Beyond Ambassadors 2020028139, 2020028140, 9789004438842, 9789004438989

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Beyond Ambassadors

Rulers & Elites Comparative Studies in Governance

Series Editor Jeroen Duindam (Leiden University) Editorial Board Maaike van Berkel (Radboud University Nijmegen) Yingcong Dai (William Paterson University, NJ) Jean-Pascal Daloz (University of Strasbourg) Jos Gommans (Leiden University) Jérôme Kerlouégan (University of Oxford) Dariusz Kołodziejczyk (Warsaw University) Metin Kunt (Sabancı University)

volume 19

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/​rule

Beyond Ambassadors Consuls, Missionaries, and Spies in Premodern Diplomacy

Edited by

Maurits Ebben and Louis Sicking

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Ascelin of Lombardia receiving a letter from Pope Innocent IV, and remitting it to the Mongol general Baiju. Source: David Aubert, La chronique des empereurs, 1462, Philippe le Bon. Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, mss. 5090, folio number 308r (https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b550069168/f677.image). Gallica.bnf.fr / Bibliothèque Nationale de France. On the cover: see top and below in the middle (detail). On the cover below, on the left: Portrait of a man, probably Jacobus Beeltsnijder, Dutch consul in Santa Cruz, Tenerife, Spain, 1690-1733. Source: RKD, BD/RKD/IB/XVIIIA (afb.nr. “https://rkd.nl/nl/explore/ images/127345#galleria”IB00043012). On the cover, below on the right. Spia. Source: Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia of Uytbeeldinghen des Verstants, trans. Dirck Pietersz. Pers, Amsterdam 1644. Facsimile edition: Cesare Ripa. Iconologia of uytbeeldinghe des verstands. Met introductie van Jochen Becker, Davaco Publishers, Soest 1971, p. 481. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ebben, Maurits Alexander, 1955- editor. | Sicking, Louis, 1966- editor. Title: Beyond ambassadors : consuls, missionaries, and spies in premodern diplomacy / Maurits Ebben and Louis Sicking. Other titles: Consuls, missionaries, and spies in premodern diplomacy Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2021. | Series: Rulers & elites, comparative studies in governance 2211-4610 ; vol. 19 | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020028139 (print) | LCCN 2020028140 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004438842 (hardback ; alk. paper) | ISBN 9789004438989 (adobe pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Diplomacy–History. | Diplomats–History. | Consuls–History. | Missionaries–Political activity–History. | Spies–History. Classification: LCC JZ1305 .B488 2020 (print) | LCC JZ1305 (ebook) | DDC 327.209–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020028139 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020028140 Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/​brill-​typeface. issn 2211-​4 610 isbn 978-​9 0-​0 4-​4 3884-​2 (hardback) isbn 978-​9 0-​0 4-​4 3898-​9 (e-​book) Copyright 2021 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-​free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents List of Maps and Table vii Notes on Contributors viii

Introduction 1 Maurits Ebben and Louis Sicking

part 1 Theoretical Challenges 1

Premodern Non-​State Agency: The Theoretical, Historical, and Legal Challenge 19 John Watkins

2 Plurality of Diplomatic Agents in Premodern Literature on the Ambassador 38 Dante Fedele

part 2 Consuls 3 Space, Agency, and Conflict Management in the Late Medieval Baltic: Urban Colonies and Representatives of Hanse Towns at Scania 63 Louis Sicking 4 Your High and Mighty Lordships’ Most Humble Servants: Dutch Consuls and the States General’s Diplomacy in Spain, 1648–​1661 89 Maurits Ebben

part 3 Missionaries 5 The Mendicant Friars: Actors in Diplomatic Encounters with the Mongols 119 Jacques Paviot

vi Contents 6 The New Indies, the Desired Indies: Antonio Possevino and the Jesuits between Diplomacy and Missionarism in Northeastern Europe, 1577–​1587 137 Felicia Roșu

Spies

part 4

7 Secrets, Diplomatics, and Spies in Late Medieval France and in the Burgundian State: Parallel Practices and Undercover Operations 159 Jean-​Baptiste Santamaria 8 ‘Secret Wheeles’: Clandestine Information, Espionage, and European Intelligence 185 Alan Marshall Index of Names 217 Index of Places 221

Maps and Table Maps 3.1 3.2

Scania 84 Scania detailed 85

Table 3.1

First mention of vittes of Zuiderzee town at Scania (and DragØr), 1302–​1461 75

Notes on Contributors Maurits Ebben is co-​editor of the present volume and a lecturer at the Institute for History of Leiden University, where he teaches Dutch early modern history and specializes in the external relations of the Dutch Republic, particularly those with the Iberian world. He has published widely on Spanish and Dutch early modern history. His current research focuses on European and Dutch diplomatic history in the 17th and 18th centuries. Work in progress: Ambassadors, Consuls, and Commerce: The Dutch Diplomatic Service in the Later Seventeenth Century, 1648–​1700. Dante Fedele is Research fellow at the CNRS, Lille, Centre d’histoire judiciaire (UMR 8025). He graduated in law (Trent) and history of political thought (ENS de Lyon), and obtained his doctorate in 2014 (ENS de Lyon – Università “Federico II” di Napoli). He specializes in the history of diplomacy and international law, and his publications include Naissance de la diplomatie moderne (XIIIe–​XVIIe siècles). L’ambassadeur au croisement du droit, de l’éthique et de la politique (Baden-​ Baden: 2017). Work in progress: The Medieval Foundations of International Law: Baldus de Ubaldis (1327–1400), doctrine and practice of the ius gentium. Alan Marshall is professor of history at Bath Spa University. His current research is on the monograph: The Secret State in Early-​modern Britain (Manchester: 2020). He is the author of: “ ‘Plots’ and Dissent: The Abortive Northern Rebellion of 1663,” in J.  Clare, ed., From Republic to Restoration (Manchester University Press: 2018); “Elizabeth Cromwell and Mary Hays,” in G.L. Walker, ed. The Invention of Female Biography (Basingstoke: 2017); “ ‘Memorialls for Mrs Affora’: Aphra Behn and the Restoration Intelligence System,” Women’s Writing 22/​1 (2015), pp.13–​33;“ ‘Pax quaeritur bello’: The Cromwellian Military Legacy,” in J. Mills, ed., Cromwell’s Legacy (Manchester: 2012); “ ‘Woeful Knight’: Sir Robert Walsh and the Fragmented World of the Double Agent,” in D. Szechi, ed., The Dangerous Trade: Spies, Spymasters and the Making of Europe (Dundee: 2010). Jacques Paviot is a professor at Université Paris-​Est Créteil (crhec) He started his studies at the Université Lyon ii and finished them at the Université Paris iv –​ Sorbonne, where he obtained his doctorate in 1993 (La Politique navale des ducs de

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Bourgogne, 1384–​1482, published in 1995) and his Habilitation à diriger des recherches in 2000 (Les Ducs de Bourgogne, la croisade et l’Orient, fin du XIVe–​XVe siècle, published in 2003). He has published on maritime history, Portuguese and Flemish history, history of courts and nobility, the crusades, and relations between the West and the Mongols. Felicia Roșu is a lecturer in history at Leiden University. Her work focuses on early modern East-​Central Europe and the frontier zone between Europe and the Ottoman empire. She is interested in the politics of freedom as well as forms of unfreedom. Roșu is currently working on a survey of East-​Central European history in the late medieval and early modern period, together with Andrzej S. Kamínski. Jean-​Baptiste Santamaria is a professor at the University of Lille. His main research interests are the execution of princely power in the late medieval age, mainly focusing on the areas of Flanders, Artois, and Burgundy. His most recent publication, Le secret du prince:  Gouverner par le secret France-​Bourgogne XIIIe–​XVe siècle (2018) won the Prix du Sénat du livre d’histoire. Louis Sicking is co-​editor of the present volume, and the Aemilius Papinianus professor of history of public international law at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. He lectures on medieval and early modern history at Leiden University and currently directs the research project Maritime Conflict Management in Atlantic Europe, 1200–​1600, financed by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (nwo) and partner universities in Spain, Portugal and France. He was granted the Prix Descartes-​Huygens in 2016 by the French Academy of Sciences for his contribution to Franco-​Dutch scientific collaboration. Among his recent publications are La naissance d’une thalassocratie. Les Pays-​Bas et la mer à l’aube du Siècle d’or (Paris: 2015) and the thematic issue “Maritime Conflict Management, Diplomacy and International Law, 1100–​1800,” Comparative Legal History 5 no. 1 (2017). John Watkins is Distinguished McKnight University Professor of English at the University of Minnesota, where he holds affiliate appointments in history, medieval studies, and Italian studies. Watkins is the author of numerous books and articles dealing with problems of historiography; cultural, political, and economic exchanges between England and the Mediterranean; diplomacy; and the medieval

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underpinnings of modernity:  The Specter of Dido: Spenser and Virgilian Epic (Yale: 1995); Representing Elizabeth in Stuart England (Cambridge: 2002); After Lavinia: A Literary History of Premodern Marriage Diplomacy (Cornell: 2017), and with historian Carole Levin, Shakespeare’s Foreign Worlds:  National and Transnational Identity in the Elizabethan Age (2009). He has held fellowships from the American Philosophical Society, the American Council of Learned Societies, and the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation.

Introduction Maurits Ebben and Louis Sicking The ambassador has long been considered the main figure in diplomatic relations, from the Middle Ages to modern times.1 Resident ambassadors, first appearing in Italy by the end of the 15th century, began to be employed by other European states around 1500 and “have been considered the most characteristic officers of Western diplomacy ever since.”2 It is therefore not surprising that the ambassador and his duties have been the principal focus of the historiography on diplomacy, even though interest in diplomacy is no longer limited to Europe or the western world.3 Due to the overarching shadow of ‘the state,’ the study of other actors in international relations has been neglected. In the Middle Ages and the early modern period—​together called premodern times—​international relations were by no means monopolized by the state or the sovereign. Many individuals, (interest) groups, and administrative units maintained contacts independently of states and princes and were actors in a wide diplomatic field. Consuls acting on behalf of various commercial groups supported the interests of merchants trading in foreign countries. Missionaries of various Latin Christian orders or of different Christian denominations were working according to their own policies, independently of princes, or in cooperation with them. Spies were infiltrating the courts of Europe in order to secretly gather information. These various groups tended to have an interregional and most often also transnational orientation. They acted as quasi-​officials representing local, regional, or central rulers and states to whom they provided services and by whom their mediating position was sanctioned. A growing multitude of individuals of various backgrounds was engaged in collecting political and other information which they offered to sovereigns and others. They often operated on a temporary basis for one prince or client, then for another, and were able to

1 D. Queller, The Office of Ambassador in the Middle Ages (Princeton: 1967); G. Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (London: 1955); M.S. Anderson, The Rise of Modern Diplomacy, 1450–​1919 (Harlow and New York: 1993). 2 Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy, 55. 3 E.g. N. Drocourt ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur entre mondes éloignés. Ambassadeurs, envoyés officiels et représentations diplomatiques entre Orient islamique, Occident latin et Orient chrétien (XIe-​XVIe siècle) (Rennes: 2015).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_002

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provide many types of information, for which they drew on a network of international contacts. The present volume, offering the results of a conference held at Leiden University’s Institute for History on 29 and 30 September 2016, focuses on the questions of how and why these individuals—​consuls, missionaries, and spies, together referred to as non-​state agents4—​who were not formally tied to a state or a prince, could play a role in diplomacy. How should their role in ‘international’ affairs in medieval and early modern times be understood? These questions are, first of all, relevant for historiographical reasons. Second, they may also contribute to a better understanding of current developments in diplomacy and international politics. Over the last few decades, historical research—​in the context of the so-​called new diplomatic history—​has shown that state diplomacy in premodern times was not the sole determining factor in Europe’s international relations.5 The so-​called Westphalian system has been dismissed as a myth, and historians now recognize that 19th-​and 20th-​ century preoccupations with the modern nation state have anachronistically been applied to the previous period.6 This focus on the nation state and Westphalia explains to a large extent the traditional emphasis on the resident ambassador. It is now generally accepted, however, that diplomatic relations were established, maintained, or suspended by a whole range of formal and 4 See the contribution of John Watkins to this volume. 5 J.-​M. Moeglin and S. Péquignot, Diplomatie et “relations internationales” au Moyen Âge (IXe-​ XVe siècle) (Paris: 2017); N. Jaspert and J. Kolditz, “Christlich-​Muslimische Aussenbeziehungen im Mittelmeerraum. Zur räumlichen und religiösen Dimension mittelalterlicher Diplomatie,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 41 (2014), 1–​88; M. Ebben and L. Sicking, “Nieuwe diplomatieke geschiedenis van de premoderne tijd. Een inleiding,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 127 (2014), 541–​552; J. Hennings and T.A. Sowerby eds., Practices of Diplomacy in the Early Modern World c. 1410–​1800 (London: 2019); T.A. Sowerby, “Early Modern Diplomatic History,” History Compass 14 (2016), 441–​456; H. von Thiesen, “Diplomatie vom type ancien: Überlegungen zu einem Idealtypus des frühneuzeitlichen Gesantschaftswesens,” in: H. von Thiesen and C. Windler eds., Akteure der Aussenbeziehungen: Netzwerke und Interkulturalität im Historischen Wandel (Cologne: 2010), 492–​503; B. Tremml-​Werner and D. Goetze, “A Multitude of Actors in Early Modern Diplomacy,” Journal of Early Modern History 23 (2019), 407–​422; C.  Windler, Missionare in Persien. Kulturelle Diversität und Normenkonkurrenz im globalen Katholizismus, 17.-​18. Jahrhundert (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2018). 6 D. Croxton, “The Peace of Westphalia of 1648 and the Origins of Sovereignty,” The International History Review XXI.3 (1999), 569–​582; H. Duchhardt, “Das ‘Westfälische System’; Realität und Mythos” in: von Thiesen and Windler eds., Akteure der Aussenbeziehungen, 393–​402; A. Osiander, “Sovereignty, International Relations, and the Westphalian Myth,” International Organization 55 (2001), 251–​287; P.M.R. Stirk, “The Westphalian Model and Sovereign Equality,” Review of International Studies 38 (2012), 641–​660; B. Teschke, The Myth of 1648: Class, Geopolitics and the Making of Modern International Relations (London and New York: 2003).

