian nobleman was initially kept in chains in a dungeon, while later on he got his own cell and could move relatively freely inside the walls; see Géraud Poumarède, “Les infortunes de Sebastiano Molin, patricien vénitien et prisonnier de guerre à Constantinople au milieu du XVIIe siècle,” Cahiers de la Méditerranée 65 (2002): 273–300. 6 Simon Reniger to Leopold I, king of Hungary (Constantinople, 3 September 1657), HHStA Türkei I. Kt. 128. Fasc. 63/b. Conv. D. fol. 63r. 7 See the memorial of the Transylvanian diplomats to Grand Vizier Köprülü Mehmed ([September 1657]), ibid., fol. 68–70. The letter of György Rákóczi II is also included in a Latin translation (fol. 67). Years of Turmoil 99

FIGure 3.1 The fortress of the Seven Towers in the seventeenth century than to the bad conditions and filth in the prison, it could also refer to the humiliating state of captivity. The fact that they received their correspondence in the Yedikule, and were also able to answer it, shows that they were not segregated from the world outside.8 This is confirmed by the fact that Claes Rålamb, who was not permitted to leave Constantinople until January 1658, applied twice during November and December to Harsányi, then sitting in the Seven Towers, to have his petitions to Ottoman dignitaries translated.9 Moreover, two surviving documents attest that Transylvanians captured by the Tatars and taken to Constantinople to be sold could visit the diplomats in the Seven Towers and even received money from them in order to ransom themselves.10 The imprisonment of the diplomats was therefore more like house

8 György Rákóczi II wrote to his mother, Zsuzsanna Lorántffy, on 11 October 1657, that he had received a letter from his diplomats at the Porte in which they reported the conditions of their captivity; EÉKH II, 436. 9 Rålamb, Diarium, 161, 165. 10 Certificate of István Tisza and Jakab Harsányi Nagy on Ferenc Thordai’s loan to János Udvarhelyi (Constantinople in the Seven Towers, 26 September 1657), as well as Ferenc Thordai’s pass for András Mézes (Constantinople, 4 March 1658) both in MNL OL Erdélyi 100 Chapter 3 arrest. Ferenc Sebessi, the chief ambassador who came from Transylvania during the autumn, not only visited them before his departure from Constantinople but even spent a night in the Yedikule.11 Nevertheless, taking the diplomats into custody was a very radical move for Köprülü Mehmed. As the prisoners emphasized in their September petition, there was no precedent for anything like this in the history of the Principality.12 The grand vizier, however, did not resort to this procedure only against the Transylvanians. In 1660, not long after Harsányi and the others were released, Köprülü Mehmed detained the ambassador of the king of France, Jean de la Haye, at the Seven Towers, if only to suffer three days in custody as a warning.13 We do not know how Harsányi and the others spent their time in detention, but it was most likely the news from Transylvania that brought some variety to their uneventful days. Such news, however, could also be the source of great anxiety as the political life of the Principality was disrupted after the autumn of 1657. In November, due to pressure from the Sublime Porte, György Rákóczi II abdicated and yielded the princely title to Ferenc Rhédey. But Rákóczi returned as early as January 1658. As a consequence, the Principality was invaded by several Ottoman armies, and one of the most important Transyl vanian fortifications, the castle of Borosjenő, was lost to them. The greatest devastation, however, was brought about by the Tatars during the summer of 1658. The troops of Mehmed Giray IV set the seat of the prince, Gyulafehérvár, on fire, and Harsányi’s previous place of employment, the college, was also burned to the ground. Köprülü Mehmed declared repeatedly that he would not

iratok R 298 11–12. d. I am grateful for Teréz Oborni and András Péter Szabó for having called my attention on these documents. 11 See the entry of 18 October 1657 in the diary of Ferenc Sebesi: MHHD XXIII, 519. In a similar vein, the letter of György Pünkösti to his wife, Kata Apor, written a year later from the Yedikule also shows a fairly relaxed atmosphere (Constantinople, 22 June 1659), Török- magyarkori állam-okmánytár [State documents from the Turkish-Hungarian age], vol. 7, ed. Áron Szilády and Sándor Szilágyi (Pest, 1872), 391–393 (in the following: TMÁO VII). According to this document, the Transylvanian diplomat could have his men let out of the Seven Towers without much difficulty to go about their business in the city. 12 Transylvanian diplomats usually protested vehemently when even a suspicion could be raised that the grand vizier intended to keep them under house arrest. They ardently remonstrated, for example, against the grand vizier in 1637 when he sent two janissaries to the Erdel Sarayı, justifying this move with reference to the security of the envoys. See the memorial of Boldizsár Sebessi (undated), and the letter of Mihály Tholdalagi and his colleagues to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 25 January 1637), RGyP, 289; resp. RGyKÖ, 462–463. 13 Gérard Tongas, Les relations de la France avec l’Empire Ottoman durant la première moitié du XVIIe siècle (Toulouse, 1942), 40–42. Years of Turmoil 101 tolerate Rákóczi’s remaining on the Transylvanian throne. In August 1658 he consequently bestowed the princely power upon Ákos Barcsai, Rákóczi’s former locum-tenens, who arrived at his camp as the leader of a delegation begging for mercy. Apart from neglecting the country’s traditional right of the free election of princes, the grand vizier also dictated further conditions: he agreed to withdraw his armies only if the Transylvanians were ready to hand over some fortified places and pay a higher yearly tribute together with a considerable sum as war indemnity. The new prince, as well as the diet that confirmed his inauguration in October, saw no other option than to accept all this, since the Transylvanian attempt to oppose Ottoman power failed miserably.14 The settlement between Barcsai and the grand vizier, which had dire consequences for the Principality, however, also entailed a positive turn of events in the personal story of Jakab Harsányi Nagy. Thanks to this agreement he was released from the Seven Towers. Most probably Köprülü Mehmed judged that, after having punished Rákóczi, his most important task was to keep Barcsai in check. It was thus more useful to replace the embassy of 1657 with those diplomats who were taken to Constantinople as hostages from the negotiations with the new prince. The members of the Transylvanian embassy imprisoned in August 1657 were, with the exception of Zülfikar Ağa, consequently released from the Yedikule at the beginning of November 1658. At the end of the month Harsányi could leave Constantinople after seven years in the company of his former fellow prisoners István Tisza and the chief ambassador Ferenc Thordai.15

14 See recently on the military activities in 1658: János B. Szabó, “II. Rákóczi György 1658. évi török háborúja” [The Turkish war of György Rákóczi II in 1658], Hadtörténelmi Közlemé- nyek 114 (2001): 231–278; Szabó, “Erdély katasztrófája 1658-ban: A védelem összeomlásának politikai és pszichológiai okai” [The catastrophe of Transylvania in 1658: Political and psychological reasons for the collapse of defense], Aetas 21, nos. 2–3 (2006): 204–218. The diplomatic dealings with the Ottoman Empire are described in detail by Papp, “II. Rákóczi György,” 162–169. 15 Simon Reniger to Leopold I (Constantinople, 21 October, 7 November, and 27 November 1658), HHStA Türkei I. Kt. 130. Fasc. 64. Conv. D. fol. 9r, 24v–26r, resp. 34v. The different position of Johannes Lutsch, István Váradi, and Bálint Szilvási, who arrived in Constantinople as hostages, was also clear from the fact that the grand vizier did not put them into custody in the Seven Towers. They were kept under house arrest at the Transyl- vanian House. See Johannes Lutsch, “Diarium,” in Johannes Lutsch – Jurnal de captivitate la Istanbul (1658–1661) / Johannes Lutsch – Tagebuch seiner Gefangenschaft in Istanbul (1658–1661), ed. Cristina Feneşan and Costin Feneşan (Timişoara, 2006), 166–167. Remark- ably enough Lutsch does not say that the captives of the Seven Towers left the city soon after his party’s arrival. 102 Chapter 3

The Last Years in Transylvania

We do not know whether Harsányi was able to send reports to Transylvania in the period of just over a year which he spent in custody – considering the circumstances, it is not out of the question – but he did engage in politics again immediately after his release. It was probably still in Constantinople that he wrote a report which then became known to both major political camps of Transylvania. In his debate with György Rákóczi II, who stayed in Szatmár outside the borders of the Principality, the minister of Kolozsvár, István Csengeri, referred to the information coming from Harsányi that the flag of the Prophet Mohammed had been raised in Constantinople against Christianity, and also against Rákóczi if he continued to show resistance.16 Apart from renewing his correspondence, Harsányi also attempted to revitalize his network. The diplomats released from the Seven Towers arrived in Transylvania around the eve of the new year of 1659, but Harsányi is unlikely to have been among them. The route of Transylvanian envoys to and from the Porte led through Târgovişte, and it is most probable that Harsányi stayed there with the new voievod, his old friend Mihnea.17 Although it was clear that Köprülü Mehmed could not tolerate the voievods of Moldavia and Wallachia – both allies of György Rákóczi – remaining as rulers of their countries in 1657, it is nevertheless somewhat surprising that it should have been Mihnea, with all his contacts with the Transylvanian embassy, who won the contest between the pretenders at the Ottoman court. Yet he could successfully mobilize his contacts with the sultan’s family and thus managed to gain the throne. Early in 1658 he ejected Constantin Şerban with the help of Ottoman troops and assumed power in Wallachia. It was already clear from his inaugural festivities that his ambitions did not stop there. The revival of the Byzantine traditions was not only expressed in several moments of the ceremony, but Mihnea also started to use a new name: he had himself called

16 István Csengeri to György Rákóczi II (Dés, 9 January 1659), Sándor Szilágyi, “II. Rákóczy György és Csengeri István levelezése,” [The correspondence between György Rákóczi II and István Csengeri], Sárospataki Füzetek 10 (1866): 305 (in the following: SF X). 17 A somewhat later letter of Panaiotis Nicousios to Barcsai (Constantinople, 13 March 1659) confirms this conclusion, because he mentions Harsányi as a person who stayed at Voie vod Mihnea’s side (“remorans”). This would mean that Harsányi did not return to Tran sylvania from Constantinople; see MHHD XXIII, 646. On the return of István Tisza to Transylvania, see the letter of János Teleki’s wife to his son, Mihály (Nagyvárad, 8 January 1659); Sámuel Gergely, ed., Teleki Mihály levelezése [The correspondence of Mihály Teleki], vol. 1, 1656–1660 (Budapest, 1905), 315 (in the following: TML I). Concerning the route of the Transylvanian ambassadors to the Porte, see Bíró, Erdély követei, 14–26. Years of Turmoil 103

Mihail, in memory of Michael Palaeologus who reunited the Byzantine Empire.18 Although he replaced a pro-Rákóczi voievod, he was also quick to get in touch with the deposed prince of Transylvania. Still, during 1658 there was no actual political or military cooperation between them. But this is less surprising if we consider how problematic the legitimacy of Mihnea’s rule was for his boyars; and also that even after the army of the pasha of Silistria left Wallachia a sizeable Ottoman “lifeguard” stayed behind, mainly to secure the loyalty of the voievod. At the diet of Beszterce, on 28 February 1659, a letter from Jakab Harsányi Nagy in Târgovişte addressed to Prince Ákos Barcsai was read aloud. It is not entirely clear what the official function of the Turkish scribe was in the capital of Wallachia. Theoretically Harsányi could have received a commission to represent his interests in Târgovişte from the new prince on his way home, but the tone of his letter to Barcsai – as far as we can see from the protocols of the diet – was not characterized by a subject’s submissiveness. As the Latin summary reports, Harsányi “admonished the prince that he should act in union and concord with the parts of Hungary annexed to us [that is, the Partium refusing to take the oath to the new prince and remaining under Rákóczi’s rule], otherwise a fatal decline [is in store for us].”19 The protocols of the same diet also preserve other information about Harsányi. Panaiotis Nicousios informed Barcsai from Constantinople that Mihnea had remained in touch with György Rákóczi II through the Turkish scribe. According to this letter Harsányi forwarded Mihnea’s conditions for cooperation, stipulating what protective measures should be taken if the Porte wanted to dethrone him.20 We cannot exclude the possibility that Harsányi stayed in Wallachia on the orders of György Rákóczi, but it is clear that he was not his official representative. The deposed prince was regarded as a traitor in the Empire, and the presence of his envoy at the court of Mihnea would surely not have been tolerated by the leader of his Ottoman “lifeguard,” Besliak Pasha. It is evident, however, that Harsányi was not the official envoy of Ákos Barcsai. In a letter from the prince we read that he was represented in Târgovişte by Péter

18 Some Romanian historians supposed that the name was a reference to the early seventeenth-century voievod Michael the Brave (Mihai Viteazul), who also briefly conquered Transylvania and Moldavia. This claim, however, was convincingly refuted by Radu Păun, “Pouvoir,” cf. Andreescu, Restitutio Daciae, 246–250. On Mihnea’s network helping him to the throne, see Kármán, “The Networks.” 19 Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Erdélyi országgyűlési emlékek történeti bevezetésekkel [Documents of the diets of Transylvania, with a historical introduction], vol. 12, 1658–1661 (Budapest, 1887), 162 (in the following EOE XII). 20 Entry of 23 March 1659, ibid., 188. 104 Chapter 3

Homonna Szinna p o l a n d

kingdom of hungary

Munkács Sárospatak

Tokaj T isza Szatmárnémeti s z a b o l c s Szatmár s z a t m á r Nagybánya Debrecen m o l d a v i a Nagyvárad Sólyomkő Beszterce

principality of Kőrösnagyharsány Kolozsvár Szászfenes Marosvásárhely

transylvania Csíkszereda Ebesfalva Nagyszőlős o t t o m a n Gyulafehérvár e m p i r e Nagyszeben Brassó

Törcsvár

w a l l a c h i a

Da nu be

MAP 2 Transylvania under the rule of György Rákóczi II Years of Turmoil 105

Budai, who had been serving there as Hungarian scribe (and Transylvanian informant) over the past decade. The prince, according to the same letter, also planned to send an extraordinary envoy – which means that it was not Harsányi through whom he chose to keep in touch with Mihnea.21 A third explanation for Harsányi’s presence in Wallachia would be that he acted upon his own initiative. He could have decided that it would be best to stay at the side of the Wallachian voievod and exploit his earlier dealings with him. He could thereby perform services for the Transylvanian prince (actually, for both princes) by providing more precise information about the intentions of the voievod. He would thus be able to increase his own importance owing to the new oppor tunities of obtaining knowledge unavailable to others, and be able to give political advice. Contrary, then, to the earlier accusations of Máté Balogh, Harsányi did not aim to become a “chief vornic,” in other words he was not in search of an office in Wallachia. Already in late March we find him in Transylvania, spreading news from Constantinople and Wallachia among the leading politicians of the country.22 He also accepted tasks from the new prince of Transylvania. In one of his letters Ákos Barcsai informed a follower of his that he “expedited” (expe- diálja) Harsányi, in the vocabulary of the seventeenth-century Transylvanian chancellery a term referring to sending someone out on an official mission.23 The prince does not mention the goal of the mission. Harsányi might have returned to Wallachia, but it is also possible that, like István Tisza, he was sent to negotiate with a neighbouring beylerbey. It was less surprising that Tisza should have accepted new assignments from Barcsai since he was given a new estate by the prince after his return to the Principality and told everyone that “Rákóczi would never have liberated him from captivity.”24 The decision of Harsányi, however, to send information to György Rákóczi II from Wallachia, and to enter the service of Ákos Barcsai one month later, seems to be contradictory. But in the light of the political situation at the beginning of 1659 it is not surprising. Seeing their inability to offer resistance to the Ottoman attack, even the last pro-Rákóczi politicians of Transylvania took an oath to Barcsai, who promised the deposed prince in the agreement of Szatmár that he, in turn, would promote his retrieval of the throne. The pact of the two princes

21 Ákos Barcsai to György Rákóczi II (Beszterce, 14 March 1659), EOE XII, 207. Ironically, the person selected by Barcsai as an envoy to Mihnea was none other than Máté Balogh. 22 Farkas Bethlen to Mihály Teleki (Buza, 29 March 1659) refers to Harsányi as someone who “recently came from Wallachia”; TML I, 374. 23 Ákos Barcsai to György Lázár (Szamosújvár, 31 March 1659), EOE XII, 230. 24 Letter of Anna Bornemissza (Nagyvárad, 8 January 1659), cited in footnote 17, 315. 106 Chapter 3 brought some calm to the divided country, even if it later proved to be fragile.25 Jakab Harsányi Nagy could continue to serve György Rákóczi II, even if he accepted a diplomatic mission from Ákos Barcsai. Harsányi appears again in the rather fragmentary sources in September 1659. János Kemény, one of the most important politicians of the Principality, refers in a letter to his staying in Wallachia, where we find him again at Mihnea’s side.26 If we are to believe the information in the contemporary chronicle of János Szalárdi, Harsányi was the man who eventually convinced the Wallachian voievod to take Rákóczi’s side.27 By this time it was again relevant that Harsányi should have chosen Rákóczi’s political camp since the agreement of Szatmár was already dead and buried. György Rákóczi II, who was anyhow reluctant to fulfill the obligations of the pact, returned to the country during the summer of 1659 and was re-elected prince of Transylvania by the diet of Marosvásárhely in September. This led to a civil war.28 Kemény, who returned from Tatar captivity through Wallachia in June 1659, also had high hopes that Mihnea could be won over to Rákóczi’s cause – and probably personally witnessed Harsányi’s diplomatic activities.29 It is precisely the scope and effect of these activities that is hard to define where Harsányi’s stay in Wallachia is concerned. At a dinner held on 14 Sep tember, the voievod had the leaders of his Ottoman “lifeguard” killed, and it is clear that this bloody event was prompted by Harsányi – or was at least the result of his contacts with Rákóczi – since it signaled the beginning of Mihnea’s

25 Alajos Erdélyi, “Barcsay Ákos fejedelemsége” [The rule of Ákos Barcsai], Századok 40 (1906): 494–495. Very informative on the period: Maxim Mordovin, “Petki István, II. Rákóczi György főudvarmestere” [István Petki, majordomo of György Rákóczi II], in Sze rencsének elegyes forgása, 405–408. The agreement of Szatmár is published in EOE XII, 146–149. 26 János Kemény to Ferenc Kornis (Balázsfalva, 23 September 1659), Andrei Veress, ed., Docu- mente privitoare la istoria Ardealului, Moldovei şi Ţării-Româneşti [Documents on the history of Transylvania, Moldavia and Wallachia], vol. 10, Acte şi scrisori (1637–1660) [Documents and letters, 1637–1660] (Bucharest, 1938), 336 (in the following: DIAMTR X). 27 Szalárdi, Siralmas magyar krónikája, 511. 28 See Mordovin, “Petki,” 409–410. 29 On Kemény’s arrival in Wallachia, see Erdélyi, “Barcsai,” 509. It is remarkable, however, that there should be no mention of Harsányi in Kemény’s other letters written in Septem- ber – not even in the one that reports the massacre of the Ottoman soldiers in Wallachia. He there noted, “as I have told Your Highness, I did not belie my words, that this voievod of mine has good intentions towards Christianity in his heart, and only acts as if he would be with the pagans, which he also proved this Sunday” (Fogaras, 17 September 1659), Sándor Szilágyi, “Kemény János leveles tárczájából” [From the briefcase of János Kemény], Történeti Lapok 2 (1875): 1217 (in the following: TL 1875). Years of Turmoil 107 anti-Ottoman war. Nevertheless, we have no information about whether Jakab Harsányi Nagy played any role in the other radical step that the voievod took earlier in 1659 when he ordered a brutal purge among the boyars of the country in mid-June. Although later analysts claimed that this was necessary for the subsequent change in his foreign policy, it is unclear whether the violent method was suggested by the prince of Transylvania or whether Mihnea acted on his own initiative.30 In any case, not long after taking a stand against the Ottoman Empire, Mihnea met György Rákóczi II personally on the border between Transylvania and Wallachia, close to Törcsvár, and their treaty was ratified by the diet of Marosvásárhely on 4 October.31 The voievod started a campaign against the Ottoman troops in his territory, and the successes of the first month raised his hopes of fulfilling his more ambitious plans of rallying the Balkan Christians against Ottoman rule. The attack of the beylerbey of Silistria, however, could not be withstood: the armies of Mihnea suffered a crushing defeat south of Bucharest on 19 November and the voievod fled to Transylvania.32 Civil war was raging in the Principality. It is significant that when the Transylvanian auxiliary troops sent to Mihnea were passing by the town of Nagyszeben, the Saxons, who were on Barcsai’s side, should have shot at them with cannons. Ákos Barcsai also issued a warrant against the fallen voievod, who stayed for a while in Fogaras from where he tried to reach the pro-Rákóczi south-eastern territories of the Szeklers.33 Within a month Mihnea reached the town of Szatmár, which was supposed to provide him with a safe haven since it was a Rákóczi estate outside Transylvania, in the territory of the Kingdom of Hungary. Theoretically, therefore, neither the Ottoman troops nor those of Barcsai could follow him there. Ironically enough, the town offered no

30 Both events are described with much disgust by the Moldavian chronicler Miron Costin, Grausame Zeiten in der Moldau: Die Moldauische Chronik des Miron Costin 1593−1661, ed. and trans. Adolf Armbruster (Graz, 1980), 269–271. The precise date of the massacre of the Ottomans was given by Andreescu, Restitutio Daciae, 247. 31 See the diary of the diet of Marosvásárhely: EOE XII, 388–389. The treaty is published in Áron Szilády and Sándor Szilágyi, eds., Török-magyarkori állam-okmánytár [State documents from the Turkish-Hungarian age], vol. 3 (Pest, 1870), 456–457 (in the following: TMÁO III). 32 Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 347–350. In order to organize an anti-Ottoman front Mihnea sent envoys to Venice and Rome in the summer of 1659; see the documents in Alexandru Ciorănescu, “Documente privitoare la domnia lui Mihail Radu (1658–1659)” [Documents concerning the rule of Mihail Radu, 1658–1659], Buletinul Comisei Istorice 13 (1934): 9–94 (in the following: BCI XIII). 33 Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 357. 108 Chapter 3 haven for the ex-voievod since it was here that he met his former rival, Con stantin Şerban. The situation did not seem to be dangerous, as their earlier conflict over the throne of Wallachia had been settled in October 1659: both of them had sworn allegiance to Rákóczi, and, since Mihnea was then the actual voievod of Wallachia, Constantin was offered the throne of Moldavia instead. The meeting of the two voievods was celebrated with a dinner on 5 April 1660 – and the next day Mihail Radu was dead. Although some talked about apo- plexy, it is more likely that Constantin Şerban got rid of his rival with poison.34 I have followed the path of Mihnea in such detail because Jakab Harsányi Nagy, who disappears from the sources after September 1659, reappears right after the voievod’s death in Szatmár as one of the signatories of the catalogue of the deceased’s valuables.35 Most probably he spent the intervening period in Mihnea’s company. This is all the more likely since, when Harsányi summarized the various stages of his career for Carl Gustaf Wrangel, chief governor of Pomerania, he also informed him that he was once a “cancellarius et consiliarius” of Mihail Radu, voievod of Wallachia.36 This claim, though, is surprising as there is no evidence that Mihnea took Harsányi among his councillors, or that he was appointed to the highly prestigious position of logofăt (chancellor).37 It is more likely that he served as an adviser to Mihnea during his short anti- Ottoman campaign and exile (or even before that). His familiarity with the Partium and Transylvania must have been important for the ex-voievod who had never been to the Principality before. Although – as we shall see later

34 This assumption is also supported by the authors of his biographies. On the last months of Mihnea, see Ciorănescu, “Domnia,” 220–222; Marin Matei Popescu and Adrian N. Beldeanu, Mihnea al III-lea (1658–1659) (Bucharest, 1982), 234–236. According to the chronicle of Miron Costin, some contemporaries also suspected György Rákóczi II, but it is not clear what reason the prince of Transylvania could have had to have Mihnea killed; cf. Costin, Grausame Zeiten, 281–282. 35 The register of the valuables of the deceased Mihnea (Szatmár, 6 April 1660), DIAMTR X, 346. 36 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 28 April[/8 May] 1666), Riksarkivet (Stockholm, in the following: RA), Skoklostersamlingen E 8184 (Moldau) [fol. 1v]. In the collection, where there are no indicated folio pages, specific letters can be found according to author and date. However, Harsányi’s letters are placed among those of Gheorghe Ştefan under the letter M (Moldau). János Herepei suggests that Harsányi was still at the Sublime Porte at the end of 1659, but there is no proof that the letters he refers to were written by Harsányi; cf. Herepei, “Adatok,” 59. 37 In August 1659 the chief chancellor (logofăt mare) of Wallachia was a certain Radu, the second chancellor (al doilea logofăt), a certain Mareş; see BCI XIII, 146. See also the list of Mihnea’s councillors – without the mentioning of Harsányi – in Ciorănescu, “Domnia,” 101–102. Years of Turmoil 109 on – the exiled voievods did not hesitate to give elegant titles to people at their “court,” it is unlikely that Harsányi would really have received such a high rank from Mihnea. The credibility of his claim is further weakened by his formula- tions in the letter written to Wrangel. He implies that he held these posts under Rákóczi as well as Mihnea – an obvious overstatement regarding his position in Transylvania.38 We must suggest, rather, that Jakab Harsányi Nagy held the post of Hungarian scribe under Mihnea. The account book of the Transylvanian town of Kolozsvár mentions him as the secretary of the voievod in May 1660, and there is also other evidence proving his scribal activities: a letter of the voievod in Hungarian from December 1659 survives in Harsányi’s handwriting.39 However, as the aforesaid case of Péter Budai shows, the political role of the Hungarian scribes at the Wallachian court was much greater than that of a mere drafter of letters. Apart from looking after the correspondence of the consecutive voievods in Hungarian, Budai also wrote reports to the Transylvanian prince, and informed him about developments in Târgovişte. Besides, when he joined the embassy carrying the Wallachian tribute to Constantinople in 1655, he regularly consulted with the Transylvanian representatives there and also wrote his own letters to György Rákóczi II. He made no secret of these activities and it must have been clear to Voievod Constantin Şerban that his Hungarian scribe kept in touch with the prince since he received some of Rákóczi’s messages through Budai. Thanks to his double allegiance it was easy for Budai to return to Transylvania when he quit the voievod’s service in 1660 and was rewarded with some new functions in the Principality’s state administration.40

38 The precise quotation is: “Fui postea et Celsissimi Principis Rakoci, ittemque [sic!] Michaelis Radul, Valachiae Principis Cancellarius et Consiliarius”; see footnote 36. 39 Ştefan Meteş, Domni şi boieri din Ţările Române şi oraşul Cluj, şi românii din Cluj [Rulers and boyars from the Romanian countries and the town of Cluj and the Romanians from Cluj] (Cluj, 1935), 82; Mihnea to István Lázár (Görgényszentimre, 26 December 1659), ANCJ Fond familial Lazar din Mureşeni I/91. fol. 2. 40 See the detailed biographies of Péter Budai: Susana Andrea, Din relaţiile Transilvaniei cu Moldova şi Ţara Românească în sec. al XVII-lea [On the relations of Transylvania with Mol- davia and Wallachia in the 17th century] (Cluj-Napoca, 1997), 67–76; Klára Jakó, “Budai Péter: Egy újszerű értelmiségi pálya előfutára a hanyatló erdélyi fejedelemségben” [Péter Budai: The forerunner of a new career type for intellectuals in the period of decline of the Principality of Transylvania], in Studii de istorie modernă a Transilvaniei / Tanulmányok Erdély újkori történelméről: Omagiu profesorului Magyari András / emlékkönyv, ed. Judit Pál and Enikő Rüsz-Fogarasi (Cluj-Napoca, 2002), 132–137. His report from Constantinople (13 November 1655) is published in MHHD XXIII, 269–271. On the delivery of Rákóczy’s messages, see the letter of Constantin Şerban to the prince (Târgovişte, 24 December 1657), MHHD XXIII, 590–591. See also the biographies of further Hungarian scribes: Klára 110 Chapter 3

Even if the correspondence between Harsányi and György Rákóczi II from this period has not survived, the analogies are quite clear. Although he entered the service of the Wallachian voievod some time between March and August 1659, Harsányi’s activities during the Transylvanian civil war seem to be the direct continuation of his services as a Turkish scribe in the 1650s. Even if there are very few extant sources concerning him, and none written by him (at least in his own name), we still have the impression that he was very active in diplomatic missions related to the Principality, going about his business continuously, making arrangements, and – if there was a chance – providing the various rulers of Transylvania with political advice. His choice of camps in the civil war was not only in line with his personal sympathies, that is, he did not choose Rákóczi only because Mihnea also ended up on his side after his conflicts with Barcsai, but it was also in line with the idea repeated several times during his years in Constantinople, namely that the Ottoman Empire was in a state of decline and that there was a realistic hope of resistance.

Hungary, Moravia, Muscovy

To account for what Harsányi did in the eighteen months after Mihnea’s death is even harder than to reconstruct his activities between 1658 and 1660. This is all the more unfortunate because, in this period, a great change occurred in Harsányi’s life. The first document that mentions him as the secretary of Gheorghe Ştefan dates from August 1661.41 We have nothing from the hand of Harsányi in the intervening period, and the sources referring to him are also scarce. We consequently have to rely mainly on informed guesses about the reasons for this change in his career. If we interpret Harsányi’s employment by Mihnea as equivalent to Péter Budai’s post as a Hungarian scribe, we must ask why he did not return to the Principality after the voievod’s death to continue serving his prince either as a Turkish scribe or in another capacity. The insecurity caused by the civil war

Jakó, “Magyar secretariusok Moldva fejedelmi kancelláriájában” [Hungarian secretaries in the chancelleries of Moldavian voievods], in Emlékkönyv Csetri Elek születésének nyolcvanadik évfordulójára, ed. Judit Pál and Gábor Sipos (Cluj, 2004), 178–194. 41 Safta, the consort of the voievod, to the town of Bártfa (Homonna, 1 August 1661), Antal Doby, “A moldvaországi vajdáné magyar levele 1661-ből” [A Hungarian letter of the consort of the voievod of Moldavia from 1661], Adalékok Zemplén-Vármegye Történetéhez 5 (1899): 151 (in the following: AZVT V); also in R. A., Néhány okmány szabad királyi Bártfa városa levéltárából [Some documents from the archives of the Royal Town of Bártfa], vol. 1 (Bártfa, 1895), 32. Years of Turmoil 111 and the constantly changing person of the prince can hardly have made it any easier to earn a living in Transylvania. But there was a constant need for expertise like Harsányi’s, so even choosing the wrong side earlier could be pardoned by a new regime, as we see from the case of another senior Turkish scribe, András Majtényi. He was considered a loyal follower of Rákóczi during 1659, but already in November 1660 he was negotiating with the beylerbey of Buda as Barcsai’s representative.42 Harsányi seems to have had no similar opportunities, and we only have vague references to his motives. Dávid Rozsnyai, as we saw in the previous chapter, compiled a memo randum (which he called a testament) about the attitude expected from Transylvania’s representatives in Constantinople if they wanted to achieve the best results for the Principality at the Sublime Porte. His advice to the orators includes the following suggestions: “When you write to your principals, write the truth. If you are together with chief and lesser envoys, as sometimes hap- pens, do not write or say contrarietates in order to fish for the gratia of your rulers. For the country was devastated and the prince lost owing to such things. This is why Jakab Harsányi has to suffer today.”43 This rather vague reference shows that Harsányi must have left the Principality because of a scandal in which he was accused of writing lies to the prince from the Porte in order to gain his favour, and thus caused serious damage. These accusations must have become public after Mihnea’s death since it is highly unlikely that György Rákóczi II would have tried to keep in touch with the Wallachian voievod through a diplomat who had previously fallen into disgrace. The date of Harsányi’s loss of credit must thus be sought in the period between the death of Mihnea (April 1660) and the first reference to his being in the service of Gheorghe Ştefan (August 1661). According to an entry in the account books of Kolozsvár, Harsányi was in the town on 9 May 1660 in the company of twelve other men and was on his

42 At the diet of Marosvásárhely, which re-elected György Rákóczi II in 1659, Majtényi was given the task of composing official letters with the purpose of avoiding distortion of the translations into Turkish due to the intrigues of Barcsai (EOE XII: 393). In November 1660 Majtényi was taken to Belgrade by the beylerbey of Buda, whom he visited as a member of Barcsai’s embassy, and he was only allowed to return in May of the following year; see Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 415, 436. 43 MHHS VIII, 260. The interpretation of the rather clumsily formulated Hungarian text is far from unambiguous: the literal translation of the section concerning Harsányi reads: “this is avoided by Jakab Harsányi today.” It is clear, however, from the logic of the text that his activities are cited as a bad example, and also that he had to pay the price of his mistake. 112 Chapter 3 way to see György Rákóczi II, who had summoned him.44 The prince most probably wanted to talk to him about Mihnea’s legacy which was left to him in Mihnea’s will but was also claimed by Ferenc Wesselényi, the palatine of Hungary, in the name of King Leopold I, with the assertion that the Wallachian ruler died in a territory under his jurisdiction.45 This shows in any case that Harsányi was not yet in disgrace and could return to Transylvania without any further ado, even if he needed a large retinue because of the fighting. Still, we do not know whether Harsányi had the opportunity to meet György Rákóczi II, since it was shortly after, on 22 May, that the prince’s armies were crushed by Ottoman troops at Szászfenes. Rákóczi died of his wounds in Nagyvárad on 7 June.46 Ákos Barcsai remained the only ruler in Transylvania, but can hardly have been very happy with the conditions. Köse Ali Pasha, who kept the prince in his camp as a virtual hostage, conquered Nagyvárad and started to integrate its surroundings into the Ottoman Empire. We have no further information about Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s stay in Transylvania. We do not know what role he played in the events or even if he was present. Identifying the person responsible for the accusations quoted by Rozsnyai could, however, give us a hint. The most likely candidate is undoubtedly Máté Balogh. The two main elements of the accusation, the fishing for princely favour as well as sending information different from that of other diplomats, were major points in the conflict between Harsányi and Balogh at the Sublime Porte. As the heroic defender of Nagyvárad castle, the former orator must also have enjoyed enough respect in the period after August 1660 to give credit to his charges. But, as far as the events can be reconstructed, it was some time before there was any chance of a scandal breaking out between the two Transylvanians since they did not meet again until the first months of 1661. In June–July 1660, after the battle of Szászfenes, the followers of György Rákóczi II tried to reassemble outside the Principality’s borders on the eastern Hungarian estates of the deceased prince, in Munkács and Nagybánya. Their command was taken over by János Kemény. It is quite likely that Harsányi also

44 Meteş, Domni, 82. He was accused of having taken 500 dinars and two horses from Mih- nea’s legacy by the voievod’s court captain and master of the horse before Ferenc Wes- selényi, the palatine of Hungary, in August 1660. It is quite likely that he took them for the expenses of his journey. See the protocol signed by the palatine (Rakamaz, 9 August 1660), DIAMTR X, 357–358. 45 See the sources concerning the fate of the legacy in DIAMTR X, 348–357. It is quite likely that the palatine did not manage to confiscate the goods, since, in a protocol dated July 1660 (that is, after Rákóczi’s death), one of the questions put to the witnesses was whether, according to their knowledge, the legacy went to the late prince (DIAMTR X, 356). 46 János Kósa, II. Rákóczi György (Budapest, 1942), 172–174. Years of Turmoil 113 joined this anti-Barcsai group. The conquest of Nagyvárad was an especially serious blow for him since his home region fell under Ottoman domination, and with the devastation of Kisharsány and Nagyharsány his family’s wealth was also lost. Apart from his earlier pro-Rákóczi attitude, then, the consequences of the other party’s policies must also have induced him to choose János Kemény, whom he knew personally from his Wallachian period. If he did so, he was not alone. For many a politician from Transylvania the territorial losses and the new claims of the neighbouring beylerbeys on the Principality demonstrated the failure of Barcsai’s pro-Ottoman policy. So, when Kemény invaded the Principality in November 1660, he could count on wide support.47 Máté Balogh, on the other hand, sought employment at the court of Ákos Barcsai after the fall of Nagyvárad. The chronicle of Georg Kraus mentions him as the prince’s majordomo in December 1660. He did not participate in the diet of Szászrégen in the last days of 1660, which announced Barcsai’s deposition, but spent his time with his prince in Görgény.48 Nevertheless, within the next few months, similarly to most Transylvanians, he also swore fealty to the new prince, János Kemény.49 If we have to imagine a personal meeting behind the accusations against Harsányi, this was the occasion upon which it could take place. By this time a debate had been going on for a year about who was responsible for the fate of the Principality, and the followers of Kemény were reluctant to place all the blame on György Rákóczi II.50 In such a situation we can easily imagine that the claim that the fatal decisions of the late prince were caused

47 Zsolt Trócsányi, Teleki Mihály (Erdély és a kurucmozgalom 1690-ig) [Mihály Teleki (Tran- sylvania and the Kuruc movement until 1690)] (Budapest, 1972), 23–24; János Bethlen, Erdély története 1629–1673 [The history of Transylvania, 1629–1673], ed. József Jankovics, trans. Judit P. Vásárhelyi (Budapest, 1993), 83. On the direct consequences of the conquest of Nagyvárad, see also Pál Tóth-Szabó, Nagyvárad az erdélyi fejedelmek s a török uralom korában [Nagyvárad in the age of the Transylvanian princes and Turkish rule] (Nagyvárad, 1904), 102–103. 48 Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 422–426. 49 Several chronicles describe him clearly in the later period as the follower of Kemény; see Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 501; Szalárdi, Siralmas magyar krónikája, 667. 50 On the contemporary debates concerning the interpretation of the events between 1657 and 1660, see Ilona Jónás, “Appréciation de la campagne polonaise de 1657 en Transylva- nie,” Annales Universitatis Scientiarum Budapestiensis de Rolando Eötvös Nominatae: Sec- tio Historica 6 (1964): 109–121; Tibor Zs. Lukács, “A korabeli propaganda és II. Rákóczi György megítélése” [Contemporary propaganda and the assessment of György Rákóczi II], Aetas 10, nos. 1–2 (1995): 68–94; Gergely Tamás Fazakas, “Bűnös-e a fejedelem? Imád- ságok és versek a Rákóczi-propaganda határain” [Is the prince to blame? Prayers and poems on the fringes of the Rákóczi propaganda], in Szerencsének elegyes forgása, 425– 449. 114 Chapter 3 by false information received about the attitude of the Sublime Porte could have gained credence, especially if it was supported by Balogh’s reputation. The scandal was clearly by no means massive. None of the contemporary chronicles mentions it, nor do we find any evidence in the later Transylvanian correspondence concerning Harsányi from the 1670s to suggest that the Principality’s dignitaries remembered why the former Turkish scribe had to leave country. Rozsnyai’s remark, however, testifies to the fact that many people gave credit to the accusations, and Jakab Harsányi Nagy at least had the impression that he could not stay in Transylvanian service any longer. The above version is by no means the only possible reconstruction of Harsányi’s activities between May 1660 and August 1661, since it is built upon several hypotheses which are not directly supported by any sources. Never theless, the suggestion that the scandal which put an end to Harsányi’s activities in Transylvania must have taken place in early 1661 is further supported by the fact that he most probably entered the service of the exiled voievod in May 1661 at the earliest.51 This Moldavian ruler, as we saw, had to thank György Rákóczi II for his support in acquiring the throne, and he also lost it because of him early in 1658. Like Mihnea and Constantin Şerban, he fled to Transylvania, but he was soon forced to realize that he could not trust Rákóczi. The prince, as we also saw earlier, attempted to help Constantin Şerban gain the throne of Moldavia in the autumn of 1659 (even if only for a month). Gheorghe Ştefan fled from the civil war to Hungary where, after several temporary stops, he found shelter from the end of 1660 in Szinna, a small settlement in Zemplén County, close to the Transylvanian border.52 If Harsányi could have chosen freely, he would most probably not have decided in favour of Gheorghe Ştefan. As a diplomat in Constantinople he

51 The letters of Gheorghe Ştefan survive in someone else’s handwriting until May of 1661, but all later letters in Hungarian were written by Harsányi; see MNL OL P 507 Nádasdy család levéltára Fasc. 14. Levelezések A.V. nr. 527. From between 9 May and 26 November 1661 no letter survives, thus the terminus ante quem is provided by the letter cited in footnote 41. 52 Szinna must be the estate near Homonna referred to by the literature – wrongly identifying the place name found in the sources as Abaújszina, close to Kassa; see Petronel Zahariuc, Ţara Moldovei în vremea lui Gheorghe Ştefan voievod (1653–1658) [Moldavia in the period of Voievod Gheorghe Ştefan, 1653–1658] (Iaşi, 2003), 514–520. There is a solid amount of evidence concerning his stay in Szinna. For the first information, from Decem- ber 1660, see Zahariuc, Ţara Moldovei, 521. From here he wrote many letters to the Royal Councillor Johann Rottal. From one of these (Szinna, 13 May 1662) it is also clear that he had temporarily rented the estate, and the contract expired on 16 May 1662: MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 570r. Years of Turmoil 115 followed the orders of his ruler and also worked in the interest of the Moldavian voievod, but he complained several times about the latter – among other things, he condemned Gheorghe Ştefan’s oppression of the Armenian merchants in his country.53 It was not only the voievod’s politics that Harsányi disapproved of: he also found Gheorghe Ştefan’s morals questionable. According to a letter to Rákóczi, the ruler of Moldavia sent out his agents in Constantinople in search of girls for him. The Turkish scribe made the following comment:

So does he care for his honour. His reputation is appalling, abominable. He lets such unclean persons be taken to him, as if he could not find them in Moldavia. I wish His Highness would not act like this, for we have to blush because of him.54

Jakab Harsányi Nagy had few options, however, after having to leave Tran sylvania. He lost the chance of employment in the state administration of his home country; he lost his family estates; and he had to earn a living.55 Gheorghe Ştefan also required Harsányi’s services. Since it seemed that he would have to settle in Hungary, at least temporarily, he required some staff who spoke the language of the country. Even if he had no need of Harsányi’s particular expertise, his mastery of Turkish, it must have seemed useful to have an experienced diplomat in his service. In any case, Harsányi was already known to Gheorghe Ştefan before they met in Hungary. The Turkish scribe had regularly sent him letters from Constantinople and, according to the correspondence with György Rákóczi II, the voievod had much appreciated his help in finding protectors at the Porte.56 Gheorghe Ştefan did his utmost to return to his country as soon as possible. He went to Vienna personally, and even sought the assistance of powers in open conflict with one another, such as Sweden and Poland-Lithuania, which had just been in the process of peacemaking after several years of mutual

53 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), MHHD XXIII, 307–308. 54 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 10 June 1656), MHHD XXIII, 376. 55 The loss of the family fortune was repeatedly referred to by Harsányi among the reasons for entering the service of the voievod; see his letter to the Swedish chancellor, Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 11[/21] December 1666), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500 Moldau [fol. 1]. The same claim is made in his letter to Frederick William, Elector of Brandeburg (Stettin, 22 September[/2 October] 1666) SLUB Msc. Dresd. C 110a nr. 35. 56 Gheorghe Ştefan to György Rákóczi II (Iaşi, 4 January 1654), DIAMTR X, 302. 116 Chapter 3 warfare.57 In December 1661 he managed to convince the palatine of Hungary that his return would be warmly welcomed in Moldavia, but he still did not get the troops he was asking for.58 Several of the missions he assigned to Harsányi were also connected to this task – for instance the visit at the Hungarian diet, which opened in Pozsony in May 1662. Although Gheorghe Ştefan acquired the status of a Hungarian aristocrat in 1659, it seems that Harsányi did not function as his official envoy at the diet, but only as an ad hoc visitor who had to represent the interests of the voievod in personal negotiations.59

57 In the latter case, asking for support was a rather surprising move because Gheorghe Ştefan, as an ally of György Rákóczi II, sent auxiliary troops to the Polish campaign in 1657. He nevertheless denied this in his correspondence with the Polish dignitaries and referred to the status of indigena that he received in 1654, as a result of his military cooperation with the Rzeczpospolita during the overthrow of Vasile Lupu’s rule. See his letter to Mikołaj Prażmowski (Szinna, 26 February 1661), Ilie Corfus, “Pe urmele lui Moise Movilă şi ale lui Gheorghe Ştefan” [On the track of Moise Movilă and Gheorghe Ştefan], Anuarul de Istorie şi Arheologie “A.D. Xenopol” 15 (1978): 304–305. The interests of Gheorghe Ştefan were represented at the court of Charles X Gustav, and later on at the Regency Govern- ment of Charles XI, by Ludwik Biała Bielski, but he was not even able to get an answer out of them; see his petitions (February, and 10 April 1660), ARMSI X, 514–515, resp. 516–518. On his stays in Vienna, see the reports of Aloise Molin, the Venetian ambassador there (Vienna, 3 April, 24 April, and 28 April 1660), BCI XIII, 131; DIR IX/1, 173; and BCI XIII, 132. The envoys of Gheorghe Ştefan went to the emperor as early as March 1659 and received some encouragement – even if no help; see the letter of recommendation written by Ferenc Wesselényi for the envoys (Murányváralja, 27 March 1657), and the opinion of Chancellor György Lippay concerning the matter (undated), DIR V/1, 56 and 62. Manfred Stoy is wrong to claim that Gheorghe Ştefan had been staying in Vienna between his journeys there in 1660 and 1662; see Stoy, “Rumänische Fürsten im frühneuzeitlichen Wien,” Jahrbuch des Vereins für Geschichte der Stadt Wien 46 (1990): 171. Already on 20 June 1660, the voievod wrote a letter to Johann Rottal from Pozsony (MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 601r.). Before leaving Vienna, however, he took an oath that, should he gain the support of the emperor, he would convert to Catholicism and bring his country, as well as Wallachia, with him: SD IV, 254–255. 58 On the hopes of the voievod, see his letters to Johann Rottal (Szinna, 26 November, 9 and 23 December), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 582r, 580r, resp. 578r. On the support of Ferenc Wesselényi, see the draft of his letter to an unknown person (perhaps to Raimondo Montecuccoli) (Murányváralja, 27 December 1661), MNL OL E 199 Archivum familiae Wesselényi 8. cs. IV/4. Nr. 353. 59 Harsányi refers to his participation at the diet in his letter to Carl Gustaf Wrangel, cited in footnote 36, fol. [1v]. Also, see the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Johann Rottal (Szinna, 16 April 1662), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 574r. Gheorghe Ştefan’s letter of recommendation for Harsányi, written to Prince Lobkowitz (Szinna, 16 April 1662), has also survived: Corfus, “Pe urmele lui Moise Movilă,” 530. However, neither his name, nor Years of Turmoil 117

Harsányi did not spend much time at the diet, which turned out to be tempestuous and far from effective especially because of the confessional problems which led to a fierce conflict between the Protestant and Catholic estates. He had to prepare the move of the voievod, who did not own, but only rented, the estate of Szinna. As the lease was running out, a royal councillor, Johann Rottal, offered Gheorghe Ştefan one of his estates in Holešov, in Moravia close to the Hungarian border. His court arrived there in early June 1662. But this Moravian episode did not last long either since the place proved to be too constrictive and the administrator of the estate was uncooperative.60 Gheorghe Ştefan thus decided in September that he would look for another solution and try to mobilize another patron of his, Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich. It was probably in Vienna that he became acquainted with a Dominican friar, Felix Mondvid, who wanted to travel to the Crimea as a missionary and planned to free 40,000 Christian captives there. They travelled to Moscow together in order to win the tsar’s support for the ambitious plan, and also for the recovery of the Moldavian throne.61 His expectations about getting help from Alexei were not altogether groundless. In 1654, after all, as a consequence of diplomatic negotiations, the tsar had officially taken Moldavia and Gheorghe Ştefan under his protection.62 It is also possible that he was motivated by the failure of the Hungarian diet in 1662. Owing to the confessional conflicts the Protestant

that of Gheorghe Ştefan, appears in the official register of the participants at the diet: Gusarova, “A 17. századi magyar országgyűlések,” 134–139. The legal act granting the indigena status to Gheorghe Ştefan in Hungary is 1659: CXXXIII, 4. §; see Dezső Márkus, ed., Corpus Juris Hungarici: Magyar törvénytár 1657–1740 [The collection of Hungarian laws, 1657–1740] (Budapest, 1901) (in the following CJH 1657–1740). 60 See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Johann Rottal (Holešov, 12 July 1662 and 12 Septem- ber 1662), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 599, 595. 61 No surviving document discusses the details of the plans: see the petition of Gheorghe Ştefan to Archduke Leopold William (sine dato) Österreichisches Staatsarchiv Hofkam- merarchiv (in the following: HKA) Reichsakten fasc. 113. fol. 1r; and his letter to the Repub- lic of Venice (Vienna, 6 September 1662), Andrei Veress, ed., Documente privitoare la istoria Ardealului, Moldovei şi Ţării-Româneşti [Documents on the history of Transylvania, Moldavia, and Wallachia], vol. 11, Acte şi scrisori (1661–1690) [Documents and letters, 1661– 1690] (Bucharest, 1939), 26–27 (in the following: DIAMTR XI). Felix Mondvid, who published his poetic work about the deeds of Leopold I under the title Classicum novi Hannibalis, incolas europaeos excitans, in the same year, indeed reached Crimea in 1662. His missionary activities there are documented until 1664. I am grateful to Meinolf Arens for this information. 62 Vera G. Tchentzova, “Dionysos Iviritis et les pourparlers entre la Moldavie et la Russie en 1656,” in Închinare lui Petre Ş. Năsturel la 80 de ani, ed. Ionel Cândea, Paul Cernovodeanu, and Gheorghe Lazăr (Brăila, 2003), 581–605. 118 Chapter 3 estates left the assembly, thereby forfeiting the possibility of an organized anti- Ottoman war. Gheorghe Ştefan realized that his hopes would not be fulfilled for a long time to come.63 Even if Jakab Harsányi Nagy had not taken the route northwards along the Oder during his peregrination, he now had a chance to see the region after leaving Breslau, since the voievod sent him from Frankfurt an der Oder to pay homage to the ruler of the territory, Frederick William, elector of Brandenburg.64 It was probably here that Harsányi had to decide whether or not to return to Transylvania. His tasks until then, the missions in Western Hungary, but even the settlement in Moravia, did not take him so far away from home that it would not have been possible to leave the voievod’s service at any moment and return to Transylvania. Moscow, however, was at a considerable distance. The developments in Transylvania can hardly have seemed tempting. János Kemény, who forced Barcsai to abdicate and subsequently had him executed, died in January 1662 in the battle of Nagyszőlős, leaving Mihály Apafi, placed on the throne in the meantime by the Ottomans, as the only legitimate prince of Transylvania. Nevertheless, the party of Kemény did not give up but recommended Simon, the son of the deceased prince, as a candidate for the title. Apart from the Ottoman armies, Habsburg troops were also present in the country – some fortresses had Imperial garrisons invited by Kemény – and a civil war was raging which had taken a particularly brutal turn. Political mur- ders had abounded ever since November 1660.65 We do not know if Jakab Harsányi Nagy kept contacts in any of the camps, but in the chaotic political

63 On the developments at the diet, see Mihály Zsilinszky, A magyar országgyűlések vallás ügyi tárgyalásai a reformatiotól kezdve [The negotiations at Hungarian diets concerning the confessional issue from the Reformation], vol. 3, 1647–1687 (Budapest, 1893), 186–267; Jean Bérenger and Charles Kecskeméti, Parlement et vie parlamentaire en Hongrie 1608– 1918 (Paris, 2005), 103–109. 64 Gheorghe Ştefan to Frederick William (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1 October 1662), and his answer (Kolberg, 27 September [/7 October] 1662), Alexandru Papiu Ilarianu, ed., Tesauru de monumente istorice pentru Romania atâtu din vechiu tiparite câtu si manuscripte cea mai mare parte straine [Thesaurus of historical documents concerning Romania, edited from old printed works as well as manuscripts, mostly of foreign origin], vol. 3 (Bucharest, 1864), 80–82 (in the following: TMIR III). On their stay in Breslau, see the letters of Erhard Truchtes to Count Dohna and Frederick William (Breslau, 23 September 1662), GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Moldau und Wallachei Fasz. 3. fol. 4–5. 65 On the situation between 1660 and 1662, see Várkonyi, Erdélyi változások, 17–36; Trócsányi, Teleki, 23–35. On the escalation of the political games, see the dissertation of András Péter Szabó, “Haller Gábor – egy 17. századi erdélyi arisztokrata életpályája” [Gábor Haller: The career of a 17th-century Transylvanian aristocrat], PhD diss., Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, Faculty of Humanities, 2008, 228–229. Years of Turmoil 119 situation he could hardly count on being absolved of the accusations upon his return. Service under Gheorghe Ştefan, on the other hand, secured his livelihood. Harsányi consequently had to stay with the voievod. Gheorghe Ştefan and his retinue boarded a ship in Kolberg, a small Western Pomeranian port under the control of the elector, and arrived in Libau in Kurland in a few days.66 Their journey passed through Riga, then under Swedish control, towards Muscovy, but they had to face an unexpected obstacle in Livonia.67 The governors of the Russian border provinces did not even answer their request to be allowed to cross the border, and when Gheorghe Ştefan nevertheless entered Russian territory at Neuhausen on 15 December he was sent back to Swedish Livonia by the voievod of Pskov, according to orders received from Moscow. The exiled Moldavian voievod was allowed into the Grand Duchy of Muscovy no earlier than March 1663. He reached the capital on 18 May, and was only granted an audience at the end of the month.68 Even now he could not state his demands – the audience was exclusively ceremonial. As he received no answer to his requests submitted in a written form

66 On boarding the ship in Kolberg, see Paul Würtz to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 4[/14] October 1662), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8526; and to Charles XI, king of Sweden (Uecker münde, 8[/18] October 1662), RA Pommeranica vol. 262. From Libau, Gheorghe Ştefan wrote to the Kolbergians on 11 October (probably Old Style, thus 21 October New Style), see Georg Haag, “Das stettiner Exil eines moldavischen Woiwoden,” Baltische Studien 31 (1881): 161–162. 67 It was most probably his longer stay in Riga which made it necessary for Gheorghe Ştefan to send letters of apology to important members of the Swedish Regency Government, such as Per Brahe and Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Riga, 24 and 25 November[/4 and 5 December] 1662), Nicolae Răileanu (publ.), Documente medievale moldoveneşti din Arhiva de Război a Suediei [Medieval Moldavian documents from the War Archives of Sweden], Chişinău, 2001, 103 (in the following: DMMARS); ARMSI X, 518–519; resp. RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. It is also likely that by this time Harsányi, who penned the letters of the voievod, had already changed from new style (Gregorian) dates to the old (Julian) style. 68 The hardships of Gheorghe Ştefan’s journey to Moscow were reconstructed on the basis of Russian archival sources by Yuriy Arsen’ev, “Moldavskiy gospodar’ Stefan-Georgiy i ego snosheniya s Moskvoyu” [The Moldavian Gospodar Gheorghe Ştefan and his relations with Moscow], Russkiy Arkhiv 34, no. 2 (1896): 161–186. Remarkably enough Gheorghe Ştefan later wrote to Johann Rottal that he spent nine months in Russian territory (Dor- pat, 1 August 1663), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 591r. It is possible, however, that he only claimed this in order to explain why it took him so long to get in touch with his former patron. 120 Chapter 3 Moscow m u s c o v y Pskov Neuhausen poland-lithuania Dorpat l i v o n i a Riga s w e d i s h - e s t l a n d s w e d i s h - Pernau Tackerort c o u r l a n d p r u s s i a d u c h y o f Libau Stockholm Uppsala Kolberg Frankfurt an der Oder Frankfurt Stettin Ueckermünde Wolgast s w e d e n s a x o n y p o m e r a n i a Copenhagen s w e d i s h Berlin brandenburg Güstrow mecklenburg d e n m a r k Schwerin Kiel Northeastern Europe in the second half in the second Europe ofNortheastern century the seventeenth Hamburg

MAP 3 Years of Turmoil 121 either, Gheorghe Ştefan had to ask for a leave-taking audience in June 1663 and abandon Moscow.69 Jakab Harsányi Nagy was most probably at the voievod’s side throughout this entire journey, since he refers to a trip to Russia in the dedication of the Colloquia.70 We have no information either about his experiences or about his opinion of the sights he had seen, although there can have been no shortage of experiences. It was not only the physical conditions of the Great Duchy, the appalling state of the roads that rendered it almost impossible to travel in the spring showers, but also the ceremonial order in Moscow, similar in some respects to the one in Constantinople, but in others radically different, that constituted serious obstacles. In Muscovy, state guests were segregated from local society, where they were accompanied by armed guards who had to prevent the diplomats – or in this case, Gheorghe Ştefan and his retinue – from talking to anyone apart from people designated for this purpose.71 Nevertheless, we do not know of any personal remark about Muscovy other than those in a later report submitted to the Swedish court. Here he wrote about a barbaric nation whose most important characteristics are their stubbornness and their inclination to go back on their promises.72 Although this characterization is similar to the one applied by contemporary Hungarians to Russians, we still cannot be sure whether it was Harsányi’s view too.73 Although the letter is preserved in Harsányi’s handwriting (and was probably also penned by him) and written in the name of Gheorghe Ştefan, we do not know to what extent the

69 Gheorghe Ştefan summarized the failure of his visit to Moscow for the Swedish government in October 1664; see the details of the audience in: DIR IX/1, 217–219. See also Arsen’ev, “Moldavskiy gospodar,’” 182–185. 70 Colloquia, B version, dedication, [2]. 71 On travelling conditions and segregation from local society, see Arsen’ev, “Moldavskiy gospodar,’” 181–182; and Gheorghe Ştefan’s letter to Johann Rottal, cited in footnote 68, fol. 591r. On the latter phenomenon, see also Gabriele Scheidegger, Perverses Abendland – barbarisches Russland: Begegnungen des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts im Schatten kultureller Missverständnisse (Zurich, 1993), 15–20. 72 Gheorghe Ştefan to unknown (Per Brahe?) (Stettin, 24 December 1664[/3 January 1665]), DIR IX/1, 217. With the same text to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie in manuscript: RA Dela- gardiska samlingen E 1500. Similar words can be found in Gheorghe Ştefan’s letter to Johann Rottal (Stettin, 3[/13] September 1664), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 584r. 73 On the image of Russia among early modern Hungarian and Transylvanian authors, see Ágnes Dukkon, “Egy mondat az oroszokról: Irodalom és politika kapcsolatai Kelet- Európában a 17. század derekán” [A sentence about Russians: Connections of literature and politics in Eastern Europe in the mid-17th century], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 106 (2002): 334–349; Kármán, “Identity,” 564. 122 Chapter 3

Turkish scribe was responsible for its content rather than for its rhetorical formulation.

Stettin

So Gheorghe Ştefan had to leave Muscovy empty-handed. It was most probably during August 1663 that he again reached Swedish Livonia, where, in mid-Sep- tember, he was met by the governor of the province, Bengt Oxenstierna, in Dorpat. Oxenstierna provided him with a pension and accommodation on the orders of Charles XI’s Regency Government.74 It seems that Gheorghe Ştefan decided not to return to the Habsburg Empire, at least temporarily, and apart from the support he had already been receiving from the Swedish Crown, he also counted on the possibility that his issues might be raised by the Scandi navian envoys during the Swedish-Russian diplomatic negotiations.75 Although Oxenstierna did not permit the voievod to travel to Stockholm personally, Jakab Harsányi Nagy, furnished with several letters of recommendation to prominent members of the Swedish court, was allowed to board a ship to represent the voievod’s interests there.76 Harsányi’s mission, apart from expressing gratitude for the benevolence they had enjoyed until then, was to ask for an accommodation for the voievod in the territories of the Swedish Crown in the Holy Roman Empire. It was clear that Gheorghe Ştefan wanted to practise a very active diplomacy, because, through Harsányi, he also asked for several passes for himself and his servants.77 Harsányi must have arrived in Stockholm towards the end of September, but he seems not to have been admitted to an audience by the Regency Government until early December, and no action was taken concerning the requests of Gheorghe Ştefan until the beginning of the next year.78 Harsányi proved to be

74 Bengt Oxenstierna to Charles XI (Dorpat, 4[/14] September 1663), RA Livonica vol. 81. A pension is donated for the costs of the voievod by the order of the Regency to the Swedish Chambers (Stockholm, 30 May[/9 June] 1663), RA Riksregistraturet vol. 351. fol. 287r–v (in the following: RR). 75 At least that is what he wrote to Johann Rottal, see his letter cited in footnote 68, fol. 591r. 76 See the letters of recommendation for Harsányi written by Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel, Charles XI, and Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Dorpat, 11[/21] and 12[/22] Sep- tember 1663), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422; DIR IX/1, 207–208, resp. 205–206. 77 The communication submitted by Harsányi to the Swedish court under the title “Prae- cipua Commissionis meae fundamenta” is published in DIR IX/1, 206–207. 78 The letter of Carl Gustaf Wrangel to Gheorghe Ştefan, acknowledging the reception of his greetings, is dated Stockholm, 26 November[/6 December] 1663 (RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422, attached to the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan, cited in footnote 76). See the actions of Years of Turmoil 123 a successful diplomat this time: the Swedish Crown not only gave the voievod the passes but also ordered the Chambers to give him a yearly pension of 2000 talers. Harsányi’s task was nevertheless facilitated by the fact that, during 1663, one of the main problems of European politics was the Ottoman expansion towards Hungary. Besides, in the autumn of 1663, the Pomeranian estates, similarly to other territories of the Holy Roman Empire, considered offering the emperor an anti-Ottoman financial support (a so-called Türkenhilfe). To give shelter to a ruler who had been forced to leave his country because of the Otto mans must therefore have been a popular move.79 At the same time as they decided on Gheorghe Ştefan’s requests the Chambers also received orders to give Harsányi a medallion with a golden chain, depicting the king and worth 100 ducats, as an acknowledgement for his good service, as well as 300 talers for his travel expenses. In spite of this Harsányi did not leave Stockholm until late July 1664.80 We do not know how he explained this delay of almost six months to the voievod. He may have received new orders from Gheorghe Ştefan, but their contents are unknown, and the Regency Government does not seem to have reached any new decision concerning the voievod’s requests in the first half of 1664. The stay in Stockholm was nevertheless very useful for Jakab Harsányi Nagy from a personal point of view. In May he received a Latin diploma, which prescribed that he should be given a 200-taler pension for three years, as an acknowledgement of his services to the Swedish Crown. The document did not elaborate on the content of these services, but the protocol of the session where the decision to issue the diploma was reached makes it clear that it was his activities as a Transylvanian diplomat in Constantinople, and his captivity there, that were honoured by the Swedish Crown.81

the Regency Government concerning Gheorghe Ştefan’s requests (Stockholm, 23 Decem- ber 1663[/2 January 1664]),in RA RR vol. 358. fol. 970r–971r, 987v–988v. 79 On the general European situation, see Ágnes R. Várkonyi, Török világ és magyar külpoli- tika [Turkish world and Hungarian foreign policy] (Budapest, 1975). On the question of Türkenhilfe at the Pomeranian diet, see the documents of autumn 1663 in RA Pommer- anica vol. 6. Many orders concerning the organization of the troops for anti-Ottoman warfare were sent from the Regency Government to Carl Gustaf Wrangel in this period, see for instance the one dated 5[/15] September 1663; RA RR vol. 355. fol. 37. 80 The Regency Government to Gheorghe Ştefan on Harsányi’s return (Stockholm, 27 July[/6 August] 1664), RA RR, vol. 360. fol. 245r. See also the order given to the Chambers (Stock- holm, 23 December 1663[/2 January 1664]), RA RR, vol. 358. fol. 990v–991r. 81 Diploma of Charles XI to Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Stockholm, 4[/14] May 1664), RA RR vol. 359. fol. 511v–512r. See also the protocol of the council session (14[/24] March 1664): RA Rådsprotokoll vol. 40a. fol. 85r. 124 Chapter 3

We might assume that it was Harsányi’s old acquaintance Claes Rålamb who stood behind the decision which provided him with an income independent of the voievod. Yet the former ambassador to Constantinople was governor of Uppland at the time, and although the province is close to Stockholm, he does not seem to have visited the capital during this period. At all events he was certainly not present at the council session.82 The initiative for honouring Harsányi’s services came from another Swedish aristocrat, Bengt Skytte, who had also visited Constantinople before. He spent some time in the Ottoman capital at an early stage of Harsányi’s career there, in the spring of 1652, and maintained good contacts with the Transylvanian embassy. It was then that he probably became acquainted with the Turkish scribe personally and may have learned about his activities and his eagerness to serve the Swedish embassy during 1657 and 1658 either from Rålamb or from Harsányi himself.83 Besides renewing his earlier contacts, Jakab Harsányi Nagy also managed to establish new ones that proved to be useful in the following few years. Apart from Lord High Steward (riksdrotsen) Per Brahe and Chancellor Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie, he also met Admiral Carl Gustaf Wrangel, who held the title of chief governor of Pomerania as well, and was thus the main authority in the territory where Gheorghe Ştefan was about to settle. During the period of Harsányi’s stay in Stockholm, Gheorghe Ştefan found a haven in Livonia, in a small locality called Tackerort, close to Pernau. Although the document that permitted him to move to Pomerania had already been issued in January, he only arrived in Wolgast in June 1664 and moved on to Stettin at the first opportunity.84 The town where he spent the next few years

82 All the known letters of Claes Rålamb from this period were written from Uppsala to Chancellor Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie; Harsányi does not appear in any of them, see RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1540. The archive of the Rålamb family has unfortunately survived only in fragments, and there is no available evidence from this period. The list of the participants at the council meeting is in RA Rådsprotokoll vol. 40a. fol. 79r. 83 On the journey of Bengt Skytte to Transylvania and Constantinople, see Nils Runeby, “Bengt Skytte, Comenius och abdikationskrisen 1651” [Bengt Skytte, Comenius, and the crisis of abdication], Scandia 29 (1963): 360–382; Gábor Kármán, “Kísérlet a misztikus alapú külpolitikára: Bengt Skytte útja a Rákócziakhoz 1651–1652” [An attempt at foreign policy on mystical grounds: The journey to Bengt Skytte to the Rákóczis], Aetas 23, no. 4 (2008): 65–82. 84 Tackerort was assigned to him as a temporary place of residence by the order cited in footnote 74, fol. 287v. In his letter to Johann Rottal, however, he clearly states that he had been living in Pernau until June 1664 (cited in footnote 72, fol. 584r). On his arrival in Wolgast, see his letters to Charles XI and Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Wolgast, 5[/15] June 1664), DIR IX/1, 219–220; resp. RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. The document permitting him to Years of Turmoil 125 underwent a critical period in the seventeenth century. A Swedish garrison had been stationed since the 1630s in the former capital of the Duchy of Pomerania, but officially the town was only attached to the Scandinavian kingdom with the death of the last duke, Bogislav XIV, after the peace congress of Westphalia. The Swedish administration that governed the province was based in Stettin despite the repeated requests of the estates to have it moved to Wolgast. But in the end Wrangel, as chief governor, arbitrarily decided to choose Wolgast as his seat in 1665 because his estates were closer to it and it was also the place where he had his castle built. Stettin, the flourishing harbour town with around 15,000 inhabitants in the sixteenth century suffered severely during the wars – in 1631 it lost one third of its population to a plague. The division of Pomerania in the Peace of Westphalia handicapped the merchants of Stettin. The newly drawn borders between the territories belonging to Sweden and Brandenburg cut the town off from its hinterland, and the customs policy of the Electorate was to the disadvantage of the Stettiners.85 Nor was the border situation beneficial for the town from a military point of view since it became the first objective of any invasion from Brandenburg. Although the Brandenburgian and Imperial troops caused much less damage in the siege of 1659 than they did eighteen years later when most of the town was destroyed, the register of the houses of Stettin in 1664 still listed a considerable amount of buildings in ruins.86 Gheorghe Ştefan and his retinue had their lodgings in the castle that had been rebuilt in the Renaissance style in the late sixteenth century. The voievod, however, did not stay there continuously, but left the town several times during the next few years for shorter or longer journeys. Not long after moving in he travelled to Hamburg, and in December 1666 he visited Hamburg once more. While on the first occasion he had financial business to attend to, on the sec-

move to Pomerania (cited in footnote 78, fol. 988r) suggests Wolgast or Stettin as a place of residence – it seems that the final decision was left to Gheorghe Ştefan himself. 85 An excellent survey of the early modern history of Stettin is provided by Bogdan Wachow- iak, “Stettin in der Neuzeit (1478–1805),” in Jan M. Piskorski, Bogdan Wachowiak, and Edward Włodarczyk, Stettin: Kurze Stadtgeschichte, trans. Eligiusz Janus and Andreas Warnecke (Poznań, 1994), 55–96. On moving the seat of the chief governor, see Helmut Backhaus, Reichsterritorium und schwedische Provinz: Vorpommern unter Karl XI. Vor- mündern (Göttingen, 1969), 81–83; and Ivo Asmus, “Das Amt des Generalgouverneurs und der Herrschaftsstil Carl Gustav Wrangels,” in Der Westfälische Frieden von 1648 – Wende in der Geschichte des Ostseeraums: Für Prof. dr. Dr. h. c. Herbert Ewe zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. Horst Wernicke and Hans-Joachim Hacker (Hamburg, 2001), 191–195. 86 Lustration der Stadt Alten Stettin de anno 1664, Landesarchiv Greifswald (in the following: LA Greifswald), Rep. 40. III. Nr. 207. For a detailed account of the siege, see Martin Wehrmann, Geschichte der Stadt Stettin (Stettin, 1911), 288–291. 126 Chapter 3 ond he was going to meet Queen Christina, the abdicated ruler of Sweden, who was trying to organize her return to Scandinavia.87 He paid several visits to some neighbouring German princes whose support he requested. In 1665 he twice met Gustav Adolph, duke of Mecklenburg-Güstrow, in his residence, and early in December 1666 he called on Elector Frederick William in his palace in Berlin (more precisely, at Cölln an der Spree).88 His longest stay away from his residence was nevertheless his journey to Stockholm, where he managed to negotiate personally with the Regency Government, having left Stettin at the end of July 1665 and only returning in January 1666.89 With so many personal journeys it is no wonder that the diplomatic activities of Gheorghe Ştefan were extraordinary in every respect: his envoys were travelling to the four winds to gain support for him. At the beginning of his stay in Stettin Gheorghe Ştefan endeavoured to maintain his Viennese contacts and to acquire new supporters in the Holy Roman Empire who would make sure that his interests would not be forgotten in the event of a peace agreement with the Ottomans. In 1663 the war that had been limited to the territory of Transylvania now extended to Hungary, and the fall of Érsekújvár, together with other losses, forced Leopold I to start an

87 Gheorghe Ştefan to Frederick William (Stettin, 1[/11] August 1664), Neculaĭ Iorga, ed., Acte şi fragmente cu privire la istoria romînilor [Documents and fragments concerning the history of the Romanians], vol. 1 (Bucharest, 1895), 270–271 (in the following: AF I); and to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Hamburg, 18[/28] December 1666), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8184. 88 The first visit to Mecklenburg is mentioned in the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gus- taf Wrangel (Stettin, 24 January[/3 February] and 4[/14] February 1665), RA Skoklosters- amlingen E 8422; the second is documented by his letter to Wrangel (Stettin, 17[/27] June 1665), and also in the letter of Ştefanida Mihailova, the consort of Gheorghe Ştefan, to Magdalena Sibylla, princess of Mecklenburg-Güstrow, and her response to it (Stettin, 28 June[/8 July] 1665, resp. Güstrow, 1[/11] July 1665), Landeshauptarchiv Schwerin (in the following: LHAS) 2.11–2/1 Auswärtige Beziehungen... Nr. 4972. fol. 4–5. On his audience in Berlin, see the protocol (Berlin, 4[/14] December 1666), TMIR III, 92–94. Four days later, he was still in Berlin; see his letter to Andreas Neumann (8[/18] December 1666), AF I, 281. 89 His intention to set out on the journey are documented by the letter of the castellan of Stettin, Franz Horn, to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 17[/27] July 1665), RA Skoklostersam- lingen E 8380. At the beginning of August, the exiled voievod already wrote from Stral- sund to Frederick William (Stralsund, 25 July[/4 August] 1665), GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 47–48. His arrival in Stockholm is documented by the letter of the French envoy, Terlon, on 26 September 1665: Ioan Hudiţă, “Contribuţiuni la istoria Spătarului Neculai Milescu şi a lui Gh. Ştefan” [Contributions to the history of Nicolae Spătar Milescu and Gheorghe Ştefan], Arhiva (Iaşi) 36, no. 2 (1929): 98. Gheorghe Ştefan returned to Stettin on 30 January 1666, see his letter to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stet- tin, 30 January[/9 February] 1666), DIR IX/1, 237. Years of Turmoil 127 offensive anti-Ottoman campaign in coalition with several European rulers. Hopes of success were running high after the victories during Miklós Zrínyi’s winter campaign.90 In this context we can see why Jakab Harsányi Nagy had to urge the Swedish diplomats to intervene at the Imperial court on Gheorghe Ştefan’s behalf in Stockholm in 1663.91 On 1 August 1664 the troops of Grand Vizier Köprülü Ahmed suffered defeat at the hands of a Habsburg army, and the news of the battle spread quickly through Europe, fuelling enthusiasm and hopes of pressing back the European borders of the Ottoman Empire.92 It was probably due to the news of the victory that Gheorghe Ştefan sent envoys to Brandenburg and Dresden and asked both electors to represent his interests at the Imperial court.93 But all in vain: by this time the representatives of the emperor, who had given up all hope of mobilizing the financial means necessary for the continuation of the campaign, signed the peace treaty in Vasvár. With the document that was made public on 27 September the Habsburgs bewildered European public opinion. After a glorious victory they made great concessions to the losing side. And the peace of Vasvár also meant the end of

90 Géza Perjés, Zrínyi Miklós és kora [Miklós Zrínyi and his age] (Budapest, 1965), 343–354; Ágnes R. Várkonyi, “Országegyesítő kísérletek (1648–1664)” [Attempts to unite the country, 1648–1664], in Magyarország története 1526–1686, ed. Zsigmond Pál Pach and Ágnes R. Várkonyi (Budapest, 1985), 1103–1146. 91 See his petition cited in footnote 77, 206–207. Early in 1664 Gheorghe Ştefan even suggested that he might want to make contact with the Rhenish League which was supporting the anti-Ottoman war, and with the ruler behind it, Louis XIV of France – this, however, did not yet happen. See the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Charles XI (9[/19] April [1664]), DIR IX/1, 209–210. On the role of the Rhenish League in the anti-Ottoman war, see recently Ágnes R. Várkonyi, “Európai játéktér – magyar politika 1657–1664” [European field of action – Hungarian politics 1657–1664], in Az értelem bátorsága, 577–614. 92 Nóra G. Etényi, Hadszíntér és nyilvánosság: A magyarországi török háború hírei a 17. századi német újságokban [The theater of war and public opinion: The news of the Turkish wars in Hungary in the 17th-century German press] (Budapest, 2003), 234–240. On the battle, see Ferenc Tóth, Saint-Gotthard 1664: Une bataille européenne (Paris, 2007). 93 The Saxon elector, John George II, fulfilled the voievod’s request and asked Leopold I in a letter that, if it were possible, the claim of Gheorghe Ştefan to the throne of Moldavia should be vindicated at the forthcoming negotiations of the peace treaty. See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan and his consort to John George II and his wife (Stettin, 5[/15] Septem- ber 1664), and their responses ([Dresden], 13[/23] September 1664), and the letter of John George II to Emperor Leopold I (with the same date), Neculai Iorga, ed., Studii şi documente cu privire la istoria românilor [Studies and documents concerning the history of the Romanians], vol. 4, Legăturile principatelor române cu Ardealul de la 1607 la 1699 [Contacts of the Romanian Principalities with Transylvania from 1607 to 1699] (Bucharest, 1902), 108–109 (in the following: SD IV). On the request for support from Brandenburg, see Gheorghe Ştefan to Frederick William (Stettin, 5[/15] September 1665), TMIR III, 84–85. 128 Chapter 3

Gheorghe Ştefan’s hopes of ever regaining the throne of Moldavia with Habs burg help.94 In his later years in Stettin the exiled voievod tried other means of preparing his return home. He contacted the two most important European kings who, besides the emperor, had their representatives in Constantinople: Louis XIV of France and Charles II of England.95 But by the time of these ambitious embassies Harsányi was no longer in Stettin. Regaining his rule over his Principality could in any case only have been a long-term plan for Gheorghe Ştefan, and most of the diplomatic missions were designed, rather, to secure his daily bread. Like many other rulers from the Voievodates, Gheorghe Ştefan took into exile a significant amount of money and artifacts from his country, but he had to leave a considerable part of them behind when fleeing from Transylvania.96 Although many valuables still appear in his correspondence from the 1660s, Gheorghe Ştefan did all he could to secure an alternative source of income rather than selling and pawning what he had. The Crown of Sweden, as we saw, promised him 2000 talers a year as a pension. He found the sum rather small, although only the allowances of the chief and vice-governors were higher than this in Pomerania and the same amount of money was given to the Royal Gymnasium in Stettin as a yearly budget.97 Gheorghe Ştefan petitioned frequently but unsuccessfully for a rise

94 On the echo of the peace of Vasvár, see Várkonyi, “Országegyesítő kísérletek,” 1139–1140; Béla Köpeczi, Staatsräson und christliche Solidarität: Die ungarischen Aufstände und Europa in der zweiten Hälfte des 17. Jahrhunderts (Vienna, 1983), 116–125; and Etényi, Had- színtér, 243–256. 95 The documentation of the embassy to England was edited by Eric Dietmar Tappe, “Charles II and the Prince of Moldavia,” The Slavonic and East European Review 28 (1949/50): 406–424 (in the following: SEAR XXVIII); and Tappe, “Charles II and the Prince of Moldavia: Addenda,” The Slavonic and East European Review 31 (1952/53): 528–529 (in the following: SEAR XXXI). For the papers of the envoys sent to Louis XIV, see in Grigore George Tocilescu and Alexandru I. Odobescu, eds., Documente privitóre la Istoria Româ nilor [Documents on the history of the Romanians], Supplement, vol. 1, pt. 1: 1518–1780 (Bucharest, 1886), 249–254 (in the following: DIR Suppl. I/1). Charles II even wrote to the grand vizier and the sultan requesting the reinstallation of Gheorghe Ştefan to the Molda- vian throne (Whitehall, 15[/25] June 1666), ARMSI X, 522–523. 96 The treasury that Gheorghe Ştefan left in the Mikó castle of Csíkszereda was divided by Ákos Barcsai among his supporters; see Mordovin, “Petki,” 407. According to Georg Kraus Mihnea too took many valuables with him during his escape; see Kraus, Erdélyi krónika, 350. On other goods deposited in Brassó, see Klára Jakó, “Additional Information Regard- ing the Financial Status of Voievods Constantin Şerban and Mihnea III Radu,” Colloquia: Journal of Central European History 16 (2009): 189–200. 97 Carl Gustaf Wrangel received an annual allowance of 4000 talers, Paul Würtz, one of 3000, due to their office – obviously, the lavish lifestyle of the former was maintained not by this Years of Turmoil 129 of this allowance, but after a while even the payment of these 2000 talers became irregular.98 Gheorghe Ştefan realised that he could have a more reliable income than the pension, which depended on the somewhat unstable financial position of the Chambers of Swedish Pomerania, if he could acquire an estate in the territory of the Holy Roman Empire.99 His first attempt at this was when he tried to rent some demesnes from Gustav Adolph, duke of Mecklenburg-Güstrow, but it was blocked by the official complaint of a relative of the duke, Christian Louis of Mecklenburg-Schwerin.100 During his stay in Stockholm in the autumn of 1665 Gheorghe Ştefan petitioned the Regency Government several times for the same reason, and before his departure the estate of Ueckermünde in Pomerania was promised to him but he never managed to get the letter of donation.101 He finally turned to Frederick William with a similar request during the winter of 1667, but it was refused by the elector – even if only with the pragmatic reasoning that Wartzig and Saatzig, the estates that the voievod asked for, were strategically important because of their border position and were therefore not to be alienated.102 Gheorghe Ştefan’s finances remained confusing. He asked for help from his princely supporters, as well as Wrangel, in order to collect various debts, claiming that many people owed him money, from the merchant Peter Samson in Zamość and some draymen from Kurland, even to the tsar of Russia. He wanted

but from the income of his huge estates. See their salary lists from 1662: LA Greifswald Rep. 40. VI. 4. fol. 287. On the 2000-taler budget of the Gymnasium of Stettin in 1655, see LA Greifswald Rep. 40. II. 53. fol. 72. 98 See for instance the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 6[/16] September 1664, 24 December 1664[/3 January 1665], and 7[/17] February 1665), DIR IX/1, 213; 216–217; resp. RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500; and to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 24 January[/3 February], 7[/17] February, and 4[/14] April 1665), RA Skoklosters- amligen E 8422. 99 It was because of similar considerations that he purchased the castle of Sólyomkő not long after moving to Transylvania; see Zahariuc, Ţara Moldovei, 517. 100 See the correspondence between Christian Louis and Hans Heinrich Wedemann, chancellor of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, from June 1665, LHAS 2.11-2/1 Auswärtige Beziehungen (Acta externa) 4973. fol. 1–3. 101 See the petitions of Gheorghe Ştefan to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stockholm, 26 October[/5 November] and 8[/18] November 1665), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500; the second is published in DIR IX/1, 231–232. On the promise of the donation, see the note published in ARMSI X, 521. The voievod still complained to the Lord High Stewart Per Brahe in late 1666 that he did not receive the donation: ARMSI X, 525. 102 Gheorghe Ştefan to Frederick William (Stettin, 2[/12] February 1667) and his reply (Cölln an der Spree, 8[/18] February 1667), TMIR III, 95–96. 130 Chapter 3 to collect no less than 30,000 talers for the damages done to him by Stanisław Potocki, grand hetman of the Polish Crown, but his claims against others were hardly more modest.103 Although he sometimes urged rather radical steps, suggesting that Wrangel confiscate the sum of the debt owed by Samson from his business partners who travelled through Pomerania, the justice of his claims was not always unequivocal. His demands against the tsar, for instance, were rejected as entirely ungrounded by Harsányi in a later letter.104 The general confusion is well illustrated by the best documented business affair of the voievod in exile, the developments around some jewels pawned in Vienna in 1662 by a Jewish merchant, Jacob Fränkl. Gheorghe Ştefan asked several times for Frederick William’s help in obtaining extensions, and later for the consign- ment of the pawn, thus providing the Brandenburg ambassador in Vienna, Andreas Neumann, with new tasks each year. By January 1668, when the voie vod died, the matter of the jewels was chaotic. Gheorghe Ştefan had wanted Frederick William to redeem the pawn in his name and sell the artifacts – from which he could have paid back the expenses of the elector and received some income as well. The price he wanted for the jewels, however, was three times their actual worth. Besides, Christoph Marianowitz, a Turkish interpreter at the Viennese court, asked the local authorities that the jewels be confiscated and delivered to him since the voievod had failed to pay for some of his services.105

103 On his claims against Potocki, see his petition to the Regency of Charles XI ([October 1665]), DIR IX/1, 235. He also mentions the debt of Peter Samson (25,000 talers) in the same document. On the debt of the draymen from Kurland, see Frederick William to James, prince of Kurland (Cölln an der Spree, 3[/13] June 1665), GStA PK HA I., Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 41., partly published in AF I, 275. On the financial demands against the tsar, see the memorial cited in footnote 69, 217. 104 See Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie, cited in footnote 55. On the suggestion about confiscating the wealth of Samson’s partners, see Gheorghe Ştefan’s petition to Charles XI ([1665]), DIR IX/1, 246. The document was dated 1666 by the publisher of the volume, but there are notable overlaps in its content with the petition cited in the previous footnote written during Gheorghe Ştefan’s stay in Stockholm. So it should probably be dated to 1665. 105 We do not know how the rather obscure case ended: it is not clear who finally got the jewels after voievod’s death. The contract between Gheorghe Ştefan and Jacob Fränkl (Vienna, 5 September 1662) was published in DIAMTR XI, 25–26. On the latest known developments in the question of the jewels, see the memorial of Gheorghe Ştefan ([Ber- lin], 7[/17] December 1666), and the correspondence between Frederick William and Andreas Neumann (Cölln an der Spree, 8[/18] December 1666; resp. Vienna, 21/31 Decem- ber 1666), GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 86–90; partly published in AF I, 282–283. On the problems concerning the value of the jewels, see Andreas Neumann Years of Turmoil 131

Jakab Harsányi Nagy took an active part in all these manoeuvres aimed at getting diplomatic and financial help. He seems to have had a dominant position among the men of the voievod. He drafted the contract with Jacob Fränkl and he supervised the voievod’s communications with the Swedish aristocrats and the court of Brandenburg. It not only meant that the letters sent in the name of Gheorghe Ştefan survived in Harsányi’s handwriting, but also that, in several cases, he had to visit the officeholders important for the voievod personally. He went to Wolgast twice (in November 1664 and in May 1665) to negotiate with Wrangel, and he also consulted with the ambassador of the Swedish Crown to Poland-Lithuania, Matthias Palbitzki, in March 1665.106 After his journey to Stockholm in 1663–1664 he visited the Swedish capital again in the company of Gheorghe Ştefan in the autumn of 1665. We have no information on whether he could interfere with the content of the diplomatic missions and correspondence, but his penning of every official document issued by the voievod surely counted as a confidential post. In May 1666, however, after returning from his second journey to Stockholm, Harsányi decided to quit Gheorghe Ştefan’s service.107 In order to understand the reasons for his decision we have to take a closer look at the micro-society of the colony of emigrants around Gheorghe Ştefan in Stettin.

to Frederick William (Vienna, 2/12 March 1667), ibid., fol. 98 (summary in AF I, 284). On the activities of the Fränkl family, see also Hans Tietze, Die Juden Wiens: Wirtschaft, Kultur (Vienna and Leipzig, 1933), 74–75. Marianowitz raised his demands for the first time in April 1665; see Gheorghe Ştefan’s letter asking for the support of Prince Wenzel Lobkowitz (Stettin, 9[/19] April 1665), ARMSI X, 533–534; also published in DIAMTR XI, 57–58. Mari- anowitz, who had been living in Vienna, was an interpreter of the Habsburg embassies to Constantinople in 1644–45 and to the Ukraine in 1657. Gheorghe Ştefan was not the first voievod with whom he was in touch: according to a petition of his of 10 April 1656, he also knew personally Mihai Pătraşcu, the grandson of Michael the Brave (HKA Hoffinanz Ungarn Rt. Nr. 198. Konv. 1656 April fol. 106–117). 106 See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel about Harsányi’s trip in Novem- ber 1664 (Stettin, 5[/15] November 1665), in May 1665 (Stettin, 30 April[/10 May] and 16[/26] May 1665), and about his negotiations with Palbitzki (Stettin, 4[/14] March 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. Unfortunately Gheorghe Ştefan’s issues are not mentioned either in the surviving documentation on Palbitzki’s mission or in his letters to Wrangel, cf. RA Diplomatica Polonica vol. 53–54; resp. RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8444. 107 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 6[/16] May 1666), RA Dela- gardiska samlingen E 1500 (Moldau). 132 Chapter 3

Court Society under the Exiled Voievod

Gheorghe Ştefan gave prominent titles to Jakab Harsányi Nagy when he was sent on diplomatic missions. In 1662 he called him his secretary and marshal (“secretarium meum, Aulaeque Magistrum”), and in 1663 his councillor (“con- siliarium meum”) in letters to various dignitaries.108 We do not know whether these offices were actually held by Harsányi, or if Gheorghe Ştefan thought that a higher office-holder at the court, rather than just a simple secretary, could enhance his reputation in the eyes of the prominent people with whom Harsányi negotiated. We should note, however, that, after Carl Gustaf Wrangel had been acquainted with Harsányi for several years, the voievod found it sufficient to refer to him as “Dominus Harsanyius,” or, at the most, as his “minister” in the letters written to the governor.109 There were, moreover, other signs that Gheorghe Ştefan wanted to maintain the impression that his lodgings in Stettin actually functioned as a ruler’s court, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. The voievod was housed in the Renaissance castle which, judging from the illustration in Merian’s Topogaphia Germaniae, was in very good condition around 1650, and which theoretically could have lived up to Gheorghe Ştefan’s highest expectations.110 Events took a different turn, however. Only a few months after Gheorghe Ştefan had moved in, he already complained to Wrangel that the more comfortable rooms in the castle were reserved for other people by the local administration. His retinue was only given rather cold rooms, some without a fireplace, or with an unusable one, which entailed a great problem with the coming of winter, especially because there were also difficulties with the delivery of firewood. This complaint was repeated after a month, but it seems that the question of the firewood for 1664 was subsequently solved, only to resurface in the next years.111 Gheorghe Ştefan spent the autumn of 1665 in Stockholm, but this also aggravated the situation for his consort in Stettin since the Pomeranian authorities took even less notice of her

108 See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan from October 1662 and September 1663, cited in footnotes 64 and 76. 109 See the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan cited in footnote 98. 110 Martin Zeiller and Matthäus Merian, Topographia Electorat. Brandenburgici et Ducatus Pomeraniae, das ist Beschreibung der Vornembsten und bekantisten Stätte in Plätz in dem … Churfürstenthum vnd March Brandenburg; vnd dem Hertzogtum Pomeren… ([Frankfurt am Main], 1652). 111 See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 6[/16] September 1664 and 15[/25] October 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. Years of Turmoil 133 than of her husband.112 These circumstances probably contributed to the voievod’s continued requests to the Regency Government to be allowed to move to Wismar; or, if that were not possible, at least to get permission to move down to the town from the castle. Apart from the better conditions, this would also have saved him from climbing stairs – a serious problem since he was tor- tured by gout.113 The move would have been supported by the castellan of Stettin, Franz Horn, who wrote to Wrangel about the voievod’s health in a very compassionate tone. The sincerity of Horn’s feelings, however, is called in doubt by the fact that the chief governor of Pomerania had to reprimand him in the following year for his behaviour towards Gheorghe Ştefan. According to the voievod it was like being imprisoned, since every door in the castle – except for his own apartments – was closed to him.114 Franz Horn was not the only member of the Swedish administration in Pomerania with whom Gheorghe Ştefan had difficulties. It is hardly surprising that the other person who frequently appeared in his list of complaints was Philipp Rotlieb, the man responsible for the financial issues in the province, to whom the voievod had to report time and again that he was not paid the allowances granted to him. But it was not only the good will of Rotlieb that was lacking. The financial possibilities of the province also proved to be limited. The voievod was by no means alone in not receiving the sums promised him. In many cases even the Pomeranian government had to ask several times before getting money from the treasury.115 It is thus less likely that the

112 See the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan and Ştefanida Mihailova to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stock- holm, 28 October[/7 November] 1665; resp. Stettin, 7[/17] and 18[/28] November 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. 113 On the plan to move to Wismar, see Gheorghe Ştefan’s petition to Charles XI ([1665]), DIR IX/1, 219. On moving to the town see Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel ([between 15 and 30 April 1665] and 20[/30] November 1666), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422, resp. E 8184. See also his letter from 17[/27] June 1665, cited in footnote 88. It seems that Gheorghe Ştefan had already been sick when he arrived in Stettin: in October 1664, he informed Wrangel that his chiragra (the gout attacking his fingers) was getting better, but only to give way to his podagra (that is, the gout in his legs) (Stettin, 17[/27] October 1664), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. His condition only worsened later on. 114 See Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 3[/13] October 1666), and his answer and order to Franz Horn (Camp by Bremen, 12[/22] November 1666), RA Skoklostersam- lingen E 8184. The castellan was also reprimanded by the Regency Government (Stock- holm, 24 March[/3 April] 1667), RA RR vol. 377. fol. 425. On the compassion of Horn towards the voievod, see his letter cited in footnote 89. On him as castellan of Stettin, see Backhaus, Reichsterritorium, 70–71. 115 See Carl Gustaf Wrangel to Gheorghe Ştefan (Stade, 7[/17] May 1666), and his reply (Stet- tin, 16[/26] June 1666), RA Skoklostersamligen E 8184. On Rotlieb’s role in the financial 134 Chapter 3

FIGure 3.2 Stettin castle in the mid-seventeenth century Years of Turmoil 135

“recalcitrance” of Rotlieb towards the orders for payment resulted from his personal aversion – in contrast to Horn, who probably had a hard time tolerating a group of people who did not owe him allegiance but were staying in the castle under his supervision.116 How large was this group? We have several sources for the size of Gheorghe Ştefan’s retinue during his emigration. The Russian administrative sources noted that the exiled voievod wanted to enter the territory of the Great Duchy of Muscovy in 1662 with seventy-five people, twenty horses, and ninety-two carriages (out of which only twenty-one people were permitted to go to Moscow in March 1663). In contrast with this high number, the voievod illustrated his poverty by claiming to Carl Gustaf Wrangel that he had no more than five to six famuli, a minimum number of the people he needed.117 The difference between the two sources can be better explained if we consider that these famuli referred only to the people directly connected with Gheorghe Ştefan, but who also had their own personal servants – cooks, stableboys, and some of them perhaps even a family. The five to six people (together with Gheorghe Ştefan and his consort, eight) could thus have risen to thirty, which is nevertheless still far from the seventy mentioned by the Russian authorities. Gheorghe Ştefan wrote to Johann Rottal in 1662 that he had to maintain more than forty horses. The voievod consequently must have set out on his emigration with a pretty large retinue, which continuously declined in size until it reached the number known from the Stettin years.118 In his biography of Gheorghe Ştefan the historian Petronel Zahariuc presents a document from 1660 which lists the officeholders at the voievod’s court. From the twenty names mentioned we only know about two men who were in

administration of Pomerania, see Backhaus, Reichsterritorium, 8. 116 Surprisingly, there is no surviving evidence concerning the possible contacts between Gheorghe Ştefan and the two most important individuals in the Pomeranian administration who actually stayed in Stettin, Chancellor Heinrich Coelestinus von Sternbach and Vice Governor Paul Würtz. The latter appeared only once in the voievod’s correspondence, when Gheorghe Ştefan asked Wrangel to grant him the Royal Garden in the sub- urbs of Stettin which, by that time, had been used by Würtz. See Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 14[/24] February 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422. On Sternbach and Würtz, see Backhaus, Reichsterritorium, 73–80. Heinrich Coelestinus von Sternbach had visited Transylvania in the 1650s as an envoy of the king of Sweden. But he did not have the chance to become acquainted with Harsányi in that period since Harsányi was working at the Sublime Porte as a Turkish scribe. 117 Arsen’ev, “Moldavskiy gospodar,” 177, 180; resp. the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 4[/14] April 1665), cited in footnote 98. 118 See Gheorghe Ştefan to Johann Rottal, cited in footnote 60, fol. 599r. 136 Chapter 3

Stettin with Gheorghe Ştefan: Gheorghe Cherchez died there during 1664– 1665, while Ştefan Andrieşan was still alive in December 1667.119 The name of Constantin Nacu is missing from the list, although this important personality at the voievod’s court claimed that he had left Moldavia with Gheorghe Ştefan.120 Nacu (or, in some of the sources, Nakolovitz), who was referred to by the voievod as his colonel (“colonellus” or “Obrist”), like Harsányi, took upon himself several diplomatic missions. He represented Gheorghe Ştefan at the court of the Saxon elector in September 1664, in Brandenburg in the summer of 1665, and in London in the summer of 1666.121 He too left the service of the voievod one year after Harsányi and returned to Moldavia.122 The list of the “famuli” from the Stettin years shows a somewhat international company. It might be surprising to learn that Jakab Harsányi Nagy was not the only Hungarian emigrant in the voievod’s retinue: László Nagy, a Transylvanian (bearing the title of his “Equitum Magister,” that is, equerry), was sent to Wrangel in October 1664 by Gheorghe Ştefan. “Caspar Hidi,” who visited the elector of Brandenburg in August 1665, was perhaps also Hungarian (in this case, the original Hungarian form of his name would have been Gáspár Hídi).123 The consort of the voievod even had a German scribe who took over

119 Zahariuc, Ţara Moldovei, 515–516. 120 Petition of Constantin Nacu to Charles XI (Stockholm, 20[/30] November 1665), DIR IX/1, 233. Nacu’s absence is also why this document from December 1660 is not decisive for the question of whether Harsányi was already in the voievod’s service by this time, or only joined it later. 121 He started his journey to Dresden in mid-September 1664, and he already received his answer on the 23rd; see the recommendation of Gheorghe Ştefan to John George II and his answer (Stettin, 5[/15] September 1664; resp. [Dresden], 13[/23] September 1664), SD IV, 108–109. For the mission to Brandenburg approximately the same amount of time was needed. There were only ten days between the dating of Gheorghe Ştefan’s recommendation and the answer of the elector (Stettin, 26 June[/6 July] 1665; resp. Cölln an der Spree, 6[/16] July 1665), see GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 39, 42. (an extract from the latter is published in: AF I, 276). Obviously, the journey to London took longer: the recommendation of Gheorghe Ştefan is dated 16[/26] March 1666, while the answer of Charles II of England was written on 5[/15] June; see SEAR XXVIII, 410, 418–419. 122 Pass written in the name of Charles XI to Constantin Nacu (Stockholm, 23 March[/2 April] 1667), RA RR vol. 377. fol. 419r. 123 Concerning “Ladislaus Nagy Transylvanus,” see the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gus- taf Wrangel (Stettin, 17[/27] October 1664), cited in footnote 113. On “Caspar Hidi,” see the postscript to the letter of Frederick William to Lorenz Georg von Krockow (Cölln an der Spree, 8[/18] August 1665), GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 52; partly published in AF I, 277. From the period of the voievod’s stay in Hungary another Hungar- ian servant of his is known by the name of István Székely, who nevertheless disappears Years of Turmoil 137 the task of writing the official letters to the members of the Swedish administration in Harsányi’s absence. He might be identical with a certain Johannes Wagner who was sent to Wrangel to negotiate in August 1665.124 On the other hand, from Harsányi’s point of view, and also from that of the voievod’s court, these were not the most important people in Gheorghe Ştefan’s retinue. It was rather the two individuals who joined the voievod’s service after his arrival in Stettin: one introduced himself as Alexander Iulius Torquatus a Frangepani, while the other used the name Nicolae Spătarul Milescu. Both of them resembled Harsányi in the sense that they had an excellent classical education and a vast erudition, but also had to emigrate at a certain point and face the problem of earning a living. A conflict was bound to take place. Although, or perhaps because, Torquatus a Frangepani travelled widely and fulfilled several functions it is very hard to find reliable information about him. According to the eighteenth-century Gelehrtenlexikon of Christian Gottlieb Jöcher, the Dalmatian-born baron was in the service of the Swedish king as a soldier and a diplomat in the 1650s. His Latin education is proven by the satire he wrote in the style of Menippus (published in 1663), and a panegyrical obitu- ary of the Swedish General Hans Christoph Königsmarck.125 We do not know

from the later sources; see Gheorghe Ştefan to Johann Rottal (Szinna, 27 February 1662), MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. fol. 572. 124 Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (“ad Daler,” 2[/12] August 1665), RA Skoklosters- amlingen E 8422. 125 Christian Gottlieb Jöcher, Allgemeines Gelehrter-Lexicon…, vol. 4, S–Z (Leipzig, 1751), col. 1256. In the dedication of his Panegyricus Aeternaturae Gloriae […] Joanni Christophoro Königsmarchio (1663), he provides the following information about himself: “L[iber] B[aro] in Novy Dominus in Monostyr, & Cirquenic. Quondam S.R. Majestatis Sueciæ, ab expeditionibus Scythicis, Vallachicis, & Transylvanicis Commissarius & Ablegatus.” In 1655, he indeed represented Charles X Gustav before the Cossack hetman Bohdan Khmel- nytsky; see Bohdan Kentrschynskyj, “Ukrainska revolutionen och Rysslands angrepp mot Sverige 1656” [The Ukrainian revolution and Russia’s assault on Sweden, 1656], Karolinska Förbundets Årsbok 1966, 42–43; and his stay in Moldavia is documented by Gheorghe Ştefan’s letter to Charles X Gustav (Iaşi, 24 August[/3 September] 1655), DMMARS, 49. The Satyricon Asini Vapulantis was published with a date under the pseudonym “Redivivus Menippus”; according to the literature, it was probably produced by a North German or Dutch printer in 1663, see Ingrid A.R. Smet, Menippean Satire and the Republic of Letters, 1581–1655 (Geneva, 1996), 59, footnote 4; and, with a detailed summary of the contents of Satyricon, Jozef Ĳsewĳn, “The Neo-Latin Satirical Novel in the 17th Century,” Neulatein- isches Jahrbuch / Journal of Neo-Latin Language and Literature 1 (1999): 133–134. Jan König haus expressed some doubts about the excellence of the Latin skills of Torquatus on the basis of his description of the inauguration of the University of Kiel; see Könighaus, Die Inauguration der Christian-Albrechts-Universität zu Kiel 1665 (Frankfurt, 2002), 31. 138 Chapter 3 how he had met Gheorghe Ştefan and came to Stettin, but already in December 1664 he was sent by him to visit Frederick William. In January 1665 the voievod issued another letter of recommendation for him, this time to Louis XIV of France. Torquatus, however, did not reach Paris but stayed in northern Ger many.126 The exiled voievod must also have authorised him to represent him in Vienna in connection with the jewels pawned with Fränkl – we know, at least, that Gheorghe Ştefan found it important that the ambassador of Brandenburg in Vienna should be notified that these credentials ought to be disregarded and that the jewels should on no account be given to Torquatus.127 We do not know why he lost the trust of Gheorghe Ştefan since no details are conveyed by contemporary sources. In any case, Torquatus did not go to Vienna, but nor did he return to the voievod, and on 5 October 1665 he was present at the foundation of the University of Kiel as a guest of the court of Holstein-Gottorp, and wrote a panegyrical account of it later published by Duke Christian Albert.128 Even if we have no direct source for the fall of Torquatus a Frangipani we still have some clues as to who might have stood behind the loss of trust of the voievod: the same person who also managed to oust Harsányi from Gheorghe Ştefan’s service, Nicolae Spătarul Milescu. That is to say that when the voievod and his retinue returned from Stockholm early in 1666, a scandal erupted concerning Harsányi. A letter from Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel dating from May 1666 – the first one we know of in handwriting other than Harsányi’s – includes long complaints about how ill the voievod was served by Harsányi in the Swedish capital. There is also a suggestion that his

126 See the recommendatory letter to Frederick William (Stettin, 14[/24] December 1664) in TMIR III, 85. In the same publication (on p. 86) fragments of the memorial submitted by Torquatus to the elector were also published; see the original at GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 30. The letter to Louis XIV (Stettin, 15[/25] January 1665) is known in two editions: DIR Suppl. I.1, 249; and Corfus, “Pe urmele lui Moise Movilă,” 305. On the stay in North Germany, see the letters of Torquatus to Wrangel which, however, do not mention Gheorghe Ştefan at all (Hamburg, 3[/13] March 1665; Stade, 9[/19] March 1665; Bremen, 20[/30] March 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8361. 127 Frederick William to Andreas Neumann (Cölln an der Spree, 3[/13] July 1665), and Neumann’s letter to his ruler (Vienna, 22 July/1 August 1665), GStA PK HA I. Geheimer Rat, Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 43–44. 128 On his stay in Holstein and the Inaugurationis panegyrica descriptio, see Carl Rodenberg and Volquart Pauls, Die Anfänge der Christian-Albrechts Universität Kiel (Neumünster, 1955), 50–52. It is not clear on what source the authors based their claim that Torquatus had been living in Flensburg during 1660 and 1665. See also: Könighaus, Die Inauguration. On the arrival of Torquatus to Holstein, see his letter to Wrangel (Glücksburg, 6[/16] November 1665), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8361. Years of Turmoil 139 machinations with Torquatus had long been known.129 Jakab Harsányi, in his turn, sent Chancellor De la Gardie a detailed account of why he left the service of the voievod in December 1666. Most of his complaints – which already appear in another letter to Frederick William of Brandenburg dating from October 1666 – were directed against Milescu, whom he presented as a “deceit- ful and falsehearted” person and whom he reproached for his not altogether immaculate past as well as for his present behaviour. The biography of Nicolae Spătarul Milescu had already been rich in sur- prises, although the great event of his life, which drew the attention of later historians, his journey to China in the service of the tsar, was still to come.130 He was born around 1636, from a partly Greek family, and educated not only in Iaşi but also at the Patriarchate’s school in Constantinople. He started his career as a scribe of lower rank (gramatic) during the rule of Gheorghe Ştefan, and was given the office of spătar (princely armiger) by his successor, Gheorghe Ghica – a title he used as a name during the whole of his later life. For the next five years the life of Milescu was connected to the Ghica dynasty. He followed voievod Gheorghe, who was compensated for the loss of the throne of Moldavia with the other Voievodate by the Porte, to Wallachia and also remained a dig- nitary under his son and successor, Grigore Ghica. He even followed his lord into emigration in 1664, when the voievod fled to the Habsburgs after the battle of Szentgotthárd, and late in February 1665 Grigore Ghica was about to send him to Vienna as an envoy.131 It is not clear why he left the voievod of Wallachia and joined the retinue of Gheorghe Ştefan instead. Nevertheless, this must have taken place during the spring of 1665. By then he not only had a past as a politician, but also as an intellectual: besides some religious treatises and his-