Introduction

3

informal actors or agents. Their importance, next to and beyond the role of the traditional ambassador, compels us to make them an integral part of diplomatic studies. All these actors represented a wide variety of political and other entities including—​besides states—​cities, city leagues, religious orders, or companies. Accordingly, numerous forms of premodern diplomacy coexisted. Although we make a distinction between state and non-​state actors, it is not our intention to create a misleading binary view that opposes two kinds of actors, nor do we want to contrast formal and informal actors or professional and non-​professional diplomats. On the contrary, we are convinced that a non-​state actor-​oriented approach will demonstrate how diffuse and porous boundaries between formal or public and informal or non-​state agents were in the early modern context. Ultimately, this volume attempts to redefine the diverse group of participants in premodern diplomacy and to gain a better, richer, and denser understanding of their practices, commitments, and interests. We recognize that the use of the term non-​state actors when studying premodern times is not without criticism. To speak of non-​state actors in a time before the emergence of the modern state is anachronistic, as is a discussion of international relations in times without nations and without the use of the term diplomacy, which only reluctantly took hold in the later 18th century. Yet, we should not allow fear of anachronism to push us into the arms of antiquarianism, as John Watkins warns us in his chapter of this volume. The early modern world was a “confusing welter of states, imperial hegemons, and a myriad of non-​state players,” with its own typical structural complexity. This does not mean, though, that proven modern concepts cannot help us understand the premodern world, especially if these concepts were used in more or less similar terms at the time.7 Abraham de Wicquefort, for example, made a clear distinction between persons with a public function at the service of a monarch and those without such an office, between those who represented a monarch or other sovereign authority and those who did not. Thus, in his opinion, consuls were not diplomats because they represented the interests of a group of a monarch’s subjects, merchants and traders.8 Wicquefort’s views on the non-​ state diplomat were not widely shared. In premodern times, there was a lively discussion about who could be considered diplomats and who could not. Early modern theorists of international law were very specific in their views on the legal status and protection that a particular category of diplomatic actors should enjoy. These categories included consuls, missionaries, and spies, who, 7 See Watkins’ and Fedele’s chapters. 8 A. de Wicquefort, The Ambassador and his Functions, book 1, trans. J. Digby (London: 1719), 7, 40–​41.

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we are convinced, were of significant importance in premodern diplomacy. Therefore, they constitute the principal object of study in the present volume. The focus on non-​state actors in premodern diplomacy has its present-​day counterpart, as becomes very clear in Tom Fletcher’s The Naked Diplomat on power and politics in the digital age. According to this former British ambassador to Lebanon, “diplomacy matters more than ever in the Digital Age, and not just to diplomats.”9 The internet brings non-​state actors into the conversation. “A proliferation of organizations now competes with diplomats …”10 ngo s—​sometimes, like the Worldwide Fund for Nature, representing millions of members—​use their weight while lobbying and campaigning as non-​state actors. The digital world also “raises the role and importance of unofficial intermediaries.” Informal advice and mediation by academics or retired officials become more important because of their specific knowledge and experience. Successful negotiations increasingly rely on understanding the interplay between private and public sectors. In this twilight zone non-​state agents operate.11 Among them we find clergymen and spies. The role of the clergy in diplomacy is not limited to the past. Apart from the pope, who for example played a role in negotiations between Cuba and the USA, one can point to diplomatic negotiations in Northern Ireland and South Africa that were preceded by secret conversations mediated by a priest.12 The prestige of the pope and other prelates as moral and politically impartial leaders is still an important factor in diplomatic negotiations. Spies have not lost their relevance to contemporary diplomacy either. On the contrary, while the age of James Bond—​when there was no doubt as to who was the enemy—​may be over, information-​and intelligence-​gathering is more important than ever in a world which has entered the era of the internet and cybercrime. If Fletcher’s book points to one thing from a historical perspective, it is that present-​day diplomacy can no longer be understood in terms of the grand narrative of the development of the modern nation state. The same holds true for premodern diplomacy, as more and more historians now recognize. Isabella Lazzarini’s recent book on Italian early-​Renaissance diplomacy, covering the 1350–​1520 period, offers a beautiful illustration of this view and is the first overall study of the topic since Garrett Mattingly’s classic Renaissance Diplomacy. She considers diplomacy as a complex process characterized by multiplicity 9

T. Fletcher, The Naked Diplomat: Understanding Power and Politics in the Digital Age (London: 2016), 7, 9. 10 Fletcher, Diplomat, 16–​17. 11 Ibidem, 172, 173 (citation), 178, 223. 12 Ibidem, 173.

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and flexibility. Political agents, from kingdoms, republics, and duchies to communities, minor lords, and military captains, were carrying out “a balancing act between conflict and communication. In order to reduce the risks posed by open conflicts, diplomatic relations became more a process than an event: accompanied by a growing flow of more or less reliable information, practices of negotiation opened, maintained, and controlled a host of communication networks thanks to the work of diplomatic agents whose origin, nature, competences, and status varied according to context and time.”13 Who were these people? In Lazzarini’s early Renaissance Italy there were ambassadors as well as a great variety of other diplomatic agents, including a whole range of people having occasional diplomatic tasks: members of the clergy, military captains and condotierri, artists, scientists and merchants, and last but not least, women. She emphasizes that this broad range of diplomatic agents corresponds with the wide array of powers and polities, “the flexibility of their duties and the long-​lasting coexistence of different roles with diplomatic responsibilities.”14 The three types of non-​state agents selected for this volume—​consuls, missionaries, and spies—​will be discussed in three sections which, in order to complement the emphasis on diplomatic practice, are preceded by a section on diplomatic theory and literature in both premodern and modern times, offering a framework within which the three types of agents and their diplomatic activities can be considered. In this first section, John Watkins is responsible for what is the most programmatic contribution to this volume. While recognizing that “modern understandings and expectations overdetermine our accounts of the past,” he argues that we “need to explain why a more robust understanding of state and non-​state agency in premodern Europe matters.” The premodern world anticipated in many respects the complexities of the current diplomatic landscape, including the hold of business over political power, the rebirth of the city state, and power shifts away from states to individuals.15 Watkins strongly recommends that more research be done on relations between non-​state agency and emerging legal consciousness, and he explains “how non-​state agency points to larger theoretical concerns that continue to engage the international 13

I. Lazzarini, Communication and Conflict: Italian Diplomacy in the Early Renaissance, 1350–​ 1520 (Oxford: 2015), 263; idem, “Renaissance Diplomacy,” in: I. Lazzarini and A. Gamberti eds., The Italian Renaissance State (Cambridge: 2012), 425–​443. 14 Lazzarini, Communication, 123–​145 (citation 125). See also Moeglin and Pequignot, Diplomatie, 401–​411. 15 Fletcher, Diplomat, 222–​223, 225.

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community.” Among other things, he shows how early modern theorists of international law struggled with questions which also occupy present-​day international legal scholars. That awareness of the existence of non-​state agents and their importance for diplomacy next to and beyond the classic ambassador is not new, is also shown by Dante Fedele in his contribution on the plurality of diplomatic agents in premodern literature on the ambassador. He demonstrates convincingly that despite its attempts to limit diplomatic activity to the ambassador as the only official agent, premodern diplomatic theory could not avoid considering the other figures who were very often entrusted with essential tasks in the diplomacy of the time and whose roles inevitably raised questions among legal and political thinkers. Some of the actors treated in the literature on the ambassador are priests and mendicant friars, heralds, merchants, consuls, and secret agents, thus encompassing all three categories emphasized in the present volume. Early modern writers on the ambassador and other agents of diplomacy were well aware of the importance and usefulness of the latter and of the ambiguity of their role, as is shown by the 17th-​century debate on whether consuls should enjoy diplomatic immunity. Those who still consider the Treaties of Westphalia as the birth of the modern state system must take notice of another conclusion drawn by Fedele’s research, namely that it was not until 1750 that the sovereign state would be strictly defined in diplomatic theory as the exclusive legitimate actor in international relations.16 Both Fedele’s and Watkins’ contributions point to the prominence of non-​ state agents in diplomacy. While the principal aim of this volume is the study of other diplomatic agents, besides ambassadors, a related goal is to overcome and cross the classic dichotomy between medieval and early modern in order to discover continuities and changes in the activities of non-​state agents with diplomatic functions. Therefore each of the three sections contains a medieval as well as an early modern contribution. Consuls appear both in the medieval and early modern periods as representatives of merchant communities abroad, often known as nations. The formal distinction between consuls representing a merchant nation (electus) and those being sent by a city or prince (missus) has now been deconstructed, as both types have coexisted for centuries, in the Middle Ages and in the early modern period.17 Their presence seems to have been most prominent 16 17

See also: Ch. Windler, “From Social Status to Sovereignty—​Practices of Foreign Relations from the Renaissance to the Sattelzeit” in:  Hennings and Sowerby eds., Practices of Diplomacy, 254–​262. M. Grenet, “Consuls et ‘nations’ étrangères: état des lieux et perspectives de recherche,” Cahiers de la Méditerranée 93 (2016), 25–​34.

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in the medieval and early modern Mediterranean area.18 Along the Atlantic coasts of Europe they also were sometimes called consuls—​a name given, for instance, to the representatives of the Portuguese nation in Bruges in the 15th century19—​but they could also be referred to as governors, as the representatives of English merchants in 14th-​century Brabant and 15th-​century Zealand were called.20 In the Hanseatic world a Vogt (plural: Vögte) was the equivalent of a consul. In spite of the different names given to representatives of merchant communities, they all covered similar tasks and functions: they had both an internal responsibility to the community, including administrative tasks, and an external responsibility, such as representing the community towards the local authorities. In this latter capacity the consul or his equivalent came to play a role in diplomacy. The early modern history of the consular institution is often studied in close connection with the history of diplomacy, with a focus on the integration of the consulate into the diplomatic apparatus of the state. Attention has been paid to the effects of increasing state control on the consular institution, while the effects of consular practices on the foreign policy of the home country have been grossly neglected. This was due in particular to the belief of international theorists that the consul did not have any diplomatic status and was no more than a sidekick of sorts of the ambassador. In practice, however, the consular institution evolved in the grey area between diplomacy, commercial history, and

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Jaspert and Kolditz, “Christlich-​Muslimische Aussenbeziehungen,” 46–​49; O. Constable, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World:  Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge:  2003), 112, 133–​138, 193–​196, 281–​286. An early modern equivalent focusing on the spatial aspects of trading stations and their representatives: W. Kaiser ed., La loge et le foundouk. Les dimensions spatiales des pratiques marchandes en Méditerranée, Moyen Âge—​époque contemporaine (Paris: 2014). In recent years there has been a vast interest, mainly in France, in early modern consuls and consulates: J. Ulbert and G. Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’affirmation d’une institution économique et politique (1500–​1800) (Rennes: 2006); S.  Marzagalli ed., Les Consuls en Méditerranée, agents d’information (XVIe-​XXe siècle) (Paris: 2015); A. Bartolomei, G. Calafat, M. Grenet, and J. Ulbert eds., De l’utilité commerciale des consuls. L’institution consulaire et les marchands dans le monde méditerranéen (XVIIe-​XIXe siècles) (Rome and Madrid: 2017); S. Marzagalli and J. Ulbert eds., Les consuls dans tous leurs états: essais et bibliographie (avant 1914), Cahiers de la Méditerranée 93 (2016). Most recently L.  Sicking, “The Medieval Origin of the Factory or the Institutional Foundations of Overseas Trade. Towards a Model for Global Comparison,” The Journal of World History 31: 2 (2020), 295–326. N.J.H. Kerling, Commercial Relations of Holland and Zeeland with England from the Late 13th Century to the Close of the Middle Ages (Leiden: 1954), 137–​138.