129 Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 24 April[/4 May] 1666), RA Skokloster samlingen E 8184. Instead of “Torquatus,” the source mentions “Torquator,” obviously as a lapse of the pen. 130 An early but still useful biography of Milescu is Petre P. Panaitescu, “Nicolas Spathar Milescu (1636–1708),” Mélanges de l’École Roumaine en France 1 (1925): 33–180. The results of the new research were summarized for the Romanian edition of Panaitescu’s biography by Ştefan Gorovei, “Studiu introductiv” [Introductory study], in P.P. Panaitescu, Nico- lae Milescu Spătarul (1636–1708) (Iaşi, 1987), 3–50. See also Zamfira Mihail, “Nicolae Milescu, le Spathaire – un ‘encyclopédiste’ roumain du XVIIe siècle,” Revue des Études Sud- Est Européennes 18 (1980): 265–285. On his later career and journey to China, see Beate Hill-Paulus, Nikolaj Gavrilovič Spatharij (1636–1708) und seine Gesandschaft nach China (Hamburg, 1978). 131 Andrei Veress, “Pribegia lui Grigoraşcu vodă prin Ungaria şi aiurea (1664–1672)” [The exile of Voievod Grigoraşcu in Hungary and other places, 1664–1672], Academia Română Memoriile Secţiunii Istorice Seria III. 2 (1924): 316–318 (in the following: ARMSI II). 140 Chapter 3 torical pieces, the first Romanian translation of the Old Testament can also be connected with his name.132 We could hardly be wrong in seeing the rivalry between two intellectuals as a source of the tensions between Harsányi and Milescu. Not only were their erudition, background, and situation similar, but neither had an easy character. It is difficult to reconstruct their debate since no personal account of it by Milescu is known. Yet, taking into consideration Harsányi’s reactions, it is very likely that the complaints of Gheorghe Ştefan about his Hungarian secretarius reflect the views of Milescu. According to these, Harsányi mobilized his contacts in Stockholm not primarily in the interests of the voievod but in his own. Besides, he even offered his services to the Crown of Sweden. Harsányi’s accusations were less concrete, but all the more passionate. He blamed the Moldavian diplomat for being so fraudulent and impudent that he was not ashamed to claim for himself the title of baron in front of the emperor, although it was not even in use in Moldavia.133 He even added that Milescu bore on his face the irreversible marks of his mendacity and lèse-majesté committed in Moldavia, because he had a “cut nose”. He had had to suffer this penalty, the cutting of the tip of the nose usually administered on pretenders to the throne, at some time in 1661 under unknown circumstances.134 In his letter to the elector Harsányi even added that Milescu was still living on Turkish money, thus betraying Christiandom to its most dangerous enemies. A new front was opened by Harsányi when he depicted his opponent as an abuser of the Lutheran faith and a follower of Beelzebub. In any case, the religious difference must have played an important role in their conflict. Gheorghe Ştefan was himself interested in questions of faith – he edited a book of prayers in exile – and Milescu’s knowledge of theology is shown not only by the Bible translation but also by a short Latin summary of the Orthodox interpretation of transubstantiation which he compiled in 1667 at the request of the French

132 On the translations of Milescu in detail, see Virgil Cândea, “Nicolae Milescu şi începturile traducerilor umaniste în limba română” [Nicolae Milescu and the beginnings of Human- ist translations in Romanian], in Raţiunea dominantă: Contribuţii la istoria umanismului românesc (Cluj-Napoca, 1979), 79–223. 133 The letters of credence issued by Gheorghe Ştefan, but earlier even the Habsburg diplomats used the title of “baron” in connection with Milescu; see the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 17[/27] October 1666), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. For the mutual accusations, see the letters to the Swedish Chancellor cited in footnotes 129 and 55. 134 On the mutilation of Milescu’s nose, see Eric Dietmar Tappe, “An English Contribution to the Biography of Nicolae Milescu,” Revue des Études Roumaines 1 (1953): 152–160; and Gorovei, “Studiu introductiv,” 32–37. Years of Turmoil 141 ambassador in Stockholm, the Marquis de Pomponne. The marquis, who had already been impressed by Milescu’s erudition, invited him to a mass celebrated at his lodgings and was pleased to see that “apart from the Credo, where he left out the Filioque, he was no less Catholic than I.” It was thus not surprising that the Enchiridion written by Milescu, which supported the view also professed by the Catholics that the body of Christ is present in the eucharist “vere, realiter et substantialiter”, should have been published enthusiastically by Antoine Arnauld and Pierre Nicole in their bulky work on the topic, designed to be the monumental refutation of the Protestant interpretation.135 The accusations of Harsányi, who received an education in Calvinist theology, cannot have been motivated by his general aversion to Orthodoxy – as we saw earlier in the case of Mihnea, whom he called “the man of God.” Nevertheless, in contrast with the Wallachian voievod, Milescu had more sympathies for Catholics than for Protestants, and the ensuing debates must have contributed to the formulation of Harsányi’s accusations. In any case the accusations against Harsányi were probably not ungrounded either. We have no direct information about whether he offered his services to the Crown of Sweden during his stay in Stockholm in the autumn of 1665, but, in view of the circumstances, it would not be surprising, especially since, after leaving the service of the voievod in May 1666, Harsányi volunteered for an office under De la Gardie and repeated his offer in December.136 During his stay in Stockholm in 1663–1664, as we saw, he not only arranged for the settlement of the voievod in Stettin, but he also built up his own network in the Swedish court, and received a yearly pension from the Crown of Sweden – the same amount he had received earlier from the prince of Transylvania as a Turkish scribe. Besides, Harsányi was the only member of the voievod’s retinue who wrote to the chancellor in his own name. There was no apparent reason for sharing his commentaries about the peace of Vasvár and its consequences with Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie other than the likelihood to reinforce the earlier impression that De la Gardie might have had about him as an expert on

135 Enchiridion sive Stella Orientalis Occidentali splendens, in Recueil contenant divers actes qui font voir la créance des Eglises Orientales, published as an annex to the third volume of Antoine Arnauld and Pierre Nicole, La perpetuité de la foy du l’Eglise Catholique touchant l’Eucharistie (Paris, 1669), 50–54. The quote from Pomponne: ibid., vol. 2, 301. An edition of the prayer collection of Gheorghe Ştefan: Nicolae Drăganu, “Codicele pribeagului Gheorghe Ştefan, Voievodul Moldovei” [Codices of the exiled Gheorghe Ştefan, voievod of Moldavia], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie Naţională Cluj 3 (1924–25): 183–254. 136 See his letters cited in footnotes 107 and 55. 142 Chapter 3

South-Eastern European political questions.137 The separate allowance Har sányi received did not automatically put in doubt his loyalty towards the voievod: Constantin Nacu petitioned for a similar pension in Stockholm in 1665.138 Harsányi, who had seen the financial situation of the voievod deterio- rating, may indeed have sought service in Sweden – something which could easily be used against him by Milescu in the eyes of Gheorghe Ştefan. His hopes could be all the higher since the northern kingdom welcomed many foreigners into its service. Two thirds of its seventeenth-century diplomats sent abroad were born outside the jurisdiction of the Swedish Crown.139 But we have no reason to think that Harsányi would have acted against the voievod, since this would hardly have been in his interests – the Swedish office was only a vague possibility, while his cooperation with Gheorghe Ştefan had been securing his salary for years. The letters dating from October and December 1660, however, included not only accusations against Milescu, but they also argued against his former lord, Gheorghe Ştefan. In the second one Harsányi systematically deconstructed the rhetoric that the voievod used in his correspondence with the Swedish court, claiming that Gheorghe Ştefan had never actually been an ally of Charles X Gustav, and had, moreover, betrayed Swedish interests in 1657 when he recalled his troops from Poland. He also blamed the voievod for asking the tsar for the repayment of a fictitious debt, and having gone so far as to request the help of the Crown of Sweden in this endeavour. He even found the morals of the voievod faulty, pointing out that Gheorghe Ştefan had abandoned the woman with whom he had been legally married and was living together with a former lady-in-waiting of hers. In addition to all this, he repeated what he had already told the chancellor earlier, that although he had served the voievod faithfully through the years, his master refused to reimburse the costs of his journey to Stockholm. Some of the accusations certainly had a core of truth in them. There really was no formal alliance between Gheorghe Ştefan and Charles X Gustav. The voievod’s troops were only present in the Polish campaign as an ally of the

137 Harsányi to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 4[/14] October 1664), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. On informative letters as a form of gift-giving, for which counter-gifts are expected and which thus generate social capital, see Heiko Droste, “Unternehmer in Sachen Kultur: Die Diplomaten Schwedens im 17. Jahrhundert,” in Das eine Europa und die Vielfalt der Kulturen: Kulturtransfer in Europa 1500–1850, ed. Thomas Fuchs and Sven Trakulhun (Berlin, 2003), 215–217; and Droste, Im Dienst der Krone: Schwedische Diplo- maten im 17. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 2006), 188–192. 138 See his petition, cited in footnote 120. 139 Droste, Im Dienst der Krone, 86–90. Years of Turmoil 143 prince of Transylvania. Since the late summer of 1657 Gheorghe Ştefan really had done his utmost to distance himself from Rákóczi and to be allowed to keep his throne. The letter he sent to the Porte proving his change of face is mentioned not only in Harsányi’s account, but also in the contemporary diary of Claes Rålamb.140 The voievod did indeed abandon his wife when he left Hungary, and introduced everywhere one of her ladies-in-waiting, Ştefanida Mihailova, as his consort.141 Ratting on his former employer at the Swedish court, the court on which he depended, was in any case a rather unusual form of behaviour in such a time of conflict. No similar remark is known from Torquatus, who had also been let down, even if he had only stayed more briefly at the voievod’s court and had probably been less prominent there than Harsányi. The latter was, in his turn, clearly offended when the newly arrived Nicolae Milescu, who was also twenty years younger than he, ousted him from his post, even if his service at the voievod’s court had only started as a temporary commitment. More than a general sense of frustration was involved. It is clear that Harsányi wrote these letters in the second half of 1666 in a state of despair. Otherwise he would have been unlikely to have committed to paper such lines burning with indignation. It must have caused him serious distress that the Swedish chancellor had not replied to his letter for six months and that he did not receive any response to his plea for the extension of his pension either. He must have felt that Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie, who had supported him earlier, did not reply to him in order to avoid the impression that he was taking his side against Gheorghe Ştefan. It was perhaps naïve to assume that, with his insinuations, he could persuade the Regency Government, disappointed by the exiled voievod, to stand up for him. His chances were also diminished by the fact that Bengt Skytte was deprived of his membership of the State Council in 1664 so that Harsányi could no longer count on his help.142 In order to

140 Rålamb, Diarium, 145–146. 141 The biography of Ştefanida Mihailova is summarized by A.I. Yatsimirskiy, “Domna Ste- fanida, nevesta Alekseya Mikhaylovicha” [Domna Ştefanida, the bride of Alexei Mikhailovich], Istoricheskiy Vestnik 15 (1904): 825–843. According to the account of the Moldavian chronicler Ion Neculce, Safta, the wife of Gheorghe Ştefan, did not want to live with him abroad, which is why their ways parted, and he later took a servant girl as con- cubine, see Ion Neculce, Letopiseţul Ţării Moldovei şi o samă de cuvinte [Chronicle of the land of Moldavia and a collection of stories], ed. Iorgu Iordan (Bucharest, 1959), 23. 142 Fritz Arnheim, “Freiherr Benedikt Skytte (1614–1683), der Urheber des Planes einer brandenburgischen ‘Universal-Universität der Völker, Wissenschaften und Künste,’” in Fest- schrift zu Gustav Schmollers 70. Geburtstag: Beiträge zur brandenburgischen und preußi- schen Geschichte (Leipzig, 1908), 81–83; William W. Brickman, “Swedish Supranationalist 144 Chapter 3 understand his state of mind better, we also have to remember that he stayed on as a guest at the castle of Stettin even after leaving Gheorghe Ştefan’s service. He probably remained in Pomerania because he expected a positive answer from the Crown of Sweden to his offers. This, however, also meant that he regularly met the voievod’s men, and these meetings can hardly have been amicable. One of Gheorghe Ştefan’s servants asked Wrangel in September not to allow Harsányi to remain in the castle of Stettin any longer since he was reprimanding and humiliating them without any apparent reason.143 So it must have been to everyone’s satisfaction when Jakab Harsányi Nagy thanked the Swedes for their support and announced that he had offered his services to the elector of Brandenburg, Frederick William, who had accepted them. He could thus set out on his journey towards his new home, Berlin, in the spring of 1667.144

in Education, Science and Culture: Bengt Skytte,” in Educational Roots and Routes in West- ern Europe (Cherry Hill, 1985), 60–61. 143 Anonymous attachment to the letter of Gheorghe Ştefan to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 28 August[/7 September] 1666), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8184. 144 See Harsányi to De la Gardie (Stettin, 26 February[/8 March] 1667), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. He sent another letter with the same text and date to Per Brahe, RA Skok- lostersamlingen E 8164. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 145

Chapter 4 The Court Councillor of the Great Elector

According to a later petition of his Jakab Harsányi Nagy was informed in January 1667 that Frederick William was ready to take him into his service. He was still in Stettin in early March, and arrived in Berlin sometime in mid-April. The charter of his appointment, however, was not ready until the end of May.1 We have no information as to the reason for this six week delay. It caused serious problems for Harsányi later in the year, and meant missing the date of payments that only took place four times a year at the electoral treasury. He was thus left without money until the end of summer.2 The elector spent a good deal of time away from Brandenburg during his rule, but in this very period he stayed in Berlin and the nearby castles – a fact which could hardly account for the delay. On the other hand there was another guest with Swedish connections at the court of Frederick William during the spring of 1667, and he might indeed have played a role in the procrastination of Harsányi’s employment. Bengt Skytte, Baron of Duderhoff, travelled more than most of his contemporaries. His father, Johan Skytte, the founder of the University of Dorpat, came from a family of burghers and was elevated to the nobility, and later to the aristocracy. Since Johan Skytte was the tutor of King Gustav II Adolph, it came as no surprise that the young Bengt took part in the peregrinatio academica, which was regarded as almost compulsory for contemporary members of the higher nobility, and visited universities abroad after his studies in Uppsala. Nor was there anything extraordinary about his accepting diplomatic missions – among other places to Moscow. But Bengt Skytte never tended to spend longer periods of time at home even after this initial phase of his career. Apart from shorter stays, when he played an important part in Swedish politics as the confidant of the ruler in the late 1640s and during the rule of Charles X Gustav (1654–1660), he was out of the country for most of his life. As we have

1 Diploma of Frederick William about the appointment of Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Cölln an der Spree, 20[/30] May 1667), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 2. fol. 10. For dating the offer of the Great Elector and Harsányi’s arrival in Berlin, see his petition to Frederick William (Berlin, 9[/19] July 1667), ibid., Fasz. 3. fol. 2r. 2 See Harsányi’s petition cited in the previous footnote, fol. 2, and the order given by Friedrich von Jena to Michael Matthias about the payment of Harsányi’s money (Cölln an der Spree, 9[/19] July 1667), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 1.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_006 146 Chapter 4 already seen, he visited Transylvania and Constantinople during the 1650s, and, after he had lost his influence in Sweden in the 1660s, he received permission, after many petitions, to leave for the territory of the Holy Roman Empire, ostensibly to visit baths and receive treatment for his rheumatic pains. His stay in Berlin in 1667, however, shows that he had more ambitious aims.3 It was the autumn of 1666 when Skytte first visited the councillors of Brandenburg with his plan. It was discussed before a wider public at the court in the spring of the following year. His ambitious idea was the founding of a “university for [the study of] all the peoples and prominent sciences of the world” (Universitas Universitatum Hominum et scientiarum praecipuarum Mundi). According to Skytte’s proposal the elector of Brandenburg would be given an opportunity to establish an extraterritorial “Republic of Savants,” where scholars from every corner of the earth might gather, pursue their research freely, exchange ideas, and accumulate the results of their work. For this purpose Skytte chose the town of Tangermünde on the shores of the Elbe, in the lands of Frederick William.4 At the same time, he knew how difficult it would be to get support for his endeavour, especially since he had already presented similar plans in London and Paris.5 It was not unprecedented for a seventeenth-century German prince to found a college of higher education, but the institution envisaged by Skytte would not have been an ordinary university. After having secured the financial backing of the Universitas, its exemption from taxes and customs, and its diplomatic neutrality, Frederick William was supposed to step back and have no influence whatsoever on the further development of the establishment. Skytte thus tried to give a detailed representation of all the prestige to be expected, and his long tirade about how the chronicles of posterity would commemorate the founder of this modern version of Solomon’s Temple seemed to have an impact on Frederick William. The elector first issued a general statement of intention, and in April 1667 he signed the foundation charter of the institution already bearing the name

3 His biography was written by Arnheim, “Freiherr Benedikt Skytte.” 4 The most detailed presentation of these plans from the pen of Skytte is a memorial from early 1667: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung K lit. m II. Fasz. 1. fol. 5. His first letter mentioning the plan was written to the councillor and doctor of the elector, Nicolaus von Bonnet, under the date Zwingenberg, 18/28 September 1666, ibid., fol. 1b–2. 5 On his earlier plans, see Arhheim, “Freiherr Benedikt Skytte,” 84–85; Donald R. Dickson, The Tessera of Antilia: Utopian Brotherhoods and Secret Societies in the Early Seventeenth Century (Leiden, 1998), 218–223. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 147

“Universitas Brandenburgica Gentium, Scientiarum et Artium,” which was printed shortly afterwards.6 Skytte could leave Berlin with the foundation charter at the end of April in order to start recruiting the prospective inhabitants of the Universitas. The ambassador of the Swedish Crown in Brandenburg, Heinrich Wolfradt, kept a suspicious eye on Bengt Skytte’s activities at the electoral court, whose ruler had been developing an exceedingly hostile attitude towards Sweden. He already noted that the plan seemed doomed to failure. On the one hand Wolfradt reported that Frederick William did not seem to be entirely sure whether the foundation had been a good idea. The leadership of the establishment would be reserved for Skytte and the prestige of being a patron would consequently be shared between Brandenburg and Sweden. On the other hand, the ambassador doubted whether any respected scholar would be ready to join the new institution. The imperial ambassador in Berlin, Count Johann von Goess, whom Skytte visited in person, expressed similar concerns. It seems that the ambassadors’ view of the developments was realistic: we have no more information about the re-emergence of the idea of the Universitas planned by Bengt Skytte after April 1667.7

6 See the statement of Frederick William and the foundation charter (in one printed and two manuscript copies) GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung K lit. m II. Fasz. 1. fol. 25–28., resp. fol. 54–68. Skytte’s memorial from the second half of March 1667 is ibid., fol. 43. The attempt to found a university in Tangermünde is repeatedly discussed in the literature: Johann Carl Conrad Oelrichs, Commentationes historico-literae… (Berlin, 1751), 12– 40; Arnheim, “Freiherr Benedict Skytte,” 85–99; Jan Lazardzig, “Universality and Territoriality: On the Architectonic of Academic Social Life Exemplified by the Brandenburg Universität der Völker, Wissenschaften und Künste (1666/67),” in Scenes of Knowledge in the 17th Century, ed. Helmar Schramm, Ludger Schwarte, and Jan Lazardzig (Berlin, 2005), 176–198; Stephanie Irrgang, “Gründungsvisionen in der Frühen Neuzeit: Das gescheiterte Bemühen um eine Universitätsgründung in Tangermünde,” Jahrbuch für Universitätsgeschichte 9 (2006): 113–132. 7 Heinrich Wolfradt to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Berlin, 27 March/[6 April] 1667), and to Charles XI (Berlin, 17[/27] April 1667), RA Diplomatica Borussica vol. 16; Johann von Goess’ reports to Leopold I (Berlin, 25 March 1667 and 13 May 1667), HHStA Reichshofkanzlei Diplomatische Akten Berlin (Preussen) Fasz. 1b. Konv. 1667 Jan–Juni fol. 84v and 121r. A detailed summary of Wolfradt’s letters is offered by Brickman, “Swedish Supranationalist,” 65–68. According to Johann Carl Conrad Oelrichs, whose aim was to glorify Frederick William, the failure of the plan was entirely due to Skytte; see Oelrichs, Commentationes, 26–27. The modern biographer of the elector, Ernst Opgenoorth, notes that, judging from the surviving sources, Frederick William had doubts right from the start; Opgenoorth, Friedrich Wilhelm, vol. 2, 60–61. 148 Chapter 4

The question that concerns us now is obviously whether there was any connection between the invitation of Harsányi and Bengt Skytte’s plans for the Universitas. As we have seen, Skytte may have known Harsányi from Constan tinople, and he promoted his interests in the State Council of Stockholm. As the personal correspondence of neither Skytte nor Harsányi has survived, we cannot know whether they were in touch between 1664 and 1667. They shared some of their personal contacts in Berlin: Harsányi’s greatest supporter at the Brandenburg court according to his own reports was the same Otto von Schwerin whose negotiations with Skytte ultimately made it possible to issue the foundation charter for his project. This, however, is not necessarily of any great relevance since Schwerin, the chairman of the Privy Council (Oberprä sident des Geheimen Rates) and the most important politician of the Electorate, must have kept his finger on the pulse of most of the developments in Brandenburg. Besides, Harsányi had already received the invitation to Bran denburg in January 1667, while the first documented meeting between Schwerin and Skytte only took place in March – although this does not exclude the possibility of their having been in touch earlier.8 Nor can we be sure about whether Jakab Harsányi Nagy would have corresponded to Skytte’s idea of the ideal members of the Universitas. Although he had visited institutions of higher education, in his later career he never followed a standard academic itinerary. His knowledge was more of a practical than of a philological nature, and it was the latter that played a far more important role in the contemporary world of learning – I shall return to this question in greater detail in Chapter Five. His Ottoman Turkish language skills, on the other hand, might have seemed useful to Bengt Skytte, who tried to enter the hall of academic fame with an essay on the philosophy of language. We also know that Skytte retained his interest in the Ottoman Empire after his return from Constantinople: some of his autograph excerpts made from Middle Eastern travelogues have survived.9 The founding charter of the Universitas

8 Harsányi refers to Schwerin as the man who invited him in his report cited in footnote 1, fol. 2r. On the negotiations between Skytte and Schwerin, see the petition of the former cited in footnote 6, fol. 43r. On the career of the Brandenburg councillor in detail, see Ferdinand Hirsch, “Otto v. Schwerin,” Historische Zeitschrift 71 (1893): 193–259; and Peter Bahl, Der Hof des Großen Kurfürsten: Studien zur höheren Amtsträgerschaft Brandenburg- Preußens (Cologne, 2001), 584–585. Unfortunately, I have not found any information about Harsányi in Otto von Schwerin’s surviving correspondence in the rather fragmentary family archives: Archiwum Państwowe w Olsztynie 381. Zbiór rodziny Schwerinów nr. 160., 161., 180., 242., 243. 9 Uppsala Universitetsbibliotek (in the following UUB) Ihre 183. On Skytte’s work on language theory, which was preserved in a manuscript fragment under the title Sol The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 149 stated too that the institution would be a “refugium et asylum” for exiles. In accordance with the religious tolerance practised by Frederick William this referred primarily to those exiled for confessional reasons, but, taken in a wider sense, it could also be applied to Harsányi.10 Apart from these considerations there is also a negative argument for assuming a connection between Skytte’s project and the invitation of Harsányi to Brandenburg: it would be hard to think of any other reason why the elector would have invited the Hungarian emigrant to his court. Harsányi must have met Frederick William twice before; first, when Gheorghe Ştefan first got in touch with the elector; and then, it would seem, on the way back from Stock holm in Gheorghe Ştefan’s retinue. From Harsányi’s letter to the elector in October 1666 it is clear, however, that he was not well received in Brandenburg. He explains that he had tried to thank Frederick William personally for the hospitality shown to him, but was never admitted to an audience – a fiasco that he attributed to the machinations of Nicolae Milescu.11 The elector was one of the greatest supporters of Gheorghe Ştefan in his exile. By taking Harsányi into his service, he committed the very outrage which the Crown of Sweden, despite its good relations with Harsányi in Stockholm, was eager to avoid, as we have seen in the previous chapter. In view of all this, it seems likely that the plans of Bengt Skytte to establish the Universitas Gentium, Scientiarum et Artium must have played an important role in Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s invitation to Berlin. In this case his appointment as a court councillor must have taken place when it became clear that the actual functioning of the institution would be postponed indefinitely. It might have meant a loss of prestige for the elector simply to send away a man who had already been at his court for six weeks. On the other hand it is also possible that Frederick William considered it a good investment to employ the experienced Harsányi at a modest salary

praecipuarum linguarum, see Anders Grape, “Riksråd – språkforskare: Med anledning av ett par nyfunna brottstycken av Bengt Skyttes etymologiska verk” [State councillor – Researcher of languages: On the occasion of discovering some fragments of the etymological work of Bengt Skytte], in Uppsala Universitets Biblioteks minnesskrift 1620–1921 (Uppsala, 1921), 329–372. 10 See the foundation charter cited in footnote 6, fol. 54v. It is characteristic of the confessional neutrality of the proposal that it would have been open to the participation of Jewish, Arab, and “other infidel” scholars (fol. 55v). An excellent summary of the debate on religious tolerance in Frederick William’s politics is provided by Derek McKay, The Great Elector (Harlow, 2001), 146–155. 11 See Harsányi to Frederick William (Stettin, 22 September[/2 October] 1666) SLUB Msc. Dresd. C 110a nr. 35. 150 Chapter 4 since a situation might arise in which he would need advice on South-Eastern European issues.

In the Service of the Elector

The office of court councillor (Hofrat) was probably the least formal office at the electoral court of Brandenburg. Frederick William usually conferred it as a title without any obligations or salary, and appointment charters normally only refer to the honour for the person in question, who would be bound to live in such a way as never to cause the elector any shame. Out of the seven charters known during the reign of Frederick William only two, issued for the keepers of the electoral archives, assign any specific tasks to the holder of the office, and it is also these two which promise a payment of 300 talers per year. Characteristically enough, this honorary title was given to Otto von Guericke, a former mayor of Magdeburg and a well-known physicist, when he moved to Hamburg. Frederick William also offered him a prospective yearly allowance if he was willing to return to the territories under his rule.12 It can come as no surprise, then, that the electoral charter issued for Jakab Harsányi Nagy provides few details about his future duties. His sole obligation was to undertake diplomatic missions to Poland, Muscovy, Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire if it pleased Frederick William. His yearly salary – like that of the archivists – was fixed at 300 talers. This was then completed by an allowance covering daily provisions and known as “Kostgeld”.13 It seems that Harsányi received ad hoc tasks from his ruler. In a petition submitted at the end of 1672 he complained both about the irregular payment of his salary and the fact that the elector had not given him any duties to fulfill. He thus felt that his presence at the court of Frederick William was superfluous.14 Although he may have been exaggerating slightly we have little information from the period before 1670 about the kind of services that were

12 See the appointment charter for Otto von Guericke from 1681: GStA PK, I. HA Geheimer Rat, Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung, J 16 Fasz. 2. fol. 14–15; as well as the two documents issued for the archivists, Christoff von Franck (1658) and Georg Adam von Schlieben (1660): ibid., fol. 1–3, resp. 4–6. The meagre relevance of the office is clearly shown by the fact that it is not mentioned in the bulky monograph about the seventeenth-century court of Brandenburg, cf. Bahl, Der Hof. 13 See the appointment charter cited in footnote 1. 14 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William (Berlin, 19[/29] November 1672), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 21r. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 151 expected of him. Many more sources attest that he was trying to sort out some earlier private issues that had long been pending. Gheorghe Ştefan died in Stettin on 18 January 1668, and Ştefanida Mihailova found herself in a difficult position since several people announced their claim on the voievod’s estate.15 Grigore Ghica, an exiled voievod of Wallachia staying at the Viennese court, thought that he must be the rightful heir because his wife was related to Gheorghe Ştefan. He ruled out the claims of Ştefanida by pointing out that she could not have been the voievod’s legal wife since his actual wife was still alive in Moldavia. He must have notified Ştefanida as well, but it is clear that he wrote to Jakab Harsányi Nagy, whom he asked to travel to Stettin, to seal up the estate and prepare for it to be handed over.16 We do not know whether Harsányi had any intention of proceeding in the interests of Grigore Ghica, but the letter nevertheless came in handy when applying for a short leave of absence from the elector in order to travel to Stettin and make arrangements concerning the heritage of Gheorghe Ştefan. Nor did he conceal the fact that he also had personal interests at stake: it was his last chance to recover any of the voievod’s outstanding debts towards him.17 The court of Brandenburg, which consistently stood by Ştefanida Mihailova, even in the question of the jewels pawned with Jakob Fränkl, grudgingly gave him the pass he requested and a letter of recommendation to Carl Gustaf Wrangel.18 It is not clear whether anything could be expected from Gheorghe Ştefan’s estate. The exiled voievod had written regularly to all the neighbouring princes in the last two years of his life with eloquent descriptions of his miserable living conditions. The fact that Jakab Harsányi Nagy, who had first-hand knowledge about the voievod’s finances until 1666, saw a chance to collect the debts suggests a somewhat different conclusion. When he asked Ştefanida about two

15 On the date of Gheorghe Ştefan’s death, see Zahariuc, Ţara Moldovei, 535. 16 Grigore Ghica to Jakab Harsányi Nagy (Vienna, 12 April 1667), TMIR III, 101–104; republished in AF I, 286–288. 17 Memorandum of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William ([end of April 1668]), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 118; partly published in AF I, 285–286. 18 On asking for the pass and letter of recommendation, see the memorandum cited in the previous footnote, and the letter of Harsányi to Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz (Berlin, 13[/23] April 1668), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 123. According to the note Somnitz wrote on the petition, he only let him have a pass. Harsányi, consequently, had to ask once more for the recommendation (Berlin, 17[/27] April 1668), AF I, 290. These credentials, written in the name of Frederick William, were only given to him on 3 May: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 134. In the meantime Fred- erick William assigned his ambassador in Vienna, Andreas Neumann, to help in the case of Ştefanida (Potsdam, 20[/30] April 1668), ibid., fol. 131r. 152 Chapter 4 diamonds in May 1668, the widow claimed that one had remained in Hamburg and the other in Moscow, and that neither of them was available any more.19 It is thus clear that Harsányi contacted Ştefanida, but it remains doubtful whether he travelled to Stettin personally. It is also possible that he gave up his plans because Milescu appeared in Brandenburg at the end of April 1668 and Frederick William once more confirmed his willingness to support the widow.20 We do not know what became of the estate: although the widow informed the electors of Brandenburg and Saxony shortly after Gheorghe Ştefan’s death that she wanted to take his body back to Moldavia, this cannot have happened until August. We have information about Ştefanida staying in a monastery in Kiev in 1669, but what happened to her later is unknown.21 Harsányi was thus busily trying to collect the debts of the deceased ex- voievod towards him in the spring of 1668. But we do not know what he did for the rest of that year, and we only have a vague reference according to which he was in Prussia, the second most important country under the rule of Frederick William, in the year following.22 In 1670, however, he had the chance to prove his skills to his employer. The elector received a visit from a Tatar envoy sent by the second most important man of the Crimean Khanate, the Kalga Sultan Kerim Giray. The embassy of Shah Gazi Ağa – an interesting sign of the nascent interest of the Tatars in diplomatic missions to the West in the second half of the seventeenth century – provided an excellent occasion for Harsányi to make himself useful. He could exhibit his language skills by translating the diplomatic correspondence and leading the negotiations with the Tatar envoy. Together with a lesser Brandenburg official, he had to head the detailed parley with Shah Gazi Ağa after the ceremonial audience, and, in spite of the fact that the mission was clearly a complementary one, to discover the Tatars’ position on specific questions such as that of the captives from the territories of

19 Ştefanida Mihailova to Frederick William (Stettin, 17[/27] May 1668), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 132. 20 The credentials for Milescu were signed by Ştefanida on 16[/26] April; the letter of Freder- ick William acknowledging the visit is dated Potsdam, 20[/30] April 1668: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 178. Fasz. 3. fol. 126, resp. 131. 21 It is clear from the letter of Ştefanida Mihailova to Charles XI (Stettin, 11[/21] August 1668) that the body was not transferred to Moldavia until then (DMMRAS, 209). From Russian territory Ştefanida tried once more to return to the lands of Charles XI; see her letter in Russian (with Swedish translation): RA Diplomatica Turcica bihang Moldavo-Valachica vol. 1. On her stay in Kiev, see Yatsimirskiy, “Domna Stefanida,” 826. 22 The reference is from an undated memorial written by Jakab Harsányi Nagy, presumably in October 1674: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 46r. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 153

Brandenburg and Prussia taken into Crimea ten years earlier during the First Northern War.23 Apart from leading the actual negotiations, it must also have been Harsányi who designed the ceremony for welcoming the envoy. It imitated the imperial audiences in Constantinople, but obviously within the limits provided by local circumstances. In memory of the three courtyards of the Seraglio, both the outer and inner courtyard of the palace at Cölln an der Spree (today Berlin) were used, the electoral guard standing fully armed. Ascending the stairs to the electoral chambers, Shah Gazi Ağa also had to pass between two lines of guards, just as an envoy going to the audience of the sultan would have done, where the lines were made up of various pashas. Frederick William, again like the head of the Ottoman Empire, awaited the envoy at the top of a pulpit, three steps high, with his head covered. At the foot of the pulpit there stood the equivalent of the grand vizier in Brandenburg, Otto von Schwerin. Some elements of the Ottoman protocol were dropped. In contrast to the sultan, for example, Frederick William did speak to the envoy who approached him after having bowed three times and kissed his hand. But it was obvious that the audience of Shah Gazi Ağa was designed in the “Oriental way,” and must have been choreographed by Harsányi.24 One element of the audience, however, showed the limits of the Hungarian councillor’s services: the words of the envoy were translated by Harsányi into Latin, which was then further translated into German for the elector by Otto von Schwerin. It would be absurd to

23 See the documentation of the negotiations held on 30 June[/10 July] 1670: GStA PH I. HA Rep. 11. 271a. Tartarien Fasz. 3. Apart from Harsányi, the castellan of Berlin, Otto Wilhelm von Barlips, was present at the negotiations. Harsányi’s role at the Tatar envoy’s audience was earlier noted by Klaus Schwarz, “Vom Krieg zum Frieden: Berlin, das Kurfürstentum Brandenburg, das Reich und die Türken,” in Europa und der Orient 800–1900, ed. Gereon Sievernich and Hendrik Budde (Berlin, 1989), 272. 24 There is a very detailed German account of the audience: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 271a. Tartarien Fasz. 3. The last occasion on which a Tatar envoy had been received in Berlin was in 1632, then in the absence of the elector. The report on that audience does not mention any peculiarities concerning the etiquette. See: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 271a. Tartarien Fasz. 1. On the ceremonial order followed at the sultan’s court, see Konrad Dilger, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des osmanischen Hofzeremoniells im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (München, 1967); Gülru Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapı Palace in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (New York, 1991); Maria Pia Pedani, “The Sultan and the Venetian Bailo: Ceremonial Diplomatic Protocol in Istanbul,” in Diplomatisches Zeremoniell in Europa und im Mittleren Osten in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Ralph Knauz, Giorgio Rota, and Jan Paul Niederkorn (Vienna, 2009), 287–299; and Ernst D. Petritsch, “Zeremoniell bei Empfängen habsburgischer Gesandtschaften in Konstanti- nopel,” in Diplomatisches Zeremoniell, 301–322. 154 Chapter 4 suppose that Harsányi was unable to make himself understood in German after having spent six years in the language area. This is also confirmed by a German sentence quoted in the preface of the Colloquia.25 Nevertheless, it is quite possible that he had had no opportunity to learn the complimentary forms and chancellery vocabulary used on diplomatic occasions. It can hardly have been a coincidence that he continued to write his petitions in Latin, even if this must have been a drawback in Brandenburg where the language of administration was already almost entirely German. The reception of another Tatar envoy in March 1671, sent by other members of the khan’s family, Nureddin Sultan Dövlet Giray and Sultan Takti Giray, followed the same lines as the 1670 embassy. The ceremony was staged in the same manner and it was again Harsányi and Otto von Schwerin who provided translations. This time we even know that the Hungarian councillor stayed with the envoy during the entire week he spent in Brandenburg.26 This was the last occasion – at least according to our present state of knowledge – on which Harsányi played an active part in the welcoming of envoys to Brandenburg, even if this did not mean that it was his last chance to prove himself useful to the court. Although, according to his appointment charter, he should have been advising Frederick William on questions concerning Poland, there is no evidence to show that he was ever involved in discussions about the great eastern neighbour of the Electorate. In 1672, however, the time had come for him to show his expertise in questions related to the Ottoman Empire, since Branden burg found itself involved in the Ottoman-Polish war which started in that year. The Sublime Porte was drawn into the ongoing conflict between the Rzecz pospolita and the Cossacks of Ukraine by Hetman Petro Dorošenko, and the sultan declared war on the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth at the end of 1671. Frederick William, in his quality as prince of Prussia, had previously been a vassal of the king of Poland, a relationship which ended, however, in 1657 with the treaties of Wehlau and Bromberg. Nevertheless, he was still bound to send auxiliary troops and King Michael Wiśniowiecki did his utmost to make sure that the elector found no excuse. In 1672 1500 Brandenburgian soldiers appeared on the Polish battlefields.27 The Ottoman troops were exceedingly successful: they conquered the key fortress of Kamieniec Podolski and, after

25 Colloquia, praefatio, 3r. 26 See the documentation of the embassy: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 271a. Fasz. 4. 27 [Lehmann], “Brandenburgisch-polnische Türkenzüge von 1671–1688,” in Kriegsgeschicht liche Einzelschriften, no. 5 (Berlin, 1884), 1–29; Opgenoorth, Friedrich Wilhelm, vol. 2, 118– 119. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 155 having overrun Podolia, laid siege to Lemberg. In the meantime, the political life of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth turned into chaos: the king and the nobility were immersed in heated debates at the diet, and the sejm failed to reach a final decision to assemble an army in its defense.28 It was not clear how far the grand vizier aimed to expand the territory of the Ottoman Empire; or, on the other hand, whether the Rzeczpospolita would be able to put up a resistance. In these conditions Jakab Harsányi Nagy was requested to elaborate his views on what the elector of Brandenburg should do about the Ottoman advance, and above all on whether he should send an envoy to the sultan.29 The long untitled memorial written on this occasion by Harsányi (hereafter Opinio, the title by which such documents are usually known) shows a much more unified image of his political thought than any of his earlier writings. Harsányi, at all events, thought it would be as well to send an envoy. It could do no harm, he argued, and might produce important results for Frederick William. He would thus get a timely opportunity to avert the dangers that might ensue from a crushing Ottoman victory, and if he appeared at the Sublime Porte before their final triumph he would have had a better chance of explaining that it was not a feeling of hostility but only some earlier treaties that compelled him to send troops to help the Rzeczpospolita. Harsányi also confirmed in his personal meeting with the privy councillors that the sultan would not automatically take the dispatch of auxiliary troops, an obligation for Brandenburg according to its treaties with Poland, as a sign of the Electorate’s open enmity.30 On the other hand, according to the Opinio, if the mission were harmonized with those of the Polish king and the emperor, an envoy from Brandenburg might be of assistance during the Polish peace negotiations, or could at least gather useful information about the intentions of the Porte. Harsányi tried to avoid the impression that his suggestion would prejudice the situation of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in Brandenburg’s

28 Gerda Hagenau, Jan Sobieski: Der Retter Wiens (Vienna, 1983), 300–315. 29 Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s memorial has survived in two versions, both of them undated. It is clear from the contents, however, that it must have been written between the occupation of Kamieniec Podolski (26 August 1672) and the Treaty of Buczacz (16 October 1672). Ver- sion “A” provides answers to five questions: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allge- meine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 7–11. Version “B” touches upon only the first one, but gives a much more elaborate answer: GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 276. Türkei fol. 290–293. 30 Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz and Johann Koeppen to Frederick William (Cölln an der Spree, 1[/11] October 1672), Reinhold Brode, ed., Urkunden und Actenstücke zur Geschichte des Kurfürsten Friedrich Wilhelm von Brandenburg, vol. 13, Politische Verhandlungen, vol. 9 (Berlin, 1890), 337 (in the following: UA XIII). 156 Chapter 4 interests. He devoted long and elaborate passages to stating that the most desirable solution would be to expel the Ottoman Empire from Europe. Yet the chances of that happening seemed to be very slim in view of the discord among the Christian powers. In his eyes the presence and advance of the Ottomans were fundamental assumptions of Realpolitik, and he calculated the possible results on the basis of various aspects of the situation. I shall return to the discussion of the image of the Turks in the Opinio in Chapter Six. Among the most important aspects he considered was the government of the Rzeczpospolita. Harsányi described the attitude of the Polish nobility in a constantly negative vein, as did many of his contemporaries from Hungary and Transylvania. According to him, it was only their “pertinacity towards the king that disguised itself in the garb of defense of the liberties of the homeland.”31 Harsányi saw the Ottoman advance as a good opportunity to break the tradition of noble anarchy, and if the Rzeczpospolita became a tributary state of the Ottoman Empire, the sultan would introduce the idea that the king was his representative, which would mean a steep increase in the respect due to him from his nobility. Harsányi even dared to suggest that if the king of Poland had good counsellors, he could personally initiate the establishment of such a system. Establishing a tributary status similar to that of Transylvania – where the rule of the monarch, elected by the estates, was legitimized by the consent of the sultan – would obviously have been unrealistic in the case of the vast Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Nevertheless Harsányi could count on pleasing his employer when he deplored the recalcitrant nobility and suggested the establishment of stronger monarchical power, for Frederick William had also been involved in long battles against the Prussian estates eager to preserve their privileges against the elector.32 Harsányi had ample opportunity to demonstrate his expertise to the Bran denburg councillors in several passages of the Opinio. He referred repeatedly to his own experiences in Constantinople – when, for example, he claimed that he had already heard about the Ottoman plans to conquer Nagyvárad and Kamieniec back at the Sublime Porte in the 1650s. In some instances he used parallels with Transylvanian history. He described the dangers of Poland’s

31 The entire deliberation about the government of the Rzeczpospolita is only found in version B, fol. 291v–292r. János Kemény described the sejm confuting the anti-Ottoman plans of King Władysław IV as “a bumptious and factious nation.” Nor did Márton Szepsi Csom- bor spare the Poles in his travelogue, describing them as “presumptuous, disdainful, fond of showing off in gaudy dress, short-tempered, and lascivious”; Kemény, “Önéletírása,” 290; Szepsi Csombor, Europica varietas, 104; also Kármán, “Identity,” 563. 32 Opgenoort, Friedrich Wilhelm, vol. 2, 113–123; Ludwig Hüttl, Friedrich Wilhelm von Bran- denburg der Große Kurfürst 1620–1688 (Munich, 1981), 260–295. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 157 becoming a tributary state, forced to allow Ottoman armies to march against the Holy Roman Empire through its territory, but also being able to start its own war against Brandenburg with auxiliary troops from the sultan, as Bocskai, Bethlen, and György Rákóczi I did against the Habsburgs. He obviously availed himself of familiar ground when he gave advice about the costs and the staff of a prospective embassy to Constantinople and on the presents to be sent to various dignitaries at the Sublime Porte. The passages about the importance of providing the ambassador with aides who are well acquainted with the Ottoman world, suggest that the then fifty-seven-year-old Harsányi would not have minded being sent himself to Constantinople by Frederick William, if not as an ambassador then as a member of his retinue.33 The question of whether Harsányi should at least be sent to Poland as an envoy to observe the negotiations with the Ottomans was indeed raised in the Privy Council of Brandenburg, and the elector also proclaimed that it would be necessary unless the peace between Poland and the Ottomans were reached soon.34 In October 1672, however, six weeks after the fall of Kamieniec, the representatives of the Rzeczpospolita did conclude a peace with the Ottoman Empire in Buczacz, in which they gave up the territories of Ukraine west of the Dnieper (the so-called Right-Bank Ukraine) and Podolia, and also promised the yearly payment of a tribute of 22,000 ducats. This peace was not to last – since the sejm of the following year was not ready to ratify these conditions, military activities resumed – but Harsányi’s mission never took place. Although Brandenburg troops still participated in the military activities from 1673 on, Harsányi was never again asked about his view of the developments in this period and later even complained about such neglect to Frederick William.35 So the Opinio had no political significance – the circumstances simply changed too rapidly – and Harsányi’s plans of taking upon himself another diplomatic mission also failed. Nevertheless 1672 was a successful period for him: the book that made him at least relatively known to posterity was published.

33 The passages about the technical matters of the embassy are only available in version A, fol. 10r–v; the parallels to Transylvania and the reminiscences from the 1650s are in both. 34 Somnitz and Koeppen to Frederick William, cited in footnote 30, 337–338; and Frederick William to his privy councillors (Bergen, 19[/29] October 1672), UA XIII, 347–348. 35 Petition of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William (Berlin, 10[/20] August 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 27r. From a letter of the elector to Otto von Schwerin (Potsdam, 23 August/2 September 1673) it is clear that the idea of dispatching a Brandenburg envoy to the Ottoman Empire was raised again in that year (GStA PK I. HA Rep. 21. no. 136 t vol. 11); unfortunately no further details of the preparations are known. On the political background, see Hagenau, Jan Sobieski, 316. On the Brandenburgian participation, see Schwarz, “Vom Krieg,” 272. 158 Chapter 4

The Colloquia Familiaria: Genre and Sources

The Colloquia Familiaria Turcico Latina, seu Status Turcicus Loquens (“Informal Turkish-Latin conversations, or the state of the Turks speaking”) is the only known book by Harsányi. The contents of the octavo volume of slightly more than 500 pages consist of conversations about the Ottoman Empire, its most important ranks, its officials inside and outside the Imperial Court, its government, its military strength on land and sea, its nature, and its various customs, religions, and sects – all this summarized in the long description on the title page.36 The book even has a cursory “plot”: the two main characters, the Traveller (Viator) and the Interpreter (Interpres), become acquainted with each other and find a Guide (Dux viae) who is willing to lead them to Constantinople. On their way they have a detailed conversation about important information concerning travel, and also about the alarming changes in the international situation. They also meet some soldiers (simply called Obvii [Passers-by] in the dialogue), who try to turn them back, claiming that a new war is about to start and that the roads of the Empire are swarming with the sultan’s troops. This also provides an excellent opportunity to dedicate long passages to the structural questions of the Ottoman army. The travellers, however, do not turn back. They spend the night at an inn, where they talk to the Innkeeper (Diversitor) about food, drink, and lodgings. The Traveller now unveils his real identity: he has a diplomatic mission to Constantinople, and from this point on, he is referred to as the Legate [Legatus]. He also interrogates the Interpreter about the diplomatic customs of the Ottoman Empire. When they arrive in Constantinople, the Interpreter shows him the most important sights and helps him with his shopping. After their conversation about the hierarchy of dignitaries of the Empire, the last topics of the book are the nature and morals of the Ottomans as well as their religion. The book has a twofold aim. On the one hand, it is a quarry of information about the state and everyday life of the Ottoman Empire; on the other, as the dialogues are printed in both Turkish and Latin, the transcribed Turkish text always followed by the Latin one, it is also an aid for the study of the Turkish

36 The full Latin title is the following: Colloquia Familiaria Turcico Latina Seu Status Turcicus Loquens, In quo omnes fere Turcici Imperij ordines, ministrorum cujuscunque conditionis, extra vel intra Aulam Regiam, inque Gubernaturis dignitas, qualitas; regimen, gentis robur terrestre & maritimum; item natura, mores ritus & consvetudines variæ; religio, sectæ, & religiosi, &c. &c. per Colloquia, velut in Speculo quodam, ad vivum repræsentantur, ac notis necessarijs illustrantur. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 159

FIGure 3.3 A page of the Colloquia with a discussion between the Interpreter (I) and the Traveller (V, later called Legate) language. Harsányi claimed in the foreword that he originally wanted to write two books. The Colloquia would have been a textbook for learning the language, while he would have left the detailed description of the Ottoman Empire for a later volume. But when he showed the first version to Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz, who was by that time the leading figure in Frederick William’s Privy Council, the politician encouraged him to share the information contained in the work with his readers. It is probably because of this rapid revision of the manuscript, which was already in the press, that some of the lexicon-like parts of the Colloquia concerning the dignitaries of the Empire, the various movements in Islam, and similar information appear only in Latin.37

37 Colloquia, præfatio, 1r–1v. 160 Chapter 4

The Colloquia Familiaria Turcico Latina was thus primarily constructed as a textbook for the Turkish language which, according to Harsányi’s foreword, he had been encouraged to write by his friends. The form he chose was a popular one in this period, although its application to non-European languages was a novelty. Colloquia entered into currency in late medieval language pedagogy for teaching Latin. In contrast with the scholastic method of learning the grammatical system by heart and then memorizing classical texts, these textbooks were a novelty in that they simulated real life situations and conversations. Even if they did not fully replace collections of excerpts, they soon became useful and popular means of education: the golden age of their production in Latin ran from the late fifteenth to the mid-sixteenth century. The best known example of the tradition, the Colloquia Familiaria of Erasmus of Rotterdam, is also a product of this age, which aimed at the moral education of students by castigating the anomalies of the world in its satirical dialogues, especially in its later editions.38 Furthermore, this tradition of colloquia played a role in the teaching not only of Latin, but also of the vernacular languages which became more and more important during the sixteenth century. In order to further the earlier “natural method” of language teaching a series of textbooks were published, many of which were bilingual and could be used for translating into both languages. These books also became more specialized at an early stage. Books designed for persons of distinguished origin, depicting the details of a nobleman’s daily life, could hardly have been replaced by those deliberately written for travellers. The tradition of these phrase books for travellers, popular even today, can also be traced back to the sixteenth century.39

38 This book, known today primarily as a moralistic treatise, was frequently used in the early modern period in its original function of teaching the language; see Aloys Bömer, Die lateinischen Schülergespräche der Humanisten (Berlin, 1897), 83–94. On the tradition of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century “colloquia,” see also Manfred Fuhrmann, Latein und Europa: Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts in Deutschland von Karl dem Großen bis Wilhelm II. (Cologne, 2001), vol. 2, 70–71. On the medieval methods, see Bömer, Die latei nischen Schülergespräche, 9; Holger Klatte, “Fremdsprachen in der Schule: Die Lehrbuch tradition des Sebald Heyden,” in Die Volkssprachen als Lerngegenstand im Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Helmut Glück (Berlin, 2002), 80–81. 39 Helmut Glück and Libuše Spáčilová, “Einleitung,” in Deutsche Sprachbücher in Böhmen und Mähren vom 15. Jahrhundert bis 1918, ed. Helmut Glück et al. (Berlin, 2002), ix–xi. The difference between the books used in public education and those used by the personal tutors of noblemen is illustrated by two case studies, one by Zdeněk Oprava, “Bestseller in der frühen Neuzeit: Die verschiedenen Ausgaben des Gesprächsbüchleins von Ondřej Klatovský (1540)” in Die Volkssprachen als Lerngegenstand, 57–66; and also Barbara Bruz- zone, “Fremdsprachen in der Adelserziehung des 17. Jahrhunderts: Die Sprachbücher von Juan Angel de Sumarán,” in Die Volkssprachen als Lerngegenstand, 37–45. On the phrase books for travellers, see Mączak, Travel, 35–40. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 161

No one had ever written such a book for the study of Turkish before. Until the mid-seventeenth century the Turkish language had received relatively little attention from Western European scholars, at least in comparison with Arabic. Apart from the attempts that remained in manuscript, there were only four significant works about Turkish written up to the end of the 1660s: the grammars of Hieronymus Megiser (Leipzig, 1612) and André Du Ryer (Paris, 1630), and the dictionaries of Giovanni Molino (Rome, 1641) and Bernard de Paris (Rome, 1665). It is a sign of their lack of prominence that Du Ryer appears not to have known about the work of his German predecessor. At the turn of the 1670s, however, the study of the Turkish language underwent a rapid development. A series of dictionaries, vocabularies, and grammars were published in Italy and England, and the peak of this trend was provided by Franz Mesgnien von Meninski, with the four volumes of his Thesaurus linguarum orientalium (published between 1680 and 1687) and the grammar annexed to it.40 Although some manuscript phrase collections are known, experiments such as that of Harsányi’s counted as a novelty where the Turkish language was concerned – that is, the ordering of the linguistic material in a continuous dialogue with a plot.41 The direct forerunner of Harsányi’s book can perhaps be found in the sixteenth-century work of Bartolomej Georgijević about the rites of the Turks, with a bilingual discussion between a Christian merchant and a Muslim traveller appended to it. Georgijević’s dialogue was republished thirteen times in various editions between 1544 and 1558, so it may well have been known to Harsányi. Nevertheless, since it only contains twenty-four sentences, it does not challenge Harsányi’s precedence in the consistent application of the colloquia tradition to Ottoman Turkish.42

40 Franz Babinger, “Die türkischen Studien in Europa bis zum Auftreten Josef von Hammer- Purgstalls,” Die Welt des Islam 7, nos. 3–4 (1919): 103–116; Alastair Hamilton and Francis Richard, André Du Ryer and Oriental Studies in Seventeenth-Century France (Oxford, 2004), 59–71. 41 A phrase collection was compiled, for instance, by a contemporary of Harsányi, the Polish renegade Wojciech Bobowski (also known as Albertus Bobovius or Ali Ufki); see Kenan Akyüz, “Paris Milli Kütüphanesi’nde İlk Türkçe-Fransızca ve Fransizca-Türkçe Yazma Eserler” [The first Turkish-French and French-Turkish manuscripts of the national library in Paris], Türk Dili Araştirmalari Yıllığı Belleten (1959): 289–292. In his manuscript there are also parallel Ottoman Turkish and French texts. But there is no trace of a thematic ordering, characters, or a plot in it. So his manuscript cannot be regarded as part of the colloquia tradition. 42 The text – which also includes a short vocabulary and the Turkish translation of the Ave Maria and the Credo – was edited with a philological comparison of the thirteen editions by Wilhelm Heffening, Die türkischen Transkriptionstexte des Bartholomeus Georgievits 162 Chapter 4

Harsányi was consistent in applying the formal rules of colloquia. As he declared in his foreword, his goal was not to train the readers in an eloquence that would overshadow the orators of classical antiquity, but rather, to introduce the everyday spoken language to them. This was also supported by printing the Ottoman Turkish text in the Colloquia transcribed in Latin characters. Harsányi showed with several examples how the normal pronunciation of the Arabic characters differed in many cases from the one used in practice. With this method, however, he tried to make a virtue of necessity since he also had to face the problem dogging so many early orientalists, namely the fact that hardly any publishing houses had Arabic types and it was extremely expensive to have a set cut. Megiser had good reason to use only Latin characters in his Turkish grammar, and Harsányi also limited the Arabic characters to the foreword. This, however, made the book somewhat cumbersome. Because there were no accepted rules for transcribing Arabic at the time, Harsányi sometimes resorted to the orthographic rules of Hungarian – the consonant [s] was transcribed by him as sz, [č] as cs – which must have confused his German readers.43 He also seems to have contradicted himself when, after explaining the advantages of using Latin characters for his purposes, he promised in the foreword to try to republish the book with Arabic types if given the chance.44 The genre of colloquia as language textbooks is actually only useful if a descriptive grammar is appended to them to further the learning of the language, but this is missing from Harsányi’s book. He is most unlikely not to have known of the existence of at least one of the above-quoted manuals even if he did not mention them in his work.45 He does not give any information about the sources of the linguistic material either, and, in the absence of a similar

aus den Jahren 1544–1548 (Leipzig, 1942), 20–32. See it also in the facsimile of the 1544 edition: Nurdan Melek Aksulu, Bartholomäus Georgievićs Türkenschrift “De Turcarum ritu et caeremoniis” (1544) und ihre beiden deutschen Übersetzungen von 1545 (Stuttgart, 2005), 190–191. 43 On the peculiarities of phonography in the Colloquia, see Hazai, Das Osmanisch-Türkische, 319–324. 44 Colloquia, præfatio, 2v–3r. On the grammar of Megiser, see Hamilton and Richard, André Du Ryer, 63–64. Many cases of problems with printing oriental characters are reported by Gerald J. Toomer, Eastern Wisedome and Learning: The Study of Arabic in Seventeenth- Century England (Oxford, 1996). 45 This may however also come from the simple fact that most “colloquia” were published without a grammar; see Glück and Spáčilová, “Einleitung,” x. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 163 forerunner, we have to see the text as his own invention.46 Harsányi also says very little about the sources of the factual material of the Colloquia: all that he reveals is that his work is based on his own experiences from the Constantinople years and on his notes “made from the works of better known, ancient, and recent authors concerning the state of the Turks.” But which statements were taken from which author from “the vast ocean of matters concerning the Turks” is never specified.47 Only one suggestion has been proposed so far – that Harsányi shared a common Latin source with Paul Rycaut, the author of the popular contemporary description of the Ottoman Empire. The philological analysis of this question, however, got little further than that.48

46 The question of authorship was only addressed in the literature about Harsányi by a Bul- garian Turcologist, Mefküre Mollova. According to her thesis, the Colloquia was not created by one, but rather by two authors: the lines of the characters referred to by her as “guide” and “messenger” would thus have been written by two different people. This theory, however, is unlikely, and is disproved not only by Harsányi’s own claims – which were otherwise most probably unknown to Mollova since she did not consult the original copy but only the modern edition of the Turkish sections by György Hazai – but also by the fact that it is hard to imagine how the work would have been produced if her thesis were correct. The one option, that Harsányi noted everything from memory in Berlin, even giving dialectal variants, sounds just as unrealistic as the other one, that Harsányi had already written the Colloquia in Constantinople and then managed to keep it during almost fifteen years of turmoil, even waiting five years in Berlin before its publication. Further- more, the Colloquia has more than two characters and the Guide is not even one of the protagonists (although, when Mollova describes the role of the “guide”, she seems to mean the Interpreter). It is thus not clear who, according to her thesis, would have been the author of the minor characters’ text. The credibility of her thesis and her analysis of Hazai’s edition in which she claims to have found 1,048 mistakes is also hampered by the fact that she misspelled not only the title of the Colloquia, but also that of Hazai’s modern edition. See Mefküre Mollova, “Sur les ‘Qulloquia [sic!] Familiaria Turcico-Latina,’” Lin- guistique Balkanique (Academie Bulgare des Sciences) 12, no. 4 (1979): 53–83. 47 The quotes are from Colloquia, præfatio, 1v. 48 See Victor L. Ménage, review of Hazai’s Das Osmanisch-Türkische, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies University of London 38 (1975): 162–164. The author based his assumption on the fact that both works have some very similar mistakes: the name Sivas, for instance, is misspelled as “Livas” by Harsányi, and “Liwas” by Rycaut; the founder of the Naqshbandī sub-order (Emīr Bukḥārī) is mentioned as “the Holy Emir Ebrbuhar” by Rycaut, while Harsányi calls him “Ebruh” and his followers “Ebruhii.” Ménage is justified in assuming that Harsányi did not use Rycaut’s text directly – it was first published in 1666, but only in English, a language the Harsányi is unlikely to have understood – but a Latin original is suggested by the superfluous double in the Turkish words “Mevleviiler,” “Kadriiler,” and “Hizreviiler” that must originate from the mistaken translation of Latin nominativus pluralis forms (“Mevlevii,” “Kadrii,” “Hizrevii”). But there is no direct evidence 164 Chapter 4

If there is no direct reference to any source that Harsányi might have used when writing about the Ottoman Empire, the Colloquia still proves that he was aware of the production of the Oriental studies of his age. At the end of his book, he annexed the will of the Prophet Mohammed, a great discovery of early modern Arabists published no fewer than five times – apart from Harsányi’s edition – until Thomas Christian Tyschen proved it to be a forgery in 1804.49 This fictitious document in which the Prophet encourages his followers to keep the treaty he concluded with the Christians about tolerance and peaceful coexistence, arrived in France in the early seventeenth century, and was published there for the first time in 1630, the Arabic text being completed with a Latin translation by the famous Maronite scholar, Gabriel Sionita. Later editions (a bilingual version in Leiden and a Latin version in Rostock) used the same translation as Harsányi, who seems to have consulted the original Paris version.50 As we see from the republishing of the Testamentum, the factual material of the Colloquia is certainly not faultless. The text that played an important role in the book’s message (which I will touch upon in Chapter Six), and was accepted by contemporary Oriental studies as authentic, later proved to be a

that Harsányi knew of the manuscripts of Albertus Bobovius, used by Rycaut, as Ménage suggested. 49 The history of the edition of the Testamentum – without a reference to Harsányi – was compiled by Christian Friedrich Schnurrer, Bibliotheca Arabica (Halle an der Saale, 1811), 442–445. Recently see Hamilton and Richard, André Du Ryer, 46–47. 50 The most important difference between the various editions is in the Latinized form of the name of Mohammed and the term “Muslim”. While the form used in the Paris edition (“Mahomed,” “Muslemannus”/ “Moslemannus”) is also used by Harsányi, the Leiden and Rostock editions use another form (“Muhamed,” “Muslemanus”/ “Moslemanus,” respectively “Muhammed,” “Muslimicus”). In this respect there are only two cases (both in the title) when there is a difference between the Paris edition and that of Harsányi. Although the forms used by the Leiden edition are quite close to the ones used by Harsányi, there are also some other small discrepancies between the two texts: for instance, instead of “ne oneretur,” he writes “nec oneretur” ( [5], resp. 7), “contra” instead of “econtra” ([6], resp. 9 – this, however, is also a difference between the Paris edition and that of Harsányi, see there on 11), and “excipiant” instead of “recipiant” ([8], resp. 11). Another difference between the editions is the Latinization of the names of the signatories of the will, which are, however, transcribed in a different way in every edition. See Al-‛Ahd wa-’š-šurūṭ allatī šaraṭahā Muḥammad rasūl Allāh li-ahl al-milla an-naṣrānīya / Testamentvm et pactiones initae inter Mohamedem et Christianæ fidei cultores (Paris, 1630); Testamentum sive Foedus inter Muhammedem, & Christianae Religionis populos initum, ed. Johann Georg Nisselius (Leiden, 1661); Muhammedis testamentum sive pacta cum Christianis in Oriente inita, ed. Johannes Fabricius (Rostock, 1638). The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 165 forgery. In cases when Harsányi was in no position to check the credibility of his material, errors could occur. It is clear, however, that in the key topics of the book, the fields of everyday life and diplomacy in Constantinople, Harsányi had gained enough experience during the seven years he spent in the Ottoman capital to be able to correct the claims of others, and – in his own words – was even eager to do so.51 As we have seen, Harsányi was generally quite prepared to correct the mistakes of others. According to the Interpreter in the Colloquia:

a learned friend of mine, who travelled widely in these Ottoman regions, came to me, and showed me a book by a well-known person distinguished in many sciences. When I looked at the book, I saw that this learned man, taking his information from the books of others, had written many things that were unfounded. Whether they are good or bad, true or false, hardly concerns me. In order not to offend anybody, I will keep silent. But about the things I know, I will not say anything contrary to the truth in order to please them. Disdainful and inexperienced minds can write as much as they want, I am not responsible for them. … People with experience will see who was right in due course.52

The Interpreter plays the role of the expert on questions concerning the Otto man capital and the Sublime Porte throughout the book. He is the one who corrects – sometimes in a rather sarcastic manner – the superficial information of the Legate, who bases his judgments on common knowledge in Western Europe. It is thus clear that the Interpreter should be seen as the voice of Harsányi himself. This is also supported by the author’s slip of the pen: the Interpreter speaks at one point about an event that took place “in my time,” despite the lack of any indication that the character had previously served as a diplomat at the Porte.53 The critique of earlier literature pronounced by the Interpreter thus obviously mirrors Harsányi’s own views. Although he certainly

51 Mefküre Mollova, in order to support her thesis of double authors, claims that it would be impossible for a Hungarian who only spent seven years in Constantinople to have such a deep knowledge of the Ottoman Empire; see Mollova, “Sur les ‘Qulloquia,’” 54. I believe that the picture drawn in Chapter Two proves well enough that six years of diplomatic service (and one year in the Seven Towers) could provide Harsányi with sufficient experience not to have to rely on the knowledge of others about the functioning of the Sublime Porte. This, however, does not apply to other fields far from his expertise, such as the history and customs of the Dervish orders (cf. footnote 46). 52 Colloquia, 403–404. 53 Colloquia, 260–261. The text here concerns the changes of the tribute paid by the Princi- pality of Transylvania to the Sublime Porte. 166 Chapter 4 used other people’s information, we have no reason to believe, especially in the light of the above quotation, that the Colloquia was not an original work, reflecting his own point of view. As in the case of his formal innovation, the application of the colloquia tradition to the Turkish language, Harsányi also managed to provide his readers with new knowledge which will be discussed in detail in Chapter Six.

The Afterlife of the Colloquia Familiaria

Franz Babinger, writing about the early history of Turcology, presented the Colloquia as a prominent proof that the publication of Meninski’s great work, while leading to a blossoming of Turkish studies, overshadowed other “original” and “by no means useless” works published at the time.54 Admittedly the work of Jakab Harsányi Nagy does not seem to have enjoyed a high reputation during his lifetime. Not even in the correspondence of scholars interested in Oriental studies do we find any evidence that they had seen a copy.55 Similarly, the Colloquia was not reviewed by the leading scholarly journals, by either the Journal des Sçavans or the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. It appears in a bibliography of books about the Turks published in 1717, but the compiler is unlikely to have seen the volume itself. He noted in the foreword that some works were entered in the list as desiderata and not only was the name Harsányi misspelled, but the title was simplified in an awkward way to “Status Turcicus,” which does not represent the book’s peculiarities.56

54 “eine übrigens nicht unverdienstliche und selbständige Arbeit,” wrote Babinger about the Colloquia, see Babinger, “Die türkischen Studien,” 116–117. 55 Hiob Ludolf, founder of early modern Ethiopian studies, and Christoph Arnold, informed each other regularly about the novelties of the book market. Arnold wrote excitedly about “a certain Pole” who planned to publish a Turkish dictionary in Vienna already in 1676 (two years before the first volume came out), and in the next year he already knew the name of Meninski, and reported about the works of his greatest scholarly rival, Gianbat- tista Podestà. There is, however, no trace of Harsányi in his letters; see Universitätsbiblio- thek Johann Christoph Senckenberg, Frankfurt am Main [= UB Frankfurt], Ms. Ff. Ludolf Nr. 43–87 (the letters I referred to are found under the numbers 57 and 62). It is most unlikely that Ludolf read the Colloquia later either. It is at least indicative that he did not borrow any of Harsányi’s arguments (to be discussed in Chapter Six) in his own pamphlet written in 1686 in support of the anti-Ottoman war. Cf. Hiob Ludolf, De Bellico Turcico feliciter conficiendo… (Frankfurt am Main, 1686). 56 Johann Heinrich Boeckler, Commentarius Historico-Politicus de rebus Turcicis, ed. N.C.J. (Bautzen, 1717), nr. 230. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 167

Even more telling are the complaints of the one Orientalist who had at last got hold of Harsányi’s work and actually used it. The professor of Arabic at the University of Leipzig, Johann Christian Clodius, produced a synthesis of Turkish linguistics in his Compendiosum Lexicon Latino-Turcico-Germanicum published in 1730. To the Turkish dictionary and the bulky indices Clodius also appended his grammar, published separately in the preceding year, in which the difficulties of learning the language were overcome not only by giving detailed descriptions of the rules, but also by the use of dialogues taken from Harsányi’s book.57 In the foreword of the grammar he expressed his gratitude to Crozius (Maturin Veyssière La Croze), the Keeper of the Royal Library in Berlin, who sent him the book which was so rare that it would be worth republishing parts of it.58 The number of copies available today also suggests that the size of the edition of the Colloquia was limited. I have been unable to trace any more than sixteen copies, most of which, a total of eight, are in Germany. England, Poland and Hungary have two each; and single copies are also known in Romania and Switzerland.59 Printing scholarly books was not the main focus of the publisher of the Colloquia, Georg Schultze, who perhaps never even had the necessary network for its distribution.60 There is no trace of the book in the

57 Johannes Christian Clodius, Grammatica Tvrcica necessariis regvlis praecipuas lingvae difficultates illvstrans, ac aliqvot colloqviis et sententiis Tvrcicis avcta (Leipzig, 1729). Repub- lished as a part of Clodius, Compendiosum Lexicon Latino-Tvrcico-Germanicum… (Leipzig, 1730). On Clodius, generally, see Babinger, “Die türkischen Studien,” 122–123; Heidi Stein, “Zur Geschichte türkischer Studien in Leipzig (von 1612 bis ins 20. Jahrhundert),” in Ger- mano-Turcica: Zur Geschichte des Türkisch-Lernens in den deutschsprachigen Ländern, ed. Klaus Kreiser (Bamberg, 1987), 42–44; Holger Preissler, “Orientalische Studien in Leipzig vor Reiske,” in Johann Jacob Reiske – Leben und Wirkung, ed. Hans-Georg Ebert and Thoralf Hanstein (Leipzig, 2005), 19–43. According to György Hazai (Das Osmanisch-Türkische, 18), Harsányi’s dialogues were also used in the late eighteenth-century Turkish grammar of Joseph von Preindl. This, however, is a mistake for the examples given there show no similarities with those of the Hungarian author; cf. his Grammaire turque d’une toute nouvelle methode… (Berlin, 1791). 58 Clodius, Grammatica, 7–8. This copy of the Royal Library in Berlin has been lost in the meantime: the volume now available in the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin (the successor of the Royal Library) comes from the Dietz collection, which entered the library after 1804 (its shelfmark is Bibl. Dietz Oct. 1301). There is no copy in the Universitätsbibliothek Leipzig, where it might have been placed if Clodius had failed to return it. 59 See the detailed list in the appendix. 60 Schultze derived his most secure income from printing the official documents of the elector, which explains why he had a long struggle for its rights with the other printer in Ber- lin, Christoph Runge. The works of Andreas Müller, another Orientalist in Berlin, were 168 Chapter 4 catalogues of the fairs of Frankfurt and Leipzig either.61 Although Frederick William originally promised to support the publication, no money was ultimately supplied for this purpose. If Harsányi had to cover all the expenses, we can assume that in 1672 he did not intend it to be a commercial publication, but only wanted a small number of copies that he could use later on as an exclusive gift.62 The usual forums of reception, learned works, journals, and correspondence, offer little apparent information about Harsányi’s book, and the volumes themselves are mostly silent about the opinions of their readers. Marginal notes, which usually prove to be such useful tools for intellectual history, are absent in most of the copies of the Colloquia – in the majority of the cases only the name of the owner is noted. In this respect the copy held by the University Library at Warsaw is unique because its owner not only noted his name, but also wrote a pronunciation guide on the very first pages. Besides the letters used by Harsányi for specific sounds, he also listed the German and the Arabic graphemes and even an example for their usage. The volume also contains some other linguistic commentaries, such as the versions of Arabic characters for several Ottoman Turkish words, and there are even some objections to the factual material: alongside a claim by Harsányi that the title “emir” is given to those who are descended from the Prophet Mohammed, the owner of the book noted “fals[us].”63

printed by Runge, but it is not clear whether these became better known to the Republic of Letters because of the superior distribution or the fame already enjoyed by Müller by the time of publication. On the struggles between Schultze and Runge, see Ernst Consen- tius, Die Berliner Zeitungen bis zur Regierung Friedrichs des Großen (Berlin, 1904), 30–34. 61 At least it is not mentioned in the issues of the Catalogus universalis between 1671 and 1674, published twice yearly for the fairs at Easter and Michaelmas. 62 Jakab Harsányi Nagy refers in an undated petition (most likely from the early October 1676) to the fact that, contrary to earlier promises, he did not get support for the publication of the Colloquia (GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 59r). The archival material from Brandenburg concerning Georg Schultze includes several documents in which the printer is given financial support for the publication of various works, but the Colloquia is not mentioned in any of them; cf. GStA PK, I. HA, Geheimer Rat, Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung, F 3 Fasz. 2. fol. 68–93, and F 3a Fasz. 1. fol. 25–59. 63 Biblioteka Uniwersytecka w Warszawie 28.20.3.3986 (old shelfmark: Obce-XVII-4°-16°- 1046). The quoted emendation is on page 499. Similarly, Arabic transcriptions of some Ottoman Turkish words are found in the copy in the Herzog-August-Bibliothek of Wolfen- büttel (Xb 3116), but these notes are most likely from a later period. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 169

The copy now in Warsaw was once owned by a certain Andreas Müller who, according to his note of ownership, received the book from Harsányi himself.64 Müller had a far more typical intellectual career than his Hungarian contemporary. He became a committed Orientalist during his university years, and when he came back from England in the early 1660s, he gained the favour of Frederick William, who appointed him minister first in Bernau and later at the St. Nicholas Church of Berlin, a position that he also held during the Brandenburg years of Jakab Harsányi. Besides his ecclesiastical duties, Müller regularly found time to use his knowledge of Turkish, Persian, Syriac, and Arabic as the expert on Oriental manuscripts at the Electoral Library. His most ambitious undertaking, however, had no connection with these languages. In the early 1670s he published several books on China and announced to Frederick William that he had managed to develop a method whereby the Chinese script could be learned in a very short time. The news of this, though received with excitement by the Republic of Letters, was not followed up by the much-expected publication of the Clavis Sinica: Müller denied sharing details about his innovation, and two days before his death burned all his manuscripts. We are thus left wondering even today whether Müller, who proved his linguistic versatility on several occasions, had not overreached himself in this instance.65 It might be obvious to suppose that the two experts on the Orient living at the electoral court had a good relationship. From the ownership note in the Warsaw copy of the Colloquia it is at least clear that they knew each other personally. But it was not easy to remain on friendly terms with Andreas Müller. His tendency in debates to take everything personally was noted in his biography, and it was most probably because of his controversial nature that he forfeited Frederick William’s favour in the mid-1670s, and even lost his post in 1685, after which he moved to his wife’s birthplace, Stettin. Hiob Ludolf, the first early modern European expert on Ethiopia, remained in touch with him for a long time. After Müller’s death he wrote: “Too often was I irritated by his sharp letters, his aphoristic and enigmatic writings; I broke off my correspondence with him. … It is simply too bad that so much linguistic learning was

64 “Ex donatione Dni Autoris possid. M Andr. Müllerus Griffenhagius,” runs the possessor’s note in the copy cited in the previous footnote. It was because of his rather common family name that Müller was accustomed to specify his place of birth, the Pomeranian town of Greiffenhagen, in his name. 65 The biography of Müller was compiled by Lothar Noack, “Der Berliner Probst, Orientalist und Sinologe Andreas Müller (1630–1694),” Nachrichten der Gesellschaft für Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens 157, no. 1 (1995): 1–39. 170 Chapter 4 packed into such a heteroclitic mind.”66 This sullenness would not necessarily have made it impossible for a friendly contact to be established with Harsányi, but no evidence survives corroborating it. It is probably less surprising that Müller did not involve Harsányi in projects that provided him with financial gain – at least, he is never mentioned in the documents concerning the cata- loguing of the Oriental manuscripts at the Electoral Library.67 More indicative is the fact that Harsányi was not consulted by Müller when he needed Hungar ian-related information for his own research. In his booklet that includes the Lord’s Prayer in more than a hundred languages, the Hungarian version was taken from Albert Szenci Molnár’s Nova grammatica Ungarica (with some mistakes); and the letters of the Szekler script were sent to him by a Hungarian theologian in Vienna for his collection of alphabets.68 There is, however, a single incident in which the contacts with Andreas Müller might have played a role in the life of Jakab Harsányi Nagy: the plans for republishing the Colloquia. As we saw, Harsányi writes in the foreword of the expectation that, “when the storms of the war calm down, these colloquia might be republished in a more exquisite form, expanded and put in a better

66 Hiob Ludolf to Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (Frankfurt/Main, 7 September 1695), John T. Waterman, ed., Leibniz and Ludolf on Things Linguistic: Excerpts from Their Correspon- dence (1688–1703) (Berkeley, 1978), 35–36. I changed the term “perverse mind” in the translation of Waterman back to the one suggested by the original Latin “mentem heteroclytum,” to render the meaning of the pun with linguistic terminology. Cf. Gottfried Wilhelm Leib- niz, Allgemeiner politischer und historischer Briefwechsel, vol. 11, Januar–Oktober 1695, ed. Wolfgang Bungies, Albert Heinekamp, and Franz Schupp (Berlin, 1982), 673. On the vicissitudes of Müller, see Noack, “Der Berliner Probst,” 12–20. It seems that Müller was unaware of Ludolf’s antipathy, for one month before his death he wrote him a letter discussing various academic questions and calling him an old friend (“amico veteri”) (Stet- tin, 14[/24] September 1694), UB Frankfurt Ms. Ff. Ludolf nr. 514. 67 See the documents concerning the purchase of the collections of deceased persons during Harsányi’s lifetime, such as that of the late Orientalist and professor from Königsberg, Theodor Petraeus, in Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Handschriftenabteilung (= SBB PK) Acta III.B.2. and Acta III.C.1. 68 The edition of the versions of the Lord’s Prayer was published during Harsányi’s lifetime, see Oratio orationum SS Orationis Dominicae versiones…, ed. Barnim Hagius (= Andreas Müller) (Berlin, 1680). The Hungarian version is on p. 58; the pages containing the alphabets are unnumbered. Beside the “Szekelicum Alphabetum” we find the following source quotation: “Szekelicum Alphabetum Vienna ad me misit Franc. Sakius, Hungarus, Theol. Doct. Qvod & anno 1674. d. 18. Febr. Berlini accepi.” The rest of the explanations about this alphabet are taken from Albert Szenci Molnár’s book. Cf. Albert Szenczi Molnár, Novae grammaticae ungaricae libri duo / Új magyar grammatika két könyvben, trans. Zsuzsa C. Vladár (Budapest, 2004), 426. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 171 order, in the Netherlands or England, where the cutters and Arabic characters abound.”69 Harsányi meant what he said: from the second half of 1676 there are several known instances in which he asked permission from Frederick William to leave his court so that he could travel to England through the Netherlands and try to get his book republished (or even, if my earlier hypothesis is correct, to get his book published for the market for the first time). He probably failed to collect money for his travel expenses before the winter of 1676–1677, and consequently stayed in Berlin.70 One year later, however, he was no longer in the elector’s capital. For, in December 1677, another Tatar envoy called on Frederick William who, at that time, was laying siege to Stettin. He brought some letters from the khan that had to be translated. Otto von Schwerin turned to Andreas Müller first, but when the Orientalist excused himself – claiming that he had not practised the language for many years and could not assume such a huge responsibility – the letters were translated by an interpreter who had no direct connections with the court of Brandenburg.71 Harsányi’s name does not appear in the correspondence, and nowhere is it suggested that the letters could have been translated by him. Taking into account the role he played during the previous two Tatar embassies, this must mean that he was no longer in Brandenburg at the time. As we have no information at all about Harsányi from 1677, we do not know either when he started on his journey or when he came back. The next source that indicates he was in Berlin dates from December 1678.72

69 Colloquia, praefatio, 3r. 70 He informed the members of the Privy Council about this in his memorial cited in footnote 62, fol. 59. Frederick William gave Harsányi permission to leave on 31 July[/10 August], but on 15[/25] October he still had to give orders for the payment of the debts of the Chambers to Harsányi so that he could start his journey. During his absence Harsányi was supposed to receive his salary, but he had to give up his daily allowance (the so-called Kostgeld). See the cited letters in GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwal- tung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 52–61. 71 The documents of the Tatar embassy of 1677 are in GStA PK Rep. 11. 271a. Tartarei Fasz. 5. On the questions of translation, see above all Frederick William to Otto von Schwerin (Camp by Stettin, 9[/19] December 1677), and his reply (Cölln an der Spree, 12[/22] December 1677). The letters were at last translated by a certain “Giesius,” who had served earlier as interpreter at the Saxon electoral court. He was paid 12 talers for his pains. 72 Although the order of Frederick William to Michael Matthias (Cölln an der Spree, 1678. dec. 7[/17]., GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 63r) does not explicitly state that Harsányi was in Brandenburg again, it nevertheless implies that he was present: orders regarding the payment of his arrears were always the result of his personal complaints. 172 Chapter 4

We have no direct source that indicates where Harsányi was during this period, but we can formulate several hypotheses. The republication of his book was obviously not something he could organize on the spot. Travel expenses must have been high, and Harsányi was not in such a strong financial position that he could risk investing in vain and try to find out about available printers and the interest of the public only after his arrival in England. Nevertheless, an excellent opportunity was offered by the Republic of Letters. The ongoing correspondence between scholars was useful not only for gaining information about novelties on the book market and new results of research, but also for helping a newcomer in the academic world, with specific interests, to find the person best suited to further his endeavours.73 Of all the known contacts of Harsányi, there is only one who would have been able to provide him with an entry into the network of the Republic of Letters: Andreas Müller. Müller visited England before 1660 and cooperated with Edmund Castell who later, as professor of Arabic in Cambridge, contributed to Oriental studies with his Lexicon Heptaglotton. For the preparatory work on this dictionary, which represented simultaneously Hebrew, Chaldean (i. e. Aramaic), Syriac, Arabic, Samaritan, Ethiopic, and Persian, Castell relied on the help of many English and foreign colleagues. Although there is no direct evidence suggesting that Müller was one of them, it seems that the two scholars remained in touch – even if only indirectly – after Müller’s departure from England. Müller dedicated a book to Castell, published in 1671, praising him for the Lexicon that had come off the press one year earlier, and said that, ten years ago, he and his compatriot, Martin Murray, had had the pleasure of enjoying Castell’s hospitality.74 Although there is no evidence of a correspondence between Müller and Castell later on, Harsányi may have tried to use the friendship between the two scholars for his own purposes. They could at least have met through Murray, who had been one of Castell’s most assiduous assistants during the preparation of the Lexicon – they were in constant touch between 1658 and

73 On this function of the Republic of Letters, see Anne Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750 (New Haven, 1995), 12–53. 74 Andreas Müller, Disquisitio Geographica & historica… (Berlin, 1671). On Edmund Castell, see Toomer, Eastern Wisdom, 251–265; H.T. Norris, “Professor Edmund Castell (1606–85), Orientalist and Divine, and England’s Oldest Arabic Inscription,” Journal of Semitic Stud- ies 29 (1984): 155–167; Norris, “Edmund Castell (1606–86) and His Lexicon Heptaglotton (1669),” in The ‘Arabick’ Interest of the Natural Philosophy in Seventeenth-Century England, ed. G.A. Russell (Leiden, 1994), 70–87. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 173

1669 – while his name recurs in Müller’s surviving correspondence even as late as 1683.75 We do not know whether Harsányi really tried to find a new publisher for his Colloquia through Castell, perhaps through the mediation of Murray. It is not even clear if he went all the way to England, or stopped in the Netherlands, although it would have been still harder to find support for his project there, at a time when Oriental studies were in a state of stagnation. After the death of Jacobus Golius, who had played such a major role in their development, no capable successor had been found to fill his post in Leiden.76 The probability of personal contact between Harsányi and Castell is weakened by the fact that the surviving catalogue of the latter’s library does not include the Colloquia. It would also be hard to imagine why Müller did not draw the attention of his fellow scholars to the first edition of the book if he was later ready to mobilize his network for its republication.77 In any case, even if Harsányi wanted to find an English publisher through Castell, the latter might not have been a perfect choice. The preparation of the Lexicon Heptaglotton took up so much time that Thomas Roycroft, the printer who had earlier volunteered to sponsor the project, gave up on it, and although Castell managed to subsidise the publication, the distribution proved to be a failure and several hundred copies remained unsold.78 If the republication of the Colloquia was indeed planned in cooperation with him, the endeavour probably failed on account of the finances. Apart from all the above hypotheses one thing remains sure: the Colloquia Familiaria Turcico Latina was not republished and its reception consequently remained limited.

75 On Murray, see Toomer, Eastern Wisdom, 259. He is mentioned for the first time in Cas- tell’s correspondence in a letter to Samuel Clarke (n.p., 6[/16] April 1658), British Library (hereafter BL) Ms Add. 22905 fol. 11–12. Castell referred to his assistant as “amicus intimus” in a letter to Hiob Ludolf (London, 27 March 1664), UB Frankfurt Ms. Ff. Ludolf Nr. 154. Andreas Müller referred to Murray in a letter to James Pragestus (Berlin, 30 January[/9 February] 1683), BL Ms Sloane 1381. fol. 88. 76 Jan Brugman, “Arabic Scholarship,” in Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century, 203– 215. 77 At least, as I noted in footnote 55, Ludolf, who corresponded with Müller, did not hear about the Colloquia. The contents of Castell’s library are known from the auction catalogue compiled after his death: Bibliotheca Castelliana… (London, 1686) (hereafter BC). 78 Toomer, Eastern Wisdom, 262–264. 174 Chapter 4

A Hungarian Emigrant in Berlin

The Colloquia was dedicated, as we might expect, to Frederick William. Harsányi elaborated on how grateful he was for having been received at the electoral court and allowed to drop anchor after all the vicissitudes of his earlier life. It is thus all the more surprising that in two of the sixteen known copies this text is missing, and its place is filled with a laudatory dedication to Gustav Adolph, duke of Mecklenburg-Güstrow, of the same length as what Harsányi had written in praise of the elector. This phenomenon is understandable from the technical point of view of printing – the alternative dedication did not require the resetting of subsequent pages – but from the perspective of prestige, it produced a rather remarkable situation. The result, that a book was published with two different dedications, is very uncommon, and we do not know how Harsányi could have persuaded the printers, whose main source of existence was provided by commissions from the court, to participate in this disrespectful act. Nor does the text of the dedication to Gustav Adolph make it clear why he was given the same praise by Harsányi as the person who paid his salary: the only reason Harsányi gave here was that he had never been welcomed in a friendlier manner during his travels anywhere other than in Güstrow.79 The interpretation of this phenomenon becomes possible if we consider Harsányi’s petitions to the court of Brandenburg from the same period. In November 1672 he wrote a desperate memorial to Frederick William and his privy councillors in which, while stressing his allegiance and gratitude to the leading politicians of Brandenburg, he also noted that if he could not get the arrears of his salary he would be bound to leave the elector’s service. From a later reference it also becomes clear that what he did not mention by that time was that he had received “honest invitations from other princes.”80 So it is not difficult to deduce that the invitation must have come from Gustav Adolph, whom Harsányi had met in 1665 when he was still in the service of Gheorghe Ştefan; and he must have made a good impression on the duke of Mecklenburg under whose rule Güstrow developed into a decent princely residence – even

79 See the dedication to Gustav Adolph, registered in earlier research as the B version of the Colloquia, in the copies of Országos Széchényi Könyvtár, and Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Jena (signatures RMK III. 2586; resp. 8 Gl. II, 175). 80 Petition of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William ([Berlin, October–November 1674]), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 46. Cf. his memorials to Frederick William and the privy councillors of Brandenburg (Berlin, 19[/29] November 1672), ibid., fol. 21–24. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 175 if it was obviously far less important than the court of the elector. Unfortunately, no documentation survives about the contacts between the two men and we cannot know in what quality Gustav Adolph was to employ Harsányi. The limited political horizons of the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Güstrow hardly rendered the employment of an expert in Ottoman issues necessary.81 Frederick William, on the other hand, insisted that in such a politically dangerous situation, when Turkish, Tatar, and Russian envoys were expected to come to the Brandenburg court, Harsányi should not be permitted to leave, and he ordered the payment of the remainder of his allowances.82 It seems, however, that this matter remained the permanent problem of Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s stay in Berlin. He had to besiege the elector and the Privy Council with his petitions: in 1670 he could report arrears of 650 talers, which grew to 834 by 1672, with the deficit surpassing 900 talers one year later, the equivalent of three years’ salary.83 The petitions did not remain unanswered. On each occasion Frederick William and his councillors sent the order on to Chamberlain Michael Matthias with the request to make up the arrears and pay regularly in the future.84 Unfortunately, as the chamberlain explained in a letter dating from 1673, he could not pay money that was not in the treasury, and Harsányi could only get his salary after the payment of all those individuals who were essential for the functioning of the court, if there was anything left. So Matthias could only promise that the next time he would favour Harsányi, but that then one of the councillors of the Chambers’ Court (Kammergerichtsrat) would remain unpaid.85 It seems that Harsányi’s next

81 On the person and court of Gustav Adolph, see Steffen Stuth, Höfe und Rezidenzen: Unter- suchungen zu den Höfen der Herzöge von Mecklenburg im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert (Bremen, 2001), 230–267. Although some documents from the duke’s correspondence with contemporary intellectuals survive, letters to or from Harsányi are not among them; see LHAS 2.12–1/24. nr. 242. 82 Order of Frederick William to his councillors (Rüsselsheim, 30 November[/10 December] 1672), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 47. 83 The growing sum can be followed from the petitions of Harsányi to Frederick William and the privy councillors (Berlin, 30 September[/10 October] 1670, 19[/29] November 1672, and Werder, 11[/21] September 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwal- tung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 6, 21, resp. 39. 84 Postscript to the letter of Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz to Frederick William (Cölln an der Spree, 1[/11] October 1670); order of Frederick William to his councillors (cited in footnote 82); order of Frederick William to Michael Matthias (Oranienburg, 19/29 September 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 4, 47, resp. 41. 85 Michael Matthias to Frederick William (Cölln an der Spree, 29 August[/8 September] 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 34. 176 Chapter 4 step in 1673, when he did not even ask the elector to pay his arrears and only petitioned for his release from the court, turned out to be more effective. Frederick William, with an eye to the ongoing Polish-Ottoman war, did not release his councillor, and probably took the advice of his privy councillors and had the arrears paid from an alternative budget instead of the Hofrentei, which was supposed to cover the expenses of the court.86 Even if the entire sum may never have been paid, the situation seems to have stabilized and no further complaints are known from Harsányi in the following years. The documents testify to tumultuous scenes in connection with the court’s debts to Harsányi. According to Harsányi’s petition Matthias not only refused to pay him, but also had his servant thrown out of the office, using harsh language, and even told the guards never to let him in again.87 Although this was probably the result of the aggressive attitude of the solicitant, the episode illus- trates the tension caused by the lack of money. In the early 1670s Harsányi must have had serious problems with keeping his creditors at bay. When his landlord, the goldsmith Andreas Molin, turned to the electoral authorities to collect the arrears of Harsányi’s costs of board and lodging between November 1669 and August 1670, Harsányi, who readily acknowledged the debts and gave the irregular payment of his salary as a reason, also noted indignantly the scenes made by Molin’s wife, who used to address him on these occasions as “old dog.”88 It is hardly surprising that Harsányi left these premises after less than a year. We do not know whether he moved immediately to Friedrichswerder, the newly built section of the electoral seat, but some evidence suggests that he lived there during 1672.89 Brandenburg suffered considerable damage during the Thirty Years War. Its centre, which lost one third of its population, was actually two towns from the administrative point of view, Cölln situated on the island in the river Spree, and Berlin, to the north-east, on the right bank of the river. When Frederick resettled his electoral residence from Königsberg (a safe distance from the military activities) after the Peace of Westphalia, the twin towns underwent a

86 Somnitz, Blumenthal, Köppen, and Meinders to Frederick William (Cölln an der Spree, 15[/25] September 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 36. 87 Petition of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to the privy councillors (Werder, 11[/21] September 1673), cited in footnote 83, fol. 39r. 88 Petition of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William ([Berlin, October–November 1674]), cited in footnote 80, fol. 46r. 89 The foreword of the Colloquia is dated from there (from 1[/11] August 1672), as well as one of his petitions to the Brandenburg councillors drawn up in September 1673, cited in footnote 83. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 177 Berlin and Cölln an der Spree in the mid-seventeenth century. The first houses of Friedrichswerder can be seen on the be seen can The first houses of Friedrichswerder century. in the mid-seventeenth and Cölln an der Spree Berlin Cölln small island south from

FIGure 3.4 178 Chapter 4 quick development. This was stimulated primarily by the court itself. In order to support an effective management of the elector’s affairs, the state administration grew continuously in size and thereby contributed both directly and indirectly, through the flow of artisans and merchants eager to satisfy the emerging demand, to the growth of the town’s population. The same number of inhabitants from the years before the Thirty Years War, around 10,000, was nevertheless only reached again around 1680. Although their most important influx took place in the second half of the 1680s, Harsányi would still have seen the first group of Huguenots arriving in Berlin from France.90 The growing population also resulted in the expansion of the urban territory. Some houses had already stood on the marshy fields of the south-western shores of the Spree before 1658, but its actual settlement only started in that year together with the fortification of the twin towns. In the 1660s many houses were built in the suburb and it even received the right to self-government under the name of Friedrichswerder in 1662. It was mainly people connected to the court who moved here. Although some of them were of high rank – such as Field Marshal Otto Friedrich von Sparr, or the privy councillor Johann von Hoverbeck – the townscape may not have been very elegant in Harsányi’s lifetime. Even if frequent orders were given for paving the streets, this had still not been accomplished in the late 1670s. Religious services were held in the town hall, completed in 1672, because the suburb did not have a church of its own. Nor can the comfort of the population have been increased by the fact that some parts of the territory were still unpopulated and marshy. Considering Harsányi’s financial circumstances, it is unlikely that he would have had his own house built in the new suburb – several sources suggest that houses were built or purchased for a sum of 700–800 talers – and must consequently have rented his lodgings.91 This does not suggest, however, that Harsányi lived a life of retirement. Various sources show that he received regular visits from his peregrinating compatriots and that he played an important role in maintaining their contacts with foreign universities and their home country. We do not know

90 On Berlin in the second half of the seventeenth century, see Eberhard Faden, “Festung und Hauptstadt unter dem Großen Kurfürsten und dem ersten König,” in Max Arendt, Eberhard Faden, and Otto Friedrich Gandert, Geschichte der Stadt Berlin (Berlin, 1937), 171–229; Felix Escher, “Die brandenburgisch-preußische Residenz und Hauptstadt Berlin im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in Geschichte Berlins, vol. 1, Von der Frühgeschichte bis zur Industrialisierung, ed. Wolfgang Ribbe (Munich, 1987), 343–403. 91 The details about Friedrichswerder are taken from the thorough monograph on the settlement of the suburb: Erika Schachinger, Die Berliner Vorstadt Friedrichswerder 1658–1708 (Cologne, 1993). The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 179 whether he had any dealings with Transylvania during the 1660s, when he was in the service of Gheorghe Ştefan, but within a very short time after becoming court councillor, still in 1667, he evidently became acquainted with a Hungarian student in Berlin.92 Pál Csernátoni was by this time an experienced traveller, having left Transylvania almost six years earlier as the tutor of Miklós Bethlen. He must have profited from the fact that Harsányi “welcomed him with joy, as a compatriot, his compatriot,” and probably helped him find his way around the electoral residence.93 In the years following many of Csernátoni’s colleagues also visited Harsányi. We do not know exactly how many of them there were, but even the number of those who are known by name is considerable. Sándor Felvinczi probably visited him in 1668, Pál Tarczali Jr. supposedly in 1670, János Horváti Békés and his fellow travellers met him in Berlin in 1671, Ferenc Pápai Páriz, Pál Viski, and Péter Gyöngyösi in 1672, and Sámuel Hodosi in 1679.94 From the travel diaries of Horváti Békés and Pápai Páriz we learn what kind of help the students could expect from Harsányi. The former reported that he

92 His entry in Pál Csernátoni’s album (under the date “1667. Berolini”) survived in a rather extraordinary way. The original album is not known, but in the late seventeenth century István Kocsi Csergő copied out for himself those entries he considered most important, and this selection survived in his manuscript collection: SNK Kt. 403. 666. 93 Ibid. On Csernátoni, see Szabó and Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása, nr. 2229; Bethlen, “Élete leírása,” 566–588; János Herepei, “Az öreg Comenius néhány magyar hive (Magyar diákok Amszterdamban)” [Some Hungarian followers of the old Comenius: Hungarian students in Amsterdam], in Adattár XVII. századi szellemi mozgalmaink történetéhez, vol. 3, Műve lődési törekvések a század második felében: Herepei János cikkei, ed. Bálint Keserű (Buda- pest, 1971), 400–403. 94 In the cases of both Tarczali and Felvinczi, it is the dedications of their books that refer to their acquaintance with Harsányi. Sándor Felvinczi, Disputationum theologicarum absurditates Papisticas ex Concilio Tridentino, & aliis Prontificiis Doctoribus exhibentium septima et octava… (Leiden, 1669), A1v. See the dedication of Tarczali’s book quoted verbatim in chapter one, footnote 3. Felvinczi matriculated at a foreign university in 1668 for the first time (in Groningen), whereas Tarczali matriculated in October 1671 in Leiden – their meetings with Harsányi in Berlin must have taken place in the same year; cf. Szabó and Tonk, Erdélyiek egyetemjárása, nr. 37; Jenő Zoványi, Magyarországi protestáns egyháztör- téneti lexikon [Lexicon of Hungarian Protestant church history], 3rd ed., ed. Sándor Ladányi (Budapest, 1977), 197, 620. The visits of Horváti Békés and Pápai Páriz are documented by their travel diaries; the former travelled together with Ferenc Otrokócsi Fóris, Pál P. Pányoki, and Péter Selyki. On Viski and Gyöngyösi, see also Horváti Békés, Diáknaplója, 5, 33; Pápai Páriz, Békességet, 145. Pápai also mentioned a certain “Adam Scemnicius” whom he met at Harsányi’s, but it is not clear whether he too was a student on his peregrination. On Sámuel Hodosi, see the entry of Harsányi in the student’s album amicorum: Országos Széchényi Könyvtár (in the following: OSZK) Oct. Lat. 777. fol. 45v. 180 Chapter 4 not only secured accommodation for him and his companions, but even gave them money for their expenses in Berlin. He showed them, as well as Pápai Páriz, the important sights of the electoral residence: the cabinet of curiosities, the armory, the library, and the Lustgarten, established next to the palace in the previous decade. Apart from being a pleasant park, it also served to edu- cate the students in its capacity as an arboretum. Both travellers noted that, after their one-week stay, Harsányi even invited them for a feast at his residence before their departure.95 Nor did the help he gave to the students end here. Several sources suggest that the contacts between the students at German, Dutch, and English universities and Transylvania were maintained through him. Horváti Békés, by that time at the University of Marburg, noted twice during 1672 that letters from home reached him through Harsányi, and he also made a deal with Pál Hunyadi, a student returning from his peregrination, that he should repay him the money borrowed through the Hungarian councillor at the Brandenburg court.96 Unsurprisingly several of the students who visited Harsányi gratefully com- memorated him later on. When Pápai Páriz received his doctoral title in Basel, he sent Harsányi a copy of his dissertation – as well as his funeral oration for Horváti Békés, who had in the meantime died in Switzerland. The way he did so is relevant to Harsányi’s network and interests: Pápai Páriz sent the books to his former professor Paul Ammann, who taught botany in Leipzig, and asked him to give them to Harsányi, who was going to attend the fair – probably the famous book fair which had already been organized regularly in this period – early in the following year.97 The greatest appreciation of Harsányi was expressed by Sándor Felvinczi, who lauded him with an eloquent dedication of his printed disputation. He presented Harsányi as the most stalwart defender of the Reformed faith and the ancient virtues, a man committed to scholars

95 Horváti Békés, Diáknaplója, 33; Pápai Páriz, Békességet, 145. 96 Horváti Békés, Diáknaplója, 58, 79. 97 Ferenc Pápai Páriz to Paul Ammann (Basel, 1 November 1674), Pápai Páriz, Békességet, 405. Paul Ammann became professor of botany in Leipzig in that year: the first great epoch of the botanical garden at the university is connected with his name; see Werner Reißer, “Botanik,” in Geschichte der Universität Leipzig 1409–2009, vol. 4, Fakultäten, Institute, Ein- richtungen, ed. Ulrich von Hehl, Uwe John, and Manfred Rudersdorf (Leipzig, 2009), 1125. Unfortunately his legacy did not survive, so it is impossible to say whether his contacts with Harsányi were limited to this book transfer. In any case their diverging scholarly interests cannot have led to a more intimate friendship. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 181 and scholarship, and through the help given to students the pillar of the cause of God and a true patriot.98 There are some earlier examples of Hungarians living abroad helping the students from Hungary and Transylvania who visited universities. If Harsányi did meet János Bánfihunyadi during his peregrination, his personal example could have induced him to offer his assistance to future theologians travelling through Berlin. There are also some people known in this time from London who helped stuents on their peregrination. Pál P. Jászberényi, who supported Miklós Bethlen during his stay in London, was no longer alive, but the students travelling there could undoubtedly count on the assistance of György Szilágyi (Sylvanus), Péter Almási, and other Hungarians who made a living mainly as Latin teachers.99 The situation of Jakab Harsányi Nagy was somewhat different because he lived in Berlin, a place much more central for the communication of students with each other and with their homes than London (which was usually the furthest stage of their journey). At the same time, Harsányi is depicted as a remarkably unselfish person by the different sources. This proves that, even if his financial conditions were far from untroubled owing to the irregular payment of his salary, he gave money to the students from his own pocket. As in the case of his other services, such as that of Turkish scribe or political councillor to the elector, Harsányi seems to have spared no effort in this self-imposed role of assisting students. His activities appear to have been well known in Transylvania. Before starting his peregrination, János Horváti Békés was given detailed instructions – probably by the Reformed Bishop Péter I. Kovásznai – about the technical details of his journey and was directed to Harsányi. We also know that he gave Harsányi a letter from Prince Mihály Apafi.100 The leading politicians of the Principality were thus counting on Harsányi, not only as a guardian of the students but also, as it turns out, as a politician. His name was mentioned for the

98 “Reformatae Religionis, avitaeque virtutis propugnatori constantissimo; ad Magnalia Reg- norum Christianorum, ac Principvm Praepotent. ab ipsis cunabulis educato: Heroico erga literas, & literatos spiritu induto: causam Dei in Peregrinis studiorum causa peregre profi- cientibus (maxime vero Patriae filiis) zelose promovere annitenti,” Felvinczi, Disputatio- num theologicarum absurditates, A1v. 99 György Gömöri, “Nagy utazók és emigránsok: Magyarok a Restauráció-korabeli London- ban” [Great travelers and emigrants: Hungarians in London of the Age of the Restora- tion], Forrás 34, no. 2 (2002): 64–72; Gömöri, “Magyar tanárok a 17. századi Londonban” [Hungarian teachers in 17th-century London], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 108 (2004): 456–465. 100 Horváti Békés, Diáknaplója, 28, 33. 182 Chapter 4 first time again in the correspondence of the Transylvanian elite in 1670 and resurfaced several times during the following two years. The men in charge of the Principality’s foreign policy traditionally followed with great interest events in the Kingdom of Hungary, especially the relationship between the king and the Protestant estates. The princes led several campaigns against the Habsburgs in the first half of the seventeenth century, legitimizing their actions with references to the dire state of their co-religionists. Their interference in the affairs of their immediate neighbourhood was combined with an extensive international orientation. Until the crisis of the late 1650s, during which the Principality lost a quarter of its territory and the Sublime Porte strengthened its dependence, Transylvania was an active member of the European political scene, primarily through its contacts in the Protestant system of alliances. After an interval of more than ten years, in 1670, it seemed that a renewal of these connections would be necessary, because, after a long period of calm, the Court of Vienna used a failed revolt of the Kingdom’s leading politicians as a pretext for introducing radical Counter- Reformation measures.101 Transylvania was taken unawares by these developments. Its main occupation in the preceding ten years had been to resist the recurrent claims of the Sublime Porte and the beylerbeys of the bordering provinces. Chancellor János Bethlen, and his son Miklós, tried to revive the principality’s Protestant system of international alliances from the 1640s. In 1670, and again two years later, they made attempts to convince Prince Mihály Apafi that he should send an envoy, or at least a letter, to the electors of the Holy Roman Empire to mobilize them.102 In organizing the protest against the emperor’s activities, the two Bethlens intended to give a key role to the elector of Brandenburg, an

101 László Benczédi, Rendiség, abszolutizmus és centralizáció a XVII. század végi Magyarorszá gon (1664–1685) [Estates, absolutism, and centralization in late 17th-century Hungary] (Budapest, 1980), 24–57. On the arguments behind the attempts at introducing the Coun- ter-Reformation, see Tamás Esze, “Bársony György ‘Veritas’-a” [The “Veritas” of György Bársony], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 75 (1971): 667–693; Joachim Bahlcke, “‘Veritas toti mundo declarata’: Der publizistische Diskurs um Religionsfreiheit, Verfassungs ordnung und Kirchenrecht in Ungarn im letzten Drittel des 17. Jahrhunderts – eine Fallstudie,” in Konfessionelle Pluralität als Herausforderung: Koexistenz und Konflikt in Spätmittelalter und Früher Neuzeit: Winfried Eberhard zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Joachim Bahlcke, Karen Lambrecht, and Hans-Christian Maner (Leipzig, 2006), 553–574. 102 On the plan of informing the electors and its failure, see Trócsányi, Teleki, 100–101, 110–112. The passages from sources that are relevant to the question were republished in the notes of József Jankovics, ed., Bethlen Miklós levelei (1657–1698) [The letters of Miklós Bethlen, 1657–1698], vol. 1 (Budapest, 1987), 646–647, 656–658 (in the following: BML I). The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 183 exceedingly important Calvinist prince of the Empire, and they planned to use Harsányi as a mediator. Harsányi was first mentioned in Miklós Bethlen’s project in 1670. His importance was emphasized by another letter from Bethlen in the following year. According to Bethlen, since Jakab Harsányi was a “man who had seen, heard, and learned much,” he could give the Transylvanian politicians precise information concerning the news circulating in the Holy Roman Empire about the miseries of the Protestants in Hungary, and also judge reliably the prospective reactions of various European princes. In order to use Harsányi’s knowledge, Bethlen suggested that he should be invited to Transylvania and be sent some money for his travel expenses. As he explained, it would have been unfair to expect the elector, whose political assistance was to be wooed, to provide the necessary expenses as well, particularly since, as Bethlen emphasized, Har sányi’s journey was not meant to look like an official mission (which would have caused complications in the country’s the relationship with the emperor), but like a private visit home.103 In the spring of 1672 there seemed to be no more obstacles to establishing relations with Brandenburg. As Apafi did not like the idea of giving the envoy a larger sum, Bethlen supplemented the money to be sent to Harsányi (50 talers) from his own budget, and the letters were entrusted to a Transylvanian Saxon student visiting foreign universities. According to Bethlen’s correspondence, he counted upon Harsányi to build up an information network for the Principality. He not only wanted to send him ciphers for the security of their communication, but he was also going to ask him to find a diplomatic agent in Cracow who could transmit the letters.104 The project failed, however. The letters written to various European rulers were revised several times by Transylvanian councillors in order to weed out any remarks that could have been insulting to the emperor or the sultan and thus lead to diplomatic complications, but in the end the letters were not sent anyway.105