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international law with its own dynamics and influence on local authorities and state policy.21 Louis Sicking discusses the role of late medieval Vögte on the Scania peninsula in present-​day southwestern Sweden, then under Danish authority. At the time, it was one of the main international markets of northern Europe, thanks to the important herring fisheries located there. Hanseatic merchants involved in the trade at Scania were represented, mostly per city, by a Vogt. Eventually these urban communities came to be spatially limited in so-​called vittes, seasonal settlements of Hanseatic towns with their own separate jurisdictions.22 Each vitte had its own Vogt or governor who, among other things, represented the merchant community toward the Danish king. Sicking’s contribution focuses on the spatial development of the vittes of the towns of Holland and Zealand, on the count of Holland and Zealand’s interference with the appointment of Vögte, and on the latter’s involvement in conflict management at Scania. He thus shows how space, agency, and conflict management were closely related in a seasonally densely populated area where some 30 Hanseatic cities were represented by Vögte, who were indispensable when problems needed to be solved, among each other’s merchants and with the local Danish authorities. Maurits Ebben investigates the position of consuls in the diplomatic network of the Dutch Republic as defenders of the interests of Dutch merchants and as quasi-​public officials. Although consuls did not enjoy diplomatic status, which corresponds with Fedele’s conclusion based on diplomatic literature of the period, Dutch practice—​at least in Spain between the Peace of Munster (1648) and 1661—​shows that consuls were not mere defenders of commercial interests, but also supplied economic, political, and military intelligence to the States General. They were a vital connecting element in Dutch diplomacy and could affect the States General’s policies by exerting influence both on politicians at home and on Dutch diplomats abroad. Ebben considers the position of the consuls in the States General’s diplomacy to be typical of the intricate 21

22

H. Leira and I.B. Neumann, “The Many Past Lives of the Consul,” in: J. Melissen and A.M. Fernández eds., Consular Affairs and Diplomacy (Leiden and Boston:  2011), 225–​246; G.  Poumarède, “Consuls, réseaux consulaires et diplomatie à l’époque moderne,” in: R. Sabbatini and P. Volpini eds., Sulla diplomazia in età moderna. Politica, economia, religione (Milan: 2011), 193–​218; Ch. Windler, La diplomatie comme expérience de l’autre: consuls français au Magreb, 1700–​1840 (Geneva: 2002). C. Jahnke, Das Silber des Meeres. Fang und Vertrieb von Ostseehering zwischen Norwegen und Italien (12.-​16. Jahrhundert) (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2000). See also C. Jahnke, “The Medieval Herring Fishery in the Western Baltic,” in: L. Sicking and D. Abreu-​Ferreira eds., Beyond the Catch: Fisheries of the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, 900–​1850 (Leiden and Boston: 2009), 157–​186, 176.

Introduction

9

relations of Dutch governmental institutions and the interests of the Dutch commercial community. Consuls were not elected by the local commercial community abroad, but nominated by leading Amsterdam merchants. Although officially appointed by the States General, they did not act as their representatives. They did, however, have contacts with both the States General in The Hague and with the Dutch ambassador in Madrid, which points to a close connection between consular and diplomatic services. Missionaries as diplomats is the theme of the next section, in which Jacques Paviot and Felicia Roșu discuss, respectively, the role of mendicant friars in the 13th-​century Mongolian empire and that of Jesuits in 16th-​century Muscovy, Poland-​Lithuania, and the Holy Roman Empire. Members of the clergy had come to play important roles in diplomacy ever since the rise of Christianity.23 They offered dignity, solemnity, and a superior knowledge of Latin. Their promise of chastity made them suitable for delicate missions, like checking the fertility of a young princess, and their religious habit offered them additional immunity. When religious and military orders were founded, princes started using their members to carry out diplomatic tasks. Their prestige, their ‘transnational’ networks, their discretion, and their relative neutrality made them attractive for diplomatic service. Often the same men rendered diplomatic services to different princes. Mendicant orders in particular, mainly Franciscans and Dominicans, became responsible for an important part of diplomatic activity. They were experienced travellers and could use the houses of their orders during their journeys. It is thus no coincidence that popes chose mainly Dominicans and Franciscans for their embassies to the Mongols, as Jacques Paviot’s contribution explains. The Dominican Julian of Hungary (1237–​1238) and several papal envoys—​the Franciscan John of Plano Carpini and the Dominicans Andrew of Longjumeau and Ascelin of Cremona (1245–​1247)—​ had to collect information about a people so far unknown in Europe. Secular powers also used mendicants for diplomatic missions, but in the late Middle Ages their share in such tasks eventually declined. For most official diplomatic meetings, however, prelates continued to be used, for example at the congress of Arras in 1435.24

23

24

T. Tanase, “Jusqu’aux limites du monde.” La papauté et la mission franciscaine, de l’Asie de Marco Polo à l’Amérique de Christophe Colomb (Rome: 2013); J.D. Ryan ed., The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions (Farnham: 2013); R. Po-​Chia Hsia, A Companion to Early Modern Catholic Global Missions (Leiden and Boston: 2018); D.  Alden, The Making of an Enterprise:  The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire, and Beyond 1540–​1750 (Stanford: 1996). Moeglin and Péquignot, Diplomatie, 393–​399.

10 

Ebben and Sicking

The successive missions of Dominicans and Franciscans turned out to be mainly missions of intelligence and did not have a representative character. This was primarily due to the fact that the Mongol leaders did not accept Christian envoys as representatives of a sovereign monarch and considered foreign envoys mere messengers. In spite of many frustrated attempts, some mendicant friars did persist and eventually were able to lay the foundations for diplomacy based on representation. Before the end of the 13th century the Franciscan Jean de Montecorvino was sent to Peking and stayed at the palace of Temür Öljeytü Kahn, who considered him an official representative of the most important sovereign of Christianity, namely the pope.25 The development and institutionalization, strictly framed by the pope, of missionary activity would reach its apogee in the 16th century with Jesuits crossing the continents, but started in the 13th and 14th centuries. Missionaries and bishops became official papal representatives abroad and were treated as such by khans and other foreign princes outside Latin Christendom. This representation became an important function of papal imperial aspirations, which resulted in the development of a central church administration, a development initiated in the 13th century in clear rivalry with the Holy Roman Emperor. Khans were not the only non-​Latin rulers to accept the idea of representative envoys. Shortly after the fall of Constantinople in 1453, for example, the Ottomans allowed the Venetians to send a diplomatic representative—​the first permanent European representative—​to their newly conquered metropolis.26 Roșu shows the inevitable interplay of religion, politics, and diplomacy in missionary activities as well as the multiple identities of the diplomat and his personal autonomous touch in diplomatic operations. In her contribution on the missionary and diplomatic operations of the Italian Jesuit Antonio Possevino (1533–​1611), two instances are discussed in which he mediated between eastern-​European secular rulers. In the first case—​between Russia and the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth, which had been at war for decades—​the pope, who had engaged Possevino as mediator, had a personal interest: he was hoping to bring the former warring powers into an alliance against the Ottomans. The mixture of politics and religion becomes clear at different intertwined levels. The second instance concerned mediation in a territorial conflict between Poland-​Lithuania and the Habsburg Emperor Rudolf ii, which turned out to be particularly complicated for Possevino as he had developed 25 26

T. Tanase, “Les envoyés pontificaux en Orient au XIIIe siècle : ambassadeurs ou missionnaires ?,” in: Drocourt ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur, 19–​32, 28. J.D. Tracy, “The Habsburg Monarchy in Conflict with the Ottoman Empire:  A Clash of Civilizations,” Austrian History Yearbook xlvi (2015), 1–​28, 21, 25.

Introduction

11

a close friendship with the Polish king. He used this good relationship to promote Catholicism and to advance the influence of his order in Transylvania, the king’s home country. Roșu’s study reveals that a clergyman such as Possevino could play a variety of roles in premodern diplomacy, whether at the service of a secular or a religious ruler. Instead of being a docile instrument of his superiors, he proved to be a conscientious individual who did not refrain from following his own political and religious convictions. Rather than carrying out obediently the instructions of his superiors, Possevino exemplified the non-​state agent who remained true to his own priorities. Jean-​Baptiste Santamaria’s and Alan Marshall’s contributions constitute the last section on premodern intelligence, espionage, and diplomacy. Diplomacy involves representation, negotiation, and information gathering. The first element is primarily public while the latter two rely mostly on discretion and confidentiality. Secrecy is thus an essential aspect of diplomacy.27 Early modern and contemporary espionage have attracted considerable scholarly attention, contrary to medieval spies.28 This is now rapidly changing. Espionage has become a very popular topic—​in part thanks to the vast interest in the history of information—​and medievalists have taken notice.29 No typical portrait of the medieval spy emerges from the existing literature. Variety predominates: members of the clergy, women, merchants, servants, minstrels all have served as spies or gatherers of secret information. Foreigners, especially expatriate men and women, probably formed the most notable group among those used for espionage. When spying in their homeland they had obvious advantages because of their knowledge of the area and of the language.30 27 28

29 30

J. Black, A History of Diplomacy (London: 2010), 14; Fletcher, Diplomat, 118–​119. L. Bély, Espions et ambassadeurs au temps de Louis XIV (Paris:  1990) and idem, Les secrets de Louis XIV:  mystères d’État et pouvoir absolu (Paris:  2013); N.  Akkerman, Invisible Agents:  Women and Espionage in Seventeenth-​Century Britain (Oxford:  2018); A.  Hugon, Au service du Roi Catholique. “Honorables ambassadeurs et divins espions.” Représentation diplomatique et service secret dans les relations hispano-​françaises de 1598 à 1635 (Madrid:  2004); A.  Marshall, Intelligence and Espionnage in the Reign of Charles II, 1660–​1685 (Cambridge:  1994); Recent examples of studies on medieval espionage and intelligence: N. Bock, H. Simonneau, and B. Walter, “L’information et la diplomatie à la fin du Moyen Âge. L’exemple de Picquigny (1475),” Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 149–​164; B.  Léthenet, “Le renseignement. Une communauté au service du duc de Bourgogne (1407–​1435),” Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 57 (2017), 77-​87; Moeglin and Péquignot, Diplomatie, 645–​671; J.-​B. Santamaria, Le secret du prince. Gouverner par le secret, France Bourgogne XIIIe-​XVe siècle (Ceyzérieu: 2018). E.g. A.  Silvestri, “Ruling from Afar:  Government and Information Management in Late Medieval Sicily,” Journal of Medieval History 42 (2016), 357–​381. Moeglin and Péquignot, Diplomatie, 653–​657.

12 

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Santamaria explains that late medieval spies often were versatile. They combined espionage with diplomacy or other tasks. He argues that reliance on men connected to several networks—which in medieval society most often were ecclesiastical, noble, and urban networks—allowed them to use their versatility and gave their work a transnational character. Noble families, for instance, often had estates and other possessions in different countries. They came under growing pressure when the power of princes rose and clergymen, nobles, and city dwellers were pressured into choosing their allegiance. What exactly this meant for the spies recruited from these networks is an interesting question that needs further research. Alan Marshall in his contribution on clandestine information, espionage, and intelligence raises the question of whether there actually were professional spies in premodern Europe, rather than people spying. There clearly was a lot of espionage and all kinds of people were spying. A great variety of men and women received compensation for their secret services, but not as permanent, official employees or agents of a national secret service. Failing a mature secret service, European rulers and statesmen tended to resort to more fluid and flexible solutions to meet the need for covert information and fill this lacuna by hiring private persons for spying activities. These individuals, obviously no actors on the highest levels of society, were very useful to the official diplomat, mostly of noble birth, who could not lower himself to the dirty work of spying. Outsourcing these tasks was a common practice. Marshall demonstrates with his close study of the White brothers how such agents were able to meet both the secret and public needs of princes and statesmen for information, and contributed as inevitable ‘secret wheels’ to the smooth running of the early modern diplomatic machine. At the end of this introduction, what can be said in general about the non-​ state actor and his diplomatic activities in premodern times—​in particular about consuls, missionaries, and spies? At first glance, the three types who figure so prominently in this volume do not seem to have had much in common, because of their distinct ‘professional backgrounds.’ Variety seems to have been a major characteristic both in the Middle Ages and in the early modern period. Yet, on the diplomatic scene they bear remarkable similarities. It is no exaggeration to state that most of the individual protagonists who appear in the last six chapters have similar capacities and talents, mostly in the area of negotiation, representation, and information gathering, as well as shared characteristics.31 31

M. Keblusek and B.V. Noldus eds., Double Agents: Cultural and Political Brokerage in Early Modern Europe (Leiden and Boston: 2011), 7, 8, 158.

Introduction

13

The multiple loyalties and shifting sympathies of many non-​state actors are typical examples of their behaviour. The White brothers’ volatile interest in French, Spanish, or English rulers was extreme but not uncommon, and even missionaries such as Antonio Possevino who pretended to be impartial, could cherish different loyalties. Consuls worked simultaneously at the service of different interest groups, commercial organizations, local commercial communities, merchant houses, and governmental institutions without neglecting their own business. Most of them were very mobile people who travelled throughout different parts of Europe and beyond and had a network of correspondents and agencies at their disposal. They possessed personal talents and qualities—​ command of languages, networking capabilities, and specialized interest in and knowledge of cultures, religions, and ethnic groups, as did the missionaries to eastern Europe and Asia. Concerning these aspects of the non-​state actor we notice continuity or at least parallels between medieval and early modern consuls, missionaries, and spies. The multifaceted nature or fluidity of consuls, missionaries, and spies and their tasks is striking in both the medieval and early modern case studies. The boundaries between formal, or public, and informal were fluid, as demonstrated by the previously mentioned aspects of loyalty and volatility. The Vögte, for example, represented the merchant communities of Hanseatic cities on the Scania peninsula, yet at the same time had close connections with the city magistrates and in some cases served as their representatives. The count of Holland and Zealand even named the Vogt of the town of Zierikzee at some point to be the representative of all Hollanders and Zealanders in Scania. Using available urban agents at a higher regional level reflects the count’s pragmatism and must have served his own purposes as well. The same may be said about members of missionary orders who, because of their presence and widely recognized stature in a specific foreign region, were employed by rulers as useful temporary official delegates or as unofficial personal agents. Because of the overarching shadow of ‘the state’ in all things diplomatic, traditional Diplomatic History has neglected the study of any actors other than state diplomats in international relations. The studies in the present volume, ultimately, demonstrate that state diplomacy in premodern times has not been all-​determining for Europe’s international relations. By taking consuls, missionaries, and spies as illustrative cases, these studies open up new perspectives on the influence of non-​state actors on European diplomacy in premodern times. Non-​state actors were indispensable intermediaries who facilitated diplomatic relations and were integral to diplomatic information and negotiation. What also matters is that their knowledge, experience, methods and procedures, their personal interests and networks, separately or linked to

14 

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those of their principals, have contributed significantly to shaping the practice and culture of premodern diplomacy and left their mark on it.

Bibliography

Akkerman, N., Invisible Agents: Women and Espionage in Seventeenth-​Century Britain (Oxford: 2018). Alden, D., The Making of an Enterprise: The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire, and Beyond 1540–​1750 (Stanford: 1996). Anderson, M.S., The Rise of Modern Diplomacy, 1450–​1919 (Harlow and New York: 1993). Bartolomei, A., G. Calafat, M. Grenet, and J. Ulbert eds., De l’utilité commerciale des consuls. L’institution consulaire et les marchands dans le monde méditerranéen, XVIIe–​ XIXe siècles (Rome and Madrid: 2017). Bély, L., Espions et ambassadeurs au temps de Louis XIV (Paris: 1990). Bély, L., Les secrets de Louis XIV: mystères d’État et pouvoir absolu (Paris: 2013). Black, J., A History of Diplomacy (London: 2010). Bock, N., H. Simonneau, and B. Walter, “L’information et la diplomatie à la fin du Moyen Âge. L’exemple de Picquigny (1475),” Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 149–​164. Constable, O., Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World: Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge: 2003). Croxton, D., “The Peace of Westphalia of 1648 and the Origins of Sovereignty,” The International History Review 21.3 (1999), 569–​582. Drocourt, N. ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur entre mondes éloignés. Ambassadeurs, envoyés officiels et représentations diplomatiques entre Orient islamique, Occident latin et Orient chrétien, XIe–​XVIe siècle (Rennes: 2015). Duchhardt, H., “Das ‘Westfälische System’; Realität und Mythos,” in: H. von Thiesen and C. Windler eds., Akteure der Aussenbeziehungen: Netzwerke und Interkulturalität im Historischen Wandel (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2010), 393–​402. Ebben, M., and L. Sicking, “Nieuwe diplomatieke geschiedenis van de premoderne tijd. Een inleiding,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 127 (2014), 541–​552. Fletcher, T., The Naked Diplomat: Understanding Power and Politics in the Digital Age (London: 2016). Grenet, M., “Consuls et ‘nations’ étrangères: état des lieux et perspectives de recherche,” Cahiers de la Méditerranée 93 (2016), 25–​34. Hennings, J. and T.A. Sowerby eds., Practices of Diplomacy in the Early Modern World c. 1410–​1800 (London: 2019). Hugon, A., Au service du Roi Catholique. “Honorables ambassadeurs et divins espions.” Représentation diplomatique et service secret dans les relations hispano-​françaises de 1598 à 1635 (Madrid: 2004).

Introduction

15

Jahnke, C., “The Medieval Herring Fishery in the Western Baltic,” in: L. Sicking and D. Abreu-​Ferreira eds., Beyond the Catch: Fisheries of the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, 900–​1850 (Leiden and Boston: 2009), 157–​186. Jahnke, C., Das Silber des Meeres. Fang und Vertrieb von Ostseehering zwischen Norwegen und Italien (12.-​16. Jahrhundert) (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2000). Jaspert, N. and J. Kolditz, “Christlich-​Muslimische Aussenbeziehungen im Mittelmeerraum. Zur räumlichen und religiösen Dimension mittelalterlicher Diplomatie,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 41 (2014), 1–​88. Kaiser, W. ed., La loge et le foundouk. Les dimensions spatiales des pratiques marchandes en Méditerranée, Moyen Âge—​époque contemporaine (Paris: 2014). Keblusek, M. and B.V. Noldus eds., Double Agents: Cultural and Political Brokerage in Early Modern Europe (Leiden and Boston: 2011). Kerling, N.J.H., Commercial Relations of Holland and Zeeland with England from the Late 13th Century to the Close of the Middle Ages (Leiden: 1954). Lazzarini, I., Communication and Conflict: Italian Diplomacy in the Early Renaissance, 1350–​1520 (Oxford: 2015). Lazzarini, I., “Renaissance Diplomacy,” in: I. Lazzarini and A. Gamberti eds., The Italian Renaissance State (Cambridge: 2012), 425–​443. Leira, H. and I.B. Neumann, “The Many Past Lives of the Consul,” in: J. Melissen and A.M. Fernández eds., Consular Affairs and Diplomacy (Leiden and Boston:  2011), 225–​246. Léthenet, B., “Le renseignement. Une communauté au service du duc de Bourgogne (1407–​1435),” Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 57 (2017), 77–​87. Marshall, A., Intelligence and Espionnage in the Reign of Charles II, 1660–​1685 (Cambridge: 1994). Marzagalli, S. and J. Ulbert eds., Les consuls dans tous leurs états: essais et bibliographie (avant 1914), Cahiers de la Méditerranée 93 (2016). Marzagalli, S. ed., Les Consuls en Méditerranée, agents d’information, XVIe–​XXe siècle (Paris: 2015). Mattingly, G., Renaissance Diplomacy (London: 1955). Moeglin, J.-​M. and S. Péquignot, Diplomatie et “relations internationales” au Moyen Âge, IXe–​XVe siècle (Paris: 2017). Osiander, A., “Sovereignty, International Relations, and the Westphalian Myth,” International Organization 55 (2001), 251–​287. Po-​Chia Hsia, R., A Companion to Early Modern Catholic Global Missions (Leiden and Boston: 2018). Poumarède, G., “Consuls, réseaux consulaires et diplomatie à l’époque moderne,” in: R. Sabbatini and P. Volpini eds., Sulla diplomazia in età moderna. Politica, economia, religione (Milan: 2011), 193–​218. Queller, D., The Office of Ambassador in the Middle Ages (Princeton: 1967).

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Ryan, J.D. ed., The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions (Farnham: 2013). Santamaria, J.-​B., Le secret du prince. Gouverner par le secret, France Bourgogne XIIIe–​ XVe siècle (Ceyzérieu: 2018). Sicking, L., “The Medieval Origin of the Factory or the Institutional Foundations of Overseas Trade. Towards a Model for Global Comparison,” The Journal of World History 31: 2 (2020), 295–​326. Silvestri, A., “Ruling from Afar: Government and Information Management in Late Medieval Sicily,” Journal of Medieval History 42 (2016), 357–​381. Sowerby, T.A., “Early Modern Diplomatic History,” History Compass 14 (2016), 441–​456. Stirk, P.M.R., “The Westphalian Model and Sovereign Equality,” Review of International Studies 38 (2012), 641–​660. Tanase, T., “Les envoyés pontificaux en Orient au XIIIe siècle: ambassadeurs ou missionnaires?,” in: N. Drocourt ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur entre mondes éloignés. Ambassadeurs, envoyés officiels et représentations diplomatiques entre Orient islamique, Occident latin et Orient chrétien, XIe–​XVIe siècle (Rennes: 2015), 19–​32. Tanase, T., “Jusqu’aux limites du monde.” La papauté et la mission franciscaine, de l’Asie de Marco Polo à l’Amérique de Christophe Colomb (Rome: 2013). Teschke, B., The Myth of 1648: Class, Geopolitics and the Making of Modern International Relations (London and New York: 2003). Thiesen, H. von, “Diplomatie vom type ancien: Überlegungen zu einem Idealtypus des frühneuzeitlichen Gesantschaftswesens,” in:  H.  von Thiesen and C. Windler eds., Akteure der Aussenbeziehungen:  Netzwerke und Interkulturalität im Historischen Wandel (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2010),492–​503. Tracy, J.D., “The Habsburg Monarchy in Conflict with the Ottoman Empire: A Clash of Civilizations,” Austrian History Yearbook 46 (2015), 1–​28. Tremml-​Werner, B. and D. Goetze, “A Multitude of Actors in Early Modern Diplomacy,” Journal of Early Modern History 23 (2019), 407–​422. Ulbert, J. and G. Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’affirmation d’une institution économique et politique, 1500–​1800 (Rennes: 2006). Wicquefort, A., The Ambassador and his Functions, trans. John Digby (London: 1719). Windler, Ch., La diplomatie comme expérience de l’autre: consuls français au Magreb, 1700–​1840 (Geneva: 2002). Windler, Ch., Missionare in Persien :  Kulturelle Diversität und Normenkonkurrenz im globalen Katholizismus, 17.-​18. Jahrhundert (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2018).

pa rt 1 Theoretical Challenges

∵

­c hapter 1

Premodern Non-​State Agency: The Theoretical, Historical, and Legal Challenge John Watkins In 2008, I introduced a special issue of The Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies (JMEMS) by noting that the time was ripe for a new diplomatic history of Europe, one that approached the diplomatic archive from fresh hermeneutic and disciplinary perspectives.1 At that time, diplomatic history was the sick man of American academic history. It began its decline during the Vietnam War (1955–​1975), when social history supplanted political history as the dominant focus of US departments.2 Study of the relations between polities yielded to the study of social relations within polities, and politics itself all but disappeared in the commitment to history written from the bottom up. The retirements of diplomatic historians trained in the interwar period—​ when diplomatic studies complemented a Wilsonian emphasis on American engagement in the world—​created an opportunity for new scholars working on demographics, American labor relations, agrarian life, industrialization, and urbanization. When these new scholars assumed positions of leadership within the university, they replaced the remaining political historians with a second generation of social historians specializing in race, ethnicity, gender, and sexuality.3 By 1997, Stephen Haber, David Kennedy, and Stephen Krasner lamented “the virtual disappearance of diplomatic history from major historical journals and even from the curriculum of major departments.”4 Writing a decade after Haber, Kennedy, and Krasner, I realized that diplomatic history held an even more precarious position within the American historical academy than it had in 1997. But I was also aware of countercurrents

1 J. Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38 (2008), 1–​14. 2 S.H. Haber, D.M. Kennedy, and S.D. Krasner, “Brothers Under the Skin: Diplomatic History and International Relations,” International Security 22.1 (1997), 34–​43; T.  Judt, “A Clown in Regal Purple,” History Workshop 7 (Spring 1989), 66–​94. 3 P.E. Johnson, “Looking Back at Social History,” Reviews in American History 39.2 (2011), 379–​388. 4 See Haber, Kennedy, and Krasner, 40.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_003

20 Watkins that held out the promise of a renascence, one coming from a surprising range of disciplines. In Europe, the interest has come primarily from historians. In North America, at least for premodern diplomacy, it has come from comparative literary scholars who have the linguistic skills to analyse sources written in several European vernaculars. I suspect the disciplinary and geographical discrepancy has had something to do with the fact that political history held its ground more firmly in Europe, even at the height of the Annales and Bielefeld movements, than it did in the United States. In preparing the JMEMS special issue, I tried to bridge that division by bringing together scholars from both groups in the hope of fostering greater transatlantic and transdisciplinary ­conversation. Other scholars had a similar vision. The same year that our special issue appeared, Karl Schweitzer and Matt Schuman complained that current diplomatic history had fallen so far behind the ‘philosophical mainstream’ of both history and political science that the field needed rebuilding. Fortunately, that rebuilding was already in progress.5 Often in isolation from each other, scholars were finishing monographs, editing collections, organizing conferences, and putting together research groups. The past decade has witnessed renewed interest in the diplomatic past and a particularly robust reinterpretation of diplomatic practice in early modern Europe. Each year, articles and monographs appear that explicitly align themselves with ‘the new diplomatic history’ or ‘the cultural turn in diplomatic studies.’ Currently, scholars use the term ‘new diplomatic history’ to describe a range of scholarly investigations. The common denominator is a turn from diplomatic ends—​alliances, settlements, and treaties—​to the processes for achieving those ends. Diplomacy appears less as a gateway to understanding interstate relations than as a socially and culturally significant phenomenon in its own right. The diplomat and his, and occasionally her, relationship to sovereign power, have acquired a new visibility. So has every stage of diplomatic encounter:  the courtly ceremonies surrounding the commission and reception of diplomats, the gifts they presented and received, the music that entertained them, and the literature that they inspired and often created. Tracey A. Sowerby, for example, is currently writing about the materiality of diplomatic documents, such as the seals and illuminations that adored letters of commission and texts of treaties.6 Other scholars are researching the structure 5 K.W. Schweitzer and M.J. Schumann, “The Revitalization of Diplomatic History:  Renewed Reflections,” Diplomacy and Statecraft 19.3 (2008), 149–​186 (quotation on 150). 6 Sowerby, “Negotiating with the Material Text,” paper presented at the Conference on Diplomacy and Culture in the Early Modern World. Oxford, United Kingdom, 1 August 2014.