103 Miklós Bethlen to Mihály Teleki (Torda, 22 October 1671), BML I, 239–241. On the first appearance of Harsányi on the horizon of Miklós Bethlen’s plans, see his letter to János Bethlen, Dénes Bánffy, and Mihály Teleki (Bethlenszentmiklós, 13 October 1670), BML I, 231. 104 Miklós Bethlen to Mihály Teleki (Bethlenszentmiklós, 14 March 1672), BML I, 251–252; Bethlen, “Élete leírása,” 663. 105 On the news about various revisions, see Dénes Bánffy and László Székely to Mihály Teleki (Szentmárton, 5 April 1672; resp. Fogaras, 6 April 1672), Sámuel Gergely, ed., Teleki Mihály levelezése [The correspondence of Mihály Teleki], vol. 6, 1672–1674 (Budapest, 1912), 152, 157 (in the following: TML VI). On the final outcome of the plans, see Bethlen, “Élete leírása,” 664. 184 Chapter 4

We do not know whether the request from Transylvania to intervene in the interest of the Protestants of Hungary ultimately reached Harsányi. Ironically enough, the only concrete information we have about his connection with the “decade of misery for Protestants” shows that his planned involvement only had a negative influence on the events. Apafi’s letter to him was used as evidence in the legal case against the Protestant preachers in 1674.106 Harsányi could obviously have intervened on his own initiative on behalf of the Protestants of Hungary to Frederick William, but I can find no trace of any such activity in the rich documentation concerning the Hungarian Protestants preserved in the Berlin archives. In May 1672 the elector of Brandenburg made an official complaint about the matter to Leopold I, but this should not automatically be seen as the result of Harsányi’s influence. According to the surviving documents it was originally Heinrich von Friesen, chancellor of Saxony, who proposed a joint petition to the emperor. It was presented at the Imperial Diet in Regensburg, in June 1672, as a common act of the Corpus Evangelicorum, the institution of the Empire’s Protestant estates.107 Nor was Harsányi’s role necessarily of much relevance regarding the actions of Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz, who offered his protection to thirty Hungarian refugee ministers in 1676, and was otherwise, as we have seen, in touch with Harsányi. Somnitz had been the leading personality in the Privy Council in the second half of the 1670s. He therefore had sufficient authority to comment on the issue even without the interference of Harsányi (who is not mentioned by the petition of the ministers to Frederick William, despite the fact that he was still in

106 Katalin S. Varga, ed., Vitetnek ítélőszékre… Az 1674-es gályarabper jegyzőkönyve [We are taken to court… The protocol of the “galley-slave litigation” in 1674] (Pozsony, 2002), 82–84. The letter, which is undated in the protocol, is also preserved in another copy with the date Fogaras, 25 April 1672 (see EOE XV, 270), but it is unclear whether it was ever sent. 107 Frederick William to Emperor Leopold I (Cölln an der Spree, 24 May[/3 June] 1672), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 278. Ungarn Fasz. 9. fol. 93–94. See Heinrich von Friesen’s proposal in his letter to the chancellor of Brandenburg (Dresden, 19 February[/1 March] 1672), ibid., fol. 58–59. Frederick William’s argumentation differs in one point from that of the others: he depicts the persecution of Protestants as dangerous also because they could turn to the Turks in their despair; see his letter to John George, elector of Saxony (Cölln an der Spree, 27 February[/9 March] 1672), ibid., fol. 60. Although it would be tempting to suggest that this argument must have been suggested by his expert in Turkish issues, Jakab Harsányi, this thesis would be hard to defend since one of the most popular topics of contemporary public discourse concerning the Protestants of Hungary was whether their persecution would lead them to seek contacts with the Ottomans; see Köpeczi, Staatsräson, 128–142. On the protestations in 1672, see also Bahlcke, “Veritas,” 568. The Court Councillor of the Great Elector 185

Berlin at the time).108 In any case, we can guess that the refugees, like the students, could count on Harsányi’s practical help and advice after their arrival in Berlin. He did not have the chance to induce Frederick William to take more radical steps in favour of the Protestants in Hungary, since the ruler concluded an alliance with Leopold I against Louis XIV of France in the very same year of 1672, and, for the next six years, the emperor was one of his most reliable allies.109 We thus lack the direct evidence that would enable us to affirm Jenő Zová nyi’s claim in his lexicon of church history that Jakab Harsányi Nagy “efficiently intervened for his persecuted Hungarian co-religionists.”110 His influence in the political life of Brandenburg would have been much too slight for this. Even if, as a politician, he could not decisively influence the echo of the persecution of the Protestants in Hungary in the 1670s, which in any case was pronounced, the Calvinist church of his homeland nevertheless had much to thank him for as the patron of students on their peregrination.111 In view of all this, it is hardly a coincidence that one of the documents that helps to establish the date of Harsányi’s death should be closely connected to

108 Intercession of Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz for the Protestants exiled from Hungary (Cölln an der Spree, 17[/27] February 1672), and the petition of the Protestant ministers to Frederick William (n.d.), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 278. Ungarn Fasz. 9. fol. 123, resp. 126–127. We know even less about the fate (and eventual contacts with Harsányi) of those two refugees, Petrus and Johannes Sixtius, who petitioned Frederick William’s help on 1 August 1672, ibid., fol. 119. On the career of Somnitz, see Ferdinand Hirsch and Hans Saring, “Lorenz Christoph von Somnitz, ein Staatsmann des Großen Kurfürsten,” Baltische Studien n. s. 35 (1933): 134–173; Bahl, Der Hof, 592–593. Unfortunately, only a very small fragment of the Somnitz family archives survives, which does not enable us to draw conclusions on the exact nature of the contacts between the Brandenburg politician and Harsányi: Archiwum Państwowe w Szczecinie, Archiwum Ksiąsat Szczecinskih I/1769. 109 It was hardly a coincidence that in 1677, when a direct contact was at last established between the rulers of Brandenburg and Transylvania, Frederick William found it necessary to warn Apafi not to trust the French and to seek a compromise with the emperor instead. He also had the prince’s answer presented to Leopold I. See his letter (Stettin, 10/20 July 1677), the prince’s answer (Ebesfalva, 15 December 1677), and the order of Fred- erick William to Lorenz Georg von Krockow (Cölln an der Spree, 4/14 February 1678), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 255. Siebenbürgen nr. 19. fol. 2, 4–5, and 8. On the elector’s foreign policy in the 1670s, see Opgenoorth, Friedrich Wilhelm, vol. 2, 106–197; Hüttl, Friedrich Wilhelm, 367–428; and McKay, The Great Elector, 206–228. 110 Zoványi, Magyar protestáns egyháztörténeti lexikon, 242. 111 On the echo of the persecutions of the 1670s, especially the so-called “galley-slave litigation” in 1674, see László Makkai, “Bevezetés” [Introduction], in Galeria omnium sanctorum: A magyarországi gályarab prédikátorok emlékezete, ed. László Makkai (Budapest, 1976), 7–28; Graeme Murdock, “Responses to Habsburg Persecution of Protestants in Sev- enteenth-Century Hungary,” Austrian History Yearbook 40 (2009): 37–52. 186 Chapter 4 peregrination. We can be sure that he was still alive on 11 October 1679, because that is when he signed the album amicorum of Sámuel Hodosi.112 The terminus ante quem, on the other hand, is provided by a decree of Frederick William issued in June 1684, in which he ordered that the creditor of his late councillor, a certain Anna Langin, be satisfied from the arrears of his allowance by the treasury.113 The text of the document offers no reference to whether Harsányi’s death occurred in the recent past or at some time during the preceding four years. The reception of another Tatar envoy in 1681 was organized by the electoral interpreter Adam Styla, but this does not necessarily imply that Harsányi was no longer alive. It is also possible that Frederick William preferred to award his recently appointed new expert with the task.114 Harsányi most probably died in his lodgings in Berlin – otherwise the electoral decree would have contained a remark about the circumstances of his death. Since he never seems to have set up a family, it must have been his servant, mentioned several times in his petitions, who was by his side in his last hours, probably organizing his funeral, as well as seeing to his legacy, the further fate of which is unknown.

112 See the source cited in footnote 94. 113 Decree of Frederick William concerning the debts of the late Harsányi (Potsdam, 27 May[/6 June] 1684), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 65. 114 See the documentation of the mission in GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 11. 271a. Fasz. 6. The Danziger Adam Styla, the author of a Polish-Italian and a Polish-German grammar, who could also speak Turkish and Russian, was employed by Frederick William as his electoral interpreter on 8[/18] March 1679, that is, probably before the death of Harsányi (GStA PK I. HA Rep. 9. Allg. Verwaltung L 21 Fasc. 2. fol. 3.). On 7 September 1679 he was in charge of the elector’s audience of the Russian ambassador. In October 1684 he became interpreter for “the Muscovite and Polish languages” at the emperor’s court in Vienna, and filled this post until his death in 1704, see Reiter, “Vermittler,” 265–268. On his language textbook, see Stanisław Widłak, “La ‘Grammatica Polono-Italica’ di Adam Styla (1675),” in Lingua e letteratura Italiana dentro e fuori la Peninsola, ed. Stanisław Widłak, Maria Maślanska-Soro, and Roman Sosnowski (Cracow, 2003), 539–552. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 187

Chapter 5 The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual

The death of Jakab Harsányi Nagy put an end to a versatile existence full of shifts and changes. So much can be said even if many facets of his life remain obscure. Not only do many important events in his career remain partially unexplained for lack of sources, such as his decision to renounce his ecclesiastical vocation, but there are a number of spheres of his existence which are entirely hidden from view. This is perfectly normal where second- or third-tier agents in the world of early modern politics are concerned. Since the sources are usually exclusively derived from archival collections of administrative authorities or from the private correspondence of their patrons, the authors of their biographies, deprived of all information on anything else, are obliged to concentrate on the public sphere of their lives.1 Characteristically, we know nothing about Harsányi’s family either. We can only surmise that he did not marry since there is no reference either in his letters from Constantinople or in his later correspondence to suggest that he had a wife. On the other hand we cannot exclude the possibility that he did indeed marry as a college rector after his peregrination but was widowed early. Although some parts of the Colloquia refer to family life – such as the detailed presentation of Turkish nuptial customs – these offer no basis for any hypothesis regarding Harsányi’s own experiences or ideas.2 Even if his private life remains in obscurity, the sources at hand render it possible to make Harsányi’s biography a little more personal. Not being content with reporting what happened to him, we can also ask how he experienced the events through which he lived. In this chapter I will attempt to present his ideas about the social roles he filled, or, in any case, how he represented them to others. The analysis of his self-fashioning, a well-established field of inquiry in the last thirty years of Anglo-Saxon historiography, aims to show how historical agents built up their public image with an individual combination of the elements available in their age, and the kind of changes that can be regis-

1 Similar problems, concerning the writing of biographies of early modern non-royal personalities are reviewed by Axel Gotthard, “Benjamin Bouwinghausen: Wie bekommen wir die ‘Männer im zweiten Glied’ in den Griff?,” in Persönlichkeit und Geschichte, ed. Helmut Altrichter (Erlangen, 1997), 69–103. 2 Cf. Colloquia, 409–411.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_007 188 Chapter 5 tered diachronically among these representations.3 The working mechanisms of self-fashioning are well represented in the case of Harsányi by his noble status. This at the same time throws light upon the fact that the elements of the image made available for the public are not necessarily the ones which actually determine the identity of the self. If we take Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s nobility as an objective status, it must have precedence among the elements of his identity since it was the first one he inherited from his parents. At the same time, if we look at the subjective side of his nobility, that is, whether he found his status important or at least worth mentioning, the chronological order is far from clear. Not a single source exists from the period before 1660 which would suggest that Harsányi found it important to call attention to his noble status. This identity element only seems to have been emphasised during his years of emigration. The fact that the letters of recommendation with which Gheorghe Ştefan provided him when he sent him to foreign notables, gave him the title “Generosus et Nobilis” does not mean much even though we know that they were written by Harsányi himself. The title “generosus” was regularly used for diplomats in this period.4 More significantly, there is a letter from 1666 which bears the signature “Jacobus

3 The term of self-fashioning was first used in the works of Stephen J. Greenblatt, who remains the great classic in the field: Renaissance Self-Fashioning from More to Shakespeare (Chicago, 1980). The dynamic, changing character of self-fashioning in a single individual’s life is emphasized by Margo Todd, “Puritan Self-Fashioning: The Diary of Samuel Ward,” The Journal of British Studies 21 (1992): 236–264. On Hungarian material, see the study of Zsombor Tóth, “EGOizmus: Az énreprezentáció mint én-performancia (self-fashioning) Bethlen Miklós em- lékiratában” [EGOism: Self-representation as self-fashioning in the memoirs of Miklós Bethlen], Egyháztörténeti Szemle 4 (2003): 57–85. See also Martin Mulsow, “Kulturkonsum, Selbstkonstruktion und intellektuelle Zivilität,” Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 35 (1998): 529–547. 4 For the usage of “generosus” see, for example, the letters of Gheorghe Ştefan to Wenzel Euseb Lobkowitz (Szinna, 16 April 1662), ARMSI X, 530; to Frederick William (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1 October 1662), TMIR III, 80; to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Dorpat, 11[/21] September 1663), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422; and to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 6[/16] September 1664), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. In a letter written in Hungarian to Johann Rottal (Rosenberg, 25 June 1662), the Hungarian version of “generosus,” “nemzetes,” is used; MNL OL P 507 Fasc. 14. Lev. A. V. nr. 527. 605r. There is only one case when the title “generosus” is not used next to his name: the travel pass written for him by the Brandenburg administration in 1676 only entitled him as “nobilis,” since in this case he started his journey not as a representative of a ruler, but in a private capacity, in order to republish his book (GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 52r.). On the use of the title “generosus” or “nemzetes” in Transylvania, see András Péter Szabó, “A magyar Hallerek nemzetségkönyve: Egy különleges forrás keletkezésének társadalomtörténeti háttere” [The ancestry book of the The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 189

Nagy de Harsany Nob[ilis] Ungarus.”5 After having moved to Berlin Harsányi still found it important to note his noble title in his letters to the elector. This, however, disappeared after a while, and the abbreviation “Nob. Ung.” only reappeared on the title page of the Colloquia.6 In other words Harsányi only found it important to make his noble status an emphatic part of his publicly shown self-image for some years at the turn of the 1670s. This could simply be the result of the early modern Hungarian custom of not specifying the noble title in signatures of letters, but another characteristic of Harsányi’s letters confirms my previous conclusions. He ended his letters written to prominent Swedish aristocrats with his own seal: the field, with a lion rampant, is furnished with helmet and crest, and surrounded by the script “JACOBVS DE HARSAN.”7 But there is no evidence of this seal having been used earlier. The letters sent by the Constantinople embassy were sealed with a variety of signets: on the dispatches sent by Harsányi we find at least four, none of which resembles the one used by him in the 1660s. Besides, they were in all likelihood not his own property, and in many cases it is obvious that even the letters written by Harsányi in his own name were closed with the signet of the orator, as in a case from the early period of Máté Balogh’s embassy.8 The seal with his coat of arms, and his name, unknown from the earlier period, was thus in all likelihood first used in Harsányi’s years of emigration, at the time when he also found it important to add the title “Nobilis Ungarus” to his signature.

Hungarian Hallers: The social historical background of the origins of a peculiar source], Századok 142 (2008): 927–931. 5 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 11[/21] December 1666), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500. 6 Among the letters written to the elector, the noble title can be found in the signature on the one sent from Berlin, 9[/19] July 1667 (GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Ver waltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 2r.). 7 The seal is preserved on several letters of Jakab Harsányi Nagy: to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 6[/16] May 1666 and 26 February[/8 March] 1667), RA Delagardiska samlingen E 1500; to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 28 January[/7 February] 1665 and 28 April[/8 May] 1666), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8422, resp. E 8184; and to Per Brahe (Stettin, 26 February[/8 March] 1667), RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8164. 8 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 18 November 1655), MNL OL E 190 Nr. 8947. While there is only one seal on the letters signed by both of them during the embassy of István Váradi (probably that of the orator, with an indistinguishable image; see MNL OL E 190 Nr. 8860, 8873, 8874, 8893), on those written in 1655 two seals are visible. The superscription of one indicates that it belonged to Máté Balogh, which could theoretically mean that the other was Harsányi’s (MNL OL E 190 8976, 8978, 9004). However, the image of the seal shows an angel probably holding a violin, and bears the monograph “HM” above it, which could not possibly refer to Harsányi. 190 Chapter 5

This phenomenon becomes easier to understand if we consider the relevance of Harsányi’s noble status in Transylvanian society. As we saw earlier, to belong to this broad social group in Hungary and Transylvania did not necessarily mean wealth, and sometimes not even a secure livelihood. Harsányi most probably came from a collectively ennobled family typical of hajdú towns, but even if they gained their privileges with individual ennoblement, this only meant more local prestige and had no relevance in the country at large. If the family had any estates at all, they must have been quite small. There is no sign in Harsányi’s correspondence that they played any part in his sustenance. It is thus no wonder that he did not find it important to emphasize his noble status, since, as the addressee of his letters from this period, the prince was well aware of its irrelevance. Harsányi met with a very different situation when he left Transylvania and Hungary. In the territory of the Holy Roman Empire noble titles were considered far more important, especially if their significance was not explained by their holders. It is hardly surprising that several members of Gheorghe Ştefan’s court should have emphasized their status. We can recall that Harsányi blamed Nicolae Milescu Spătarul for introducing himself everywhere as a baron, a title which did not exist in Moldavia. Although, strictly speaking, Harsányi was right, Milescu nevertheless did not fake a title for himself. He was a boyar, and according to the early eighteenth-century description of Moldavia by Dimitrie Cantemir, this title was usually translated as baro in the countries using Latin terminology.9 In contrast with Milescu’s, the noble Croatian title of Alexander Iulius Torquatus a Frangepani was in all probability fabricated by himself – at least he is not mentioned in the genealogies of the Frankopan family, and although the title he used, “Liber Baro in Novy, Dominus in Monostyr & Cirquenic,” may refer to the Frankopan estates of Novi Vinodolski and Crikvenica, no other member of the family is known to have used it. In comparison with these two examples, Harsányi was more modest, but it is clear that, in order to acquire greater prestige, he also advanced his Hungarian noble status and made it a part of his self-fashioning. Nevertheless, his use of the title remained restricted, even in this period. There is, for instance, no trace of his having referred to it in his debates with the Chambers in Berlin or in his dealings with his landlord, while he could also have reproached them for impertinence towards a member of the social elite. The fact that he did not do so suggests that this identity element, which became temporarily important in the self-fashioning, did not actually play an important role in his self-image.

9 Dimitrie Cantemir, Beschreibung der Moldau (Bucharest, 1973), 186. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 191

Of all the social roles filled by Harsányi during his versatile career, two will be emphasized in this chapter: I shall call the first the “bureaucrat” for lack of a better word and the second the “intellectual.” This choice was not only motivated by the fact that the sources make them easier to access, but there is also good reason to believe that they played the most important part in his self- image, at least in the public sphere.

The Bureaucrat

One of the most important early modern developments in state administration is usually taken to be the multiplication of the personnel participating in it. This was a natural precondition of centralization, the growth of the ruler’s control over his territories. In seventeenth-century Transylvania, as well as in Brandenburg, the role of secular “bureaucracy” serving the princes grew considerably compared to earlier centuries. Parallel to this development, the service of the ruler was shown in analyses from several European countries to have played an ever greater role in the self-image of the social elites.10 Ever since he abandoned the ecclesiastical career, Jakab Harsányi Nagy had always been in the service of various rulers. He followed their orders and also received his salary from them, and obviously, as we see in his letters to his employers, this situation determined the way in which he presented his own activities. During his years as a Turkish scribe Harsányi used every possible opportunity to remind his prince that the two key values of his service were his diligence and his loyalty. “Your Highness can recall, [regardless of] whatever others might insinuate, how I have steadfastly guarded your interests in these two and a half years, going here and there, acquiring patrons … but I have also been an interpreter and a scribe,” he wrote in answer to the insinuations of István Váradi. Later, during the debate with Máté Balogh, he was also eager to point out how active he had been in the representation of the prince’s interests: “I go around the town until sundown, neglecting even food, acting in the service of Your Highness.”11

10 Jay M. Smith, The Culture of Merit: Nobility, Royal Service, and the Making of Absolute Mon- archy in France, 1600–1789 (Ann Arbor, 1996); Peter Englund, Det hotade huset: Adliga föreställningar om samhället under stormaktstiden [The house in peril: Noble ideas of the society in the 17th century] (Stockholm, 1989). 11 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), published in two parts: EÉKH II, 218; MHHD XXIII, 306; and another letter of his to the prince (Con- stantinople, 27 September 1656), MHHD XXIII, 475. 192 Chapter 5

Diligence and loyalty were obviously the basic requirements of an office in princely service. Dávid Rozsnyai, the Turkish scribe who summarized the principles of Transylvanian diplomatic service at the Porte, mentioned the same values, albeit not in connection with his own office but with that of the orator.12 Like the orators and other diplomats going to Constantinople, scribes had to sign obligatory letters containing an oath. None of the ones signed by Turkish scribes have survived, but they must have been similar to those of the other Transylvanians who were repeatedly commissioned as ad hoc interpreters. These letters placed much emphasis on the idea that the interpreter was not supposed to share the secrets of the prince with anyone else. If he discovered important information he was bound to transmit it to his superiors and to translate truly what was said in their presence. They had to promise that “I will attend to any issue entrusted to me in a true and vigorous manner.”13 This phrasing, however, does not correspond to the essence of the service as described by Harsányi. While the intepreters’ most important task would have been the perfect performance of the duties imposed on them by their superiors at the embassy, Harsányi’s dispatches of the 1650s show that he had broader ambitions: to safeguard the interests of the prince through his personal initiatives. Theoretically, this freedom of choice was the prerogative of the orators: “if I see anything that could further the advantage, promotion, or survival of His Highness, I will try to advance and put it into effect with all my might.”14 By

12 Rozsnyai called the attention of the orators to go to the Sublime Porte at least three times a week and always to write the truth to their princes. See MHHS VIII, 259–260. 13 See the obligatory letter of István Boros, post envoy, entrusted also with the task of interpreting (Gyulafehérvár, 16 October 1671), TMÁO V, 72–74; and the three surviving obligatory letters of János Mózes: Fogaras, 16 April 1675, TMÁO V, 332–333, this is the source of the quotation; Gyulafehérvár, 5 October 1681, Áron Szilády and Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Török- magyarkori állam-okmánytár [State documents from the Turkish-Hungarian age], vol. 6 (Pest, 1871), 167–168 (in the following: TMÁO VI); and Fogaras, 29 April 1687, Sándor Szilá- gyi, ed., Erdélyi országgyűlési emlékek történeti bevezetésekkel [Documents of the diets of Transylvania, with a historical introduction], vol. 19, 1686–1688 (Budapest, 1896), 160–161 (in the following: EOE XIX). 14 Obligatory letter of Boldizsár Sebessi (Fogaras, 5 February 1635), RGyP, 190. The same text (or one very similar to it) is preserved with the signatures of various orators from the 1630s to 1640s; see that of István Kőrössy (Gyulafehérvár, 6 February 1633), István Rácz (Gyulafe- hérvár, 3 October 1641), or György Hajdu (Gyulafehérvár, 1 November 1643), RGyKÖ, 113: RGyKÖ, 500–501; RGyP, 573–574; RGyKÖ, 760–761. It is characteristic of the new political atmosphere after the 1660s that orators no longer swore an oath for the promotion of the interests of the prince, but rather an oath to try to resist should anything occur that would damage these interests. See the obligatory letter of Orator Zsigmond Boér (Gyulafehérvár, 16 October 1671), EOE XV, 85–86. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 193 placing considerable emphasis on his diligence, Harsányi thus not only showed that he performed the duties expected of him, but also that he was capable of carrying out grander tasks – those of an orator. And as if accentuating his own accomplishments was not enough, he also applied another rhetorical strategy – blaming the orators for their negligence of these very values. While, as we saw, he accused Váradi of idleness, he presented Balogh, especially at the peak of their conflict, as a man full of deceit: “he has such a false and intriguing mind that he would be able to marry the patriarch and the pope in Rome.”15 In order to understand the aims of the ambitious Turkish scribe, we also have to consider what he asked from his prince in return for his services. It was not uncommon for diplomats sent to Constantinople to note in their dispatches home that they would not mind if the prince gave them a small donation or exempted one of their estates from taxes as a reward.16 We know of several Turkish scribes who had some small estates, although only in the case of Dávid Rozsnyai can we be sure that he received an estate in return for his service.17 Since Rozsnyai spent most of his active years at the Sublime Porte or travelling between Constantinople and Gyulafehérvár, it is remarkable that his letters should show him to be a careful manager of his estates who would stop at nothing to acquire new ones. After having corresponded from the sultan’s court with the Transylvanian elite and asking for the donation of an estate, he adopted an altogether irregular procedure and presented them with the following option: “[if I get it,] I shall commit myself to the country and His Highness for my entire life, but if not, I shall resort to different measures.”18

15 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 21 December 1656), MHHD XXIII, 508. 16 See for instance, Simon Péchy to Mihály Tholdalagi (about Orator Dániel Sövényfalvi) (Gyulafehérvár, 5 September 1615), Sándor Szilágyi, “Bethlen Gábor és a Porta” [Bethlen Gábor and the Porte], in Történelmi Tár 1881, 599 (in the following TT 1881–82); the letter of Tamás Borsos to István Bethlen (Constantinople, 28 October 1626), Samu Gergely, “Adalék ‘Bethlen Gábor és a Porta’ czímű közleményhez” [Contributions to the publication “Gábor Bethlen and the Porte”], in Történelmi Tár 1883, 615–616 (in the following: TT 1882–82); and the letter of István Kőrössy to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 4 September 1633), RGyKÖ, 135. 17 See the information about the various Turkish scribes’ estates in Kármán, “Translation.” 18 Dávid Rozsnyai to Mihály Teleki (Adrianople, 18 April 1672), TML VI, 183. On the questions concerning the management of Rozsnyai’s estates, see his letters to his wife: József Koncz, “Oklevelek Rozsnyay Dávid fogsága történetéhez” [Documents concerning the history of the imprisonment of Dávid Rozsnyai], in Történelmi Tár 1883, 155–169 (in the following: TT 1883). 194 Chapter 5

Nothing of the sort can be found in Harsányi’s correspondence. As we saw in Chapter Two, Harsányi had to ask his prince several times to send his salary which had been delayed, or at least to send a supplement since circumstances in Constantinople required more. Nor can we exclude the possibility that, after his return from many years of duty and imprisonment suffered in the service of the prince, he, like István Tisza, also received the gift of a small estate from Ákos Barcsai in 1659. If, as in the case of the orator, this was in the vicinity of the Borosjenő castle, however, he must have lost it in the same year because of the advances of the Ottoman armies.19 Nevertheless, in the surviving correspondence there is no indication that Harsányi requested an estate. Quite the contrary. In many of his letters written during conflicts with the orators Harsányi asked his prince, “I beg Your Highness to discipline the orator so that he does not tarnish what little honour I have.”20 He found it especially prejudicial that, “while I carried the burdens and performed the service, they [that is, the orators] collected the advantages and the honours.”21 As these quotations show, Harsányi referred to honours, the acknowledgement of his service and the prestige deriving from it, as the main reward for his efforts: “Your Highness should not think that I would bring eternal disgrace to my little fame [using fame here as a synonym for honour] by wasting three or four years idly here.”22 So, according to his letters, Jakab Harsányi Nagy only expected his employer to provide him with his daily bread and to acknowledge his achievements. His ambitions nevertheless originated in the frequently mentioned fact that the office of Turkish scribe did not enjoy a high prestige. Although its holders had much more experience of the political life of the Sublime Porte than the orators, they were treated as auxiliary technical personnel. The orators repeatedly reminded the more ambitious Turkish scribes of the division of labour represented by their oaths. Harsányi reported indignantly to György Rákóczi II: “because if these people can say that they are the orators and I am only a

19 On the estate of Tisza, see Anna Bornemissza to Mihály Teleki (Nagyvárad, 8 and 26 Janu- ary 1659), TML I, 315, 324–325. 20 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 21 December 1656), see footnote 15, 508. 21 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656) see footnote 11, 306. 22 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 7 July 1654), MHHD XXIII, 146. The word Harsányi uses for honour, “becsület,” today means “honesty,” i.e. a characteristic of moral integrity. The early modern Hungarian usage was more related to “honour,” i.e. a phenomenon depending on the reaction of others to one’s activities and character. The same usage is documented in the foreword of Miklós Bethlen’s “Élete leírása,” 411–432. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 195 contemptible scribe and if I do not have a say in the issues of Your Highness, I cannot use my sense of judgment and experience and I do not know how I can proceed.”23 This was probably the best summary for the prince of the core of the conflict. The auxiliary role was not enough for a man who wanted an insight into the actual political issues – in other words he wanted to take over some part of the traditional role of the orator. As I noted in Chapter Two, it was difficult for Máté Balogh, despite all his efforts, entirely to exclude Harsányi from the more important tasks of the embassy. The indefatigable Turkish scribe continued to go about his business, obtaining new information, hearing the opinion of the supporters of the Principality, and even sending advice to the prince. This last task was all the more remarkable. To influence the prince’s foreign policy with such direct methods was not only rare among the Turkish scribes, but there are very few such cases even among the orators. These are mostly from critical periods of the Principality, since the correspondence of the orators was generally restricted to transmitting news and reporting their negotiations at the Porte. Those who decided to share their individual ideas with their rulers also had to employ a special rhetorical strategy to avoid giving the prince the impression that they were trying to infringe on his rights. The introduction of the advice thus regularly followed the same pattern: “I am not worthy to persuade Your Highness concerning as much as a single point,” wrote Tamás Borsos. But the forms “according to my pittance of a small mind,” or “according to my limited sense of judgment” were also popular.24 Jakab Harsányi Nagy also tried to introduce, or close, his advice with similar formulas – “I am not worthy, Your Highness, to give advice to a royal person of such wisdom” or “But all these elements are, Your Highness, at your disposal. You should act as you please”.25 Thus, besides diligence and loyalty, humility towards the ruler was added as a third element to the self-fashioning of Harsányi’s correspondence from the Sublime Porte. Harsányi was not the only Turkish scribe with ambitions in the history of the Principality of Transylvania, and although he must have expended a certain amount of energy on his struggles with the orators, his frustration, luckily,

23 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 22 December 1656), EÉKH I, 568–569. 24 Tamás Borsos to Gábor Bethlen ([Constantinople, 8 September 1618]), Borsos, Vásárhelytől, 124; István Kőrössy to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 14 August 1633), RGyP, 65; Bol dizsár Sebessi to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 18 December 1640), RGyP, 540. 25 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 September 1656), cited in footnote 11, 476; and another letter of his to the prince (Constantinople, 4 June 1655), TT 1889, 669. 196 Chapter 5 did not lead to any careless move. A contrary example is the case of Péter Bakó, who appears in the correspondence of the Transylvanian embassy in 1635 precisely because of a conflict with the orator. The young man, who had only recently started his studies in Constantinople, complained that Boldizsár Sebessi was not taking him to the negotiations and did not induct him into the internal affairs of the embassy. The young Turkish scribe, who had a somewhat factious nature, opted for a radical step in 1637. He left the service of Prince György Rákóczi I and continued his activities as the diplomat of Mózes Székely, a pretender to the Transylvanian throne.26 Jakab Harsányi Nagy, on the other hand, remained in the service of György Rákóczi II – and, if my reconstruction of the scarcely documented period between 1659 and 1660 is accurate, he did not even join any of Rákóczi’s opponents during the civil war in Transylvania. During his years in Constantinople Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s self-fashioning seems to have been successful. Even if the prince did not stand up for him in his conflicts with the orators, György Rákóczi II is unlikely to have had any doubts concerning the diligence and loyalty of his diplomat, or the respect he paid to him. This assessment is less surprising if we remember that Harsányi could mark up a remarkable amount of achievements and multiplied the scope and activity of the Transylvanian information system at the Sublime Porte. It is actually more surprising that György Rákóczi II did not grant Harsányi’s wish (which, as far as we know, was never communicated to him directly) to be appointed orator.27 This would not have been entirely

26 On the feuds at the embassy, see Péter Bakó, resp. Boldizsár Sebessi, to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 29 June 1635, resp. 9 March 1636), RGyKÖ, 320, resp. 292–296. Bakó’s desertion is mentioned in György Rákóczi I’s letter to Sebessi (Gyulafehérvár, 2 May 1637), RGyKÖ, 403. On his further activities, see Róbert Dán, Az erdélyi szombatosok és Péchi Simon [The Transylvanian Sabbatharians and Simon Péchi] (Budapest, 1987), 291–292; Kármán, “Translation,” 262–263. 27 In the address of his letter of 22 March 1657 written to István Tisza and Harsányi, Locum- Tenens Ákos Barcsai did not differentiate between the two: both of them were addressed as the orators (“oratoribus”) of the prince (EÉKH II, 359). In his travelogue from the same period Conrad Jacob Hiltebrandt also called Harsányi a “Gesandter,” that is, envoy (Hilte- brandt, Dreifache schwedische Gesandtschaftsreise, 115) – although he differentiated him from the “orator.” At the same time, Claes Rålamb clearly calls Harsányi a “Secretarius” in his diary (Rålamb, Diarium, 97), and his secretary, Jonas Klingen, also mentions him as the envoy’s “adiunct” (UUB N439 fol. 141r). György Rákóczi II too makes a distinction in the address of his letter of 15 January 1657 between Tisza, whom he calls orator, and Harsányi, for whom he uses the rather general title “familiarius noster” (EÉKH II, 357). Harsányi was thus probably not appointed orator in 1657 either – in the Transylvanian system of representation at the Sublime Porte it would in any case have been extraordinary to duplicate the orator’s person. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 197 unprecedented. There were cases before and after Harsányi when princes commissioned men who obviously had the most experience in Ottoman issues to be their representatives in Constantinople for a year. After János Váradi Házi, György Brankovics also served as orator in the second half of the seventeenth century.28 This opportunity however was not given to Harsányi. During his years of exile Harsányi repeatedly had to reassure various rulers about the virtues he had shown in their service. Both the loyalty towards his employer and the diligent observance of his duties played an important part in the letters which he wrote to Swedish aristocrats about his conflicts with Gheorghe Ştefan.29 In these reports, however, the third element of the Tran sylvanian dispatches, that of humility, was lacking, obviously because Harsányi was no longer in the voievod’s service when he wrote them, and the tone he adopted towards György Rákóczi II could not have been reconciled with the mutual accusations. Humility, on the other hand, was an integral part of the memorials submitted to Brandenburg, completed with his gratitude towards the elector for the accommodation he had been accorded. In these writings it is the emphasis on diligence that is missing, that is to say that Jakab Harsányi Nagy complains frequently that he would be happy to put his expertise at Frederick William’s service, but the ruler has not provided him with any tasks.30 Nevertheless, rhetorical elements are not the main difference between how Harsányi saw and represented his role as a “bureaucrat” in Transylvanian service and his later activities. His contacts with Gheorghe Ştefan and subsequently with Frederick William were built on a basis entirely different from the service he offered to György Rákóczi II. When he could no longer expect the voievod to provide him with a living and was also forced into the background of his court, Jakab Harsányi Nagy not only left his service but also tried to supplant his previous employer at the Swedish royal court when it was in his interest to do so. He did nothing similar to Frederick William, although, when his salary was not being paid, he made preparations for a change and dedicated some copies of his book to another ruler, Gustav Adolph of Güstrow-Mecklenburg. His contacts with the exiled voievod and the elector of Brandenburg can thus be regarded as contractual: these rulers could count on Harsányi’s service only

28 On the appointment to the orator’s office as the peak of the Turkish scribes’ career, see Kármán, “Translation,” 273. 29 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Carl Gustaf Wrangel (Stettin, 28 April[/8 May] 1666); and to Mag- nus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 6[/16] May 1666, and 26 February[/8 March] 1667), all cited in footnote 7. 30 Memorial of Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William (Berlin, 10[/20] August 1673), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 27r. 198 Chapter 5 as long as there seemed to be a chance that they would fulfill their part of the deal.31 There are no traces of anything similar from the years at the Sublime Porte. No matter how many frustrations he had to face in the conflicts with the hostile orators, or how long his salary was delayed, there is nothing in the surviving sources that would suggest, like the threats of Dávid Rozsnyai, that he planned to leave Constantinople or offer his expertise to other embassies. The nature of his service as a “bureaucrat” changed after he had to relinquish his home country, the Principality of Transylvania: it was then that his uncondi- tional loyalty turned into a contractual one, and he became, like Milescu and Torquatus, an “intellectuel sans frontières.”32

The Intellectual

The literature about early modern Hungarian intellectuals uses two different, usually implicit, definitions of the term, one broad and one narrow. It is generally used for any person who earned his living through marketing his skills as a writer. This approach places the entire spectrum of ecclesiastical offices in this category and also widens the scope of the secular intelligentsia, from the pre- fects of noblemen’s domains to high-ranking officeholders of the princely administration.33 If one follows this definition, it obviously makes no sense to ask whether Harsányi belonged to this group. His role is unambivalent not only in his years of teaching, but also during his later career: his office as a Turkish scribe and as a secretary of Gheorghe Ştefan fit into the category that the historian Zsolt Trócsányi labelled as “the officeholder intellectual.”34

31 In Frederick William’s case a written version of this contract is also available, even if, for- mally, it was not a mutual agreement, but a unilateral appointment charter. We cannot, however, exclude the possibility that the cooperation with Gheorghe Ştefan had also been regulated by a similar document. 32 I borrowed the metaphor from Zamfira Mihail’s study on Milescu; but I use it with a different meaning since Mihail referred to the high level of the emigrant’s erudition: “Les intellectuels ‘sans frontières’ du XVIIe siècle: Nicolae le Spathaire Milescu,” Revue des Études Sud-Est Européennes 44 (2006): 185–194. 33 On questions of definition, see Katalin Péter, “Az értelmiség és a XVII. század közepének politikai mozgalmai” [The intellectuals and the political movements of the mid-17th century], in A magyarországi értelmiség a XVII–XVIII. században, ed. István Zombori (Szeged, 1984), 21–27 ; as well as Ágnes R. Várkonyi, “Értelmiség és államhatalom Magyarországon a 17–18. század fordulóján” [Intellectuals and state power in Hungary at the turn of the 18th century], in A magyarországi értelmiség, 58–65. 34 Trócsányi, Erdély, 406–413. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 199

By contrast it is worth asking whether Harsányi would fit the narrower definition of the Hungarian early modern intellectual. As János Heltai pointed out, although a majority of the officeholding group serving a prince or other noblemen were clearly paid for their literacy skills, they did not have a sense of being an intellectual. There are no signs that they were convinced that their office had any value or relevance in itself, beyond the pragmatic profit derived from the fulfillment of administrative assignments.35 Rephrased according to the general question of this chapter, the decisive moment is whether being an intellectual played any role in the individual’s self-representation. In this section my analysis aims at tracing the phenomenon in Harsányi’s self-fashioning as a proud intellectual. Since we lack any ego-documents from the first period of Harsányi’s career as a teacher, we cannot provide any concrete evidence in answer to this question. In any case, being a teacher was certainly one of the most prominent offices that led to someone’s self-definition as an intellectual. Certainly not everybody shared János Apáczai Csere’s opinion (referred to in Chapter One) on the role of knowledge and education in the development of countries, but Harsányi spent a long enough time teaching for us to assume that he attributed great relevance to learning and erudition. In the autumn of 1656, close to the end of his conflict with Máté Balogh, Jakab Harsányi Nagy told György Rákóczi II that “Here, all the Christian ambassadors and orators are knowledgeable, only the Wallachians are barbarians, from whom our orator does not differ very much either.”36 Inhabitants of Wallachia and Moldavia had a bad reputation in early modern Transylvania – they were frequently blamed for their lack of a classical education – so comparing the Transylvanian orator to those of the voievods was a strong rhetorical figure for Harsányi in conveying his message.37 He also explained what he meant by the term “barbarian” – the phenomenon that, during his service, all the orators were of the sort “who knew no language other than their mother tongue,” something which caused severe problems in attending to

35 János Heltai, Alvinczi Péter és a heidelbergi peregrinusok [Péter Alvinczi and the visiting students going to Heidelberg] (Budapest, 1994), 11–12. On the traces of an “intellectual’s identity,” see also R. Várkonyi, “Értelmiség,” 65–68. 36 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 8 September 1656), MHHD XXIII, 458–459. 37 On the early modern Hungarian attitude towards the inhabitants of the two Voievodates, see Kármán, “Identity,” 564–565; Gábor Almási, “Constructing the Wallach ‘Other’ in Late Renaissance,” in Whose Love for Which Country? Composite States, National Histories and Patriotic Discourses in Early Modern East Central Europe, ed. Balázs Trencsényi and Márton Zászkaliczky (Leiden, 2010), 91–130. 200 Chapter 5 their diplomatic duties. “The Christian orators are surprised that such orators of Your Highness come here, with whom, when they meet, if there were no one else to take care of things, they would not be able to converse at all, not to mention discuss something important.”38 The orators needed interpreters for the negotiations, which consequently could not be kept secret. The comparison of the Transylvanian diplomats with their western colleagues, however, suggests more than the exposition of this concrete problem. As mentioned earlier, being “deáktalan” (Latin-less), that is, whether the person knew Latin or not, was not only a practical matter for the early modern Hungarian mentality. It also served as a basis for further assumptions about a man’s moral character.39 Harsányi noted that, while he found the diplomats of the western embassies to be “knowledgeable,” erudite, and thus respectable people, his compatriots did not even have a chance to reach this level since they lacked the minimum basis for further development, a command of Latin. In contrast to them, Harsányi could write in Latin and did not hesitate to show it. The early modern Hungarian style tolerated Latinisms, so it is not especially remarkable that Harsányi’s letters should also contain so many. We should note, however, that he also inserted entire sentences in Latin into his reports otherwise written in Hungarian.40 Such solutions are only known from seventeenth-century Transylvanian diplomatic correspondence from the Porte in the cases of highly educated orators, such as Dániel Sövényfalvi who, because of his Latin erudition, was also referred to by his contemporaries as “Dániel deák.”41 Harsányi’s propagation of his erudition went even further in those letters in which he quoted classical authors. Note his comment upon the Wallachian soldiers’ revolt in 1655: “Faber compedes, quas fecit ipse gestet” (Let the smith wear the chains which he made). The Latin proverb is included in the collection of adages by Erasmus of Rotterdam, even if that does not necessarily make it the source of Harsányi’s quotation.42 The fact that Harsányi quotes Virgil is much more remarkable. According to tradition the Roman poet

38 See the letter cited in footnote 36, 458–459. 39 Bartók, “A casa rustica.” 40 See for example his report from 21 December 1656 (MHHD XXIII, 509). 41 Dániel Sövényfalvi to Simon Péchy (Constantinople, 22 October 1616), TT 1881–1882 [1881], 615. On the use of the cognomen “deák,” see for example Simon Péchy to Mihály Tholda- lagi (Gyulafehérvár, 5 September 1615), TT 1881–1882 [1881], 599. 42 In a slightly different version: “Faber compedes, quas facit ipse gestat.” Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 June 1655), MHHD XXIII, 191. Erasmus of Rotterdam, Collected Works of Erasmus, vol. 31, Adages I i 1 to I v 100, trans. Margaret Mann Philips, ed. R.A.B. Mynors (Toronto, 1982), 127. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 201 wrote the following line when one of his laudatory poems for Emperor Augustus was stolen by a colleague of his: “Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores” (I wrote this little poem, someone else was honoured for it). He then improvised four different endings on the half-line “Sic vos non vobis,” which all offered an analogy: the bees do not collect honey for themselves, the ox does not pull the carriage for himself, and so on.43 Harsányi – in a manner quite uncommon in diplomatic reports – quoted all five lines, and thus did his utmost to impress his ruler and achieve the highest possible “honores.” The impact was not necessarily diminished by the fact that the order of the lines is different from that in modern editions, and that Harsányi also gives an alternative name to Virgil’s rival. The Latin erudition of contemporaries came not primarily from the authors, but from chrestomathies, so the mistakes found there were also frequently perpetuated.44 This method was not without analogies: Habsburg informants in the 1680s and 1690s also eagerly ornamented their reports with quotations from Latin authors or from the Bible, usually with some smaller mistakes.45 There is only one similar case known from Transylvania, that of Orator István Réthy, who also liked to give the account of his negotiations with the Habsburg ambassador in Latin. In a letter from 1646 he quoted Ovid’s Amores – without noting the name of the author but only referring to a “wise pagan poet.”46 Harsányi had good reason to boast of his competence in Latin as it was far from common among the Transylvanian diplomats sent to Constantinople. His remark that no orator could speak a single foreign language during his years of duty there should be taken critically, since it was a way for him to emphasize his own importance and aptitude. Nevertheless, shortly before his arrival in

43 Hugh Moore, A Dictionary of Quotations… (London, 1831), 142. 44 The following four lines – “Sic vos non vobis fertis aratra boves;/ Sic vos non vobis mellifi- catis apes;/ Sic vos non vobis vellera fertis oves;/ Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves.” – were quoted by Harsányi in the order: 4, 1, 3, 2; and instead of Bathyllus he refers to Mavius as Virgil’s rival. See his letter to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 8 September 1656), cited in footnote 36, 459. 45 Dóra Kerekes, Diplomaták és kémek Konstantinápolyban [Diplomats and spies in Constan- tinople] (Budapest, 2010), 204–208. 46 The quotation is as follows: “Consilium nobis resque locusque dabunt” – et nemo est consiliarius melior quam tempus.” Only the first half of the sentence comes from the Amores (I.4, 54): “the circumstances and the situation will suggest to us a plan”; the second half is added by Réthy: “and no one gives better advice than time.” István Réthy to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 24 November 1646), RGyP, 878. Cf. Ovid, Amores I, ed. and trans. John Barsby (Oxford, 1973), 62. On Réthy’s negotiations with the Habsburg ambassador, see his report from 18 June 1639: RGyP, 421. 202 Chapter 5

Constantinople there was an orator who begged the prince not to extend his mandate at the Sublime Porte with the following argumentation:

I am not up to this service since I speak no language other than Hungarian, so I cannot converse either with the Christian orators or their interpreters. If I want to talk to them through an interpreter, they would say that Constantinople is a place where not three, but even two people should watch what they say, and then leave me. I worry night and day about causing problems for Your Highness, making mistakes out of ignorance; I really do not know how a Latin-less (“deáktalan”) person could be fit for this task.”47

He was not the only one who confessed to such problems. In 1635, Orator Pál Nagy also referred to himself as being “Latin-less” in a letter to his prince.48 Even if Harsányi’s Latin education was not impeccable, as the above-mentioned faulty quotation from Virgil has shown, it seems that he could gain some respect for it among his contemporaries. This is illustrated by Isaac Basire, professor at the Gyulafehérvár College in the 1650s, whose arrival in Transylvania Harsányi, amongst others, prepared. Basire, whose mother tongue was French, became a court chaplain of Charles I of England shortly before the king’s fall, after which he had to leave the country. He went to the Ottoman Empire and preached in various Syrian and Anatolian congregations before his arrival in Constantinople in 1653.49 We are not exactly sure when he

47 Ferenc Földvári to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 13 April 1651), MHHD XXIII, 51. 48 In his case, however, it was not his deficient Latin skills, but his lack of higher education that was meant by “deáktalanság,” since he mentioned it in connection with his claim that he could not personally check the accounts of expenses compiled by his bookkeeper scribe; see the letter of Pál Nagy to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 23 December 1635), RGyP, 161. The envoys of the Principality of Transylvania were not the only ones who had problems with Latin. Several cases are known from the seventeenth century of diplomats who spoke Latin with difficulty, although in their case this deficiency was compensated for by the knowledge of another international language of the time, Italian or French; see Peter Burke, “Heu domine, adsunt Turcae: A Sketch for a Social History of Post-Medieval Latin,” in Language, Self and Society: A Social History of Language, ed. Peter Burke and Roy Porter (Cambridge, 1991), 23–50. 49 Several accounts of Basire’s biography are available, all of which, however, focus on one single period of his career. An early biography with a selection of his correspondence: W.R. Darnell, The Correspondence of Isaac Basire, D.D. Archdeacon of Northumberland and Prebendary of Durham in the Reigns of Charles I. and Charles II. with a Memoir of His Life (London, 1831). On his Transylvanian period: Frigyes Endrődi, “Basire Izsák Erdélyben” [Isaac Basire in Transylvania], Angol Filológiai Tanulmányok / Studies in English Philology The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 203 established his contacts with the Transylvanian embassy, but it must have been early in 1654 at the latest. In May negotiations were already in progress about the conditions on which he would be ready to move to the Principality.50 Since, by that time, only one of the three professors whom Gábor Bethlen had invited to Gyulafehérvár was still alive – and even Johann Heinrich Bisterfeld died shortly after, in 1655 – Basire was given tenure at the school. It seems to have been Harsányi who mediated between the prince and Basire and to have been he who also informed Rákóczi that the emigrant chaplain was not only a theologian but also “a good medicus.”51 Even in the following years it was Harsányi who forwarded to the Principality Basire’s post which arrived at the English embassy in Constantinople.52 Basire appears to have had a high opinion of Harsányi. Early in 1658 he wrote to the young theologian Conrad Jacob Hiltebrant, who had by that time become a member of the Swedish embassy at the Sublime Porte: “The captivity of our friends, namely the most outstanding Master Harsányi, broke my heart.”53 Even if Basire felt somewhat indebted to the Turkish scribe, it is remarkable that he did not use the title “generosus” for him, which would have been appropriate due to his diplomatic function, but rather that of “clarissimus” (translated as “most outstanding”), which was

2 (1937): 71–81; Bán, Apáczai, 437–439. With important details: Lajos Demény and Paul Cernovodeanu, Relaţiile politice ale Angliei cu Moldova, Ţara Românească şi Transilvania în secolele XVI–XVII. [Political relationship of England with Moldavia, Wallachia, and Transylvania in the 16th–17th centuries] (Bucharest, 1974), 143–146. On his years in the Ottoman Empire: Goffman, Britons, 215–218 (where he is mistakenly mentioned under the name “Bagire”); Alastair Hamilton, “The English Interest in the Arabic-Speaking Christians,” in The ‘Arabick’ Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth-Century England, ed. G.A. Russell (Leiden, 2005), 40–42. 50 According to Miklós Bethlen, when Ákos Barcsai was taking the tribute of the Principality to the Sublime Porte in 1655, “attached to him was Basirius, and he took him to Transylva- nia” (“Élete leírása,” 546). It was indeed Barcsai who made contact with Basire, but already in 1653–1654; Orator Ferenc Thordai had already written in May 1654 that the he had received the prince’s orders concerning the “Doctor Theologiae” and he would continue the negotiations about the conditions of moving to Transylvania, see his report to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 13 May 1654), MHHD XXIII, 144. 51 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 20 July 1654), BUBFS VIII, 48. In the letter cited in the preceding footnote, Ferenc Thordai also advised his prince to ask Harsányi for further information about Basire: “Master Harsányi knows more about it, Your Highness, than I, he can inform Your Highness more realistically.” 52 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 June 1655; and 16 August 1656), MHHD XXII, 192, 434. 53 The entire letter is available in Hiltebrandt, Dreifache schwedische Gesandtschaftsreise, 143. 204 Chapter 5 reserved in contemporary usage for people respected for their vast humanist knowledge. We have very limited information about how Harsányi might have tried to maintain the image of an intellectual after he left the Principality. Just like Milescu, he probably had many opportunities during the one year he spent in Stockholm to develop a positive image of himself among the high-ranking officeholders of the Swedish court. He would thus have ensured that they would not only see him as the secretary of an ill-fated ruler of a small country, but rather as a knowledgeable man of broad erudition. While Milescu’s successes were documented by the Marquis de Pomponne’s notes, there is no surviving information about the possibly similar case of Harsányi. It is again the language of his official papers from his Brandenburg years which is telling. Since he wrote each of his supplications in Latin, this provided new opportunities to show that he was a master of style. It seems that he was not content with the subtleties of composition for this purpose, but also sprinkled his Opinio with references to Livy and Virgil.54 We see another important element of Harsányi’s self-fashioning in the way he used a startling rhetorical strategy in two of his letters to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie. By the end of these letters Harsányi had stopped addressing the Swedish chancellor in the formal manner, that is, the second person plural while calling him “Illustrissima Vestra Excellentia,” and instead started using the second person singular. In the first letter it was only restricted to a single appearance in the term “to your servant” (servi tui). In the second one, however, in which Harsányi told the chancellor about his new office in Brandenburg, approximately one half of the letter was characterized by Harsányi’s addressing the Swedish aristocrat in the informal, singular form, calling him “Illustrissi mus Hero.”55 The only reasonable explanation for the usage of these forms, which would be unimaginable in a diplomatic correspondence, is that Harsányi imitated in these instances the epistolary style of humanist scholars, who tended to use the informal, singular forms even when writing to their patrons. Both versions of the dedication in the Colloquia reinforce this interpretation,