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21

and conduct of the diplomatic household, often with attention to the work of secretaries. Mark Netzloff’s studies of the English embassy in Venice raise fundamental legal questions about extraterritoriality, as does Diego Pirillo’s work on the same embassy as a site of religious proselytization.7 Numerous scholars are now examining the diplomat’s association with intelligence gathering and espionage, an interest that dates back at least as far as Mattingly’s work.8 In yet other incarnations, the new diplomatic history shares significant common ground with new work on exploration, conquest, colonization, and empire as scholars take up the question of diplomatic encounters beyond the borders of Christendom. As scholars interested in foreign policy, the history and prehistory of modern international relations, and political theory, we should welcome this apparently ever-​expanding range of inquiry. Given the decades of stagnation around diplomatic history, what we needed most was many scholars writing about diplomacy from many perspectives. The experimentation that we have been seeing is valuable and healthy. But it is now time to begin thinking in metadisciplinary ways, and I do see some recurring problems. First of all, much of this work evades fundamental questions about the subject of inquiry. What exactly do we mean by diplomacy in the first place? By this point, for example, we may all have read papers purporting to be in dialogue with the new diplomatic history that did not have much to do with diplomacy, at least not in any familiar sense. I’m not convinced, for example, that an English poet’s imitation of an Italian sonnet is an inherently diplomatic act. But if that English poet happened to be an embassy secretary, one might be able to make a case about the way that imitation figured in the production of an overarching diplomatic society. It is not self-​evident, and we would probably want some careful definitions of terms for the case to be persuasive and meaningful. The methodology, moreover, would have to support a historically significant claim. If the paper succeeded in isolating a persuasive strategy, or a style of argumentation, that 7 Netzloff, “The Ambassador’s Household:  Sir Henry Wotton, Domesticity, and Diplomatic Writing,” in: R. Adams and R. Cox eds., Diplomacy and Early Modern Culture (New York and London: 2011), 155–​71; Pirillo, The Diplomacy of Refugees: Venice, England and the Reformation (Ithaca and London 2018) and “Espionage and Theology in the Anglo-​Venetian Renaissance,” Mediterranean Studies 25 (2017), 53–​75. 8 Almost all the articles in Adams and Cox, Diplomacy and Early Modern Culture, touch on this theme. See especially Powell, “Scholars, Servants, Spies: William Weldon and William Swerder in England and Abroad” (30–​45); A. Stewart, “Francis Bacon’s Bi-​Lateral Cipher and the Materiality of Early Modern Diplomatic Writing” (120–​137); N. Akkerman, “The Postmistress, the Diplomat, and the Black Chamber: Alexandrine of Taxis and Sir Balthazar Gerbier and the Power of Postal Control” (172–​188).

22 Watkins appeared as well in the English poet’s diplomatic work, it might offer valuable insight into the history of a specific language of diplomatic exchange. A second question involves the status of cross-​cultural contact between Europeans and non-​Europeans. Some scholars write as if all such encounters were inherently diplomatic and as if all individuals were de facto representatives of their countries when they went abroad. Granted, a few international relations scholars come close to saying just that in their discussions of soft diplomacy in the contemporary world. Their arguments make sense with reference to a state system composed of popular democracies in which all citizens imagine themselves as bearers of sovereignty. But such things might not have made the same sense in a world dominated by personal monarchies, where the diplomat’s relationship to the sovereign principle was metaphorical rather than synecdochic. How far we can extend the term ‘diplomacy’ beyond negotiations between official representatives of sovereigns without losing a common point of conversation? This question might be addressed from several different theoretical and disciplinary perspectives, but thus far, it has not been addressed at all. If some scholars have strained the concept of diplomatic history to encompass almost any cross-​cultural contact, others have succumbed to antiquarianism. By the late 15th century, diplomatic archives had become abundant. When we begin supplementing such archives with music, art, literature, and significant social history, the sources on which new diplomatic historians can base their work sprawl. How can we avoid the temptation to present the description of a new source as an end in itself? By approaching the archive with a rigorous set of working questions and hypotheses that engage larger field-​ shaping questions about the character, meaning, and significance of the diplomatic past. Describing texts, objects, ceremonies, or events in the absence of a governing analysis does not get us far. Much interesting work, for example, has explored the gift exchanges that feature in diplomatic encounters. But some of this scholarship bogs down in extensive catalogue description. Why go into all the detail unless we can make it add up to something that changes received understandings of that particular negotiation, a particular country’s diplomatic habits, or the nature of diplomatic gifting? I have a final question about much work that has appeared under the umbrella of the new diplomatic history, one so closely related to the other two that it probably underlies them: has the turn from state affairs to diplomatic processes gone too far? We may be so concerned with processes that we finally have little to say about the interstate relations that they created. To adapt William Butler Yeats, talking about diplomacy without talking about relations between polities is like talking about the dancer without the dance. The eclipse of

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23

the state in some recent writing, particularly by literary scholars and art historians, underlies the drift from argument and analysis to narration. It certainly underlies the tendency to define diplomacy so broadly that it encompasses all intercultural contact and every negotiation, even when it has no demonstrable impact on political relations between two powers. Those of us who committed to the diplomatic turn could benefit both from a greater attention to politics, to the larger stakes hanging over the contacts and negotiations we study, and from some general reflections on the meaning and character of interstate relations. We share a collective responsibility to gain a better understanding of premodern diplomatic culture and practice because it affected so many aspects of premodern life. But I hope that a more thorough investigation of diplomacy will also produce a richer, denser understanding of premodern politics, of the lineages of the modern state system. Only then will we achieve Schweitzer and Schuman’s goal of bringing historical diplomatic studies into dialogue with the philosophical mainstream of both history and political theory. As a first step towards that dialogue, scholars investigating diplomacy across a range of disciplines should probe more deeply into the question of political agency. Agency was a central theme of traditional diplomatic history with its emphasis on credentialization. Garrett Mattingly’s Renaissance Diplomacy, canonized as the definitive treatment of his subject, traced that gradual restriction of diplomatic authority to the men commissioned with varying degrees of power by their respective heads of state.9 According to Mattingly, this restriction marked the emergence of a definitely modern historical practice later followed by the rise of the resident ambassador and reciprocal embassies. Mattingly’s historiography relegated the days when cities and corporations sent out delegations and envoys to the medieval past. For him and generations of historians after him, diplomatic commissions were a prerogative of the rising modern state and diplomats themselves state functionaries. Such historians wrote history from the perspective of the modern Westphalian present, with its world divided into monadic sovereign states represented in the international arena by duly commissioned diplomats. But since Mattingly published his 1955 magnum opus, the world has changed, and with it the language that political theorists and scholars of international relations use to describe it. Above all, they have raised the question of international agency in ways that challenge the previous generation’s exclusive focus on the state, and by implication, its reduction of diplomatic agency to state service. But 9 Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (Boston: 1955).

24 Watkins although ir [international relations] theory has developed in complex ways and now offers multiple ways of interpreting the world, historians continue to write diplomatic history through the biases and assumptions of one paradigm within international relations theory: structuralist realism best articulated by such scholars as Kenneth Waltz, Charles Glazer, John Mearsheimer, and Stephen Walt.10 In contrast to earlier modes of realism, which attributed aggression within the international system to human nature, structural realism—​or neorealism, as it is also known—​attributes it to the structure of the system itself. States exist within anarchy, in the sense that no hierarchically superior power governs, determines, licenses, or restricts their actions. The anarchy itself structures their relations and creates a security dilemma to which all states respond. Since states are ultimately responsible for their own security, they maximize their advantages and minimize their disadvantages in the face of threats. They may form alliances with other similarly threatened states, increase the size of their armies and arsenals, or develop new weapons systems. Such measures typically lead to escalations, with the other side forming counter-​alliances and investing in even greater military preparation. An underlying assumption is the inevitability of war. States that are not actively waging war are either recovering from the last one or preparing for future conflicts. Several aspects of the realist paradigm are problematic as a framework for reflection on the diplomatic past. Realist scholars insist that states are the most significant players in the international system. This leads them to dismiss supranational bodies such as the United Nations, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (nato), and the European Union as mere forums where states sometimes work together but just as often insist on their own national interests. They deny actors below the level of the state have much effect. Realists are notoriously dismissive of domestic politics in their assertion that regardless of which party is elected or who is prime minister, states are going to behave in predictable ways scripted by the anarchy. Instead of politicians changing the system, the system is far more likely to change them. If, according to structural realists, parties, presidents, and prime ministers have little ability to change the international system’s propensity to war, 10

K. Waltz, Theory of International Politics (New York: 1979); S.M. Walt, The Origins of Alliances (Ithaca: 1987); J. Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: 2001); Ch.L. Glazer, Rational Theory of International Politics: The Logic of Competition and Cooperation (Princeton: 2010). On the domination of realist paradigms in international relations scholarship, especially in the first 30 years after the Second World War, see J.A. Vasquez, The Power of Power Politics: From Classical Realism to Neotraditionalism (Cambridge: 1998).

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diplomats have even less.11 Alliances, treaties, and truces are really the work of the states themselves rather than of individual diplomats, who are reduced at best to secondary or tertiary causal agents. If it serves the interest of two states to form an alliance against a third, they will do so regardless of the talents or ineptitudes of diplomats. Realists rarely speak of diplomats per se, but their larger theory basically reduces diplomats to cogs in a wheel. Diplomacy itself is simply a mechanism for applying the logic of the anarchy to particular circumstances. Like presidents and prime ministers, diplomats may more or less effectively serve the interests of their states. But those interests are scripted by the anarchy, and the fundamental narrative remains fixed. Historians rarely engage realism or any other body of international relations theory directly in their work.12 The few who do generally attack such theory by pointing to exceptional instances, as if a few falsifying examples negate a body of theory designed to establish models on the basis of aggregate trends. Especially with respect to realism, this strategy of looking for contrary instances leaves intact and even reinforces the fundamental vocabularies and statist orientation of the theory. Paul Schroeder’s often-​cited essay “Historical Reality vs. Neorealist Theory,” for instance, notes numerous cases in which states, contrary to realist generalizations, have not coped with systemic threats by balancing alliances with other states.13 Some have done just the opposite thing and ‘bandwagoned,’ or thrown in their lot, with an aggressor. But if Schroeder’s examples might invite its readers to emend one major point of realist theory, its emphasis on balancing, he still analyses power relations primarily in terms of military force and privileges states themselves as the sole protagonists in international affairs. Even when explicitly citing ethnicities within the Austrian empire as examples of significant actors below the level of the state, he talks about them because they have the revolutionary potential to become states in their own right. Schroeder argues against realism on realism’s own terms and so fails to develop a historiographical alternative to its premises. Just as the classical realism of Hans Morgenthau and E.H. Carr developed in response to the collapse of the Versailles regime and the outbreak of World War ii, the neorealist formulations of Waltz and Mearsheimer developed in response to the Cold War (1945–​1991) and the balancing acts that sustained 11 12 13

See P. Sharp, Diplomatic Theory of International Relations (Cambridge: 2009), 53–​71. G. Reynolds, “History, Theory and the Narrative Turn in IR,” Review of International Studies 32. 4 (2006), 703–​714, especially 706. Schroeder, “Historical Reality vs. Neorealist Theory,” International Security 19.1 (1994), 108–​148.

26 Watkins a bipolar global order.14 But with an almost exclusive emphasis on military power and state agency, their analyses failed to account for another major development of the Cold War period: the growing significance of international corporations; of intergovernmental agencies such as the UN, nato, the World Bank, the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (opec), and the Islamic Developmental Bank; and of non-​governmental agencies (ngo s) such as Oxfam, Amnesty International, and Doctors Without Borders. By the late 20th century, any theory of international politics that failed to appreciate or account for these seemed reductive and incomplete. With the 1977 publication of Power and Interdependence, Robert O.  Keohane and Josephy S.  Nye, Jr. offered a powerful challenge to state-​centered accounts of international politics, one that offers historians a better basis than realism for developing interpretations of the diplomatic past.15 Their work, which soon came to be known as complex interdependence theory, differed from structural realism by focusing not just on the interactions between states per se but all the other channels through which human societies interact. Military relations between states remain an important vector of analysis. But complex interdependence also takes into consideration other modes of formal and informal contact through which governments, government elites, and non-​government elites interact with each other and with intergovernmental agencies and ngo s. For Nye and Keohane and for the numerous other international relations scholars who have further developed their insights, power relations between states are a multifaceted blend of ‘hard’ and ‘soft,’ ‘coercive’ and ‘persuasive’ forces that interact in the military, diplomatic, economic, and cultural spheres. More than either classical or structural realism, the body of theory that has developed in the wake of Nye and Keohane opens a space for authentic diplomatic agency. Diplomats need not be automatons responding to the inexorable logic of the anarchy. One might think of them instead as orchestra conductors interpreting and managing the counterpoint of economic, cultural, political, and military forces. Under the conditions of complex interdependence, traditional diplomats acquire new identities in their interactions not just with other credentialed diplomats or heads of state but also with entrepreneurs, heads of multinational corporations, ngo s, philanthropists, religious leaders, 14 Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1948); Carr, The Twenty Years’ Crisis, 1919–​1939: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations (London: 1939; revised edition, 1946). 15 Power and Interdependence (Boston: 1977). The book has now gone through four editions, the last published in 2011.

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writers, artists, and even private citizens. Interdependence forces us to reexamine precisely what we mean by diplomacy in the first place. What finally is a diplomat in an intricately networked world? And what counts as diplomacy? After all, non-​state agents do not only interact with representatives of states, but also interact with each other. As remote as these actions might seem from the concerns of traditional diplomatic history, they have an undeniable impact on the shaping of the modern state system. In the discourse of contemporary ir, non-​state agency has no limits of scale.16 The term covers everything from supranational entities like the UN and the EU to subnational entities like Jimmy Carter. At least in the West, popular sympathy seems to have shifted from supranational organizations to small-​ scale agents, even isolated heroic individuals. One of the most intriguing recent films about state affairs, Steven Spielberg’s Bridge of Spies, takes up the problem of non-​stage agency with its focus on James Donovan.17 Based on an actual 1962 incident, the film celebrates Donovan’s success as a non-​commissioned negotiator in exploiting tensions between Soviet and East German interests to secure the release of two American citizens held captive for espionage. As often happens in the history of diplomatic representation, stories, films, and paintings expose the fantasies that govern our collective understandings of the contemporary state system. In the case of The Bridge of Spies, the historical fiction is complex. In contrast to many a lesser Cold War thriller, it does not console us with comforting recollections of a bipolar world in which everyone knew who the enemy was. By stressing divisions within the Soviet bloc, it argues that Cold War politics may have been less clear-​cut than we imagine. The film’s nostalgia is less for highly organized conflict between superpowers than for a moment when non-​state agency seemed like an unambiguously benevolent solution to diplomatic intractabilities. It remembers when non-​state agents were the good guys (unicef, the Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, Jimmy Carter and Bono) rather than Vattenfall, the Koch Corporation, and Al-​ Qaeda. 16

17

For examples of ir work on non-​state agency, see D.  Josselin and W.  Wallace, eds., Non-​state Actors in World Politics (Houndmills, UK:  2001); Ph. Alston, ed., Non-​state Actors and Human Rights (Oxford:  2005); D.  Armstrong et  al., eds., Civil Society and International Governance: The Role of Non-​state Actors in the EU, Africa, Asia and Middle East (London: 2010); C.M. Balliet, ed., Non-​state Actors, Soft Law and Protective Regimes from the Margins (Cambridge: 2012). See also the essays collected by B. Reinalda, ed., The Ashgate Research Companion to Non-​State Actors (Farnham, Surrey: 2011). For prior transhistorical considerations of non-​state agency, see J.  Watkins, ed., “Non-​state Actors in Mediterranean Politics,” a special issue of Mediterranean Studies 25.1 (2017). Bridge of Spies, directed by Steven Spielberg (Glendale, CA: DreamWorks, 2015).

28 Watkins From graduate ir seminars to Hollywood, non-​state agency is a topic of immediate interest, bound up with sometimes irrational hopes and fears about the non-​state actors’ ability to resolve or exacerbate international conflicts. Those of us who are interested in the diplomatic past, particularly in the more nuanced recovery of that past associated with the New Diplomatic History at its best, need to join that conversation. Our role is, among other things, a corrective one: non-​state agency was a feature of the diplomatic landscape long before the 20th century. Complex interdependence theory arose in a particular political and academic context, where it provides an intellectual basis and justification for the liberal world order that emerged after the Second World War. But as historians such as Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell have argued, human communities have always been interdependent in complex ways.18 Anyone familiar with the diplomatic correspondence collected in the Public Record Office at Kew, the Archivio di Stato di Venezia, or any other state archive knows how many letters and dispatches connected governments not just with commissioned ambassadors but also with entrepreneurs, intelligencers, clerics, missionaries, merchants, and other private parties who offered everything from money to information to policy advice, sometimes solicited and sometimes not. My research on the period leading up to England’s entry into the Eighty Years’ War (1568–​1648) keeps turning up such individuals. But our work must not be merely corrective. It is not enough to say that International Relations scholars have an inadequate knowledge of history and retreat into antiquarianism. We need to explain why a more robust understanding of state and non-​state agency in premodern Europe matters. What general conclusions, for example, can we draw about the proliferation of non-​ state actors and the overall health of a multi-​state system? What role does non-​ state agency play in the interlocking and often fraught questions of international order and international justice? Do non-​state agents promote greater order or do they destabilize the system? Do different sovereign environments promote different kinds of non-​state agents? Was there a difference, for example, between the non-​state players who functioned in the Venetian sphere of influence and those who functioned around the Ottoman or Habsburg courts? To what extent can models of non-​state agency gleaned from premodernity illuminate contemporary problems? Modern complex interdependence theorists stress the limitations of assessing state power in terms of military clout and draw heavily on Nye and Keohane’s insistence that the state system depends on a diffusion of cultural and economic power as well as political. Did 18

Horden and Purcell, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford: 2001).

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the premodern system work in a similar way? That strikes me as a question of vital interest to those of us who work on the premodern sea, on the Italian merchant republics, or on the Hanseatic League and other trading powers in the North Sea. As we begin asking such questions, we need to steer between anachronism and antiquarianism. Let’s begin with anachronism:  how can we even talk about non-​state agency before the rise of the modern, bureaucratized state? Or international relations before there were nations? Even speaking of diplomatic relations is tricky, since the term ‘diplomacy’ itself dates both in French and English from the late 18th century. At all times, we need to be aware of the differences between modern states and premodern polities, and we need to become more aware of the subtle, often unconscious ways in which modern understandings and expectations overdetermine our accounts of the past. On the other hand, we cannot let fear of anachronism drive us into antiquarianism.19 Premodern sovereignties were not the same thing as modern states. But the modern state system developed out of those earlier sovereignties through complex historical transitions. The questions that international relations scholars ask of modern states are not irrelevant to the questions we might ask about premodern ones, and we stand to learn much from work on modern political theory. And modern political theorists have something to learn from all the work that has been done since Garrett Mattingly. Political theorists, for example, are struggling to comprehend and model the reappearance of religion as a force in modern state relations.20 This is where premodernists surely have something to contribute. We know a lot more than Mattingly did, for example, about the complexities of religious identity 19 20

On the limits of antiquarianism, see H. Trevor-​Roper, “The Past and the Present: History and Sociology,” Past and Present 42 (1969), 3–​17. It is unfortunate that the first major instance of the ‘religious turn’ in ir was S.P. Huntington’s “Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs, 72.3 (1993), 22–​49 and his later book, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: 1996). For more recent work, much of it a direct challenge to Huntington, see F. Petito and P. Hatzopoulos, Religion in International Relations:  The Return from Exile (Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire: 2003); M. Juergensmeyer, Global Rebellion: Religious Challenges to the Secular State, from Christian Militias to al Qæda (Berkeley: 2008); V. Kubálková, “A ‘Turn to Religion’ in International Relations?” Perspectives 2 (2009), 13–​63; J.  Snyder, ed., Religion and International Relations Theory (New York: 2011); J.A. Camilleri, “Postsecularist Discourse in an ‘Age of Transition,’ ” Review of International Studies 38.5 (2012), 1019–​39; J. Haynes, Religious Transnational Actors and Soft Power (Farnham, Surrey: 2012); E. Shakman Hurd, “International Politics After Secularism,” Review of International Studies 38.5 (2012), 943–​ 961; T. Jodok, ed., Religion and the Realist Tradition: From Political Theology to International Relations Theory and Back (London: 2013).

30 Watkins in the premodern world, and about the role of non-​state agents in producing and modifying those identities. On a more abstract level, modern ir theory has recently taken up the topic of surprise and risk management: how should the international system respond in the face of the unexpected and incalculable? Paul Bracken, Ian Brimmer, and David Gordon see this as a challenge for a generation lulled by the seeming safety and predictability of the immediate post-​Soviet period.21 But instead of analysing the radical unpredictability of the present through analogy to the Cold War, an ordered system grounded in the opposition between two strongly defined states, we might look instead to early modernity, with its confusing welter of states, imperial hegemons, and myriad non-​state players. This structural complexity made the early modern world a dangerously unpredictable place. Relatively poor communication and intelligence infrastructures compounded the confusion.22 Surprise attacks, for example, were so common that Emer de Vattel included a discussion of them in his 1758 Law of Nations.23 Personal monarchies tied foreign policy to accidents of birth, death, and marriage, as well as to personal caprice. Henry viii (1509–​ 1547) reversed alliances so often during the Habsburg-​Valois wars that he left his diplomats often bewildered and uncertain about their role at foreign courts. Above all, the early modern world anticipated the complexities of the current diplomatic landscape, where commissioned diplomats share their tasks of representation, information-​sharing, and even negotiation with multinational corporations, ngo s, news media, social media platforms, and individual writers, filmmakers, performers, and philanthropists. With that in mind, I want to conclude with one example of cross-​resonances between premodern and contemporary problems of state and non-​state agency. One of the great questions in modern international law is that of compliance: why do states abide by international conventions or treaty agreements in the absence of an overarching, coercive authority?24 The realist answer is straightforward: they comply 21

Bracken, Bremmer, and Gordon, eds., Managing Strategic Surprise:  Lessons from Risk Management and Risk Assessment (Cambridge:  2008). See especially their volume introduction, 1–​15. 22 See D.  Croxton, “ ‘The Prosperity of Arms Is Never Continual’:  Military Intelligence, Surprise, and Diplomacy in 1640s Germany,” The Journal of Military History 64.4 (2000), 981–​1003. 23 Vattel, Le Droit des gens; ou, Principes de la loi naturelle appliqués à la conduite et aux affaires des nations et des souverains (1758), c­ hapter 10, section 176. 24 There is a vast bibliography on the problem of compliance, and the overarching question of the binding status of international law. See, for example, A. Chayes and A. Handler Chayes, The New Sovereignty:  Compliance with International Regulatory Agreements (Cambridge:  1995); H.H. Koh, “Transnational Legal Process after September 11th”

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with international law only if it serves their interests, at least on the balance. When it no longer does, they disregard it. For structural realists, international law is nothing but a comforting fiction. Neo-​Grotians, or Neo-​Rationalists, such as members of the so-​called English School of International Relations, on the other hand, argue that law is real. They insist that states generally act according to the principle that pacta sunt servanda, that agreements are to be upheld, in their relations with each other, even when it means setting their interests aside. Progressivist legal theorists offer a compromise between these opposing schools. According to them, states are in the process of learning how to act more and more in accordance with an expanding legal regime. Early modern theorists of international law struggled with these same questions. Francisco de Vitoria, Jean Bodin, Hugo Grotius, and numerous other jurists stated categorically that the principle pacta sunt servanda was a cornerstone of the law of nations.25 As the Oxford Professor of Civil Law Alberico Gentili put it: All the dealings of a sovereign are upon the basis of right and justice. … More abundant faith is demanded in the contracts of princes … and the name of treaty (foedus) is by some derived from faith (fides) … And good faith ought to hold the chief place in it.26 Although Gentili acknowledged the principle, he noted, however, that sovereigns often broke the treaties they drafted and ratified at the end of wars.27 As an Italian refugee steeped in Machiavelli, Gentili swings inconsistently between antecedents of modern rationalism and realism. For some time now, I  have been turning to the diplomatic archive to see just how much a consciousness of the theoreticians’ Law of Nations, and particularly of the principle that pacta sunt servanda, influenced the actual Berkeley Journal of International Law 22 (2004), 337–​354; Koh, “The Globalization of Freedom,” Yale Journal of International Law 305 (2001), 305–​312; Trachtman, The Future of International Law: Global Government (Cambridge: 2013); A. Moravcsik, “Liberal Theories of International Law,” in: J.L. Dunoff and M.A. Pollack, eds., Interdisciplinary Perspectives on International Law and International Relations: The State of the Art, (Cambridge: 2013), 83–​118. 25 See O.  Dörr and K.  Schmalenbach, eds., Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties:  A Commentary (Berlin:  2012), 428–​30; T.  Knutsen, A History of International Relations Theory, 2nd ed. (Manchester: 1997), 86, 90–​91, 113, 118–​119. 26 Gentili, De iure belli libri tres, trans. J.C. Rolfe, 2 vols (Oxford: 1933), 2:361. 27 Gentili, 2: 353–​366.