54 The reference to Livy, which can be found in both versions of the Opinio (cf. chapter 4, footnote 29), is related to an event in the Second Punic War. Harsányi emphasized the urgency of the matter with this remark: “so that, while disputations were going on in Rome, Saguntum would not fall” (“ne dum Romæ disputatur Saguntum pereat”). The reference to Virgil is only in version B. Again, it is the instant need of action that is underlined by stating that the house of Ucalegon is already on fire – the destruction of the Trojan Elder’s home is narrated in Aeneid 2.312. 55 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Stettin, 11[/21] December 1666 and 26 February[/8 March] 1667), cited in footnotes 6, resp. 7. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 205 since Harsányi used the same form to address both the elector of Brandenburg and the prince of Mecklenburg. Moreover, in some of his letters from the period after the publication of the Colloquia, he also addressed Frederick William in the second person singular, but obviously only after addressing him with due respect at the beginning of the letter by using the title “Electoralis Vestra Serenitas.”56 It is important to note that this strategy of emphasizing his self-fashioning as an intellectual was only practised by Harsányi towards the elector after the publication of the Colloquia. To write a book was in itself an important part of his self-representation. In the period before 1672 it was in Harsányi’s interest to prove his importance to Frederick William, if only because of the irregular payment of his salary. In spite of the growing relevance of Brandenburg in the European theatre of politics, the Ottoman Empire only appeared rarely on the horizon of the elector’s foreign affairs. Harsányi, therefore, had to face the fact that his chances to prove his aptitude were slim. Writing a book – and let us not forget that he originally wanted to write two books – which would give an adequate idea of his expertise must have seemed an excellent solution to this problem. In any case, it was not uncommon for diplomats who spent some time in Constantinople to commit their experiences to paper. In the Transylvanian context it was the holders of Harsányi’s office, the Turkish scribes, who dedicated special efforts to writing Turkish-related books.57 János Váradi Házi translated the treatise of a fifteenth-century Ottoman theologian in order to acquaint his readers with Islam and thus enable them to distinguish what was true from what was false, according to the foreword.58 Dávid Rozsnyai not only collected copies of Ottoman diplomatic documents but also translated the

56 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Frederick William (Berlin, 19[/29] November 1672), GStA PK I. HA Geheimer Rat Rep. 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung J 16 Fasz. 3. fol. 21–24. 57 On the role of early modern Hungarian translations in the careers of their authors, see Hanna Orsolya Vincze, “The Stakes of Translation and Vernacularisation in Early Modern Hungary,” European Review of History 16, no. 1 (2009): 63–78. Concerning the careers of the Turkish scribes, see Kármán, “Translation.” 58 János Váradi Házi, Machumet propheta vallasan levö egy fö irastúdo doctornac irásából törökböl magyarrá forditatot könyw, mellyet Envarvl asikinnac hinac [A book called “Enva rul Asikin,” by a chief literate doctor from the religion of the Prophet Mahomet, translated from Turkish to Hungarian] (Kassa, 1626), 2–3. On the book, see Gedeon Borsa and Ferenc Hervay, eds., Régi magyarországi nyomtatványok [Old Hungarian prints], vol. 2, 1601–1635 (Budapest: Akadémiai, 1983), no. 1360 (in the following: RMNy II); Gábor Ágoston, “Mus- lim Cultural Enclaves in Hungary under Ottoman Rule,” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scien- tiarum Hungariae 45 (1991): 203–204. 206 Chapter 5

Turkish version of an Indian storybook. Although his Horologium Turcicum, in contrast to Váradi Házi’s translated work, was not published during his lifetime, Rozsnyai made sure that many prominent members of the Transylvanian elite received manuscript copies so that his skills and dedication might obtain the maximum publicity.59 Nor do the Turkish scribes of Transylvania stand alone in their determination to go beyond their diplomatic activities by writing books. There were a number of intellectuals at the Christian embassies at Constantinople who were ready to reflect on their experiences in the Ottoman Empire. A significant part of the turcica literature – which had flourished ever since the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople – was by men connected to the embassies. Not only do intellectuals seem to have occupied auxiliary posts at the western embassies, but many of the authors were envoys themselves. The author of the popular Turkish Letters from the mid-sixteenth century, Augerius Busbequius, was a Habsburg ambassador in Constantinople, and above all there was the author of one of the most important descriptions of Turkey from the following century, Paul Rycaut, who wrote his books as the secretary of the English ambassador in Constantinople, and later as consul of the Levant Com pany in Smyrna.60 Although sixteenth- and seventeenth-century discourse about scholarly life suggested that one of the most important prerequisites of this lifestyle was a vita contemplativa, the practice shows that a vast majority of those writing about the Ottoman Empire came from the world of the vita activa.61

59 The modern edition of the work: Dávid Rozsnyai, Horologium Turcicum, Régi magyar könyvtár, no. 38, ed. Lajos Dézsi (Budapest, 1926). We even have evidence which suggests that Rozsnyai made at least some of the manuscript copies himself: his diary entry on 31 January 1715 (“I started writing the Turcicum Horologium”) must have referred to copying the work, since it had already been completed earlier; see János Simonfi, “Rosnyay Dávid naptári följegyzései” [The diaries of Dávid Rozsnyai], Erdélyi Múzeum 9 (1914): 121. 60 See their short biographies in Zweder von Martels, “In His Majesty’s Service: Augerius Busbequius, Courtier and Diplomat of Maximillian II,” in Kaiser Maximillian II: Kultur und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert, ed. Friedrich Edelmayer and Alfred Kohler (Vienna, 1992), 169–181; Anderson, An English Consul. 61 On the early modern differentiation between the vita activa and contemplativa, see Paul Oskar Kristeller, “Active and Contemplative Life in Renaissance Humanism,” in Arbeit, Musse, Meditation: Betrachtungen zur Vita activa und Vita contemplativa, ed. Brian Vickers (Zurich, 1985), 133–152; and Brian Vickers, “Public and Private Life in Seventeenth-Century England,” in Arbeit, Musse, Meditation, 257–278. On scholarly habitus, see also Gadi Algazi, “Scholars in Households: Refiguring the Learned Habitus, 1480–1550,” Science in Context 16, nos. 1–2 (2003): 9–42; and Algazi, “Food for Thought: Hieronymus Wolff Grapples with the Scholarly Habitus,” in Egodocuments and History: Autobiographical Writing in Its Social Context since the Middle Ages, ed. Rudolf Dekker (Hilversum, 2002), 21–44. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 207

And yet, as we saw in Chapter Four, Harsányi’s attempt to enter the international intellectual circles of his time was unsuccessful. The Colloquia remained largely unknown even to that part of the Republic of Letters which was most interested in Oriental languages and scholarship. This also means that Harsányi did not follow the strategy regularly used in the Republic of Letters of sending copies of his work to other renowned experts. Apart from Müller’s copy, we only know about one exemplar which might have been given as a present by Harsányi. It was not, however, given to a scholar, but to Otto von Schwerin, the Brandenburg politician who helped Harsányi settle in Berlin.62 Harsányi’s career hardly predestined him to become an illustrious scholar. We have no evidence to suggest that his Orientalist interests were already formed during his university years. They were far more likely to have been the result of a pragmatic choice. Harsányi thus not only lost any chance of pursuing a career as a classicist at a university, but he could not even succeed as a philologist as did Andreas Müller who, although he never actually taught, could at least gain and sustain the interest of his fellow scholars with his regularly published works. The flourishing of Oriental studies in the mid-seventeenth century also diminished rather than increased Harsányi’s chances of establishing himself as a scholar. In the first half of the seventeenth century careers such as that of Josephus Barbatus were still possible. He was born in an Egyptian Coptic family under the name Yūsuf ibn Abū Daqn and, after some years in Rome and Paris, taught at Oxford, and later in Leuven, thanks to his knowledge of Arabic and Hebrew.63 With the upsurge of Oriental studies – primarily the study of Arabic – it was nevertheless the western-born philologists who travelled to the East in growing numbers in order to deepen their knowledge and develop their collections of manuscripts. The most important figure of seventeenth-century Arabic Studies in Leiden, Jacobus Golius, was chancellor at the consulate of the United Provinces in Aleppo between 1623 and 1629. Edward Pococke, the first Laudian professor of Arabic at Oxford University, was the chaplain of the English Levant Company in Aleppo between 1630 and 1635, and their colleagues of lesser standing also spent some time in the Middle East.64

62 The copy, originally in the Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Sachsen-Anhalt (Halle an der Saale) under shelfmark Ung II 173, is found today in the collection of Universitätsbib- liothek der Humboldt Universität, Zweigstelle Finno-Ugristik (Berlin). 63 Alastair Hamilton, “An Egyptian Traveller in the Republic of Letters: Josephus Barbatus or Abudacnus the Copt,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 57 (1994): 123–150. On his last years, there is much information in Hering, “Panagiotis Nikousios,” 145–146. 64 For instance, the Dutchman H. Harderus was an interpreter at the Dutch embassy of Con- stantinople between 1673 and 1675 after some years of teaching in Leiden; see Alexander H. de Groot, De Betekenis van de Nederlandse Ambassade bij de Verheven Porte voor de 208 Chapter 5

These philologists travelling to the Ottoman Empire were received there by the ever-growing network of their predecessors. Many people who contributed to tracking down precious manuscripts were introduced to further orientalists, as were the experts, such as Wojciech Bobowski (alias Albertus Bobovius or Ali Ufki Bey), a Polish renegade living in Constantinople, who was prepared to perform various scholarly tasks for western commissioners. Apart from his Turkish grammar, he also wrote an introduction to Islam and had a lion’s share in translating the Bible into Turkish in the second half of the seventeenth century.65 From among the Western European diplomats who resided in Constantinople in the time of Harsányi, Thomas Bendyshe was known for his various forms of assistance to Orientalist researchers in his home country.66 Levinus Warner, the diplomatic representative of the United Provinces, offers, in his turn, the best example of the intertwining of philological work at universities and diplomatic representation in Constantinople. This German alumnus of Leiden University came to Constantinople in 1648 with a scholarship, and in 1654 took over the office of the ambassador after the death of the Dutch agent. Until his death in 1665 he collected more than a thousand Arabic and Turkish manuscripts, published an anthology of Turkish proverbs, and organized the above-mentioned translation of the Bible, while at the same time trying to ful-

Studie van het Turks in de 17de en 18de Eeuw [The relevance of the Dutch embassy at the Sublime Porte for the study of the Turks in the 17th and 18th centuries] (Leiden, 1979). At some time between 1628 and 1639, the Oxford alumnus William Seaman was briefly in the service of Sir Peter Wyche, English ambassador to Constantinople; see Alastair Hamilton, “Seaman, William (1606/7–1680),” in Oxford Dictionary of National Bibliography, online edition, (accessed on 6 July 2015). On Golius, see recently Arnoud Vrolĳk and Richard van Leeuwen, Arabic Studies in the Neth- erlands: A Short History in Portraits, 1580–1950 (Leiden, 2014), 41–47. 65 On Bobovius, see Hannah Neudecker, “Wojciech Bobowski and His Turkish Grammar (1666),” Dutch Studies – Near Eastern Languages and Literatures 2 (1996): 169–192. On his appointment as the interpreter at the Porte: Hering, “Panagiotis Nikousios,” 160–161. He also wrote a description of the Seraglio: C.G. Fisher and Alan W. Fisher, “Topkapi Sarayi in the Mid-Seventeenth Century: Bobovi’s Description,” Archivum Ottomanicum 10 (1985): 5–81. On his activities as a composer, see Ursula Reinhard, “Die Musik am türkischen Hof im 17. Jahrhundert,” in Höfische Kultur in Südosteuropa: Bericht der Kolloquien der Südost europa-Kommission 1988 bis 1990, ed. Reinhard Lauer and Hans Georg Majer (Göttingen, 1994), 176. 66 On the English network, see Gerald J. Toomer, “John Selden, the Levant and the Nether- lands in the History of Scholarship,” in The Republic of Letters and the Levant, ed. Alastair Hamilton, Maurits H. van den Boogert, and Bart Westerweel (Leiden, 2005), 53–76; and Charles G.D. Littleton, “Ancient Languages and New Science: The Levant in the Intellec- tual Life of Robert Boyle,” in The Republic of Letters, 151–171. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 209 fill the requirements of diplomatic service.67 Their activities were not only followed by the universities from which they came, but also by the wider Republic of Letters, even if it was not always only the solution of philological problems which concerned them, as the obviously proselytizing aims of the Turkish translation of the Bible show.68 This system only worked well until the deaths of Golius and Pococke. Afterwards a decline in the study of Eastern languages can be registered in the Netherlands as well as in England – but its advantages were felt by contemporary Orientalists even during the period of Harsányi’s stay in Berlin. The early career of Christian Ravius, who was appointed a professor of Eastern languages at the University of Frankfurt an der Oder in 1672, followed exactly the same model since he had visited the Middle East as an alumnus of the universities of Oxford and Leiden.69 The experts coming from outside, like Barbatus, had by this time already lost ground in the field of Oriental Studies. Also, no matter how good the language skills of Jakab Harsányi Nagy were, he could not even contemplate a university career: the Turkish language had, as I noted before, very little prestige compared to Arabic, Hebrew, or even Syriac in the mid-seventeenth century.70 The character of his knowledge only rendered it possible for him to maintain his position as an intellectual in the role of a member of a court and an

67 On Warner, see G.J.W. Drewes, “The Legatum Warnerianum of the Leiden University Library,” in Levinus Werner and His Legacy: Three Centuries Legatum Warnerianum in the Leiden University Library (Leiden, 1970), 1–31; de Groot, “De Betekenis,” 34–41; Arnoud Vrolĳk, Jan Schmidt and Karin Scheper, Turcksche boucken: De oosterse verzameling van Levinus Warner, Nederlands diplomaat in zeventiende-eeuws Istanbul (Eindhoven, 2012). On the cooperation of Golius and Warner in tracking down and purchasing manuscripts, see Jan Schmidt, “Between Author and Library Shelf: The Intriguing History of Some Mid- dle Eastern Manuscripts Acquired by Public Collections in the Netherlands Prior to 1800,” in The Republic of Letters and the Levant, 27–51. 68 On Robert Boyle’s interest in the development in contemporary Oriental studies, see Lit- tleton, “Ancient Languages.” 69 For a biography of Ravius, see Johann Christoph Becmann, Notitia Universitatis Francofor- tuanae… (Frankfurt an der Oder, 1707), 267–269. See also Toomer, Eastern Wisdom, 142– 145. 70 Harsányi’s language skills were judged not only by György Hazai (17), but also by a reviewer of his edition. According to V.L. Ménage the syntax of more complex constructions is sometimes strange, some words are hard to recognize (because of the erroneous etymologies given by the author), and Harsányi makes some mistakes characteristic of Hungarian-speakers (such as mixing the terms “just as” and “than,” both translated to Hungarian with the same word, “mint”). Nevertheless the fluency of his Turkish is beyond doubt; see Ménage, “Review,” 162–163. 210 Chapter 5 expert ready to give advice on pragmatic matters. Nevertheless, there were many respected members of the Republic of Letters who had a similar background. The best example is perhaps that of Paul Rycaut, who wrote his highly successful books about the Ottoman Empire, the Greek and Armenian churches, and the biography of Sabbatai Zevi, as the English consul in Smyrna. The framework for Rycaut’s activities, however, was provided by the Royal Society in London, of which he had been a member since the publication of his first work. His topics were regularly specified by the Society and he started col- lecting material for several of his books in accordance with a detailed query received from London.71 Harsányi had no such institution at his disposal. Even if we can register a certain combination of diplomatic service and scholarly activities in the careers of several Transylvanian Turkish scribes, they were at an immense disadvantage with respect to their western colleagues in their lack of the backing of a university – an intellectual circle to which they could return after their years at the embassy and which would have rendered their contacts with the international Republic of Letters possible.72 The differences emerge clearly from the fact that several people who were in contact with Harsányi – such as Claes Rålamb and Isaac Basire – knew Bobovius personally, but there is no evidence suggesting that Harsányi was acquainted with him.73 It was not only in Transylvania, and obviously during the years of exile in the company of Gheorghe Ştefan, that Harsányi was deprived of an academic atmosphere. In Berlin too it was only available to a limited extent. According to recent analyses, the presence of a large number of intellectuals at the seventeenth-century Brandenburg court was rendered possible precisely because of

71 Anderson, An English Consul, 210–247. Similar evidence is known from the history of the Habsburg embassy at the Sublime Porte as well: Michel d’Asquier, the imperial interpreter (and also respected bibliophile), transmitted epigraphic information received from Panaiotis Nicousios to the great Jesuit scholar Athanasius Kircher; see Alastair Hamilton, “Michel d’Asquier, Imperial Interpreter and Bibliophile,” Journal of the Warburg and Cour- tauld Institutes 72 (2009): 240. 72 On the drawbacks of the lack of a university, see Tibor Klaniczay, “Értelmiség egyetem nélküli országban” [Intellectuals in a country without a university], in Pallas magyar iva- dékai (Budapest, 1985), 77–85. 73 The possible relevance of Claes Rålamb’s connections with Harsányi and also with Bobo- vius was noted by Cemal Kafadar, “The City,” 62. On the contacts between Basire and Bobovius, see Hannah Neudecker, “From Istanbul to London? Albertus Bobovius’ appeal to Isaac Basire,” in The Republic of Letters and the Levant, 173–196. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 211 their readiness to give up their scholarly careers, and the foundation of the first academy in Brandenburg only took place at the end of the century.74

Harsányi, the Puritan?

When addressing the most important elements of Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s self- image we have to return to the question of his alleged Puritanism, especially since this is why he was most frequently mentioned by earlier Hungarian historians. To refer back to my findings in Chapter One, if we define Hungarian Puritans exclusively as supporters of the group that stood up for reforms of church government and liturgy in eastern Hungary and Transylvania in the 1640s and 1650s, it is not evident to what degree this can be applied to Harsányi. The decisions of the Synod of Szatmárnémeti only show that contemporary orthodox Calvinist theologians found their young colleague suspicious, but that they did not consider exceedingly severe steps necessary. We do not know, however, which of the debated questions was the one that drew the attention of the church authorities to Harsányi. Nevertheless, he appears not to have adopted a very radical stance, since otherwise he would not have been able to occupy such a confidential position as that of Turkish scribe to Prince György Rákóczi II, who was observing the Puritan movement with less and less sympathy. From the moment he abandoned an ecclesiastical career there is even less reason to suspect that Harsányi participated in this Puritan movement which manifested itself in church and educational policy and opposed the practices of Calvinist orthodoxy. From the beginning of the 1650s he was moving in secular circles and every document that survives in his hand is connected to this sphere, even if some evidence suggests that his earlier links with the Calvinist church were known to his contemporaries. When he reported the imprisonment of the Transylvanian embassy in 1657 Simon Reniger, the Habsburg ambassador at Constantinople, noted that one of the prince’s agents was a Calvinist preacher.75 This could be none other than Jakab Harsányi Nagy, for

74 Bahl, Der Hof, 310–322. For the earlier, contrary view see Rolf Winau, “Der Hof des Großen Kurfürsten als Mittelpunkt wissenschaftlicher Forschung: Vorschläge zur Edition der Werke der Leibärzte (Gesamtausgabe Christian Mentzel),” in Werkstattgespräch “Berliner Ausgaben,” ed. Hans-Gert Roloff (Bern, 1981), 30–40; and Winau, “Der Hof des Großen Kurfürsten und die Wissenschaften,” in vol. 3 of Europäische Hofkultur im 16. und 17. Jahr- hundert, ed. August Buck et al. (Hamburg, 1981), 647–658. 75 Simon Reniger to Leopold I (Constantinople, 3 September 1657), HHStA Türkei Karton I. 128. Fasc. 63/b. Conv. D. fol. 63r. 212 Chapter 5 we have no evidence to suggest that István Tisza had any theological background. The Habsburg ambassador was wrong about Harsányi’s rank – the Turkish scribe might have had the function, but not the office, of an agent – but his remark shows that the world of politics knew about Harsányi’s past if only by hearsay. And an entry in the diary of János Horváti Békés shows that his past was not forgotten later on either: the student addressed Harsányi not with the usual “generosus,” but as “reverendissimus dominus,” an address usually given to ecclesiastical personalities of the period.76 Although Horváti Békés must have been aware that his host in Berlin did not pursue a career in the church, he seems to have known about his earlier office – he might even have heard about it from Harsányi himself. There is, however, nothing to suggest that Harsányi, who fashioned himself as a loyal bureaucrat and an intellectual of vast erudition, would have tried to make his earlier theological education or his sympathies for Presbyterian church politics a part of the image he conveyed of himself. Matters are no easier if we leave aside the definition of the Puritans as a more or less unified Presbyterian faction with well-defined goals in church politics and a troubled history of struggles, and instead approach them as a group in view of a system of values and cultural practices apparent above all in their religious life. After early attempts in the field of literary history, this reinterpretation of Hungarian Puritans has become well established in the historiography of the last twenty years.77 But to use this definition in the case of Harsányi is far from simple. The convincing argument for labelling someone a Puritan in the classical studies of literary history was that a more or less direct reception of the works of a known English or Dutch Puritan theologian could be found in the oeuvre of the Hungarian author in question, or that evidence could be found of a personal acquaintance with foreign Puritans.78 We still do

76 Horváti Békés, Diáknaplója, 58. 77 On the historiographic trend, see Éva Petrőczi, “Puritán szerzőink mint művészek: A puritanizmus és a művészetek viszonya a magyar szakirodalomban” [Hungarian Puritan authors as artists: The correlation of Puritanism and arts in Hungarian historiography], in Puritánia: Tanulmányok a magyar és angol puritanizmus irodalmáról (Budapest, 2006), 7–36; Zsombor Tóth, A koronatanú: Bethlen Miklós: Az Élete leírása magától és a XVII. századi puritanizmus [The star witness: Miklós Bethlen: The Autobiography and 17th-century Puritanism] (Debrecen, 2007), 46–52. 78 This is the implicit definition used by József Bodonhelyi, Az angol puritanizmus lelki élete és magyar hatásai [The spiritual life of English Puritanism and its impact on Hungary] (Debrecen, 1942); József Barcza, “A puritanizmus kutatásának újabb eredményei” [New results in the research of Puritanism], Theologiai Szemle, n.s., 17, nos. 11–12 (1976): 333–336; or from the most recent literature, Dávid Csorba, “A sovány lelket meg-szépíteni”: Debreceni The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 213 not know what criteria can be used for identifying the Puritan connections of those authors who – like Harsányi – did not publish anything related to theology. Anglo-Saxon historiography, much more extensive and methodologically more explicit than in Hungary, had to face similar problems. Whether historians were interested in the Puritans’ image of themselves, or the image painted of them by their contemporaries, they found a heterogeneous picture, and the theological systems presented by various Puritan authors also proved to be irreconcilable with one another. There are thus many definitions of who should even be regarded as a Puritan. Most of the analyses emphasize the role of the individual’s personal, direct, and intensive relationship to God, a faith deeply experienced and manifested in practice, and a certain activist religiosity. A majority of the historians also view constant and accurate self-analysis as an important part of the Puritan way of life. The meticulous registration of their actions and their strict self-assessment from an ethical point of view helped the faithful to sense whether their souls would reach salvation.79 Similar criteria also appeared in Hungarian research.80 These, however, are less useful in the case of Jakab Harsányi Nagy since, in order to apply them, we need a con- fession of some sort, a memoir, diary, autobiography, or other source at least touching upon the psychological or spiritual development of the individual. The ego-documents available for Harsányi render it possible to uncover various layers of his self-fashioning, but none of them testify to his relationship to God or refer to questions of salvation. His letters from Constantinople and Berlin are no evidence of a particular piety, and Harsányi’s references to God do not exceed that of most of his contemporaries. There are, however, points of community between Jakab Harsányi Nagy and contemporary Hungarian Puritans. In Anglo-Saxon historiography of the last thirty years a new definition of Puritanism has come into fashion, which focuses not on the piety or constant self-analysis of the members of the group, but rather on their attitude towards people outside their own circles. According to this approach, which takes into consideration both the self-image of the

prédikátorok (1657–1711) [“To embellish the poor soul”: Preachers in Debrecen, 1657–1711] (Debrecen, 2008). 79 See the survey by John Spurr, English Puritanism, 1603–1689 (Houndmills, 1998), 1–12. As Margot Todd pointed out, meticulous self-analysis did not necessarily also mean a life without sin, even in the case of the most devout Puritans; see Todd, “Puritan Self-Fashion- ing.” 80 Attila Molnár, A “protestáns etika” Magyarországon: A puritán erkölcs és hatása [The “Prot- estant ethic” in Hungary: The Puritan morals and their impact] (Debrecen, 1994); Tóth, A koronatanú, 46–98. 214 Chapter 5

Puritans and the image generated by those seeing them from outside the group, the most important characteristic of the members of the group was their sense of exceptionality. In a world immersed in sin, they are the elect who strictly observe the precepts of the Bible and one of whose missions is to encourage others to do likewise.81 As a consequence, they also developed a style that has a tendency to abound in radical oppositions – a feature which renders their literary production rather monotonous.82 Obviously, this attitude generated a huge amount of conflict between them and the society surrounding them which proved to be less dedicated to the cause. The most obvious example of this attitude among the Hungarian Puritans is János Tolnai Dali. As noted in Chapter One, he proved to be a constant stum- bling block for eastern Hungarian Calvinism in the mid-seventeenth century after his return from England. This was a result not only of his ambitious plans for continuing the Reformation through the transformation of education, liturgy, and church administration, but also of his equivocal and often violent character. It was easy for Tolnai’s opponents to find arguments for traducing the choleric theologian. Some of his students at Sárospatak had terrible things to say about their impatient and partial teacher: “They suffer with the pain of their soul when they are called devil-hearted in his sermon and bastards in his prayer (that is rather a curse than a prayer), as well as mindless animals, brutes, dogs, and swine.”83 After a while, there was a fully fledged campaign of defama- tion, going as far as to spread rumours about his alleged affair with his sister- in-law, “as befits his rotten nature.”84 But it was hardly necessary to have a nature as controversial as that of Tolnai for such an attitude to develop. Pál Medgyesi, who is usually contrasted to

81 Patrick Collinson, “A Comment: Concerning the Name Puritan,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 31 (1980): 483–488; Collinson, The Puritan Character: Polemics and Polarities in Early Seventeenth-Century English Culture (Los Angeles, 1989); Collinson, “Antipuritan- ism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Puritanism, ed. John Coffey and Paul C.H. Lim (Cambridge, 2008), 19–33; Peter Lake, “William Bradshaw, Antichrist and the Community of the Godly,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 36 (1985): 570–589; Lake, “Defining Puritan- ism – Again?,” in Puritanism: Transatlantic Perspectives on a Seventeenth-Century Anglo- American Faith, ed. Francis J. Bremer (Boston, 1993), 3–29; Lake, “‘A Charitable Christian Hatred’: The Godly and Their Enemies in the 1630s,” in The Culture of English Puritanism, 1560–1700, ed. Christopher Durston and Jacqueline Eales (Houndmills, 1996), 145–183. 82 Patrick Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling: An Exploration in Literature, Psychol- ogy, and Social History (New Brunswick, NJ, 1980), 1–22. 83 The visitation of István Miskolczi Csulyak at the school of Sárospatak in 1642, published in AP XXI, 144. 84 Note by an unknown hand in the protocols of the diocese of Zemplén, SRKLt. Kgg I.2. 191r. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 215

Tolnai Dali by historians and described as a temperate compromise-seeker with a good sense of politics, also had to explain the motivation behind his “prophetic nagging”: “If there were nothing to nag about, there would be no nagging either.”85 A general characteristic of Hungarian Puritan sermons was a more frequent use of reprehension (“feddőzés”) than in those of their orthodox Calvinist counterparts.86 The Hungarian authors and translators of Puritan conduct books often referred to “the many outer and inner deficiencies of our … poor homeland,” and even in the case of generally widespread sins such as drunkenness, they seized the opportunity to castigate the situation in Hungary: “So, if the flood of this filthy drunkenness has reached any part of the world, woe unto us! In our parts it has doubly covered every hill of sober life!”87 This attitude, the Puritan tendency to call attention to mistakes and sometimes urge their correction by exaggerating them, did not meet with the unqualified approval of contemporaries. Revolted by the educational reforms of Tolnai, István Geleji Katona, the Calvinist Bishop of Transylvania, summarized his impressions to the prince as follows:

I am constantly surprised by the minds of the people who come back from England. Not a single one returns who has not picked up something eccentric and who has not been filled with misguided intentions. … Now they go there more often and this can be seen in everything, because none of them wants to be dependent on anyone else. They just want to be free from head to toe.88

85 The answers of Pál Medgyesi to the accusations of István Geleji Katona, in his work Doce nos orare quin predicare (1650), is quoted by Tóth, A koronatanú, 140, fn. 116. The best contrasting description of Medgyesi and Tolnai is offered by Révész, A szatmárnémeti zsinat, 16–19. 86 See the contrasting analysis of the sermons of the Puritan Sámuel Köleséri and the orthodox István Geleji Katona: János L. Győri, “Mártirium, puritanizmus, retorika” [Martyrdom, Puritanism, and rhetorics], Irodalomtörténet 31 (2000): 51–72. 87 János Mikolai Hegedűs, Az mennyei igazságnak tüzes oszlopa… [The fiery column of the heavenly truth] (Utrecht, 1648), 2r; Mátyás Diószegi Bónis, Az részegesnek gyűlölséges, utálatos és rettenetes állapotja… [The hateful, disgusting, and horrible state of drunkenness] (Leiden, 1649), dedication. On “passionate wailing” as the prominent manifestation of the Puritan author’s experience of Hungarianness, see Éva Petrőczi, “XVII. századi puri- tán szerzőink magyarságképe” [The image of Hungary among 17th-century Hungarian Puritan authors], in Religió, retorika, nemzettudat régi irodalmunkban, ed. István Bitskey and Szabolcs Oláh (Debrecen, 2004), 474–480. 88 István Geleji Katona to György Rákóczi I (Gyulafehérvár, 22 October 1640), SF I, 178–179. Many similar opinions are quoted by Gergely Tamás Fazakas, “Az imádság testi kifejeződései az angol és magyar puritanizmusban: Az 1643-as Praxis Pietatis filológiai és 216 Chapter 5

The main problem was that Tolnai and his colleagues did not respect the church hierarchy and tried to escape from its control. Gáspár Miskolczi Csulyak, on the other hand, a student on his peregrination who compiled a description of the Independentism in England from Dutch sources, warned his compatriots that the saintly lifestyle and continuous striving for improvement among the Puritans serves only to camouflage their lust for power:

He [the Puritan] has benign conversations with everyone, making them like him; he does not strive to reach anyone else’s status; he treats everyone gently with sacred kisses and sweet talk, lifting his eyes full of tears to the heavens and putting his hands upon his breast; and then he stabs them with his scimitar under the fifth rib.89

It is no wonder that the diverging views in these conflicts sometimes released rather savage emotions. The work published as an answer to Miskolczi Csulyak’s book, Puritanism in England, by István P. Telkibányai, is a rare exception in this respect, since the author, who translated a work of William Ames in defense of his views, uses a courteous tone in the foreword to tell off a fellow student.90 The debate between János Tolnai Dali and András Váci was much more typical: theoretically it was to have been a theological dispute about the use of the Lord’s Prayer, but the two participants soon indulged in personal invective. Although Tolnai complained that Váczi criticized him for his “thundering” speeches “that do not mind the preening people,” he exhibited this very same

ikonográfiai kérdései” [The corporal forms of prayer in the English and Hungarian Puri- tanism: Questions of philology and iconography concerning the 1643 edition of Praxis Pietatis], in Medgyesi Pál redivivus: Tanulmányok a 17. századi puritanizmusról, ed. Gergely Tamás Fazakas and János L. Győri (Debrecen, 2008), 127–133. 89 Gáspár Miskolczi Csulyak, Angliai independentismus… [English Independentism] (Utrecht, 1654), 148. 90 “The little work of Master Gáspár Miskolczi, published on this occasion, which is – pace my friend – very dangerous to follow, but important to know”– wrote István P. Telkibányai about his opponent in Angliai puritanismus… [Puritanism in England] (Utrecht, 1654), 4. A possible reason for the moderate tone could be that Telkibányai’s book was published immediately after Miskolczi’s and its author may not have known the precise content of Angliai independentismus; see Éva Petrőczi, “Pengeváltás nélkül: Miskolczi Csulyak Gáspár és Telkibányai István vitája a puritánizmusról,” [Without crossing swords: The debate of Gáspár Miskolczi Csulyak and István Telkibányai about Puritanism], in “Tenger az igaz hitrül való egyenetlenségek vitatásának eláradott özöne…” Tanulmányok XVI–XIX. századi hitvitáinkról, ed. János Heltai and Réka Tasi (Miskolc, 2005), 103–114. The Bureaucrat and the Intellectual 217 style when his opponent accused him of having “a heart loaded with fiendish, inexorable hatred and anger.”91 It is not hard to recognize the analogy between the debates surrounding János Tolnai Dali and the discord surrounding Jakab Harsányi Nagy. Harsányi’s strenuous activities aimed at making the Transylvanian embassy in Constan tinople more efficient, so as to serve his ruler better. This, however, damaged the interests of those contemporaries who were generally happy with the state of affairs and built their strategies upon its continuation. They could exploit the unaccommodating character of Harsányi, who not only took up conflicts but even provoked them. His debates, just like those of the more radical Puritans, often turned personal. This also applies to the later period of his career – even if it might be excessive to see Harsányi’s enthusiasm for providing an excellent service, and Gheorghe Ştefan’s failure to honour it, at the root of the conflicts at the court of Stettin. Nevertheless, when choosing the stylistic tools for conducting disputes, Harsányi had an excellent opportunity to make use of his training as a preacher. His letters about the struggles in Constantinople, as well as in Stettin, abound in thundering reprehensions. Even his word choice shows an affinity with that of the Puritan authors. Harsányi tends to use the verb “mocskol” (befoul) when quoting the accusations of his adversaries, a word which is also used to excess by Tolnai Dali.92 If we were to base ourselves on stylistic analogies, it would be tempting to suggest that Harsányi’s increased activity was a consequence of his Puritan affiliation – in the same way as Max Weber suggested with respect to the connections between the Protestant ethic and capitalism that the individual with a strong belief in predestination and who was anxious about his salvation but could do nothing about it, endeavoured to acquire earthly success through hard work in the hope of discovering God-sent signs concerning his afterlife.93

91 János Tolnai Dali, Dáneus Rácai-i… (Sárospatak, 1654), 148, 153. On the debate, see also Gergely Tamás Fazakas, “‘Mesterségükben disputálók’ vitája: Hitvitázó irodalomként értelmezhető-e Tolnai Dali János Váci P. Andrással polemizáló könyve?” [The debate of “those disputing in their craft”: Can the book of János Tolnai Dali in polemics with András Váczi be understood as literature of religious debates?], in Religió, retorika, nemzettudat régi irodalmunkban, ed. István Bitskey and Szabolcs Oláh (Debrecen, 2004), 401–423; Fazakas, “‘Mesterségükben disputálók’ vitája II. Váci P. András Replika című műve és a Tolnai–Váci polémia újraértelmezése [The debate of “those disputing in their craft”: The Replika of András P. Váci and the reinterpretation of the polemics between Tolnai and Váci], Studia Litteraria (Debrecen) 41 (2003): 111–131. 92 “Regarding the befoulments against János Tolnai, written by this befouler”; “when you befouled this befoulment,” and so on, and so forth, see Tolnai Dali, Daneus Rácai-i, 147. 93 Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (London, 1930). 218 Chapter 5

The Puritans are also seen as “an industrious sort of people” by Marxists – their debate with Weberians is mostly about the motivation of this industriousness.94 In Harsányi’s case, owing to the lack of suitable ego-documents, it is impossible to tell whether his outstanding diligence had any connection with an anxiety about salvation. All we can say is that the behaviour and debate culture of the Puritans provided him with an example that determined the development of his personality, his understanding of his own role in society, and his attitude towards his contemporaries.

94 The term is used by Christopher Hill, Society and Puritanism in Pre-Revolutionary England (London, 1964), 121−140. An excellent selection on the debate around Weber is provided by Hartmut Lehmann and Guenther Roth, eds., Weber’s Protestant Ethic: Origins, Evidence, Contexts (Washington, 1993). A Marxist critique against the Weberian understanding of Puritanism: C.H. George, “Puritanism as History and Historiography,” Past and Present 41 (1968): 77–104. The debate with the Weberian thesis is certainly not the privilege of Marx- ist historians; see recently Graeme Murdock, “Did Calvinists Have a Guilt Complex? Reformed Religion, Conscience and Regulation in Early Modern Europe,” in Retribution, Repentance, and Reconciliation, ed. Kate Cooper and Jeremy Gregory (Woodbridge, 2004), 138–158. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 219

Chapter 6 Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks

“Among the Turks keeping one’s word is rare.”1 Jakab Harsányi Nagy dropped this remark in a letter written to his prince in the 1650s. Fifteen years later, in the pages of the Colloquia, he dedicated long passages showing how important telling the truth was in Ottoman culture:

Often have I heard others recall the proverb: Sit bent, speak straight; that is, you can sit with a bent body, but to speak falsely and improperly is a great misdeed! It pertains not to rational beings, but to the devil. Because a lie obliterates all love, friendship, fellowship, and trust among people, the liar cannot avoid the fury of God … He should find a merciful God! In both worlds (in this life and the next) there is no better possession than truth. When he gives his word, he keeps it.2

As recent research in the social sciences suggests, stereotypes and “images of the Other” change in history, usually according to the shifting relationships of power. It is most unusual, however, for the image of a specific “Other” to alter radically in a single person’s lifetime. Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s changing image of the Turks would thus be interesting in itself, even if his attitude towards the inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire were of little importance for his biography. The relevance of the Colloquia in this respect is unquestionable. Writing this book can be seen as the sum of all his activities related to the Ottomans and accounts for Harsányi’s reputation in at least some later circles. In this last chapter I shall try to interpret the difference between the images of the Turks conveyed in the Colloquia and those, albeit more fragmentary owing to the nature of the genre, formulated in his diplomatic correspondence and, where applicable, in his Opinio.

“A Turk” or “Various Turks”?

At the very beginning of the first chapter of the Colloquia the reader already finds an incident that shows how different the Ottoman Empire is from

1 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 17 December 1655), EÉKH I, 567. 2 Colloquia, 373.

European lands. The Legate greets the Interpreter by lifting his hat. This incurs the Interpreter’s disapproval. The former tries to excuse himself by claiming that all regions have their own customs, but his interlocutor makes the point once more: “True, but among Muslims it is indecent.”3 After this opening it should come as no surprise to establish that the whole book contains still more information about the differences between Europeans and Ottomans. But are there common features in the various descriptions of the Turks? When the question arises as to the nature of the Turks, the Interpreter is reluctant to give a straight answer. The true nature and mind of a people can only be known to God, he claims, especially where the Turks are concerned, who are not even a pure nation but one composed of the sons of many other peoples – the Interpreter lists no less than twenty-seven.

Thus it is, that if someone would be tempted to describe the nature and morals of the Ottomans, he has to know the nature of all these nations. Moreover, the natural followers of Mahomet, who are of Turkish origin, have a nature and morals different from those of the renegades, who are made up of Christians. The learned Turks are different from the ignorant and the uncultivated. Those who live on the periphery of the Empire have different morals from those living in the centre. From the Christians and their neighbours anyone can learn both good and bad. The soldiers, the educated, and the foolish, the merchants, the villagers, the town-dwell- ers, or courtiers, anyone from our regions, observe different morals and customs.4

When elaborating upon this remarkably non-essentialist standpoint the Interpreter stresses technical problems, that is, that the group of the Ottomans is so heterogeneous that they cannot be treated as if they had anything in common. The Legate, on the other hand, takes a more philosophical stance: he claims that God has given humans the ability to learn at least something about everything.5 He even draws the Interpreter’s attention to the possibility of sup- plementing his own experience with that of other, reliable people – a possibility which the Interpreter will later all but dismiss, as we saw in Chapter Four. The Interpreter eventually lets himself be convinced by the Legate to provide at least some generalizations. Nevertheless, their different attitudes characterize

3 Colloquia, 3. 4 Colloquia, 365–366. 5 Colloquia, 366–367. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 221 them throughout the entire book: while the Legate is ready to offer more, sometimes sweeping, generalizations about the nature and customs of the Turks, the Interpreter only does so rarely and reluctantly. In a further important instance, however, he maintains his opinion that it is impossible to make generalizations about the Turks due to the radical differences between two specific groups, namely the “born Muslims” and the renegades. Converts from Christianity to Islam played an important part in the public life of the Ottoman Empire. From the fifteenth century onwards they gained a place of growing importance in state administration, regardless of the – sometimes violent – protests of the “trueborn Turks”.6 Renegades were never particularly popular among the Transylvanian diplomats at the Sublime Porte. Orator Tamás Gyulay complained to the prince that the chief ambassador took his interpreter when he left the Ottoman court: “I am here as a mute, I have no interpreter, and if I could get someone to interpret, he would be, Your Highness, a Hungarian turned pagan. They would not interpret for me for any gifts, and even if they did, how could I trust if they tell the truth or not? Pagans side with pagans.”7 Another orator, János Dávid, simply gave the unflattering canis filius (son of a dog) title to a Hungarian renegade interpreter – and he was not alone in using this term when referring to them.8 Although Gyulay applied the term “pagan” to the renegades when referring to their religious allegiance, it was much more common to designate them as “Turks”. When they converted, they “turned Turk.” Changing their religion, these people also changed their nature in the eyes of the Transylvanian diplomats. To be precise, whatever their previous ethnic background, and related “ethnic nature”, may have been, they acquired a Turkish nature in the process. The case of Zülfikar Ağa is indicative: everybody knew that he was born Hungarian, but nobody found his earlier, Hungarian nature relevant. He seemed to have lost it entirely when he converted to Islam. “He is a Turk, he would not keep many secrets,” wrote István Rácz, when he explained to his

6 On the social history of the renegades in Ottoman administration, see Pál Fodor, “‘Hivatásos törökök – született törökök’: Hatalmi elit és társadalom a 15–17. századi Oszmán Birodalomban” [“Professional Turks – trueborn Turks”: The political elite and society in the 15th–17th-century Ottoman Empire], Századok, 138 (2004): 773–791. For a prosopography of renegades in Western travel accounts of the Ottoman Empire, see Ralf C. Müller, Franken in Osten: Art, Umfang und Dynamik der Migration aus dem lateinischen Westen in das Osmanische Reich des 15./16. Jahrhunderts auf der Grundlage von Reiseberichten (Leipzig, 2005), 232–291. 7 Tamás Gyulay to Prince Mihály Apafi I (Adrianople, 7 January 1672), TMÁO V, 94. 8 János Dávid to Mihály Apafi I (Adrianople, 6 May 1667), TMÁO IV, 347. János Kemény also called renegades “dogs” in his autobiography; Kemény, “Önéletírása,” 87. 222 Chapter 6 prince that no one should share too much information with the ağa.9 He was accepted with the same reservation as “trueborn Turks.” Ferenc Gyárfás reported that “from the behaviour and words of Zülfikar Ağa, it might seem that he was serving Your Highness with a true heart. Nevertheless, the Turkish nature is in him, and he loves and seeks his own interest in everything.”10 Harsányi is no less critical towards the renegades in the Colloquia, but there is a significant difference between him and his fellow Transylvanian diplomats. While the latter seem to suggest that renegades become as bad as any other Turk by converting, Harsányi asserts that a “trueborn Muslim” is a thousand times better than a renegade. He describes the former as reliable and pious men. They observe the prescriptions of their faith, never lie, never get drunk, and all are very generous. Turks even free their captives after some years in prison – and earlier if they convert, but at the same time they would never force anyone to do so. The renegades, by contrast, are evil. They lie and break their oaths, even cheat others in their shops. And yet not even the group of renegades is homogenous according to Harsányi. The problems are not so much with the educated ones since they are only addicted to drink and drugs. An ignorant renegade, however, hardly differs from an animal. Those who live in the cities are slightly more civilized, but even in this case they cannot achieve the courtesy and piety of trueborn Muslims, especially of those who have already accomplished their compulsory pilgrimage.11 The positive image of the pious Turk was not unknown in Western European turcica literature. Travellers, especially in the sixteenth century, frequently acknowledged that although Islam was not the true religion, its followers seemed more zealous than their Christian counterparts. Even the most mali- cious commentators had something good to say about the Ottomans’ charity, care of the sick, or strict fasting.12 In this light it is less surprising that Harsányi should have had a high opinion of the Muslims. But he sometimes went far beyond the praise of other travellers. He even claimed that a “trueborn Muslim” who has already been on pilgrimage would never drink any liquid that could make him drunk, contents himself with one woman, and “stays away from homosexual contacts, pederasty, and other sins.”13 Homosexual relationships were generally attributed to Turks by contemporaries. In contemporary

9 István Rácz to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 15 August 1642), RGyKÖ, 688. 10 Ferenc Gyárfás to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 24 October 1648), RGyP, 902. 11 Colloquia, 372–377. 12 Clarence Dana Rouillard, The Turk in French History, Thought and Literature (1520–1660) (Paris, 1940), 335–353. 13 Colloquia, 376. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 223

Hungarian usage this form of sexual behavior was even called “living in the Turkish way.”14 The assumption was deeply rooted in the common knowledge of the time. The Transylvanian orator, Mihály Cserményi, mentions the male lovers of the sultan in his diplomatic report without finding it necessary to add any comment – he must have thought that well-known facts needed no further elaboration.15 But this behaviour was attributed to Turks in general, without the distinctions made by Harsányi. Indeed, his tendency to attribute this and every other moral failure to renegades, while saving the face of the “born Muslims,” is noteworthy even in the broader context of contemporary European descriptions of the Ottoman Empire. Curiously enough there is a rare example of another author who laid special stress on differentiating between renegades and “natural Turks” and who visited the Ottoman Empire in the same decade during which Harsányi resided there.16 Jean de Thévenot’s description is similar to that of Harsányi:

the Turks are good People, and observe very well that command of Nature; not to do to others, but what we would have others to do to us. When I speak here of Turks, I understand Natural Turks, and not such as turn to their Religion from another who are very numerous in Turkie, and are certainly capable of all sorts of Wickedness and Vice, as is known by Experience, and commonly as unfaithful to Men, as they have been to God.17

14 László Nagy, “Élet a ‘magyar romlásnak századában’” [Life in the “century of the decay of Hungary”], in Kard és szerelem: Török kori históriák (Budapest, 1985), 38–39. The assumption was generally widespread in early modern Europe; see Nabil Matar, Turks, Moors, and Englishmen in the Age of Discovery (New York, 1999), 109–127. 15 Mihály Cserményi to Anna Bornemisza, wife of Mihály Apafi I (Adrianople, 29 August 1665), TMÁO IV, 280. 16 In the massive amount of English and French descriptions of the Ottoman Empire, analyzed by Aslı Çırakman, there was no other author who would have made the same clear distinction. See: From the ‘Terror of the World’ to the ‘Sick Man of Europe’: European Images of the Ottoman Empire and Society from the Sixteenth Century to the Nineteenth (New York, 2002), 47. Although examples can be found, such as Lorenzo Bernardo, a Venetian ambassador from 1592, this distinction cannot be considered as a commonplace of the turcica genre; see James C. David, ed., Pursuit of Power: Venetian Ambassadors’ Reports on Spain, Turkey, and France in the Age of Philip II, 1560–1600 (New York, 1970), 157–158 (in the following: PP). 17 In contemporary translation: Jean de Thévenot, The Travels of Monsieur de Thevenot into the Levant (London, 1687), 59. 224 Chapter 6

No direct relationship between the two authors can be established. Although Thévenot spent two years in Constantinople, from 1655 to 1656, the French gentleman (as his English translator characterises him) is very unlikely to have met Harsányi. Even if Thévenot maintained good relations with the representative of the French Crown in the Ottoman capital, they hardly had any contacts with the Transylvanians in this period. Although the first accounts of Thévenot’s journey were published in 1665, eight years before Harsányi’s own book, the probability that the Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant influenced him is very slight. The book was not published in Latin, and we have no reason to suppose that Harsányi would have been able to read it in French.18 Moreover, there is a fundamental disparity between the function of this distinction in the works of Thévenot and Harsányi. While the former, like other authors who raise the question, only touches upon it in this single passage, for Harsányi it is a constitutive element of his entire account. We do not know the background of Thévenot’s judgements, but Harsányi in any case had personal reasons for criticizing the renegades. On the one hand his Calvinist zeal, which resulted in the religious debate with Milescu, must have had an impact on his ideas about them. From the standpoint of a moral- ist, which he was always so keen to represent, he might very well have objected to their conversion, clearly interpreting it as opportunism, faithlessness, and lack of a conscience. If we consider that other fervent Protestant authors did not find it necessary to condemn the renegades so explicitly, on the other hand, we could conclude that, in Harsányi’s case, we should look for more personal reasons originating in his individual experiences. The many quarrels he had with Zülfikar Ağa would certainly have contributed to his position, as would the personal accusations against him which Orator Máté Balogh probably spread, namely that he himself was suspected of planning to convert.19 In the Colloquia we find the following conversation about the personal background of his spokesman, the Interpreter:

Legate: As far as I can see, you seem to be a Turk. Interpreter: True, I was born in Turkish territory, but I had a Christian mother and father. Legate: You say so. But what you hide in your heart is only known to God.

18 The first edition: Jean de Thévenot, Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant (Paris, 1665). Later the book was frequently reprinted and expanded, and also appeared in an English translation (see previous footnote). 19 Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 19 June 1656), MHHD XXIII, 381. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 225

Interpreter: I swear by God’s truth that I do not deceive you.20

It cannot be exluded that this short dialogue is based on Harsányi’s personal experiences. As someone coming from a tributary state of the Ottoman Empire, having spent several years in Constantinople and being familiar with the Ottoman language, he might have raised the suspicions of many people in the Holy Roman Empire. He probably found the explicit condemnation of renegades a good way to distance himself from them and thereby answer the accusations.