32 Watkins behaviour of 16th-​century polities. My initial research yielded mostly negative evidence:  diplomats and rulers alike only mentioned the ius gentium when they were accusing another state of acting illegally. But as I have turned to the years leading up to England’s 1585 entry into the Eighty Years’ War, I have come across a striking site of explicit legal consciousness: England and Spain sometimes resorted to non-​state agents to avoid, or to explain away, open breaches of treaties. The 1573 Convention of Nijmegen and the 1574 Treaty of Bristol, for example, marked a temporary truce in an escalating feud between the two countries that involved England’s seizure of Spanish gold and the fact that both countries were harbouring rebels and privateers.28 The agreements restored commercial relations between the two countries, but English merchants soon complained of religious harassment by Spain. As Roger Bodenham wrote to Lord Burghley: I cannot perceive that there is any peace meant here, for of late divers men have been taken and imprisoned by the Inquisition and their goods taken and spoiled, so that though peace is made with the King of Spain there remains another King to conclude with who commands, and who is of the spirituality.29 When Elizabeth’s envoys reported the harassment, Philip’s ministers repeatedly said the government could do nothing about it, since the Inquisition was fully independent, a non-​state agent not bound by treaties between Philip ii and other heads of state. The Spanish made this excuse so often that it became almost a joke within diplomatic circles. Even the king of Morocco quipped that “the King of Spain cannot govern his own country but is governed by the Pope and the Inquisition.”30 The implication was that the Spanish would always blame the Inquisition for their failure to abide by agreements. In De iure belli, such behaviour led Gentili to complain that “these Catholics have two pens, and two tongues.”31 But, pace Gentili, Catholics were not the only ones who appealed to non-​state agency to avoid open breaches of treaties and 28

W.T. MacCaffrey provides a useful summary of the events leading up to these agreements in The Shaping of the Elizabethan Regime (Princeton: 1968), 271–​290. See also G.D. Ramsay, The Queen’s Merchants and the Revolt of the Netherlands (Manchester: 1986), 91–​179. 29 Letter from Roger Bodenham to Lord Burghley, dated 4 January, 1575. In J.  Stevenson, A.J. Butler, S.C. Lomas, A.B. Hinds, and R.B. Wernham, Calendar of State Papers Foreign, Elizabeth, 1558–​1589, 23 vols (London, 1863–​1950), 11:2. 30 Letter of Edmund Hogan to the queen, dated 11 June, 1577. In CSP Foreign Series, Elizabeth, 11:599. 31 Gentili, 2:362.

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33

legal convention. At least according to early modern jurists, the law of nations forbade sovereigns to support rebellions against another sovereign. Gentili further asserted that rebels did not enjoy rights of embassy. Yet the same Elizabeth who repeatedly condemned Spain for violating ius gentium not only received embassies from William the Silent and the rebellious provinces in the Netherlands but eventually, albeit with reluctance, sent them money and troops to aid their rebellion against Spain. She also aided the Huguenots. All this is well known, but what deserves attention is Elizabeth’s use of unofficial, non-​state agents to gloss over her violations both of general legal principle and agreements not to aid these rebels. In 1575, for example, an agreement with the French Crown prevented her from giving aid to Prince de Condé and his Huguenot rebels. So she secretly sent an envoy to the elector Palatine with an offer of money to get him to provide the aid instead, on the condition “that her name not be expressed in any of the contracts or writings between the Count Palatine and the Prince of Condé.”32 We usually think of non-​state actors as people of relatively humble social positions. But in this case, Elizabeth effectively persuaded and paid none other than an Imperial elector to do her bidding. Philip’s deference to the Spanish Inquistion and Elizabeth’s money-​ laundering are only two passing cases in a welter of correspondence documenting the expansion of non-​state agency in the confusion of the Dutch and Huguenot rebellions. Although jurists insisted on the exclusive rights of sovereigns alone to commission embassies, Protestant rulers like Elizabeth found themselves negotiating more and more with rebels in a breakdown of legal norms. In often clumsy efforts to support the rebels without violating their agreements with peer sovereigns, they engaged in all kinds of clandestine financial transactions handled by local brokers and go-​betweens without any official commissions. Throughout the 1570s and 1580s, non-​state agency went hand-​in-​hand with international lawlessness. Non-​state agency has a significant, and largely unexamined, place in the longue durée history of international justice. In the cases that I have just examined, it fills the gaps that open when law conflicts with other compelling interests, such as religion, ethnicity, and national security. Non-​state agents can do things that states cannot do, at least openly, out of deference to law and to agreements with other sovereign powers. From a legal point of view, therefore, their presence in the international arena can be troubling. In cases that I have

32

Answer sent by the queen to the elector Palatine and John Casimir by Sir William Melvil, dated May, 1575. In CSP Foreign Series, Elizabeth, 11:151.

34 Watkins examined, they allowed sovereigns to abide by the letter of the ius gentium in full violation of its spirit. In undercutting the law, they also worked to destabilize the system and bring sovereigns closer to open war. This analysis is only one part of a much more complicated story. I could just as easily find examples where non-​state agency enhanced rather than eroded the stability of international society. I have raised these questions about the relations of non-​state agency to emerging legal consciousness less to indulge in depressing and premature generalizations than to suggest how examples of non-​state agency at particular historical moments point to larger theoretical concerns that continue to engage the international community. Questions about the nature of the international law, compliance, verification, and the role of non-​state agents both in expanding and subverting treaty regimes are of perennial interest. Bringing them to bear on the premodern archive offers one way to overcome the antiquarianism that can reduce the most ambitious research program to irrelevance. The new diplomatic history has reached a juncture in its evolution as a transdisciplinary inquiry. In turning from credentialed diplomats to the myriad non-​state agents who joined them in laying the foundations of modern international society, we must begin theorizing the nature of the premodern state and of the overarching political and economic systems in which state and non-​state agents alike interacted. We must also decide what we mean by ‘diplomacy.’ Political theorists are turning away from institutional to functional definitions of ‘diplomacy’ in order to accommodate the prominence of non-​ state agents, from ngo s to international firms to transnational organizations, in shaping contemporary international relations. As John Robert Kelly has argued, “the age of diplomacy as an institution is giving way to an age of diplomacy as a behavior.”33 For better or for worse, diplomacy is no longer the monopoly of credentialed diplomats. As early modernists working on a period when modern diplomatic institutions and bureaucracies were in their infancy, we need to recognize how an anachronistic understanding of diplomacy primarily in terms of institutions rather than of behaviours and processes might constrain our research and prevent a richer dialogue with scholars working on later periods, including the contemporary moment. By doing so, we will be better able to describe and analyse the diplomatic work carried out not only by credentialed ambassadors, envoys, and secretaries, but also by merchants, officials of joint stock companies, missionaries, refugees, exiles, artists, writers, and ordinary travellers. 33

Kelly, “The New Diplomacy: The Evolution of a Revolution,” Diplomacy and Statecraft 21.2 (2010), 286–​305 (quotation on 288).

Premodern Non-State Agency



Sources and Bibliography



Printed sources

35

Calendar of State Papers Foreign, Elizabeth, 1558–​1589. Eds. J. Stevenson, A.J. Butler, S.C. Lomas, A.B. Hinds, and R.B. Wernham. 23 vols (London: 1863–​1950). Gentili, A. De iure belli libri tres. trans. J.C. Rolfe, 2 vols (Oxford: 1933). Vattel, Emer de, Le Droit des gens; ou, Principes de la loi naturelle appliqués à la conduite et aux affaires des nations et des souverains (1758).

Bibliography

Adams, R. and R. Cox eds., Diplomacy and Early Modern Culture (New York and London 2011). Alston, Ph. ed., Non-​state Actors and Human Rights (Oxford: 2005). Armstrong, D. et al. eds, Civil Society and International Governance: The Role of Non-​ state Actors in the EU, Africa, Asia and Middle East (London: 2010). Balliet, C.M. ed., Non-​state Actors, Soft Law and Protective Regimes from the Margins (Cambridge: 2012). Bracken, P., I. Bremmer, and D. Gordon eds., Managing Strategic Surprise: Lessons from Risk Management and Risk Assessment (Cambridge: 2008). Camilleri, J.A., “Postsecularist Discourse in an ‘Age of Transition,’ ” Review of International Studies 38.5 (2012), 1019–​39. Carr, E.H., The Twenty Years’ Crisis, 1919–​1939: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations (London: 1939; revised edition, 1946). Chayes, A. and A. Handler Chayes, The New Sovereignty: Compliance with International Regulatory Agreements (Cambridge: 1995). Croxton, D., “ ‘The Prosperity of Arms Is Never Continual’: Military Intelligence, Surprise, and Diplomacy in 1640s Germany,” The Journal of Military History 64.4 (2000), 981–​1003. Dörr, O. and K. Schmalenbach eds., Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties: A Commentary (Berlin: 2012). Glazer, Ch.L., Rational Theory of International Politics: The Logic of Competition and Cooperation (Princeton: 2010). Haber, S.H., D.M. Kennedy, and S.D. Krasner. “Brothers Under the Skin: Diplomatic History and International Relations.” International Security 22.1 (1997), 34–​43. Haynes, J., Religious Transnational Actors and Soft Power (Farnham, Surrey: 2012). Horden, P. and N. Purcell, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford: 2001). Huntington, S.P., “Clash of Civilizations,” Foreign Affairs, 72.3 (1993), 22–​49. Huntington, S.P., The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: 1996).

36 Watkins Jodok, T. ed., Religion and the Realist Tradition: From Political Theology to International Relations Theory and Back (London: 2013). Johnson, P.E., “Looking Back at Social History,” Reviews in American History 39.2 (2011),379–​388. Josselin, D. and W. Wallace eds., Non-​state Actors in World Politics (Houndmills: 2001). Judt, T., “A Clown in Regal Purple,” History Workshop 7 (Spring 1989), 66–​94. Juergensmeyer, M., Global Rebellion:  Religious Challenges to the Secular State, from Christian Militias to al Qæda (Berkeley: 2008). Kelly, J.R., “The New Diplomacy: The Evolution of a Revolution,” Diplomacy and Statecraft 21.2 (2010). Keohane, R.O. and J.S. Nye. Power and Interdependence. (Boston: 1977). Knutsen, T., A History of International Relations Theory, 2nd ed. (Manchester: 1997). Koh, H.H., “The Globalization of Freedom,” Yale Journal of International Law 305 (2001), 305–​312. Koh, H.H., “Transnational Legal Process after September 11th” Berkeley Journal of International Law 22 (2004), 337–​354. Kubálková, V., “A ‘Turn to Religion’ in International Relations?” Perspectives 2 (2009), 13–​63. MacCaffrey, W.T., The Shaping of the Elizabethan Regime (Princeton: 1968). Mattingly, G.. Renaissance Diplomacy. (Boston: 1955). Mearsheimer, J., The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: 2001). Moravcsik, A., “Liberal Theories of International Law,” in: J.L. Dunoff and M.A. Pollack eds., Interdisciplinary Perspectives on International Law and International Relations: The State of the Art, (Cambridge: 2013), 83–​118. Morgenthau, H., Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace (New York: 1948). Netzloff, M., “The Ambassador’s Household: Sir Henry Wotton, Domesticity, and Diplomatic Writing,” in:  Adams and Cox eds., Diplomacy and Early Modern Culture, 155–​171. Petito, F. and P. Hatzopoulos, Religion in International Relations: The Return from Exile (Houndmills: 2003). Pirillo, D., “Espionage and Theology in the Anglo-​Venetian Renaissance,” Mediterranean Studies 25 (2017), 53–​75. Pirillo, D., The Diplomacy of Refugees: Venice, England and the Reformation (Ithaca and London: 2018). Ramsay, G.D., The Queen’s Merchants and the Revolt of the Netherlands (Manchester: 1986). Reinalda, B. ed., The Ashgate Research Companion to Non-​State Actors (Farnham, Surrey: 2011). Reynolds, G. “History, Theory and the Narrative Turn in IR,” Review of International Studies 32.4 (2006), 703–​714.

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Schroeder, P., “Historical Reality vs. Neorealist Theory,” International Security 19.1 (1994), 108–​148. Schweitzer, K.W. and M.J. Schumann. “The Revitalization of Diplomatic History: Renewed Reflections,” Diplomacy and Statecraft 19.3 (2008), 149–​186. Shakman Hurd, E., “International Politics after Secularism,” Review of International Studies 38.5 (2012), 943–​961. Sharp, P., Diplomatic Theory of International Relations (Cambridge: 2009). Snyder, J. ed., Religion and International Relations Theory (New York: 2011). Sowerby, T.A., “Negotiating with the Material Text,” paper presented at the Conference on Diplomacy and Culture in the Early Modern World. Oxford, United Kingdom, August 1, 2014. Trachtman, J.P., The Future of International Law: Global Government (Cambridge: 2013). Trevor-​Roper, H., “The Past and the Present: History and Sociology,” Past and Present 42 (1969), 3–​17. Vasquez, J.A., The Power of Power Politics: From Classical Realism to Neotraditionalism (Cambridge: 1998). Walt, S.M, The Origins of Alliances (Ithaca: 1987). Waltz, K., Theory of International Politics (New York: 1979). Watkins, J., “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38 (2008), 1–​14. Watkins, J. ed., “Non-​state Actors in Mediterranean Politics,” a special issue of Mediterranean Studies 25.1 (2017).