Elements of the Image

Although the Interpreter tries to avoid generalizations – and here too we can suppose that he represents Harsányi’s opinion – some characteristics are still highlighted in the Colloquia through which the “otherness” of Ottoman culture is defined – categories that render the differences between Us and Them clear for the readership. In the following section I shall follow the suggestion of modern anthropologists and single out the most important elements of “categorical mismatches” between the Ottomans and Europeans as presented by Harsányi. I shall demonstrate their interdependences and their context in the writings of Harsányi and his contemporaries.21

Greed: “The Emperor of this World is Money” 22 Money has an important place in describing the culture of the Turks in the Colloquia. This comes as no surprise since economic questions seemed to play an outstanding role in Ottoman life for contemporary European travellers – all authors of Western origin found it necessary to comment on them. The practice of rüşvet, sums of money regularly given to Ottoman officials in order to further the applicant’s interests, shocked every observer. It was interpreted as an incredibly open form of corruption, a clear sign of immorality.23

20 Colloquia, 15–16. 21 For a discussion of “categorical mismatches” as constitutive elements of intergroup stereotyping, see Maryon McDonald, “The Construction of Difference: An Anthropological Approach to Stereotypes,” in Inside European Identities: Ethnography in Western Europe, ed. Sharon MacDonald (Oxford, 1993), 219–236. 22 Colloquia, 32. 23 See among others: Rouillard, The Turk, 323; Çırakman, From the ‘Terror of the World,’ 69. Some modern Ottomanists receptive to anthropology suggest that the rüşvet was such an integral part of Ottoman daily life that it makes no sense to see it as corruption – a term 226 Chapter 6

No wonder that Transylvanian diplomats, who had the daily experience of distributing gifts to various Ottoman officeholders and encouraged their princes to send some new resources for the same purpose, were not enthusiastic about the fact that “this Turkish world works only through donations.”24 Many variations were later produced on this theme, some of them remarkably witty, such as that of Kristóf Paskó: “with money everything can be accomplished, but with promises alone [the Turk] would not let anyone graze.”25 Harsányi himself, while a diplomat at the Sublime Porte, found the most poetic metaphors for the phenomenon: “The mill of the Turk is driven by gifts,” he once wrote, while elsewhere he noted that “without gifts, the eyes of the Turk are blind, their tongue is dumb.”26 What does the Colloquia say about money? First, given its character as a phrasebook, the reader encounters a broad selection of words designed for shopping, presented at various points throughout the book, such as when the fellow travellers hire a guide, and also when they visit the market.27 Harsányi even provides a selection of the most important expressions to be used during bargaining: “By my head. By God’s truth. By the head of the divine emperor. By the truth of salt and bread. By the truth of Koran. By the truth of the doctrines.”28 There are many more, Harsányi claims, but he omits them for the sake of brev- ity. Nevertheless, the reader already has the impression that bargaining is indeed a crucial aspect of Ottoman culture. Other phrases connected with money are also given. Many proverbs are cited which are all variations on the one in the title of this section: “The world we live in, and the king of these times, is money. … The amount of money

that would imply excesses rather than the practice itself. See Gábor Ágoston, “Infor- mációszerzés és kémkedés az Oszmán Birodalomban a 15–17. században” [Information service and espionage in the Ottoman Empire in the 15th–17th centuries], in Információ áramlás a magyar és török végvári rendszerben, ed. Tivadar Petercsák and Mátyás Berecz (Eger, 1999), 141. 24 Zsigmond Boér to Mihály Teleki (Thessaloniki, 24 February 1670), TML V, 97. János Donáth expressed similar views in his letter written to Gábor Bethlen (Constantinople, 30 May 1629): i.e., the prince “knows the state of the Porte better” than him, “that it works only with donations”; Sándor Szilágyi, ed., Bethlen Gábor fejedelem levelezése [The correspondence of Gábor Bethlen] (Budapest, 1887), 386 (in the following: BGL). 25 Kristóf Paskó to Mihály Apafi I (Constantinople, 6 February 1666), TMÁO IV, 303. 26 Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 3 February 1656), MHHD XXIII, 307; and Harsányi and Máté Balogh to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, October 1656), EÉKH II, 224. 27 Colloquia, 25, 124. 28 Colloquia, 118–119. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 227 someone has in his chest earns him the same amount of respect. Money accomplishes everything. No one can carry out anything without money. … Only God and angels are free of the desire for silver and gold.”29 These proverbs are not recited by either the Interpreter or the Legate, but by the Guide. As he is an Ottoman himself, we can conclude that his obsession with money quali- fies him as an example of Turkish rapacity. Quite different is the mentality of the Legate, who has to be held back by the Guide from lavish spending in the inn. Although he grudgingly accepts the other’s advice that he should not order dancers and beautiful women because he will need the money for the rest of the journey, he also complains that the world has sunk into a sea of greed in this corrupt century.30 The Interpreter by contrast, who speaks for Harsányi, expresses rather ascetic views about money. The Legate offers him a fortune if he were to join him on his way and they were both to return home safely – but the Interpreter declares that he does not want money since good friendship cannot be built on it.31 The Interpreter’s moralistic attitude is undoubtedly designed to endear the reader more than the worldly-minded perspective of the Guide, who is, however, still shown in a much more favourable light than the Legate with his irresponsibly extravagant character. Even with this background information it is not easy to interpret the single explicit comment the Interpreter makes about the Ottomans’ relation to finances. When the Legate asks him if he can expect some gifts from the sultan when he leaves Constantinople, he receives the following answer: “Hardly. You have not offered anything to them either, therefore I would not expect it. The Turkish nation has learned to accept, not to give; they think that the entire world is in debt to them. Be content with the two kaftans you were clothed with: a good answer outdoes any gifts.”32 It is less surprising that the Interpreter should lecture the Legate about the reciprocity of the gifts and the relevance of his official task in his usual moralistic manner. Nevertheless, his general comment about the “Turkish nation” is somewhat bewildering, as it stands in obvious contrast to his fundamental assumptions. This remark of the Interpreter is an example of the inconsistencies which characterize some parts of the Colloquia. The “mistake” is even more striking because the very same assumption is refuted by the Interpreter in another part of the book. The Legate, after listening to the Interpreter’s explanation about the different groups of Turks, is eager to say that he had heard many things

29 Colloquia, 32–33. 30 Colloquia, 74–77. 31 Colloquia, 29. 32 Colloquia, 112. 228 Chapter 6 about them at home. He enumerates several stereotypes, some of which the Interpreter had proved wrong earlier. This calls forth an ironic answer from his partner: “It seems to me, Master Legate, that you know more about the morals and nature of this nation than your servant.”33 Among the western stereotypes listed by the Legate, the idea is repeated that the Turks are so much given to greed that they think the whole world is in their debt. The Interpreter’s comment clearly ridicules the statement – the same statement that he made himself in another part of the book. And yet the reader can generally conclude from the text of the Colloquia that Turks love money. This characteristic, however, is no more reprehensible than the irresponsible attitude to money of their European counterparts. Harsányi even leaves obvious opportunities for commentary unexploited, such as the inclusion in the income of the grand vizier of money received from the selling of paşalıks.34 He goes as far as reporting the price of becoming a gover- nor of the various provinces, leaving it, however, up to the reader to decide whether this practice is a sign of Ottoman corruption, and if so, how it relates to the contemporary French system of office purchase.

Treachery: “Turkish Friendship” 35 Besides their greed, the Legate notes that the Ottomans are traditionally accused in Western Europe of many other things: pride, cowardice, and above all treachery. He claims that they take oaths very often, and only keep them as long as they serve their needs. The Turks, according to the Legate, have even developed a hypocritical habit of explaining why they were not responsible for their oaths: “God is superior to human beings, and His will must be followed. If God wanted the oath to be kept, He would not have provided the occasion to break it.”36 The topos of the unreliability of the Ottomans, as is obvious from the fact that it is raised by the Legate, was a frequent theme in early modern Western European turcica. It was also popular among the Transylvanian diplomats – even more than the Ottoman love of money. On the one hand, many of them claimed that Turks were notorious liars – “One does not have to believe it, it is only Turkish news,” suggested Tamás Borsos to his prince – but others shared the conviction that “for them, lying is not a shame, no matter that they wear

33 Colloquia, 401. 34 Colloquia, 258. 35 Comment of Orator Tamás Borsos on an Ottoman political action, interpreted by him as treachery: Borsos, Vásárhelytől a Fényes Portáig, 181. 36 Colloquia, 389. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 229 big beards as a disguise.”37 Harsányi, as a diplomat, wrote desperately to the prince that there was no chance of promoting any benevolence towards Translyvania among the high office-holders at the Porte because, sooner or later, rumours would be spread which would destroy any trust built up by the diplomats of the Principality. And this is simply the consequence of the custom of spreading haphazard information in the Ottoman capital: “They talk about things that they have not even seen in their dreams.”38 The other sign of the Turks’ unreliability was the inconsistency of Ottoman politics. I have already quoted Harsányi’s point about Ottoman instability at the beginning of this chapter, but his fellow diplomats also expressed the conviction that Ottoman officeholders regularly changed their minds – obviously in close connection with their supposed avarice. In their writings an unequivocal image can be found, according to which the members of the Ottoman elite would break their word at any time and not hesitate to forge perfidious schemes in order to receive further gains. “Turkish art” was a metaphor for deceit in many of their letters.39 The diplomats used this stereotype of the “sly and perfidious Turk” even in slightly dubious situations. István Serédy conducted negotiations at the Sublime Porte in 1649 in order to persuade the sultan to withdraw his claim for payment from the Hungarian counties conquered earlier by the prince of Transylvania. The ambassador did his best to explain to the Ottoman notables that these counties consisted of no more than a single castle with its surrounding territories. He called the grand vizier an “old scoundrel” in his letters to his prince despite the fact that his own argumentation was far from representing the truth.40 In times of political crisis, when they hoped for benevolent decisions from the Porte and were frustrated by their failure to appear, instances of this accusation proliferated in the diplomats’ correspondence. Harsányi provides one of the best examples when he described a situation of complete uncertainty: “Never has anyone seen or heard so much inconsistency at the Porte, because they want to do everything out of anger and by perfidious coun- terfeit, so that no one can know which of their words can be believed.”41 And in

37 Tamás Borsos to Gábor Bethlen (Constantinople, 28 September 1619), Borsos, Vásárhelytől a Fényes Portáig, 325; Boldizsár Sebessi to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 26 August 1635), RGyP, 221. 38 Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 27 July 1655), EÉKH I, 549. 39 See among others Boldizsár Sebessi to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 24 May 1636), RGyKÖ, 369. 40 István Serédy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 12 May 1649), TT 1889, 329. 41 Harsányi and István Tisza to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 23 June 1657), EÉKH II, 366. 230 Chapter 6 another letter he specified more fundamental motivations behind the Ottomans’ alleged slyness: “these are pagans and they would trick the Christians whenever they can”.42 The Colloquia fundamentally alters this picture. From the Interpreter the reader learns, in the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, that for a born Muslim there is nothing worse than lying. The text of the Opinio, written in the same period as the Colloquia, shows that Harsányi did not restrict his changing opinion to statements of interest to the academic world, but also drew political conclusions from them. When, in the Opinio, he supports the idea that Frederick William should send an envoy to the sultan, he tries, according to scholastic argumentative practice, to pre-empt the possible counter-arguments. He thus refers to the Legate’s words in the Colloquia, that some people might claim “that it is futile for the Christians to conclude an alliance or friendship with the Turks, since the latter only negotiate treaties for their own profit and only maintain friendship for as long as it benefits them.”43 Although Harsányi admits that many historical examples substantiate this claim, he points out that the same number of examples of treason could be found among Christians. He also quotes a moral speech attributed to Sultan Murad about keeping one’s word as the most important duty of any human being. So Harsányi does not deny that unreliability is an intrinsic part of the Ottoman world, but tries, rather, to refute the ideas about its prevalence. While, in the paper stating his political position, he refers to the no less questionable practices of Christian states, in the Colloquia he claims that only renegades are responsible for perfidy.44 According to the general strategy of the Colloquia, it is they who have to bear the burden of the negative characteristics ascribed to the entire group of Ottomans by contemporary Western European and Transylvanian common knowledge.

Discipline: “Where a Turkish Soldier Put his Feet, the Grass Grows no More” 45 The title of this section is, unsurprisingly, quoted by the Legate as a common view in his homeland. In the course of the conversations in the Colloquia, however, he becomes convinced of quite the contrary, namely that the Ottoman army is exemplary in its discipline. He discusses the organization of the

42 István Tisza and Jakab Harsányi Nagy to Ákos Barcsai (Constantinople, 4 May 1657) MNL OL E 204 46. d. 43 Opinio, version B, fol. 292r. 44 Colloquia, 373. 45 Colloquia, 57. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 231 sultan’s forces with his Guide, and when he hears about the enormous numbers of soldiers, he deplores the terrible damage a territory must suffer when it is crossed by all these troops: “No one receives mercy; everyone steals, plun- ders, and robs where they can. If you do not want to surrender your last property, they take it by force; if you resist, they thrash you thoroughly with a staff.”46 The Guide is horrified to hear such an assumption and explains to the Legate that this would be impossible in Ottoman territories, where the soldier answers for the slightest crime with his head. The sultan’s army observes the strictest discipline, and if a soldier only takes an onion or an egg, he is hanged. He compares this to the policies followed by the ancient Romans.47 Although the Western European image of the Turks was obsessed with their violence and cruelty, many travellers also praised the discipline of the Ottoman army. The sultan’s military successes needed to be explained. Although most of the authors were reluctant to agree that the Turks were better warriors, more skillful or courageous in combat than the Europeans, many of them acknowledged that the anarchy of Christian armies could not be compared to the discipline observed by the Ottomans, especially the janissaries. A sixteenth- century Venetian ambassador, Gianfrancesco Morosini, claimed that 10,000 Christians would be able to defeat 30,000 Turks, but it would be much harder to command 2,000 Christians than 100,000 Turks, especially if those Christians were Italians.48 Even in the seventeenth century, when the concept of the decline of the Ottoman Empire was widespread, there were many travellers who were amazed by the order they found in janissary camps.49 The remarks Harsányi attributes to the Guide about the discipline in the Ottoman army are thus not entirely surprising, even if most contemporary authors would have found the comparison with the ancient Romans too far- fetched. Yet Harsányi did not stop at this. According to the Interpreter, discipline and order prevailed not only in the Ottoman army, but in the everyday life of the Empire. He explains that a strict order is observed in the market of Constantinople, where janissaries ensure calibrated standards and punish

46 Colloquia, 55. 47 Colloquia, 56. 48 PP, 134. See also Rouillard, The Turk, 292–297; Carl Göllner, Turcica, vol. 3, Die Türkenfrage in der öffentlichen Meinung Europas im 16. Jahrhundert (Bucharest and Baden-Baden, 1978), 284–298. Even examples from East-Central Europe are known for this opinion: Edward Tryjaski, “Marcin Bielski (16. Century) on the Turks,” Journal of Turkish Studies 17 (1993): 175. 49 Vincent de Stochove, who was convinced about the decline of the Ottoman power, was fascinated when he visited the grand vizier’s camp in 1643; see Rouillard, The Turk, 292– 297. 232 Chapter 6 anyone who cheats, regardless of whether he is a Muslim or a Christian. The Legate can hardly believe his ears, and remarks that the picture his interlocutor offers is surely too bright. If he did not regard him as a clever and reliable person, he would think that the Interpreter was lying.50 The astonishment of the Legate is quite understandable: everyday life in Constantinople was hardly ever described as conspicuously orderly. Harsányi himself had different experiences in the mid-1650s: “Here there is … really a dreadful situation on the streets; people are killed and robbed by rogues; the janissaries left some gates of the city without a watch because of the rogues; we do not even dare go out of the house in the afternoon.”51 This was the description of an extraordinary situation, the chaos during the Venetian blockade, but the aggressiveness of the Turks was nevertheless a commonplace among Transylvanian diplomats in general. In their reports we find many realistic accounts of the horrors in the streets of Constantinople – not only in times of riot, but also in peaceful periods. Even if the judgment of the diplomats is rarely explicit, the modes of selecting and narrating the events clearly convey the image of a wild, unrestrained, and bloodthirsty nation. The reader encounters statements like that of Harsányi in several cases. Diplomats tell of their fear since “the death of a human being does not count much here,” or say that they hardly dare to leave the house among “a nation as fierce as this one.”52 There were certainly more peaceful periods in the life of the Ottoman capital, but Harsányi had his experiences in the most chaotic decade of the seventeenth century. In comparison with the utterances of the Interpreter, his letters from that period clearly reflect a reshaping of the image. In the Colloquia the description of Ottoman discipline is not only refash- ioned when compared to the general Transylvanian image of the Turks, but the book even contains a scene that seems to contradict the Interpreter’s statements. The Legate and his suite are stopped and interrogated by soldiers on the way to Constantinople. They try to discourage him from continuing his journey by saying that a great campaign is underway and the roads are full of soldiers: “The people of the army are very evil. They do not know forgiveness or mercy. They will think that you are spies of the infidels. Do you not know that

50 Colloquia, 212–217. 51 Harsányi to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, April 1656), EÉKH II, 219. 52 István Réthy to György Rákóczi I (Constantinople, 1 November 1634 and 27 May 1643), RGyKÖ, 213; and RGyP, 624. Balázs Harasztosi reported that on the occasion of a great fire in the city the janissaries began to pillage houses, causing terrible losses: “no enemy can be compared to them, so infamous, accursed and immoral is this nation” (TT 1881–82 [1882], 57). Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 233 the emperor is enfuriated and offended by the infidels?”53 Threats like these were sufficient for some travellers to turn their backs to the Ottoman Empire. The Swede Erik Dahlberg only made his way to the Hungarian border fortress of Esztergom, and then gave up and returned to Habsburg Hungary.54 But such problems could not prevent the Legate from continuing his journey. How is it possible that the well-disciplined soldiers described by the Interpreter could represent such a threat to innocent travellers? Harsányi is aware of the problem, and gives two tentative answers. The first is in line with his usual strategy of assigning blame: the Interpreter claims that these soldiers are probably not of Turkish origin, but renegades. He elaborates on this in the section where he gives a detailed description of the latter group: “I cannot praise the ones who took the profession of a soldier either, as they – here, as well as in our countries – deviate from the right path. They know no loyalty, religiosity, or mercy.”55 And, as if this argument were not enough, it is the Legate who gives the Ottoman army the ultimate excuse: if the Turkish soldiers do not behave in the ideal way, as they did in the golden age of the Empire, it is because they learned their bad habits from the Christians.56

Infidels: “But Our People Know the Right Path and the Orders of God”57 For most medieval and early modern authors writing about the Ottoman Empire, the main difference between themselves and the Turks was their religion. From its beginnings and first successes, Islam remained a constant problem for Christian theologians. The numerous dogmatic similarities and the stark differences between Christianity and Islam created confusion. Many wanted to interpret the new religion as an ephemeral heresy, but its fall, expected by numerous Western Europeans in the seventh century, did not occur. With the advance of the Ottoman Empire in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the problem of the Muslims emerged yet again for Christian authors.58 In the Middle Ages Islam was in many ways treated as analogous to Chris tianity. Most medieval treatises that analyze Islam deal almost exclusively with the role of Muhammad. Their authors felt that if the founder of Christianity

53 Colloquia, 38–39. 54 Erik Dahlbergs dagbok (1625–1699) [The diary of Erik Dahlberg], ed. Herman Lindström (Uppsala and Stockholm, 1912), 54–56. 55 Colloquia, 375–376. 56 Colloquia, 56–57. 57 Colloquia, 474. 58 Richard William Southern, Western Views on Islam in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, 1962). 234 Chapter 6 had a decisive role in the religion, it must be the same with Islam. Muslims were interpreted as Christians misled by Muhammad, and their religion not as a religion but as a superstition.59 Some Renaissance scholars dissented from this view, but in the seventeenth century most commentators still resorted to this medieval conception. C.D. Rouillard, who studied the French image of the Turks, found only one traveller who treated Islam in his account as a religion in its own right.60 It would be reasonable to expect that, in the Colloquia, a book describing the Ottoman state, Islam would receive special treatment and several comments. Theological questions are settled succinctly, however, and are not even discussed by the Interpreter but by the Legate. He claims that many erudite books had already been written about the religion, from which anyone could acquire sufficient knowledge. The Quran was also translated into many languages, which makes it possible for those interested to become acquainted with the fundaments of Islam.61 After this, however, the Legate declares somewhat casually that the weather is too hot for these topics, and the world is full of news about the coming war, so this is no time to discuss theological questions in detail.62 Nevertheless, some practical questions, such as the five pillars of Islam, are introduced by the Interpreter slightly later – and apart from the description of various Muslim religious groups he also discusses the dervish orders and the religious officeholders, that is, the practical side of the religion. His text is interrupted time and again by Harsányi’s Latin explanatory notes.63

59 Norman Daniel’s conclusions are cited by Edward W. Said, Orientalism: Western Concep- tions of the Orient (New York, 1978), 60–63. 60 Rouillard, The Turk, 336. 61 By the time Harsányi was writing there were indeed several translations of the Quran into various European languages. The first Latin translation was commissioned by Petrus Ve nerabilis and done by Robert of Ketton in the twelfth century. The text was published by Theodore Bibliander in Basle in 1543 and also served as the basis of an Italian translation by Giovanni Battista Castrodardo (published in Venice, 1547). A German translation of Castrodardo’s version came off the press in Nuremberg in 1616. André Du Ryer made an entirely new translation from Arabic into French (published in Paris in 1647), which was further translated into English and appeared in London two years later (the identity of the translator is uncertain). Two versions have been published in Dutch, one based on Schweigger’s (1641) and another on Du Ryer’s (1658) editions. See Hamilton and Richard, André Du Ryer, 91–92, 108–118. On later translations, see Alastair Hamilton, “’To Rescue the Honour of the Germans’: Qur’an Translations by Eighteenth- and Early Nineteenth-Cen- tury German Protestants,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 77 (2014): 173– 209. 62 Colloquia, 445–450. 63 Colloquia, 482–490. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 235

The question of Muslim piety receives much more attention than the theological background. As we saw, Harsányi devotes passages to the god-fearing lifestyle of the born Muslims. When they return from their pilgrimage, he claims through the Interpreter, they not only stay away from sin, but, “if they are rich, they erect mosques, bridges, fountains, and other public buildings in the honour of God and for the salvation of their soul. If they are poor, they feed the dogs and the birds. If the sun burns, they give water to the thirsty in the streets and from their windows.”64 And a long description of various pious institutions follows: gratuitous accommodations for pilgrims, educational opportunities for the sons of the poor, almshouses, and asylums. This image of the pious Turk is supported – as in the case of the role of money in the everyday life of the Ottoman Empire – by Turkish proverbs provided by the Guide for the benefit of the Legate. They show a devout but rather determinist mentality:

Nothing can happen without the provision of God. Without His permission, nothing can harm us. What can a human being or any other creature do against the will of God? Not even a bird can fall from the skies without His consent. He even knows the number of our hairs. No one can escape His hands. He created us from nothing, took care of us, and He is going to look after us afterwards as well. Our hope is in God. Once our sins are forgiven, if He has given himself to us as a guide, we have nothing to fear. He is the emperor of all armies and creatures.65

Harsányi was not alone among his contemporaries in his respect for Muslim piety: no matter how much they despised Islam as a religion, many of them praised the zeal of the faithful. Even if they ridiculed their religious rites, they expressed the wish that Christians might show the same enthusiasm in following the prescriptions of their faith as the pious Muslims.66 The Colloquia fits

64 Colloquia, 376–377. 65 Colloquia, 41–43. 66 Mary Hossain, “Seventeenth Century Travellers to the Holy Land,” Arab Historical Review for Ottoman Studies, 13–14 (1996): 70; Rouillard, The Turk, 342–348; Göllner, Turcica, 305– 312; Çırakman, From ‘The Terror of the World,’ 59–60. In the seventeenth century it was rare to turn an entirely deaf ear to Islam, both in its theory and practices, as we see in the case of Johann Ulrich Wallich, Religio turcica, Mahometis vita et orientalis cum occidentali Antichristo comparatio… (Stade, 1659). It is indicative that this Protestant minister, who probably became acquainted with Harsányi personally in Constantinople, not only devoted his book to the condemnation of Islam and the Ottoman Empire, but in the same breath went on to slander the pope and Catholicism. 236 Chapter 6 into this tradition and is in line with its general argument that the trueborn Muslims are exemplary people, who are unjustly accused by European authors of many moral transgressions. And this is one of the rare cases when Harsányi does not contradict the views expressed in his earlier correspondence, since the topic of Muslim piety was never something on which the Transylvanian diplomats focused.67 The Legate admits that the Quran has already been translated into many languages. Nevertheless, he wants to buy a copy of the original. This allows the Interpreter to describe the Muslims’ attitude towards books. First, he says that there are some inexperienced and ignorant people who claim that the Quran cannot be purchased by a Christian. This is not true, he explains, as “the prophet Mahomet has written the Quran so that the whole world should know the will of God; that is, God sent it down from heaven, so that the people of the world might be taught to avoid infidelity and embrace the pure faith.”68 Nothing, therefore, should hinder a Christian from buying it. When talking about books, the Interpreter also says that Turks only hold four books to be true, but out of those four, three are superfluous – the Torah, the Psalms, and the Gospel – as the knowledge they contain is also included in the fourth, the Quran.69 Harsányi also openly rejects the stereotype of the Turks as people so proud that they refuse to follow the example of any other nation or to learn from it. This idea is mentioned by the Legate in his list of all the things he had heard about the Ottomans back home – a clear sign, as we saw, of its being discredited in the Colloquia.70 All in all, the discussion of Islam in the Colloquia is positive. The only sentence in which the Interpreter – and through him Harsányi – gives a value judgement is quoted in the title of this section: “But our people know the right path and the orders of God.” This remark, though, is made unobtrusively and is slightly relativized. Its context is a comparison between the western monks and the dervishes, and the first thing the Interpreter says about them is that the latter are not Christians and do not know the right path of God. The other comparisons which follow, however, are not very flattering to the Europeans. His observation that dervishes are poor, while Christian monks dispose of great fortunes, is clearly a Protestant shot at the much-criticized institution of

67 The reason for this is to be found in the genre of diplomatic correspondence – diplomats are simply not supposed to comment on many spheres of the everyday life of the lands visited. See the more detailed discussion in my “Verdammtes Konstantinopel.” 68 Colloquia, 120. 69 Colloquia, 120–121. 70 Colloquia, 389. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 237 the Catholic Church, and reinforces his general message: while Muslims may err in questions of faith, the practical side of their religion is nevertheless exemplary for Christians.

A Positive Image of the Turks and its Conclusions

What Made Harsányi’s Image of the Turks Change? Throughout the preceding pages we have frequently seen that Harsányi’s views on the Turks changed between his stay in Constantinople and the time when he wrote his book in Brandenburg. His former view of the Turks tends to comply with that of other Transylvanian diplomats in seventeenth-century Constantinople. It follows the assumptions contained in the political discourse unfolding in the Principality, which, given the fact that the country was a tributary state of the Ottoman Empire, was not widely publicized and only remained available to a closed circle of political correspondents. At the same time the image hardly changed throughout the entire century. Harsányi’s views on the Turks are not peculiar in this respect, even though he did find the best ways of expressing them through his almost poetic metaphors which differ significantly from the often rather clumsy wording of the Transylvanian diplomatic corps. He was also most diligent in applying these views and images (at least in the rather fragmented corpus of the surviving correspondence) thanks to his specific attitude analyzed in the previous chapter, that is, his eagerness to provide the prince with his own advice about the policy to be followed, which he regularly tried to support with “theoretical” considerations, such as the statements about the nature of the Turks. His position during the Constantinople years in any case remained within the general pattern traced by contemporary diplomats. The image in the Colloquia differs radically from that of the correspondence. The accusations against the Ottomans of the 1650s – above all greed, treachery and mendacity – are not prominent in the book. Most of these were reattrib- uted to a distinct group of Ottomans: the renegades. Others, such as greed, were entirely dismissed as constitutive elements of the difference between Turks and Christians. The Interpreter, the representative of Harsányi’s own ideas in the text, questions the image of the Turks circulating in Western Europe and calls for a more balanced understanding of them. In many cases, furthermore, not only does he attribute an exemplary character to them, but, through explicit comparisons with the Christians, he also implicitly suggests that “trueborn Muslims” set an example to be emulated. The possible reasons for this change can be found at multiple levels, taking into consideration the 238 Chapter 6 changing circumstances of Harsányi’s activities, the changing social roles he was aiming to fulfill, and also the changes in the political agenda he could further by conveying this image. In the following pages, these aspects will be discussed in detail. Research into stereotypes in social psychology – that is, characteristics attributed by one group to another – experienced its “historical turn” with the establishment of the circles promoting “social level analysis” in the 1990s.71 They laid much emphasis on the fact that the stereotype is subject to change, according to the changing power relations between the stereotyper and the stereotyped. In Harsányi’s case the new image could also be a product of the altered circumstances of its fabrication. In the early 1670s Jakab Harsányi Nagy had experiences of the Empire’s power capacities very different from those in the period of his service in Constantinople. During the 1650s he was in daily contact with a state administration which showed every sign of a crisis. He participated in the first audiences of each newly installed grand vizier, and he could be sure that he would have to wait less than a year for the next one. He also followed closely the ever-changing power relationships among the higher officials of the Sublime Porte, the alliances and enmities, the machinations and intrigues. He was aware too that the chaotic situation in Constantinople made the state highly inefficient: he had personal experience of the frequent mutinies of janissaries and, during the Venetian blockade of the Dardanelles, of the Empire’s military weakness in the international scene. All these experiences, however, had to be reassessed in the light of what happened at the end of the decade: the success of the Köprülüs in reinstalling internal peace. This resulted in military victories against Venice and Transylvania, and, later, in an advanta- geous peace treaty following the anti-Habsburg wars of 1663–64. It also enabled the Ottoman Empire to start a highly successful war against Poland in the early 1670s. The section of the Colloquia on the Köprülüs testifies to the fact that changing circumstances had an important impact upon the establishment of Harsányi’s new image. In the dedication of the book he gives an emotionally laden explanation of why he had to leave Transylvania: “I was deprived of all

71 Russell Spears, Penelope J. Oakes, Naomi Ellemers, and S. Alexander Haslam, “Introduc- tion: The Social Psychology of Stereotyping and Group Life,” in The Social Psychology of Stereotyping and Group Life, ed. Russell Spears et al. (Cambridge, MA, 1997), 1–19; and Ste- phen Worchel and Hank Rothgerber, “Changing the Stereotype of the Stereotype,” in The Social Psychology of Stereotyping, 72–93; Penelope J. Oakes, S. Alexander Haslam, and John C. Turner, Stereotyping and Social Reality (Oxford, 1994). This type of research defined itself primarily in contrast to its immediate forerunner, cognitive stereotype research, which analyzed the role of stereotypes in the individual’s life. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 239 my property and means of living by the tyranny of the barbarians.”72 When reading the passages on the Köprülü family, it is hard to believe that he is talking about the very same “barbarians.” The Interpreter mentions with high esteem the prudence of Köprülü that allowed him to expand the territory of the Empire (at the expense of Transylvania) and his success in imposing new taxes upon the Principality.73 Köprülü Mehmed, who was, ironically enough, a renegade, is even praised for the skillful strategies that allowed his son to succeed him in the post of grand vizier.74 The entirely separate treatment of these two segments – the personal losses and the assessment of the politicians who were responsible for them – shows that we are entitled to see a reason for his changing image in the new circumstances created by the Köprülü restoration. Harsányi must have felt that he could not say the things that he had claimed to be true in the chaotic 1650s about the increasingly powerful Ottoman Empire of the 1670s. Nevertheless, the promoters of social level analysis emphatically concentrate on stereotypes as shared conjectures that belong to groups instead of individuals. While it is clear that changing power relations have an impact on the assumptions of specific groups about other groups, this development cannot automatically be transferred to the level of individuals. The change in social environment could certainly contribute to Harsányi’s change of opinion, but in itself it is hardly enough to explain such a radical turn. In order to complete the picture, we also have to take other aspects into consideration: the question of his audience and the social roles Harsányi aimed to fill when pre- senting his various images. First we must consider the change of perspective due to distance. The mere fact that Harsányi was far away from the Ottoman capital, no longer exposed to new experiences, and that he had also ceased to be in daily contact with his fellow diplomats, could contribute to his questioning their established wisdom as well as producing a new vision of the Turks. An analytical attitude is frequently furthered by the distance from the object of analysis – and in Harsányi’s case the Brandenburg years of relative unemployment could provide the necessary circumstances for a re-evaluation of everything he had experienced before.

72 Colloquia, dedicatio (version A), fol. 3. 73 The treatment of Köprülü Mehmed in the Opinio is also favourable: Harsányi emphasizes the fact that the grand vizier would not have attacked Transylvania if only Prince György Rákóczi II, misled by bad advice and the false promises of foreigners, had not defied his orders; Version B, fol. 292r–v. 74 For the entire discussion of the Köprülüs, see Colloquia, 283–285. 240 Chapter 6

At the same time Harsányi’s authorial position also changed. In the preceding chapters we have seen how he built up his identity as a “bureaucrat.” He aimed to present himself as a loyal servant, useful for his prince because of his outstanding knowledge and quick mind, and the ability to mobilize his knowledge and provide his ruler with good counsel. Whenever he gave guidelines on how to solve a specific situation, he was explicitly building his advice on a set of well-known facts. The basis of his arguments was provided in some cases by quotations from classical authors and in others by common knowledge. In order to achieve his goals, to demonstrate his credibility and usefulness, and, at the same time, to influence the prince’s foreign policy, he had to build upon widely accepted assumptions. He quite naturally accepted – and further developed – the set of characteristics from which the image of the Turks was constructed in the Principality: this had to be his raw material for the purposes of counselling. It was also probably more useful in the world of diplomacy, given the nature of court intrigues of the Ottoman Empire, to be suspicious and to expect the other negotiators to be sly, treacherous, and even greedy, than it would have been to foster an image of Turks with an exemplary character. When writing the book, however, Harsányi found himself in an entirely different authorial position. This time there was no call for the caution and distrust necessary for diplomatic activities. At the court of the Great Elector he could prove his usefulness to his mentors by producing a text of scholarly relevance, containing knowledge that had been unavailable before. As a textbook for learning Ottoman Turkish, his Colloquia would already have fulfilled this requirement, but, as we have seen, Harsányi aimed for more. As his comments about other descriptions of the Ottoman Empire and established views of the Turks show, he was eager to fashion himself not simply as a language teacher, but as an expert on Ottoman-related questions. After all, that was why he received a salary. Repeating all the knowledge that had already been available was not enough; he had to share something new with his readers. It is certainly no accident that questions concerning the theology of Islam were so succinctly settled in the book: not being an expert himself, Harsányi could not have presented new results, and would have had to reiterate the work of other authors. So, instead of the theoretical aspect of religion, he focused on the side he had experienced: practice. Laying a particular emphasis upon the difference between renegades and trueborn Muslims, his self-construction as a scholar benefited from two features. On the one hand, he presented an interpretative framework that was not previously available, at least as far as he knew. At the same time, this made possible a latent incorporation of previous knowledge in his own analysis. He did Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 241 not have to claim that the authors of all previous descriptions shared incorrect information with their readers: the accounts about the fearful Turks might have been true, yet they made a categorical mistake by attributing the ghastly deeds of renegades to the entire community of Ottomans. By this method Harsányi related his own work to those of others and used their results, while at the same time making sure that he provided new knowledge by putting their information into a new interpretative perspective. Apart from the changes in power relations and in his authorial role, there is a third aspect to consider when explaining the radical shift of the image of the Turk in Harsányi’s writings. In both cases, as a diplomat and as a Hofrat in Brandenburg, his activities were not restricted to communicating information, but he tried to convey a political agenda as well. As we have already seen in Chapter Two, his advice to the prince was clear during his years in Constan tinople. By reinforcing the image of an Ottoman Empire in decline, which was unable to counteract any activity of Transylvanian foreign policy, he urged György Rákóczi II to take bold action. The political agenda of the Colloquia, on the other hand, requires a longer investigation.

Different Conclusions: The Legate and the Interpreter The Legate, who came to the Ottoman Empire with various western prejudices in mind, is exposed to long explanations by his interlocutor about the discipline of the Ottoman army and everyday life, and the exemplary character of the trueborn Turks. It is no wonder that, after a while, he suggests: “if things are like this, can even Christians live under the rule of the Turk with a tranquil soul?”75 The answer given by the Interpreter is cautious. Nevertheless, it leads the Legate to shocking conclusions. The Interpreter explains that the situation is different in various regions of the Empire. The tributary states, which sur- rendered to the rule of the sultan of their own free will, enjoy good conditions. They can keep their own administration and legal system, and as long as they do not break openly with the Ottomans, they can live a peaceful life. In the territories conquered by the sword the system of administration has been transformed and Ottoman lords rule over a Christian population. Their situation too is far from unbearable. The state tax is never so high that peasants are unable to pay it. The Interpreter states, moreover, that “I have seen many sipahis (landholders) who helped their subjects out of their own property with money, oxen, and in other ways. They say that if their subjects lose their fortunes, then the owner of the land is necessarily going to lose it as well … and he is ultimately going to face ruin himself, when the subject, having forfeited his

75 Colloquia, 154. 242 Chapter 6 abilities, can no longer pay his taxes.”76 The logic of this “Ottoman cameralism” is summarized in a metaphor: if fountains run dry, then the cisterns too will be emptied. If this enlightened economic policy of the sipahis was not enough, the next question under discussion must have made the Christian readers feel even more uncertain. The Interpreter starts to explain the religious policy of the Ottomans by stating that they do not care much about other people’s religion. If somebody is asked three times to accept Islam and refuses, no one is entitled to use force for conversion, as “they say that faith and religion are the gift of God.”77 Again, the question is elaborated through a metaphor: although the mufti advised Sultan Süleyman to convert all Christians and Jews, he refused, claiming that the diversity of denominations and sects in his Empire is like a garden with flowers of many colours. Just as the various colours make the garden more beautiful, the various religions have the same effect upon the Empire. For this reason he, the sultan, would not force anyone to convert. However, Harsányi does not refrain from repeating the familiar economic explanation for the lack of forced conversions to Islam either: the sultan’s interest is to have as many non-Muslim subjects as possible, because supposedly it is only from them that he gets taxes. In order to prove his point, the Interpreter also refers to the practice whereby daughters from mixed marriages can keep the Christian faith of their mother.78 This level of tolerant behaviour seems to be too much for the Legate. He tries to provide counter-arguments, recalling examples of the Ottoman elite proceeding against the Christian clergy. First he refers to the persecution of the Jesuits, then to the hanging of the patriarch of Constantinople by Grand Vizier Köprülü Mehmed. Both arguments are refuted by the Interpreter, however, who explains that the two events had political motives and cannot be regarded as actions against other denominations. The Jesuits were suspected of organizing a revolt, while the patriarch supposedly had close connections with the Venetians, the enemy of the Empire at the time. It is much harder to explain away the Legate’s third argument – that Köprülü Mehmed banned the reconstruction of the Franciscan church in Constantinople – but the Interpreter is ready with an answer: “perhaps the Turk began to learn these things from the pope in Rome and his servants.”79 To the argumentative strategy familiar from the section on the behaviour of the soldiers – that the negative features of the

76 Colloquia, 158–159. 77 Colloquia, 162. 78 Colloquia, 162–164. 79 Colloquia, 168. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 243

Ottoman world were the result of bad Christian influence – Harsányi now again adds a Protestant flavour. The Legate seems to be entirely convinced. He goes so far as to find arguments for the justification of a feature of everyday Muslim life usually unacceptable to Christian observers: polygamy. He claims that it is very practical in situations when a wife is confined to bed by a serious illness, and her healthy young husband has a hard time running the household alone. It is also a great solution to the problem of when a man goes on a long journey and takes his wife with him: if he has more than one wife, those staying at home can take care of the house and the children. Despite these clear advantages, he decides not to suggest that polygamy be introduced in Christian territories: “Neverthe less, since it is not allowed in our lands, they can follow their own customs, while we retain our own.”80 His newly born fascination with the Ottoman Empire leads the Legate to ask a question that is not unexpected after all the praise the Turks have received in the preceding pages. Voicing it, however, is surprising:

As one can find so much love of justice in this people, would it not be more commendable for the Christian rulers, who lost the power to oppose them, and especially for those who are their neighbours, to conclude a good and firm friendship and alliance with the Ottomans … than to be deprived of their country, all their property, and everything dear to them?81

Strangely enough, the Interpreter, who dedicated so much energy to the decon- struction of western stereotypes and the introduction of a positive image of the Turks, can no longer agree at this point. As he explains, it might be useful to have good relations with the Ottomans in the sphere of commerce, and the neighbours of the Empire are certainly entitled to cease hostilities with the Ottomans in order to defend the welfare of their own subjects. But to him an alliance with the Turks against Christians seems unadvisable. Not only does he have moral objections, but he even doubts the benefits of such an endeavour: “You must know the old but true Ottoman proverb: one does not gather straw- berries in another person’s basket?”82 The Legate gives two examples in support

80 Colloquia, 419–420. 81 Colloquia, 217. 82 Colloquia, 225. The proverb was well-known in seventeenth-century Hungary: Palatine Miklós Esterházy also mentions it in his letter to György Rákóczi I, prince of Transylvania (Kismarton, 3 February 1644), Ferenc Toldy, ed., Galantai gróf Esterházy Miklós munkái 244 Chapter 6 of an alliance with the Ottomans – the Byzantine emperor Joannes Palaiologos and the French king Francis I. But both examples support the Interpreter’s thesis instead – in the long run the Christian community lost territory and power to the Ottomans as a result of their cooperation with them. The Legate does not insist on protracting the debate and ends the discussion saying that this issue is very complicated and must be left to more erudite people to decide. The Interpreter’s point is clear though: “For my part, I would rather beg for bread among Christians, than live with high respect and honours a joyful life under the Ottomans.”83

Harsányi’s Conclusions: A Plea for an Anti-Ottoman War In this debate with the Legate it is perfectly clear that Harsányi speaks through the person of the Interpreter. The same message is not only repeated, but even radicalized, at the end of the Colloquia. The last pages of the book contain a speech, which comes (in a rather illogical way) after the Interpreter’s long and detailed description of the offices in the Muslim religious hierarchy. Without even starting a new paragraph, Harsányi begins to summarize the political conclusions, using the vocative plural instead of the vocative singular, which has been in use until that point. This creates the impression of turning to a wider audience, “to speak out of the book” in order to summarize its most important messages. Later on he adds vocative exclamations which show that it is no longer the Interpreter who is talking to the Legate, but the author himself – and the addressee is a broad circle of prospective readers: the emperor, kings, princes, and other potentates of Christian Europe.84 In this section, Harsányi turns openly against Ottoman power. He claims that Mohammed left a will to the Muslims – a fictitious document that he appended at the end of the book, as we saw in Chapter Four – in which he directed them to maintain peaceful relations with the Christians. This will had obviously not been observed by the Ottomans since wars were continuously raging between the two faiths. Harsányi places the emphasis primarily on two regions: Hungary, which suffered from these wars for more than a century, and Poland, the present victim. In order to be more convincing, he even permits himself to fall into one of his occasional inconsistencies: he tries to incite his audience with the image of the multitude of Christians suffering under the Turkish yoke – an idiosyncratic argument after having described the “camera-

[The works of Count Miklós Esterházy of Galánta] (Pest, 1852), 213 (in the following: EMM). 83 Colloquia, 221. 84 Colloquia, 505–510. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 245 list” attitude of the sipahis who liberally help their own serfs. With God’s help, his conclusion runs, a victory against them is possible. Harsányi’s speech at the end of the book might have puzzled his readers had they not encountered a similar conclusion earlier, proposed by the Interpreter. Harsányi, it seems, saw no contradiction in providing a positive image of the Ottomans and advocating strong measures against them. Despite attributing to them many exemplary characteristics, he still maintained the possibility of seeing them as the archenemy of Christendom.85 The assumption that Turks were neither almost inhuman nor despicable creatures did not prevent them from being political enemies. In 1672, the year when the Colloquia was published, the European public sphere was already full of discussions about the Polish-Ottoman war, the occupation of Kamieniec Podolski, and the formation of two Ottoman paşalıks in Podolia, as well as about the possibility of a united counterattack in support of the Commonwealth. Perhaps one of the most spectacular examples was a caroussel presented at the coronation festivities of Charles XI, king of Sweden. Four groups marched up, clothed in different costumes. The first one, wearing Roman clothing, represented ancient virtues; the second were the Turks, threatening them; the third, the endangered Poles. The final group represented the unified nations of Europe that were going to save them from Turkish oppression.86 The idea of a united Christian attack on the Ottomans had already had a prominent place in public discourse about the Turks for several hundred years prior to the publication of the Colloquia. Ever since the first successes of the Ottomans, but with a renewed intensity since the occupation of Constantinople, Christian thinkers were preaching the revival of the Crusading ideal, this time with the claim that fellow Christians under Ottoman rule needed to be defended. After the battle of Lepanto, when the image of the unbeatable Empire was shattered and European intellectuals started to write about the crisis of the Ottomans, pleas for cooperation between Christian powers became more and more frequent.87

85 According to Almut Höfert’s thesis, the collection of information on the Ottoman Empire began precisely because of the political interests of various European states, and the two spheres also remained related later on; see Den Feind beschreiben: “Türkengefahr” und europäisches Wissen über das Osmanische Reich 1450–1600 (Frankfurt, 2003). 86 David Klöcker Ehrenstrahl, Certamen equestre cæteraque Solemnia Holmiæ Suecorum Ao: MDCLXXII. M. Decembr: celebrata cum Carolus XI. omnium cum applausu Aviti Regni Regi- men capesseret (Stockholm, 1672). 87 On the plans for a common European anti-Ottoman war, see Göllner, “Turcica,” 35–170; Höfert, Den Feind beschrieben, 62–78; Trandafir G. Djuvara, Cent projects de partage de la Turquie (1281–1913) (Paris, 1914) (on the sixteenth century, see 145–239). On the discourse 246 Chapter 6

During Harsányi’s career as a diplomat he did not hesitate to draw his conclusions from what he had seen in the Ottoman capital, and to share his opinion with his prince: “It is a pity that Christendom does not really know how much she could achieve, as [the Turk] hides his shame very well with [his] splendour.”88 As we have already seen in Chapter Two, Harsányi believed in the imminent fall of the Ottoman Empire and saw good chances of victory in the event of Christian cooperation. In the chaotic year of 1656 he was explicit about the possibilities of action: “A fatal period has come to the Ottoman Empire: tyranny, the incapacity of its counsellors, lack of money, and mutual discord pry it apart. But none of the Christian rulers can see this.” This text, written in Latin in the report, is followed by a conclusion in Hungarian: “The old strength of the Turks is gone; there are a great many people, but very few real men.”89 Harsányi even explains in his Opinio of 1672 that the primary goal would be to expel the Ottomans from Europe. The only reason he gives any other advice is that there did not seem to be a chance of Christians cooperat- ing with each other.90 The idea of the decline of the Ottoman Empire, as I have shown, is missing from the Colloquia. In the context of 1672, when the sultan had just put a successful end to his long war against Venice, and was waging another one against Poland, it would have made little sense to try to convince the readers that the archenemy was on the brink of collapse. This, however, only reinforced Har sányi’s pleas for Christian cooperation – and this gained a certain emphasis in the plot of the Colloquia as well, even before the concluding speech. The Legate, according to the plot, had been sent to the Sublime Porte by the Holy Roman Emperor, the kings of Sweden, France and Poland, and seven other mighty potentates of Christendom. The aim of this fictitious legation was to tell the sultan “that if he does not stay within his borders, and give up his disdainful attitude,” they are going to teach him to keep peace.91 The Legate’s mission shows that – at least in the fictitious plot of the Colloquia – the much desired concord between the Christian rulers could be reached. Yet sending a common legation to the Sublime Porte would have been only a first step – and even the characters in this fictitious world are not con-

around the “crisis of the Ottoman Empire,” see Andrei Pippidi, “La décadence de l’Empire Ottoman comme concept historique de la Renaissance aux Lumières,” Revue des Études Sud-Est Européennes 35, nos. 1–2 (1997): 5–19. 88 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (Constantinople, 4 June 1655), MHHD XXIII, 191. 89 Jakab Harsányi Nagy to György Rákóczi II (21 December 1656), MHHD XXIII, 509. 90 Opinio, version B, 291r. 91 Colloquia, 84–85. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 247 vinced that it would automatically lead to joint military action. The Interpreter remains sceptical after having listened to the explanations of the Legate, and claims that it has always been the discord between Christians that made the Ottomans so successful: “The Turk does not pay, or hardly pays, attention to Christian rulers, and does not fear them too much. As they are always fighting each other, it is not very credible that they may once reach an agreement.”92 Even in later parts of the book he blames the Christians for fighting over a piece of unfertile land, while rich regions of South-Eastern Europe are left under Ottoman rule.93 The Legate seems to be no less pessimistic: “See how the peoples of Jesus, without mutual love, covet some sandy fields belonging to their neighbours, and fight each other for religion’s sake. They would sooner gouge out the eyes of the neighbouring ruler than support him in a moment of need … One devil does not harm the other, one wolf does not eat the other; people, on the other hand, ruin other people.”94 In spite of all the scepticism, the idea of an anti-Ottoman war appears as a moral imperative in the Colloquia. Among Harsányi’s contemporaries there are few examples of a similar technique of conveying a positive image of the Ottomans while still stressing the necessity of an anti-Ottoman war. Exhortations for a campaign against the Turks were usually combined with descriptions of their beastly nature, the brutalities they had committed, and the terrible fate people had to suffer under their rule. During the discussions of the Reichstag in Regensburg in the early 1660s, leaflets reinforcing these stereotypes from the sixteenth century were republished in order to further political decisions.95 Putting an emphasis on the positive characteristics of the Ottomans – especially their religious tolerance – was typical of the tradition that modern scholarship calls Calvino turcismus or Türkenhoffnung. The assumption that some sixteenth-century Protestants seriously considered accepting Ottoman rule because they found its neutrality in inter-Christian religious questions appealing, in contrast to the oppressive actions of the

92 Colloquia, 86. 93 Colloquia, 143. 94 Colloquia, 217–218. 95 Meike Hollenbeck, “Die Türkenpublizistik im 17. Jahrhundert – Spiegel der Verhältnisse im Reich?,” Mitteilungen des Institut für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 107 (1999): 111–130. See also: Maximilian Grothaus, “Zum Türkenbild in der Kultur der Habsburger- monarchie zwischen den 16. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in Habsburg–osmanische Beziehungen, ed. Andreas Tietze (Vienna, 1985), 69–72; Zsuzsa Barbarics, “‘Türck ist mein Nahm in allen Landen…’ Kunst, Propaganda und die Wandlung des Türkenbildes im Heiligen Römischen Reich Deutscher Nation,” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungariae 54 (2001): 257–317. 248 Chapter 6 emperor, seems to be widespread in modern scholarship.96 The claim that Ottoman expansion in the first half of the sixteenth century was beneficial to the spread of Protestantism – by weakening the emperor’s capacity of resistance – is entirely acceptable.97 However, little, if any, evidence seems to support the thesis that there were groups of Protestants who decided to prefer the Ottoman side and change loyalties in the sixteenth century. Written documents about this assumption exist only in the form of treatises compiled against this project, without mentioning the names of its supporters. This leaves the question open as to whether there were in fact any at all. Perhaps we should see a rhetorical construction in this thesis, designed to pre-empt the attacks expected from the Catholic side, and to make it clear that no decent Protestant could think along such lines.98 A vast majority of the early generations of Protestant theologians hoped, rather, that the truth of their theological interpretations would also enlighten the Turks, who would convert. This idea enjoyed some popularity among radical Protestant groups well into the seventeenth century.99 These expectations, however, did not produce a positive image of the Turk, even though the authors were not in favour of an anti-Otto- man war, preferring spiritual to material means to solve the “Muslim problem.” Such an opinion was consequently far removed from Harsányi’s views, even if

96 Hans Joachim Kissling, “Türkenfurcht und Türkenhoffnung im 15./16. Jahrhundert: Zur Geschichte eines ‘Komplexes,’” Südost-Forschungen 23 (1964): 1–18; Halil İnalcik, The Otto- man Empire: The Classical Age 1300–1600 (London, 1973), 37. 97 Stephen Alexander Fischer-Galați, Ottoman Imperialism and German Protestantism 1521– 1555 (Cambridge, 1959); Ernst Petritsch, “Türkische Toleranz?!,” Südostdeutsches Archiv 34–35 (1991–1992): 134–149. 98 See the sceptical accounts of John W. Bohnstedt, “The Infidel Scourge of God: The Turkish Menace as Seen by German Pamphleteers of the Reformation Era,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s., 58, pt. 9 (1968): 20–21; John M. Headley, “‘Eher Türkisch als Bäpstisch’: Lutheran Reflections on the Problem of Empire 1623–28,” Central European History 20 (1987): 3–28. The term “Calvinoturcismus” itself originates in a bulky Catholic pamphlet by William Rainald dating from 1597, where, in a dialogue between a renegade newly converted from Calvinism and his Catholic friend, he argues not for the political but for the theological proximity of both religious groups. The title of William Sutcliffe’s response from two years later, in which he turns Rainald’s arguments upside down (De Turcopapismo), did not enjoy such a successful career. See Dorothy M. Vaughan, Europe and the Turk: A Pattern of Alliances 1350–1700 (Liverpool, 1954), 191–192. 99 Rudolf Pfister, “Reformation, Türken und Islam,” Zwingliana 10, no. 6 (1956): 345–375. For the seventeenth century, see M.E.H. Nicolette Mout, “Calvinoturcismus und Chiliasmus im 17. Jahrhundert,” Pietismus und Neuzeit 14 (1988): 72–84; Nabil I. Matar, “The Comenian Legacy in England: The Case for the Conversion of the Muslims,” The Seventeenth Century 8 (1993): 203–215; Littleton, “Ancient Languages.” Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 249 a few of its propagators, such as Levinus Warner, were his personal acquain- tances. Some of his Hungarian Protestant contemporaries, if pushed hard enough, were occasionally willing to call the attention of their Catholic opponents to the fact that the Ottomans, at least, did not interfere with the liberty of choosing one’s own faith, but these rather rare occurrences do not point towards a generally positive Protestant image of the Turk.100 A positive image of the Turks in the seventeenth century was connected far more deeply with the idea of accepting the rule of the Ottomans and giving up any hope of recovering former Christian territories. This is exactly what happened in the case of the seventeenth-century Jesuit missionaries in the Balkans. While in western literature the possibility of a new crusade joined with the rebellion of the Balkan peoples appeared frequently,101 these authors never suggested an anti-Ottoman campaign. One of the most remarkable among

100 A characteristic statement of this “Hungarian Calvinoturcismus” was uttered in 1644 by the envoys of Prince György Rákóczi I during the peace negotiations with Ferdinand III’s delegation: “In the lands of the Turk, the conscience of the person is not oppressed, he can freely serve his God; and if his body is oppressed, that is inflicted on us by the righ- teous judgment of God for our sins. Therefore, if this is the way it has to be, would it not be better for someone to be [under a magistrate] under whose shadow it [the faith] could be kept, rather than to stay here and lose it together with oneself?” (Zsigmond Lónyai’s notes about his talks with Miklós Esterházy [23 December 1644]), Sándor Szilágyi, ed., A linzi béke okirattára [A collection of documents concerning the peace of Linz] (Budapest, 1885), 169 (in the following: LBO). This very cautious phrasing comes at the end of a long and elaborate speech and as a direct answer to the Hungarian Palatine’s accusations that the prince of Transylvania wanted to “bring the Alcoran into Hungary” by accepting Otto- man help for his campaign. So this claim can only be seen as a distant relative of the bold statements of seventeenth-century Dutch anti-Habsburg and anti-Catholic propaganda; see Karin Westerink, “Liever Turks dan paaps: een devies tĳdens de Opstand in de Neder- landen” [Better Turkish than Popish: A slogan during the Dutch uprising], in Topkapi & Turkomanie: Turks-Nederlandse ontmoetingen sinds 1600, ed. Hans Theunissen, Annelies Abelmann, and Wim Meulenkamp (Amsterdam, 1989), 75–80. In extreme situations, such as the state-supported Catholicization efforts in the 1670s, the Hungarian Protestants did, however, turn to the Ottomans for support, see Béla Vilmos Mihalik, “Turkismus und Gegenreformation: Die Osmanen und die konfessionellen Konflikte in Ungarn der 1670er Jahre,” in Osmanischer Orient und Ostmitteleuropa: Perzeptionen und Interaktionen in den Grenzzonen zwischen dem 16. und 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Robert Born and Andreas Puth (Stuttgart, 2014), 321–336. 101 Vaughan, Europe, 215–236; Radu G. Păun, “Enemies Within: Networks of Influence and the Military Revolts against the Ottoman Power (Moldavia and Wallachia, Sixteenth–Seven- teenth Centuries),” in The European Tributary States of the Ottoman Empire in the Six- teenth–Seventeenth Centuries, ed. Gábor Kármán and Lovro Kunčević (Leiden, 2013), 235–244. 250 Chapter 6 them, the Croatian Bartol Kašić, thought that the Ottomans were militarily invincible and therefore proposed that a modus vivendi should be found between the Sublime Porte and the Holy See. In the long run his plans coin- cided with those of his radical Protestant contemporaries, although he obviously hoped that the Turks would sooner or later convert to Catholicism if the position of the Church was strengthened in the Ottoman Empire and missionary activities revived.102 Harsányi would not have accepted Kašić’s advice to resign himself to the idea of the Christian territories remaining under Ottoman rule. Whether or not he found the living conditions in the territories of the Empire acceptable – he suggested as much in the words of the Interpreter – he had to sustain the hope of a reconquest as a moral postulate. His answer might appear to be beyond logic: why should it be a burden for any Christian to live under Muslim rule if he is not restricted in his corporal or religious freedom, and even his physical well-being is wisely promoted, as shown in the example of the peasant-friendly sipahis? Nevertheless, he shrank back from drawing the probably more obvious conclusions, and relied on an implicit moral judgment – that even the worst Christian rule is better than the best Muslim one – when he presented his political agenda. He was not alone in following this line of reasoning among his fellow Transylvanian diplomats. Dávid Rozsnyai, who spent most of his life dealing with Ottoman issues as a Turkish scribe and even translated a Turkish collection of tales – a possible sign of a high opinion of their cultural production – wrote the following lines in his will: “I do not suggest it to anyone far from me either, but for my relatives I bequeath it under my curse: never take this office at any time. You should rather go to the West to shine shoes for two years, than to the Orient to gild crowns for thirty.”103 In view of this rigid attitude, the function of the positive image of the Turks in the Colloquia also becomes clear. With the dialogues between the Legate and the Interpreter, Harsányi draws the attention of his audience to the idea that the archenemy is not a cruel barbarian, but the very opposite. In order to overcome him the Christians also have to undergo a moral development. The scattered remarks throughout the Colloquia, where Ottoman practices are placed in direct contrast with those of the Christians, point to the conclusion, which is nonetheless never explicit, that the latter have to change and become better men than the Muslims, since their Christian religion is the true one. The

102 Antal Molnár, Katolikus missziók a hódolt Magyarországon, vol. 1, 1572–1647 [Catholic Mis- sions in Hungary under Ottoman Rule] (Budapest, 2002), 177–178; Nenad Moačanin, Town and Country in the Middle Danube 1526–1690 (Leiden, 2006), 170–175. 103 The original text reads as “never bite into this bread,” MHHS VIII, 260. Harsányi’s Changing Image of the Turks 251 familiar tradition of turcica literature, the lamentations over the positive features of the world of “barbarians” compared to that of the Christians, here meets the image conveyed by Puritan rhetoric: that the world we live in is full of sin and error and it is the responsibility of the individual to correct them through his own moral and intellectual improvement. These two features inform Harsányi’s individual solution to the problems of the region he was forced to abandon, namely eastern Central Europe under Ottoman rule. 252 Instead of a Conclusion Instead Of A Conclusion Instead of a Conclusion

Biographies in the manner of microhistory do not lend themselves to straight- forward conclusions. The assumption of classic biographies that their authors can uncover the true and stable core of the individual’s personality would make this exercise easier. The recapitulation of this core, that is, the “true nature” of the Great Man whose life had just been narrated, could fulfill the task. But if we imagine the personality of the individual as a dynamic process of construction, and focus our attention on the changes in his self-fashioning, this approach simply deprives us of the possibility of summarizing the meaning of a human life for eternity. An alternative solution for the classic biographies is to define the place of their protagonists in the Pantheon of Great Men (much less often, Women) – which, however, does not make much sense if the protagonist was selected precisely because of his negligible relevance for the events of Grand History. Since Harsányi is encountered in many contexts, and since he filled a variety of social roles during his troubled life, it would be very hard to point to a single one of them which would sustain any conclusions drawn from his biography. A common characteristic of all interpretative frameworks is that they are only valid for a small segment of a life story and cannot cover the entirety of a career, full of unexpected and radical changes. An important question could be why Harsányi did not make a sensation in the seventeenth-century Respublica Litteraria as an eastern Central European. Or we might ask what were the decisive factors in his opinions about others, the changes of which remind us not to draw all too hasty conclusions about the identity constructions of an entire group from the statements of a single individual. However important these may be as partial conclusions, they cannot summarize the entire biography. Another possibility is to look at the biography from the beginning or the end of his life story and ask questions about the possibility of drawing general conclusions about Harsányi’s career. In this specific case they be “what can one achieve in the seventeenth century, if one comes from the Hungarian petty nobility or even from a hajdú family?” or “how is a seventeenth-century international intellectual born?” Yet, Harsányi’s career is so full of random (or at least incalculable) turns and changes that it renders such questions pointless. Whenever it seemed that he might enjoy a long-term career as teacher, Turkish scribe, or secretary, some unforeseen event forced him to leave that track and start a new life. How could we explain from Harsányi’s social background his decision to abandon an ecclesiastical career, his incarceration, or the feud with Gheorghe Ştefan after returning from Stockholm? Or, vice versa, how could his

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2016 | doi 10.1163/9789004306813_009 Instead of a Conclusion 253 entire biography be interpreted from its end point, when it is clear that Jakab Harsányi Nagy actually never aimed to become an intellectuel sans frontières? Apart from the only valid (and consequently rather banal) conclusion that early modern careers could be exceedingly fragile, I can only fall back on what István M. Szijártó defines as the core of the microhistorical perspective, that is, that “God is in the details.”1 So let me close this survey of Harsányi’s multifaceted life with two very small pieces of the mosaic which illustrate the above dilemmas. They frame his career and in a way even interpret it, and at the same time illustrate the situa- tional character of these interpretations. The first and last pieces of writing that we know from Jakab Harsányi Nagy’s hand are both entries in the alba amicorum of peregrinating students. As was customary, beside the note about the circumstances of the signature, there is also a motto in both cases. Harsányi wrote the first one when he was twenty-eight years old, on his way back from the Netherlands, in the album of Ludwig Möller. The text reads: “Nullus sibi ipsi vivit; nullus sibi ipsi moritur.”2 As is also indicated in the entry, this is a quotation from the Bible, Romans 14:7: “For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone.” If there were any doubt about the meaning of this passage, the next verse makes it clear: “If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.” Although the passages suggest that belonging to the Lord is the lot of each human being, the reasons for choosing this very quotation are clearly quite personal. Heading for Transylvania, having received the necessary education, Harsányi was preparing himself for a life in the service of God. As we now know, it turned out otherwise: some ten years after writing these lines, he renounced a career in the Church. Although he certainly did not have the opportunity to “live to himself alone,” having been in the service of several rulers, the sense of calling he had as a young theologian (or at least the calling he wanted others to see) could not have been fulfilled. Thirty-six years later, in Berlin, Jakab Harsányi Nagy wrote in another album amicorum. To Sámuel Hodosi he dedicated the motto “Non uni angulo nati sumus, civitatem nostram cursu solis metimur.”3 This entry is even more intriguing than the one from 1643. Harsányi indicated that it is a quotation from Seneca – but it is not: it is a rephrasing of a passage from Seneca’s De otio,

1 The aphorism, originally from Flaubert, is quoted with reference to various theoretical works on microhistory by István Szijártó, “Four Arguments for Microhistory,” Rethinking History 6, no. 2 (2002): 209. 2 Ksiąznica Kopernikańska (Toruń), KM 5. R 8˚8, fol. 53. 3 OSZK Oct. Lat. 777. fol. 45v. 254 Instead Of A Conclusion with alterations that also changed its meaning. The original passage is about the two homelands: one, which includes the whole of mankind, “in which we look neither to this corner of earth, nor to that, but measure the bounds of our citizenship by the path of the sun”; and the other, “to which we have been assigned by the accident of birth.”4 That is to say, people are not only part of the country where they were born, but also of the entirety of mankind, and they should assume a responsibility towards both of them. Harsányi’s para- phrase has an entirely different meaning: “We are not born into one corner [of the world], but measure our home with the path of the sun.” The idea of the two homelands is gone: the country where one has first seen the sunlight does not seem to play a role any more. All that is left is the endless homeland of the entirety of mankind. The rephrasing might not have been deliberate since we have already seen that Harsányi did not necessarily quote classical Latin authors accurately. However, I see something symbolic in this inaccuracy. The Hungarian emigrant, who had not seen his home country for nineteen years by then, created an explanation for his fate. Even if he was still using the means at his disposal to support his original homeland, tripartite Hungary, by giving assistance to peregrinating students, he was at the same time trying to find the means to prove – probably even to himself – that his life was dedicated to a much larger homeland, the limitless one, that of mankind. And this thought – bolstered by the authority of Seneca – must have brought consolation to someone whose Odyssey was soon about to end in a non-Ulyssean way, with no return to his place of birth.

4 Seneca, De otio, IV.1–2: “in qua non ad hunc angulum respicimus aut ad illum sed terminos ciuitatis nostrae cum sole metimur, alteram cui nos adscripsit condicio nascendi”; in the following translation: Seneca, Moral Essays, vol. 2, trans. John W. Basore (Cambridge, MA, 1932), 187–188. Known Copies of the Colloquia 255

Appendix 1 Known Copies of the Colloquia

In cases in which the source of information is not indicated, I have seen the volume myself.

Germany

Herzog-August-Bibliothek (Wolfenbüttel); Xb 3116 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: single words in Arabic characters on 14 pages, probably from the nineteenth-twentieth century • Owners’ signatures: none • Source of information: Pál Ács Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek (Göttingen); H. Turc. 239 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: on first page “F Meindes I R[or P?] Casselus”; stamp on page 2: “Ex Biblioteca Regia Acad. Georgiae Aug:”

Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz; Bibl. Dietz Oct. 1301. • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: on first page, MGleik(?) 1721 Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek (Jena); 8 Gl.II, 175 • Dedication: Gustav Adolph • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: on inner cover “Johann Matthias Gessner” • Source of information: Michael Henkel Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen-Nürnberg – Hauptbibliothek; H00/OR-I 207 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: none • Source of information: Hans-Jörg Sigwart

Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Sachsen-Anhalt (Halle an der Saale); Bg 832 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: on inside of the binding “Ex libris illustrissimi viri, Dn. Dan. Ludolphi, Lib. Bar. de Danckelmann, S. Reg. Mai. Boruss. Consiliarii status intimi, cetera, Bibliothecae acad. Fridericianae testamento relictis.”

Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Sachsen-Anhalt (Halle an der Saale); Bg 842 (bound together with Hieronymus Megiserius, Institutionum linguae Turcicae libri quatuor Leipzig, 1613) • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: Otto Nathaniel Nicolai’s ex libris Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Sachsen-Anhalt (Halle an der Saale); Ung II 173 Now in the collection of the Universitätsbibliothek der Humboldt Universität, Zweigstelle Finno-Ugristik (Berlin) • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: at the foot of the first page, “Ottho l. B. a Schwerin” • Source of information: Conny Hödt

Great Britain

Jesus College Library (Oxford); shelfmark unknown • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: none, the copy is from the bequest of Leoline Jenkins, Princi- pal of the College in the later seventeenth century • Source of information: Sarah Cobbold; Owen McKnight British Library (London); 621.a.20 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: none Known Copies of the Colloquia 257

Hungary

Országos Széchényi Könyvtár (Budapest); RMK III. 2586. • Dedication: Gustav Adolph • Marginalia: none, only some terms underlined in the index • Owners’ signatures: none Sárospataki Református Kollégium Tudományos Gyűjteményei Nagykönyvtár (Sárospatak); R. 207. • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: ex libris “Ex libris Joannis de Mohcza Symb. Deus providebit mppia”, later added “Coll[egium] Ref[ormatum] S[áros]Patak”, and on the first page of the dedication: “ex libris I. Coll: S. Patak”

Poland

Biblioteka Uniwersytecka we Wrocławiu; 466632 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: “Ex Bibl. Univ. Viad. Vrat.” • Source of information: Krzysztof Migoń Biblioteka Uniwersytecka w Warszawie; 28.20.3.3986 (old nr: Obce-XVII-4°-16°- 1046) • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: see below • Owners’ signatures: “Ex donatione Dni Autoris possid. M Andr. Müllerus Greiffen- hagius” • Source of information: Natalia Królikowska on the back of the cover: “Molnar praefat. Gramm. Hung. 19. Castell. praef. Lex. Aeth. Ludolphi Postellus ap: Zwinger 1689.a.” on the pages before the dedication a table of phonology with columns “Hung.”, “Germ.”, “Turc.”, “Exempla”, “pag.” Above it, the heading reads “A. Müller Gr. Lectoribus Germanis S.P.D. Cum D. Autor circa Elementorum Turcicorum pronunciationem Hungaricam orthographiam sequatur, Hungaricas quasum literas syllabusque Germanicis Turcicisque quibus qsoscant[?], e diametro exprincere fortassis juvabit” p. 132: “ba’zi” written in Ottoman 258 Appendix 1

p. 173: Müller crossed out the word “kadileskerum” and underlined the word “kazeskerum”, but in the margin he transcribed in Ottoman “kadi’l-asker” p. 238: marginal notes in Ottoman: “timar” and “ziamet” p. 239: “Comenia” is corrected to “Comnenia” p. 328: the marginal note “fals.” to the underlined “D. Gentius mihi ignotus” p. 329: the marginal note “Job.” to the underlined “extra Ejub” p. 380: in the margin “214” to the underlined “Beng quid fit” p. 425: “Giuher, Zumrut” in Ottoman, and the translation “Margarita, Smargdy” is also given in the margins p. 495: in the margin “Emn. Vox est arabian “fatiyan” [in Arabic characters] Puor unde est “Mufti” [in Ottoman] dintur. Soc. Antitutio Fetva iustitio.” p. 499: in the marginal note “fals” to “Emirii dicuntur … descendunt” p. 504: the marginal note “α θ χ θ [?]” to “I-mansis” p. 505: “mezin” underlined and in the margin the same word written in Ottoman.

Romania

Biblioteca Teleki-Bolyai (Târgu Mureş); Tö–1673aH • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: some words underlined • Owners’ signatures: ex libris “Ex bibliotheca Sams. R.L.Com. Teleki de Szék”

Switzerland

Bibliothèque Cantonale et Universitaire Lausanne-Dorigny; 1C587 • Dedication: Frederick William • Marginalia: none • Owners’ signatures: “Bibliothecae Lausan[n]ense 5 Jan[uarii] 1683. a R.D. Fornerodo SS Theol[ogiae] D[octor] dono datus liber” • a digital copy is available online at GoogleBooks A Glossary of Place Names from the Eastern Half of Europe 259

Appendix 2 A Glossary of Place Names from the Eastern Half of Europe

In cases when a widely accepted English name is available I have only indicated the version in the official language of the state where the place is currently found. In each case the present name is given in italics.

Abaújszina (Hungarian), Slovak Seňa, German Schena Adrianople, Turkish Edirne Bakhchysarai (Ukrainian and Russian), Crimean Tatar Bağçasaray, Turkish Bahçesaray Bártfa (Hungarian), Slovak Bardejov, German Bartfeld Belgrade, Serbian Beograd Beszterce (Hungarian), Romanian Bistriţa, German Nösen / Bistritz Bihar county, Romanian Bihor Borosjenő (Hungarian), Romanian Ineu, Serbian Janopol, Turkish Yanova Brassó (Hungarian), Romanian Braşov, German Kronstadt Breslau (German), Polish Wrocław Bromberg (German), Polish Bydgoszcz Brünn (German), Czech Brno Buczacz (Polish), Ukrainian Buchach, Turkish Bucaş Buda (Hungarian, today Budapest), German Ofen Constantinople, Turkish İstanbul Csíkszereda (Hungarian), Romanian Miercurea Ciuc, German Szeklerburg Danzig (German), Gdańsk (Polish) Debrecen (Hungarian), German Debrezin, Slovak Debrecín, Romanian Debreţin Dnieper (river), Russian Dnepr, Belorussian Dniapro, Ukrainian Dnipro Dorpat (German, Swedish), Estonian Tartu, Russian Yuryev / Derpt, Latvian Tērbata Ebesfalva / Erzsébetváros (Hungarian), Romanian Ibăşfalău / Elisabetopole / Dumbrăveni, German Eppeschdorf / Elisabethstadt Elbe, river (German), Czech Labe Érsekújvár (Hungarian), Slovak Nové Zámky, German Neuhäusel, Turkish Uyvar Eszék (Hungarian), Croatian Osijek, German Essegg Esztergom (Hungarian), German Gran, Slovak Ostrihom, Turkish Estergon Felsőbánya (Hungarian), Romanian Baia Sprie, German Mittelstadt Fogaras (Hungarian), Romanian Făgăraş, German Fugreschmarkt Frankfurt an der Oder (German), Polish Frankfurt nad Odrą

Gönc (Hungarian), German Guntz Görgény (Hungarian), Romanian Gurghiu, German Görgen Greiffenhagen (German), Polish Gryfino Gyulafehérvár (Hungarian), Romanian Alba Iulia, German Weissenburg / Karlsburg Holešov (Czech), German Holleschau Homonna (Hungarian), Slovak Humenné, German Homenau Iaşi (Romanian), German Jassy, Hungarian Jászvásár, Turkish Yaş Kamieniec Podolski (Polish), Ukrainian Kam’ianets-Podil’skyi, Russian Kamenets- Podolskiy, Romanian Cameniţa, Turkish Kamaniçe Kassa (Hungarian), Slovak Košice, German Kaschau Kolberg (German), Polish Kołobrzeg Kolozsmonostor (Hungarian), Romanian Cluj-Mănăştur, German Abtsdorf Kolozsvár (Hungarian), Romanian Cluj-Napoca, German Klausenburg Lemberg (German), Ukrainian L’viv, Russian L’vov, Polish Lwów Libau (German), Latvian Liepāja, Polish Lipawa Lőcse (Hungarian), Slovak Levoča, German Leutschau Marosvásárhely (Hungarian), Romanian Târgu Mureş, German Neumarkt am Mieresch Munkács (Hungarian), Ukrainian Mukacheve, Russian Munkachevo, Slovak Mukačevo, German Munkatsch Murányváralja (Hungarian), Slovak Muraň, German Unter-Muran Nagybánya (Hungarian), Romanian Baia Mare, German Frauenbach / Neustadt Nagyenyed (Hungarian), Romanian Aiud, German Straßburg am Mieresch Nagyszeben (Hungarian), Romanian Sibiu, German Hermannstadt Nagyszombat (Hungarian), Slovak Trnava, German Tyrnau Nagyszőlős (Hungarian), Romanian Seleuş, German Großalisch Nagyvárad (Hungarian), Romanian Oradea, German Großwardein, Turkish Varad Neuhausen (German), Russian Guryevsk Oder, river (German), Czech and Polish Odra Olaszliszka (Hungarian), Slovak Vlašská Liska Pernau (German), Estonian Pärnu, Russian Pernov, Polish Parnawa, Latvian Pērnava Plovdiv (Bulgarian), Turkish Filibe Pozsony (Hungarian), Slovak Prešporok / Bratislava, German Pressburg Pskov (Russian), Polish Psków Riga, Latvian Rīga Sárospatak (Hungarian), German Potok am Bodroch, Slovak Šarišský Potok Saatzig (German), Polish Szadzko Sebes-Körös, river (Hungarian), Romanian Crişul Repede, German Schnelle Kreisch Silistria, Bulgarian Silistra, Turkish Silistre, Romanian Dârstor Sólyomkő (Hungarian), Romanian Peştiş A Glossary of Place Names from the Eastern Half of Europe 261

Stettin (German), Polish Szczecin Szászfenes (Hungarian), Romanian Floreşti, German Fenesch Szászrégen (Hungarian), Romanian Reghin, German Sächsisch-Regen / Rennmarkt Szatmár and Szatmárnémeti (Hungarian), Romanian Satu Mare, German Sathmar Székelyhíd (Hungarian), Romanian Sācueni, German Zickelhid, Turkish Sikelhid Szentgotthárd (Hungarian), German St. Gotthard, Slovenian Monošter Szinna (Hungarian), Slovak Snina Tackerort (German), Estonian Tahkuranna Târgovişte (Romanian), German Tergowisch Thessaloniki (Greek), Turkish Selanik, Italian Salonicco Thorn (German), Polish Toruń Tokaj (Hungarian), German Tokey Törcsvár (Hungarian), Romanian Bran, German Türzdorf / Tölzburg Ueckermünde (German), Polish Wkryujście Vasvár (Hungarian), German Eisenburg, Slovenian Železnograd Vienna, German Wien Vistula, river, Polish Wisła, German Weichsel Warsaw, Polish Warszawa Wehlau (German), Russian Znamensk, Polish Welawa, Lithuanian Vēluva Zamość (Polish), Ukrainian Zamostya 262 Bibliography Bibliography Bibliography

I Primary Sources

I.1 Unpublished Primary Sources from Manuscript Collections I.1.1 Austria I.1.1.1 Österreichisches Staatsarchiv. Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv (Vienna) (= HHStA) Reichshofkanzlei Diplomatische Akten Berlin (Preussen) Fasz. 1b.

Staatenabteilungen Türkei Kt. 121–130. Turcica 1648–1658 (On microfilm: MNL OL X 880)

I.1.1.2 Österreichisches Staatsarchiv. Hofkammerarchiv (Vienna) (= HKA) Hoffinanz Ungarn Rt. Nr. 198.

Reichsakten Fasc. 113.

I.1.2 Germany I.1.2.1 Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Berlin) (= GStA PK) Hauptabteilung I. Geheimer Rat, Repositorium 9. Allgemeine Verwaltung F 3 Fasz. 2. Acta betr. Buchdrücker (Runge, Schultze), Avisen, Drucke, Zensur etc. 1650−1686 F 3a Fasz. 1. Acta betr. Hofbuchdrücker Runge, G. Schultze, Liebgert 1634−1688 J 16 Fasz. 2. Acta betr. Bestallung der Hofräte 1658−87 J 16 Fasz. 3. Acta betr. Besoldung des Hofrats von Harsanÿ 1667−84 K lit. m. II. Fasz. 1. Acta de 1666 und 1667. betr. die vorgehabte Fundation einer Universitaet Gentium Scientiarum et Artium L 21 Fasc. 2. Dolmetscher 1678–82

Hauptabteilung I. Geheimer Rat, Repositorium 11. 178. Moldau und Wallachei Fasz. 3. Gheorghe Ştefan

255. Siebenbürgen Nr. 19. Beziehungen des Kurfürsten Friedrich Wilhelm zu Michael Apaffy I. und seine Verwendungen für Siebenbürgen am Kaiserhofe in Religionssachen 271a. Tartarien Fasz. 3. Acta betr. die Verrichtung und Abfertigung der Tartarischen Abgesandten (1670) Fasz. 4. Acta betr. die Verrichtung und Abfertigung der Tartarischen Abgesandten (1671) Fasz. 5. Acta betr. der Tartarinnen Khanens Ivas Giray Abgesandten … Ankunfft… (1677) Fasz. 6. Acta betr. des tartarischen Gesandten Themer Ghazi Beg (1681) 276. Türkei Bedenken betreffend den Türkenkrieg saec. XV. − 1673 278. Ungarn Fasz. 9. Die Protestanten in Ungarn 1647–1677

Hauptabteilung I. Geheimer Rat, Repositorium 21. Nr. 136 t Vol. 11. Relationen und Resolutionen (Einige Reskripte an Herrn v. Schwerin)

I.1.2.2 Landesarchiv Greifswald (= LA Greifswald) Repositorium 40. Handschriftensammlung

I.1.2.3 Landeshauptarchiv Schwerin (= LHAS) 2.11–2/1 Auswärtige Beziehungen (Acta externa) 4972 Litterae familiares Herzog Gustav Adolphs an Fürst Georg Stefan von Moldau und Gemahlin 1664 4973 Acta betreffend einige von Herzoge Gustav Adolph zu Güstrow für 1200 rdr an den Fürsten von Moldau, dem Bericht nach, verpfändete Amter de ann: 1665 2.12–1/24 Korrespondenz mit Gelehrten nr. 242. Fürst Gustav Adolph von Mecklenburg–Güstrow

I.1.2.4 Sächsische Landesbibliothek – Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Dresden Handschriftensammlung Msc. Dresd. C 110a Briefe von Gelehrten

I.1.2.5 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz (= SBB PK) Handschriftenabteilung Acta III.B.2. Acta wegen der von des Petraei Witwe erhandelten orientalischen Bücher 1677–1681) 264 Bibliography

Acta III.C.1. Ankauf oder die Schenkung der in der Königl. Bibliothek befindlichen Handschriften, Urkunden, Gemälde, Kupferplatten

I.1.2.6 Universitätsbibliothek Johann Christoph Senckenberg, Frankfurt am Main (= UB Frankfurt) Handschriftenabteilung Ms. Ff. Ludolf Nachlaß Hiob Ludolf

I.1.3 Great Britain I.1.3.1 Bodleian Library (Oxford) Rawlison Manuscripts A 37 Various manuscripts

I.1.3.2 British Library (London) (= BL) Additional Manuscripts 22905 Correspondence of Samuel Clarke 1656–1669 Sloane Manuscripts 1381 Letters and Papers of J. Pragestus

I.1.3.3 Edinburgh University Library (= EUL) Ms Da.2.1. Leges Bibliothecae Universitatis Edinensis

I.1.3.4 Essex Record Office (Chelmsford) (= ERO) D/DHf Families and Estates O4–O45 Various Papers relating to the Bendysh family of Steeple Bumsted, Essex

I.1.4 Hungary I.1.4.1 Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Országos Levéltára [State Archives of the Hungarian National Archives] (Budapest) (= MNL OL) Magyar Kamara Archivuma [The Archives of the Hungarian Chambers] E 149 Acta Transylvanica E 190 Archivum familiae Rákóczi 24–29. doboz Levelezés 1648–1657 [Correspondence 1648–1657] 43–44. doboz Levelezés 1648–1657 [Correspondence 1648–1657] E 199 Archivum familiae Wesselényi 8. cs. Fogalmazványok [Minutes] E 204 Missiles Bibliography 265

Erdélyi Kormányhatósági levéltárak [Archives of the Transylvanian government] F 1 Libri regii F 12 Lymbus 11. cs. 6. sz. Apafi Mihály közigazgatási rendeletei 1660–1668 [Adminstrative orders of Prince Mihály Apafi]

Családi levéltárak [Family archives] P 507 Nádasdy család levéltára [The archives of the Nádasdy family] Fasc. 14. Lev. A.V. nr. 527. Gheorghe Ştefan vajda levelei Johann Rottalnak [Letters of Voievod Gheorghe Ştefan to Johann Rottal] P 1960 Bethlen család levéltára – Rokon és idegen családok iratai [The archives of the family Bethlen – documents of related and foreign families] 87. t. Sebessy család 1652 [Sebessy family] P 1961 Bethlen család levéltára – Vegyes iratok [The archives of the family Bethlen – Mixed documents] 1. cs. 1. t. Vegyes birtokjogi iratok 1530–1782 és é.n. [Various documents related to estate-holding]

1526 utáni gyűjtemény [Post-1526 collection] R 298 Erdélyi iratok [Documents concerning Transylvania] 11. d. Vegyes iratok [Various documents] 1622–1657 12. d. Vegyes iratok [Various documents] 1658–1695

I.1.4.2 Országos Széchényi Könyvtár [Széchényi National Library] (Budapest) (= OSZK) Oct. Lat. 777. Hodosi Sámuel album amicoruma

I.1.4.3 Sárospataki Református Kollégium Tudományos Gyűjteményei Nagykönyvtár Kézirattár [Academic Collections of the Reformed Church College of Sárospatak, Great Library, Manuscript Collection] (= SNK) Kt. 21; 22/a. Szilágyi Benjámin István: Acta Synodi Nationalis Hungaricae … Kt. 403. Kocsi Csergő István kéziratos gyűjteménye [The manuscript collection of István Kocsi Csergő]

I.1.4.4 Sárospataki Református Kollégium Tudományos Gyűjteményei Levéltár [Academic Collections of the Reformed Church College of Sárospatak, Archives] (=SRKLt.) Kgg. I.2. Prothocollum V.T. Zemplén Tomus II.A. 1638–1651 266 Bibliography

I.1.5 Poland I.1.5.1 Archiwum Państwowe w Olsztynie [Olsztyn Provincial Archives] 381. Zbiór rodziny Schwerinów [Collection of the family Schwerin] 160. Privatkorrepondenz XVII. Jh. 161. Privatkorrespondenz 1655–1692 180. Politische Privatkorrespondenz XVII. Jh. 242. Korrespondenz von Otto von Schwerin mit fürstlichen Personen 243. Collection Schwerinscher Briefe 1642–1731

I.1.5.2 Archiwum Państwowe w Szczecinie [Szczecin Provincial Archives] Archiwum Ksiąsat Szczecinskih [Archives of the Duchy of Szczecin] I/1769 Somnitz

I.1.6 Romania I.1.6.1 Arhivele Naţionale Direcţia Judeţeană Cluj [National Archives, Directorate of the Province Cluj] (= ANCJ) Colecţia Sámuel Kemény [originally in the archives of the Erdélyi Múzeum-Egyesület] Nr. 11. Corespondenţǎ adresatǎ lui György Apafi, Pál Béldi, Pál Bornemisza 1629–1679 [Correspondence sent to György Apafi, Pál Béldi and Pál Bornemisza]

Fond familial Lazar din Mureşeni [Lazar family archive, originally in the archives of the Erdélyi Múzeum-Egyesület]]

I.1.7 Sweden I.1.7.1 Riksarkivet (Stockholm) [State Archives] (= RA) Riksregistraturet (= RR) [Royal Registry]

Rådsprotokoll [Council Protocols] Vol. 40a. 1665 åhrs Protocoll hållit af Secr: Arfwed Gustaffson Pars 1:ma [Protocol of the year 1665 written by secretary Arvid Gustafson] Diplomatica Borussica Vol. 16. Residenten H. Wolfradts bref till K. Mt. 1666–1669 [Resident Wolfradt’s letters to His Majesty] Polonica Vol. 53–54. Abgesandten Matthias Palbitzkis bref till Kongl. Maj.t 1664–1665 [Envoy Matthias Palbitzki’s letters to His Majesty] Bibliography 267

Turcica Vol. 2. Envoyéerne Clas Rålambs och Gotthard Vellings bref till Kongl. Maj:t 1657 [The letters of the envoys Claes Rålamb and Gotthard Welling to His Majesty] Turcica bihang Moldavo-Valachica Vol. 1. Moldaviska och valakiska furstars och sändebuds brev och memorial [Letters and memorials from the princes of Moldavia and Wallachia]

Enskilda samlingar [Individual collections] Delagardiska samlingen [De la Gardie collection] E 1500 Skrivelser till Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie (Moldau) [Letters to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie, Moldavia] E 1540 Skrivelser till M. G. de la Gardie Rup–Rö [Letters to Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie] Skoklostersamlingen [Skokloster collection] E 8164 Riksdrotsen Grefve Per Brahe Bref ifrån utländske Herrar [Lord High Steward Count Per Brahe: Letters from foreign lords] E 8184 Riskmarsken Grefwe Carl Gust. Wrangel brefwexling med utländska Furstel. personer Lit. E–O [Marshall Count Carl Gustav Wrangel: Correspondence with foreign princely persons] E 8361 Skrivelser till Carl Gustaf Wrangel Fr–Fö [Letters to Carl Gustav Wrangel] E 8380 Skrifvelser till Carl Gustaf Wrangel, Hol–Hul [Letters to Carl Gustav Wrangel] E 8444 Skrivelser till Carl Gustaf Wrangel Pa–Par [Letters to Carl Gustav Wrangel] E 8422 Skrifvelser till Carl Gustaf Wrangel, Mes–Mold [Letters to Carl Gustav Wrangel] E 8526 Skrifvelser till Carl Gustaf Wrangel, Würtz [Letters to Carl Gustav Wrangel]

Sveriges forna besittningar [Sweden’s earlier possessions] Livonica Vol. 81. Generalguv. i Livland till K. Maj:t 1660–1663 [The chief governor of Livonia to His Majesty] Pommeranica Vol. 6. Ständer i Pommern [Estates in Pomerania] Vol. 262. Skrifvelser till Kungl. Maj:t från generallöjtanten och vice-guvernören P. Wirtz 1658, 1660–1664 [Letters to His Majesty from the General Lieutenant and Vice Governor Paul Würtz] 268 Bibliography

I.1.7.2 Uppsala Universitetsbibliotek [Uppsala University Library] (= UUB) Ihre 183. Bengt Skyttes excerpter från orientaliska reseböcker [The excerpts of Bengt Skytte from Oriental travel accounts] N439 Coll. Nordin Diplomatica Suecana vol. 10.

I.2 Published Primary Sources AF I = Iorga, Neculaĭ, ed. Acte şi fragmente cu privire la istoria romînilor [Documents and fragments for the history of the Romanians]. Vol. 1. Bucharest, 1895. AMN = Tóth, Ernő, ed. I. Apafi Mihály és II. Apafi Mihály erdélyi fejedelmek naplója [The diaries of Mihály Apafi I and Mihály Apafi II, Princes of Transylvania]. Kolozsvár, 1900. Apáczai Csere, János. “Az iskolák felettébb szükséges voltáról és a magyaroknál való barbár állapotuk okairól” [On the foremost necessity of schools and the reasons of their barbaric state among Hungarians]. In Apáczai Csere János válogatott pedagógiai művei, Neveléstörténeti könyvtár, 2nd ed, edited by Lajos Orosz, 181–205. Budapest, 1976. ———. “A bölcsesség tanulásáról” [On the learning of wisdom]. In Magyar gondol- kodók 17. század, Magyar remekírók, edited by Márton Tarnóc, 609–655. Budapest, 1979. AP XXI = Dienes, Dénes, ed. Zempléni vizitációk 1629–1671: Miskolczi Csulyak István zemp léni esperes és hivatali utódainak feljegyzései [Visitations in Zemplén 1629–1671: Records by the dean of Zemplén, István Miskolczi Csulyak and his successors in the office]. Acta Patakina, no. 21. Sárospatak, 2008. ARMSI II = Veress, Andrei, ed. “Pribegia lui Grigoraşcu Vodă prin Ungaria şi aiurea (1664–1672)” [The exile of Voievod Grigoraşcu in Hungary and other places, 1664– 1672]. Academia Română Memoriile Secţiunii Istorice Seria III. 2 (1924): 269–336. ARMSI X = Iorga, Nicolae, ed. “Scrisori domneşti din arhivele dela Stockholm” [Voievods’ letters from the Stockholm archives]. Academia Română Memoriile Secţiunii Istorice Seria III. 10 (1929): 509–534. Arnauld, Antoine and Pierre Nicole. La perpetuité de la foy du l’Eglise Catholique touchant l’Eucharistie, deffendue contre le livre du Sieur Claude, Ministre de Charenton. Paris, 1669. ASAF I = Fockema Andreae, Mr.S.J. and Drs.Th.J. Meĳer, ed. Album studiosorum Academiae Franekeriensis (1585–1811, 1816–1844). Vol. 1, Naamlĳst der Studenten [Name list of the students]. Franeker, 1968. ASALB = Album studiosorum Academiae Lugduno Batavae MDLXXV–MDCCCLXXV, accedunt nomina curatorum et professorum per eadem secula. The Hague, 1875. Auer, Johann Ferdinand. Auer János Ferdinánd pozsonyi nemes polgárnak héttoronyi fog- ságában írt naplója 1664 [The diary of the noble burgher of Pozsony, János Ferdinánd Auer, written in his captivity at the Seven Towers]. Magyarország törökkori történe- tének forrásai, edited by Imre Lukinich. Budapest, 1923. Bibliography 269

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Abaza Siyavuş Pasha 6 Bethlen, Miklós 20, 52, 179, 181–183 Acsády, Ignác 72n60 Bethlenfalvi, Dávid 28n60 Ahmed Pasha, see Köprülü Ahmed Pasha Bíró, Vencel 59n15, 60n19 Alexei Mikhailovich, Russian tsar 117, Biała Bielski, Ludwik 116n57 129–130, 142 Bibliander, Theodore 234n61 Ali çavuş 94n126 Bisterfeld, Johann Heinrich 52, 203 Ali Pasha, see Köse Ali Pasha Bobovius, Albertus, see Bobowski Ali Ufki Bey, see Bobowski Bobowski, Wojciech 161n41, 208 Almási, Péter 181 Boér, Zsigmond 89n109 Ames, William 28–29, 216 Bocskai, István, prince of Transylvania 12, Ammann, Paul 180 15–16, 157 Andrieşan, Ştefan 136 Bod, Péter 18–20, 48n126 Arminius, see Harmenszoon, Jakob Bogislav xiv, duke of Pomerania 125 Arnauld, Antoine 141 Bojti Veres, Gáspár 54 Arnauld, Simon, see Pomponne Boldvai, Márton 56–57, 90–91 Arnold, Christoph 166n52 Boros, János 57n10 Apáczai Csere, János 14n15, 19n31, 21, 25, 42, Borsos, Tamás 74n65, 78n80, 81, 195, 228 49, 199 Brahe, Per 119n67, 124 Apafi, Mihály, i, prince of Transylvania 19– Brankovics, György 57, 63–64, 197 20, 47, 52n141–142, 57, 82n92, 118, 181–185 Brendemoen, Bernt 5n15 Auer, Johann Ferdinand 98n5 Budai Péter 105, 109–110 Augustus, Roman emperor 201 Busbecq, Ogier Ghiselin de, see Busbequius Busbequius, Augerius Gislenius 206 Babinger, Franz 15n17, 166 Bakó, Péter 196 Cantemir, Dimitrie 190 Balogh, Máté 66, 71n55, 76–92, 105, 112–114, Castell, Edmund 172–173 189, 191, 193, 195, 224 Charles i, king of England 35–37, 53, 202 Bánfihunyadi, János (John) 33–34, 181 Charles ii, king of England 128, 136n121 Bányai, Ferenc 28n60 Charles x Gustav, king of Sweden 94, Barbatus, Josephus 207, 209 116n57, 137n125, 142 Barcsai, Ákos, prince of Transylvania 93, Charles xi, king of Sweden 122, 245 101–107, 110–113, 118, 194, 203n50 Cherchez, Gheorghe 136 Barlips, Otto Wilhelm von 153n23 Christian Albert, duke of Holstein-Gottorp Bathyllus 201n44 138 Bellarmine, Robert 28 Christian Louis, duke of Mecklenburg- Basire, Isaac 23n44, 202–203, 210 Schwerin 129 Beelzebub 140 Cırakman, Aslı 223n16 Bendyshe, Thomas 68, 95, 208 Clodius, Johann Christian 167 Bernardo, Lorenzo 223n16 Coccejus, Johannes 31n69 Besliak Pasha 103 Coelestinus von Sternbach, Heinrich Bethlen, Farkas 97 135n116 Bethlen, Gábor, prince of Transylvania 12, Constantin Şerban, havasalföldi vajda 83– 23n44, 51–52, 54–55, 74n65, 157, 203 84, 102, 108–109, 114 Bethlen, István, prince of Transylvania 42 Costin, Miron 108n34 Bethlen, János 182 Crozius, see Veyssière La Croze

Cromwell, Oliver 68 Ginzburg, Carlo 4 Csehi, András 26, 43 Goess, Johann von 147 Csengeri, István 102 Golius, Jacobus 173, 207–209 Cserményi, Mihály 223 Gömöri, George (György) 33–35, 39, 45n118 Csernátoni, István 20 Gönczi, Mátyás 27, 29, 49 Csernátoni, Pál 179 Grigore Ghica, voievod of Wallachia 139, 151 Csernák, Béla 19n30 Guericke, Otto von 150 Civan bey, see Mihnea Guerre, Martin 2n2, 4 Gustav Adolph, duke of Mecklenburg- Dahlberg, Erik 233 Güstrow 126, 129, 174–175, 197 d’Asquier, Michel 210n71 Gustav ii Adolf, king of Sweden 145 Dávid, János 221 Gyárfás, Ferenc 222 De la Gardie, Magnus Gabriel 119n67, 124, Gyöngyösi, Péter 179 139, 141, 143, 204 Győri, István 48n128 de la Haye, Jean 96n131, 100 Gyulay, Tamás 221 Debreceni Balyik, János 29 Doğanci Yusuf Pasha 67–68, 83, 86n105 Hajdu György 82n91 Donáth, János 226n24 Haller, Gábor 28n60, 32, 34, 44, 63 Dorošenko, Petro 154 Harasztosi, Balázs 232n52 Dövlet Giray, nureddin sultan in the Crimea Harderus, H. 208n64 154 Harmenszoon, Jakob 30 Du Ryer, André 161, 234n61 Hazai, György 5–6, 163n46, 167n57, 209n70 Heltai, János 199 Erasmus of Rotterdam 159, 200 Herepei, János 6, 13n12, 14–15, 46n122, 47, Esterházy, Miklós 243n82, 249n100 108n36 Esterházy, Pál 41 Hídi, Gáspár 136 Hill, Christopher 218n94 Felvinczi, Sándor 179–180 Hiltebrandt, Conrad Jacob 23n44, 196n27 Ferdinand iv, king of Hungary and of Rome Hodosi, Sámuel 179, 186, 253 41 Holdsworth, Richard 36 Francis i, king of France 244 Horn, Franz 133 Fränkl, Jakob 130–131, 138, 151 Horváti Békés, János 179–181, 212 Frederick William, elector of Branden- Hoverbeck, Johann von 178 burg 7, 15, 118, 126, 129–130, 138–139, Höfert, Almut 245n85 145–159, 168–171, 174–175, 184–186, 189, Hunyadi, Pál 180 197–198, 205, 230, 240 Frölich, David 40 Iorga, Nicolae 14n17

Geleji Katona, István 215–216 Jászberényi, Pál P. 181 Georgijević, Bartolomej 161 Joannes Palaiologos, Byzantine emperor Gheorghe Ghica, voievod of Moldavia, later 244 of Wallachia 139 John George i, elector of Saxony 43 Gheorghe Ştefan, voievod of Moldavia John George ii, elector of Saxony 127n93, 14n17, 16n23, 76, 83, 110–144, 149, 151–152, 136n121 174, 179, 188, 190, 197–198, 210, 217, 252 Jöcher, Christian Gottlieb 137 Ghica, Gheorghe, see Gheorghe Ghica Judah Mehmet (or Judah the Jew) 89n109 Ghica, Grigore, see Grigore Ghica Gidófalvi Csulak, János 39 Kafadar, Cemal 5n15, 210n73 Index 313

Kašić, Bartol 250 Mehmed Pasha, see Köprülü Mehmed Pasha Kemény János 106, 112–113, 118, 156n31, 221n8 Ménage, Victor L. 163n48, 209n70 Keresztúri István 48n128 Menippus 137 Keresztúri Bíró, Pál 34, 49 Menocchio 2 Kerim Giray, kalga sultan of the Crimea 152 Merian, Matthäus 132 Klein, Daniel 49n131 Mesgnien von Meninski, Franz 161, 166 Klingen, Jonas 196n27 Michael i Wiśniowiecki, king of Poland 154 Kocsi Csergő, István 40–41 Michael viii Palaiologos, Byzantine emperor Kovásznai, Péter I. 48n128, 181 103 Köleséri, Mihály 48n128 Michael the Brave, voievod of Wallachia Köleséri Sámuel 215n86 103n18, 131n105 Königsmarck, Hans Christian 137 Mihail Radu, see Mihnea Köprülü Ahmed Pasha, grand vizier 127, Mihail, Zamfira 198n32 238–239 Mihnea iii, voievod of Wallachia Köprülü Mehmed Pasha, grand vizier 72, Mikes, Kelemen 18, 20 92–93, 96, 100–102, 238–239, 242 Milescu, Nicolae, Spătarul 137–143, 149, 152, Köse Ali Pasha 112 190, 198, 204, 224 Kraus, Georg 113, 128n96 Miskolczi Csulyak, Gáspár 216 Kreiser, Klaus 6n16 Mohammed, Prophet 68, 102, 164, 168, 236, 244 Langin, Anna 186 Molin, Andreas 176 Laud, William 36 Molin, Sebastiano 98n5 Leon Tomşa, voievod of Wallachia 75n69 Molino, Giovanni 161 Leopold i, emperor of the Holy Roman Mollova, Mefküre 163n46, 165n51 Empire and king of Hungary 112, 117n61, Molnár, István 59n16 126–127, 184–185 Mondvid, Felix 117 Levi, Giovanni 1–2 Morosini, Gianfrancesco 231 Livy 204 Mózes, János 193n13 Louis xiv, king of France 127n91, 128, 138, 185 Möller, Ludwig 45, 253 Ludolf, Hiob 166n55, 169–170 Murray, Martin 172–173 Lukaris, Cyrillus, patriarch of Constantinople Müller, Andreas 167n60, 169–173, 207 85 Lupu, Vasile, see Vasile Lupu Nacu, Constantin 136, 142 Lutsch, Johannes 101n15 Nagy, László 143 Nagy, Pál 202 Majtényi, András 64n31, 74, 89n109, 111 Nagyari, Benedek 34–35 Makkai, László 46–47 Nakolovitz, Constantin, see Nacu Mareş, second chancellor of Walla- Neculce, Ion 143n141 chia 108n37 Neumann, Andreas 130, 151n18 Marianowitz, Christoph 130 Nicole, Pierre 141 Matthias, Michael 175 Nicousios, Panaiotis 63, 68, 94, 102n17, 103, Maurer, Mihály 82n91 210n71 Mavius 201n44 Medgyesi, Pál 34, 55n5, 215 Osman ii, sultan 97 Megiser, Hieronymus 162 Otrokócsi Fóris, Ferenc 179n94 Mehmed ii, sultan 97 Ovid 201 Mehmed Giray iv, khan of the Crimea 70, Oxenstierna, Bengt 122 100 314 Index

Palaiologos, Michael, see Michael viii Rozsnyai, Dávid 57–58, 62–64, 88–90, Palbitzki, Matthias 131 111–114, 192–193, 198, 205–206, 250 Pálóczi Horváth, János 42 Runge, Christoph 169n60 Panayot, see Nicousios, Panaiotis Rycaut, Paul 163, 206, 210 Pányoki, P. Pál 179n94 Pápai Páriz, Ferenc 43, 179–180 Sabbatai Zevi 210 Pápai Páriz, Imre 52n141 Samson, Peter 129–130 Paskó, Kristóf 226 Scaliger, Joseph Justus 31n69 Pătraşcu, Mihai 131n105 Scemnicius, Adam 179n94 Păun, Radu G. 103n18 Schultze, Georg 167–168 Péter, Katalin 23n44 Schwerin, Otto von 148, 153–154, 171, 207 Petraeus, Theodor 170n67 Seaman, William 208n64 Petrus Venerabilis 234n61 Sebessi, Boldizsár 17n25, 77n76, 78n80, Pococke, Edward 207–208 82n91, 196 Podestà, Gianbattista 62, 166n55 Sebessi, Ferenc 67, 100 Pomponne, Marquis de, Simon Arnauld 141, Selyki, Péter 179n94 204 Seneca 253–254 Potocki, Stanisław 130 Sennyey, László 42 Pünkösti György 100n11 Serédy, István 229 Preindl, Joseph von 167n57 Sah Gazi Ağa 152 Sharp, John 38 Rácz István 66n41, 192n14, 221–222 Sionita, Gabriel 164 Radu, chancellor of Wallachia 108n37 Skytte, Bengt 124, 143, 145–149 Radu Leon, voievod of Wallachia 75 Skytte, Johan 145 Radu Mihnea, voievod of Wallachia and Somnitz, Lorenz Christoph 151n18, 159, Moldavia 82 184–185 Rainald, William 248n98 Southcott, John 39 Rákóczi, Ferenc i, elected prince of Transylva- Sövényfalvi, Dániel 193n16, 200 nia 95n131 Sparr, Otto Friedrich von 178 Rákóczi, György i, prince of Transylvania 12, Spătarul Milescu, Nicolae, see Milescu 15, 21–22, 34–35, 44, 46, 50–52, 157, 196 Ştefanida Mihailova 132–133, 143, 151–152 Rákóczi, György ii, prince of Transylvania 6, Stafford, Earl of, see Wentworth, Thomas 12, 54–95, 99n8, 100–116, 143, 194, 196–199, Stochove, Vincent de 231n49 203, 211, 239n73, 241 Stoy, Manfred 116n57 Rákóczi, Zsigmond 46 Styla, Adam 186 Rålamb, Claes 91n120, 94–96, 99, 124, 143, Sutcliffe, William 248n98 196n27, 210 Szalárdi János 50, 92n122, 106 Rattner Gelbart, Nina 4 Szatmári Baka, Péter 47 Ravius, Christian 209 Száva, Mihály 82, 86n104 Redmetzi, Péter 27 Székely, István 136n123 Reniger, Simon 74–75, 85n101, 211 Székely Mózes, Jr. 75, 97, 196 Réthy, István 77, 201 Székelyhídi Tofaeus, Mihály 13n12, 47 Rhédey, Ferenc, prince of Transylvania 100 Szenci Molnár, Albert 170 Romosz, János 63–64, 69, 73–74, 76, 89–90 Szentpéteri, Mihály 22n41 Rotlieb, Philipp 133 Szepsi Csombor, Márton 26, 30, 33, 36, Rottal, Johann 114n52, 117, 135 41–42, 156n31 Rouillard, Clarence Dana 234 Szerencsi, N. Péter 34–36 Rozgonyi Varga, János 14n14, 43n110 Szijártó, M. István 253 Index 315

Siyavuş Pasha, see Abaza Siyavuş Pasha Veréczi, S. Ferenc 49, 55n5 Szilágyi Benjámin, István 25n51, 32 Veyssière La Croze, Maturin 167 Szilágyi (Sylvanus), György 181 Virgil 201–202, 204 Szilágyi, Sándor 6 Viski, Pál 179 Szilvási Bálint 101n15 Wallich, Johann Ulrich 235n66 Takti Giray Sultan 154 Wagner, Johannes 137 Tarczali, Pál, Sr. 9, 33, 37–39, 49 Warner, Levinus 92n122, 208–209, 249 Tarczali, Pál, Jr. 9n3, 33, 179 Weber, Max 217–218 Telkibányai, P. István 216 Welling, Gotthard 94 Thévenot, Jean de 223–224 Wentworth, Thomas 35 Thordai, Ferenc 65n34, 66, 73, 76, 77n73, 89, Wesselényi Ferenc 112, 116n57 101, 203n50 Wiśniowiecki, Michał, see Michael i Thurzó, György 43 Władysław iv, king of Poland 156n31 Tisza István 92, 101–102, 105, 194, 196n27, 212 Wolfradt, Heinrich 147 Tolnai, István 20–22, 49 Woltjer, Jan Juliaan 30n68 Tolnai Dali, János 22n41, 44–48, 55n5, Wrangel, Carl Gustaf 108, 124–125, 128n97, 214–217 129–138, 144, 151 Tomşa, Leon, see Leon Tomşa Würtz, Paul 128n97, 135n116 Torquatus a Frangepani, Alexander Iu- Wyche, Peter, Sir 208n64 lius 137–139, 143, 190, 198 Tóth, István György 17n26 Yūsuf ibn Abū Daqn, see Barbatus Trócsányi, Zsolt 198 Yusuf Pasha, see Doğanci Yusuf Pasha Tyschen, Thomas Christian 164 Zahariuc, Petronel 135 Ulysses 254 Zemon Davis, Natalie 2n2, 4 Zoványi, Jenő 48, 185 Váci, P. András 217 Zrínyi, Miklós 127 Váradi, István 77–79, 87, 101n15, 189n8, 193 Zülfikar Ağa 74–76, 80, 86–90, 94–95, 101, Váradi Házi, János 31n67, 197, 205–206 221–222, 224 Vasile Lupu, voievod of Moldavia 70, 75–76, 83, 87, 98, 116n57