­c hapter 2

Plurality of Diplomatic Agents in Premodern Literature on the Ambassador Dante Fedele 1

Medieval Roots

Italian jurists began to consider the question of embassy and the figure of the ambassador in the late 12th century. The literature of the period reveals their interest in various aspects of this topic, the lexicons, regulation, and practices of which were far from homogenous and quite impossible to systematize.1 The Roman law texts collected in the Corpus iuris civilis offered few clues, since these laws rarely dealt with the topic: the de legationibus sections in the Digesta and the Codex mainly referred to the legatus understood not as an ambassador, but as a domestic agent whose task it was to serve as a link between the empire’s cities and provinces and its centre.2 Yet, networks of diplomatic relations in northern and central Italy had multiplied during the course of the century, significantly influencing the political and institutional development of communes.3 It was within this context that the ius commune jurists, who were often themselves directly involved in diplomatic missions, began to develop rules and principles in order to define the status of the ambassador and establish a regulatory framework for his activities, even before the communes

1 For a recent synthesis on medieval diplomatic practice, see J.-​M. Moeglin and S. Péquignot, Diplomatie et “relations internationales” au Moyen Âge (IXe-​XVe siècle) (Paris:  2017), 345–​493. 2 See W. Eck, “Diplomacy as Part of the Administrative Process in the Roman Empire,” in: C. Eilers ed., Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World (Leiden: 2009), 193–​207, and F. Hurlet, “Les ambassadeurs dans l’Empire romain. Les légats des cités et l’idéal civique de l’ambassade sous le Haut-​Empire,” in: A. Becker and N. Drocourt eds., Ambassadeurs et ambassades au cœur des relations diplomatiques. Rome—​Occident Médiéval—​Byzance (VIIIe s. avant J.-​C.–​XIIe s. après J.-​C.) (Metz: 2012), 101–​126. Exceptions can be found, for instance, in Dig. 50.7.18(17), concerning diplomatic immunities granted to “legat[i]‌hostium,” and in Cod. 4.61.8, concerning “legat[i] gentium.” 3 See M. Vallerani, “I rapporti intercittadini nella regione lombarda tra XII e XIII secolo,” in: G. Rossetti ed., Legislazione e prassi istituzionale nell’Europa medievale. Tradizioni normative, ordinamenti, circolazione mercantile (secoli XI-​XV) (Naples: 2001), 221–​290.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_004

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39

themselves tackled the question in their legislation.4 The earliest record of this conceptual engagement appears at the end of the 12th century in the Summae Trium Librorum by Pillius de Medicina and Rolandus de Lucca5; these ideas were then developed in the doctrine of the 13th and 14th centuries, while canon lawyers—​on the basis of the works of Henricus de Segusio and Gulielmus Durandus in particular—​laid the foundations of the doctrine on papal legates.6 One of the main questions of interest to jurists was the public role of the ambassador (legatus), referred to by the terms officium and munus publicum. The latter in particular, rooted in the Roman system of the munera—​public services which Roman citizens had to perform for the municipium7—​showed the obligatory nature of the role, which (with certain exceptions) had to be carried out by the person appointed for as long as had been stipulated. The definition of the ambassador’s status was, moreover, linked to that of the cities themselves, for whether they were private or public entities was to become a widely discussed question: Rolandus de Lucca’s assertion, at the end of the 12th century, that cities had a public nature and the ambassador was the agent nominated to accept a public office, would prove pioneering.8 This view came to typify late-​medieval juridical opinion on the ambassador, and the assumption of the role’s public nature would become profoundly influential—​for example with regard to the right to send an ambassador: as Accursius’ Glossa ordinaria informs us, the term legatus was meant to be used only for envoys sent by a civitas, a provincia, or an ecclesia, or by the emperor or the pope, while someone sent by a private individual was a nuncius or missus—​and not a legatus.9 Similarly, only someone whose mission was on behalf of a city or other public subject could enjoy the privilege of being considered “absent on public business” (absens rei publicae causa), and thereby benefit from the restitutio in integrum upon his return to his country (entailing the

4 On the communal statutes, see P.  Gilli, “Ambassades et ambassadeurs dans la législation statutaire italienne (XIIIe-​XIVe siècle),” in: S. Andretta, S. Péquignot and J.-C. Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur. Les écrits relatifs à l’ambassadeur et à l’art de négocier du Moyen Âge au début du XIXe siècle (Rome: 2015), 57–​86. 5 See E. Conte and S. Menzinger, La Summa trium librorum di Rolando da Lucca (1195–​1234). Fisco, politica, scientia iuris (Rome: 2012), 234–​243. 6 On the latter, see R.C. Figueira, “‘Legatus apostolicae sedis,’ the Pope’s ‘alter ego’ according to thirteenth-​century Canon Law,” Studi Medievali 27 (1986), 527–​574. 7 See N. Lewis, The Compulsory Public Services of Roman Egypt (Florence: 1997). 8 On the discussion about the public nature of the cities, see E. Conte, “Respublica. Il modello antico, la politica e il diritto nel XII secolo,” in: E. Conte and V. Colli eds., Iuris historia. Liber Amicorum Gero Dolezalek (Berkeley: 2008), 193–​212. 9 See Ordinary gloss to Cod. 10.65(63), rubrica, ad v. de legationibus.

40 Fedele annulment of any legal case against him during his absence). The legal status of the legatus was then determined by the laws regulating his appointment, usually devolved to the communal councils, as were any questions of ineligibility or incompatibility with other officia. Another sensitive issue was that of conflicts of interest, such as the ease with which an ambassador could appropriate any official gifts he received, rather than delivering them to his principal at the end of a mission, but also including the question of whether an ambassador, while on a mission, could simultaneously engage in his own business—​or that of a third party—​and enter into contracts or solicit prebends or favours. The attitude of the ius commune jurists in this respect was relatively relaxed: they did not prohibit ambassadors from involvement in private business matters, as long as their activities in no way hindered or delayed the mission upon which they had been sent. Another question, very much linked to the public nature of the mission, was that of the ambassador’s right either to reimbursement of his expenditures or to a salary calculated on the basis of the duration of that mission, as well as the right to compensation for any damages suffered. He was, moreover, given legal protection, which included inviolability, both civil and criminal immunity with regard to contracts entered into and crimes committed before the start of his mission, and immunity from reprisals for himself, his retinue, and his property.10 We know, of course, that the diplomatic practice of the time was by no means entirely governed by the principles established by this wealth of doctrine, which, far from merely reflecting the current state of affairs, endeavoured to direct and frame it within a predominantly public legal system. The wide range of actors involved in late medieval diplomacy—​certainly not limited to those operating in a strictly official capacity—​clearly demonstrates how diverse and complex its practice was. Priests and mendicant friars were actively involved in political life, from at least the 13th century on. The anonymity lent by their habits enabled them to avoid notice, and their habitual itineracy as well as the connections between monasteries, convents, and churches across Christendom further facilitated their missions.11 There were also special agents at the Roman Curia who worked for kings, princes, municipalities, archbishoprics, and religious orders: known as procuratores, they played a crucial role, both through the intelligence they gathered and through the various favours they could obtain from the pope. Their semi-​permanent mandates and the fact 10 11

On all this, see D.  Fedele, Naissance de la diplomatie moderne (XIIIe-​XVIIe siècles). L’ambassadeur au croisement du droit, de l’éthique et de la politique (Baden-​Baden: 2017), 83–​174. See Moeglin and Péquignot, Diplomatie, 396–​397.

Plurality of diplomatic agents

41

that they enjoyed the privileges accorded to an ambassador under ius gentium, even led in the past to their being considered the progenitors of the permanent ambassador.12 Alongside these persons, the cardinal protectors, although not strictly diplomatic figures, worked in the interests of kings, princes, and religious orders, especially during papal conclaves.13 In the 14th and 15th centuries, particularly in central Europe, an important diplomatic role was also played by the herald, who carried messages, letters, and notes of safe passage and facilitated negotiations when truces were being agreed, fortresses handed back, or hostages and prisoners exchanged.14 In Italy and Aragon, however, merchants were most frequently employed for this type of work: their knowledge of trading routes, experience in foreign lands, language skills, and vast networks made them ideal spies or informal negotiators.15 Since the late 11th century, in the wake of the crusades, these networks had spread rapidly across the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, where they led to the creation of representative bodies tasked with looking after the administrative and security needs of the merchant communities. Among the first to do this were the communities of Venice, Genoa, and Pisa, which in Constantinople obtained the privilege of keeping a consul endowed with the power of surveillance and jurisdiction over them.16 Since he was appointed by the authorities of his country of origin and in possession of a lettre de provision, the consul soon became more than just the legal authority of his colony, and gradually even gained enough power to be able to establish diplomatic relations between the authorities of his country and his host nation. Venice provides a

12

13

14 15 16

See E.H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies (Princeton: 1957), 290. On the procuratores see A. Sohn, “Les procureurs à la curie romaine. Pour une enquête internationale,” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Moyen Âge, 114 (2002), 371–​89, and S. Domínguez Sánchez, Los procuradores de los reinos hispanos ante la curia romana en el siglo XIII (León: 2007). See R. de Maulde-​La Clavière, La diplomatie au temps de Machiavel, vol. 1 (Paris: 1892), 327, and O.  Poncet, “Les cardinaux protecteurs des couronnes en cour de Rome dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle:  l’exemple de la France,” in:  G. Signorotto and M.A. Visceglia eds., La Corte di Roma tra Cinque e Seicento. “Teatro della politica europea” (Rome: 1998), 461–​480. See Maulde-​La Clavière, La diplomatie, 428–​438, and Moeglin and Péquignot, Diplomatie, 407–​408. See I. Lazzarini, “I circuiti mercantili della diplomazia italiana nel Quattrocento,” in: L. Tanzini and S.  Tognetti eds., Il governo dell’economia. Italia e Penisola Iberica nel basso Medioevo (Rome: 2014), 155–​177. See J. Ulbert, “La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne: définition, état des connaissances et perspectives de recherche,” in: J.  Ulbert and G.  Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’affirmation d’une institution économique et politique (1500–​1800) (Rennes: 2006), 9–​12.

42 Fedele perfect example of this: the Republic’s permanent diplomatic agent in Constantinople was for many years not an actual ambassador, but the bailo.17 In Italy embassies sent by a commune but actually working in the interests of a private individual were also common: they were usually sought by merchants who requested public support for trials held outside the city, priests looking for advancement at the Roman Curia, or citizens who wanted to negotiate the release of prisoners. These embassies were so important that in the Statuto del Podestà approved in Florence in 1325 the rules pertaining to the concession of embassies to citizens intent on furthering private ends actually precede those on missions conducted in the interests of the commune. Venice, Perugia, Pisa, Padua, and Forlì had to deal with the same problem, and as early as the 13th century their statutes included restrictions on such embassies, particularly with regard to the expenses for their undertaking.18 Finally, the agents of some 15th-​century Italian signorie should be mentioned. In fact, political actors of dubious legitimacy sought, and obtained, political legitimation through diplomatic recognition of external powers. This process involved the creation of networks of trusted men operating outside the “official” diplomatic system. There are two well-​known examples of this dynamic. In the 1450s, in Milan, Francesco Sforza set about creating a new diplomatic structure parallel to the “official” one and operated by agents called fa­muli equitantes (literally “riding servants”), who were paid a salary at his discretion and subject to his direct control.19 The other case is that of Florence, where, under the Medici, a system of personal diplomacy based on a network of agents directly controlled by the channels of the Medici bank developed alongside the “official” diplomatic channels—​which had, in fact, already been brought under the direct control of the executive under the Albizzi.20 A picture thus emerges of, on the one hand, a late-​medieval juridical attempt to give diplomatic practice some legitimacy through legal circumscription—​ trying to make it a public prerogative, with the legatus (or ambasciator) its principal agent21—​while on the other hand the diplomatic geography clearly 17 18 19 20 21

See Maulde-​La Clavière, La diplomatie, 323–​324, and D.E. Queller, The Office of Ambassador in the Middle Ages (Princeton: 1967), 80–​82. See R. Fubini, “Diplomazia e governo in Firenze all’avvento dei reggimenti oligarchici,” in: idem, Quattrocento fiorentino. Politica, diplomazia, cultura (Pisa: 1996), 26, 36, and 46, and Gilli, “Ambassades,” 67–​69. See F.  Senatore, “Uno mundo de carta.” Forme e strutture della diplomazia sforzesca (Naples: 1998), 25–​83. See Fubini, “Diplomazia,” 81–​92. The term ambasciator is attested in northern Italy from at least the end of the 12th century, appearing, for example, in Accursius’ gloss a legatis ad Cod. 4.61.8 (which states: “idest

Plurality of diplomatic agents

43

remains diverse and complex, extremely fluid, and populated by a plurality of agents. 2

The Literature on the Ambassador in the Early Modern Period

This dialectic between law and practice also appears in the treatises which, from the 15th century on, and with increasing frequency from the mid-​16th century, tackled the nature of embassy and the status of the ambassador. In contrast to the discussion generated by late medieval jurists, this literature—​ which rapidly spread throughout Europe—​includes structured monographs, which began by defining the ambassador and then concentrated on his functions, duties, necessary qualities and knowledge, and on the procedures that regulated his missions. Here, too, we find a focus on the ambassador as an official envoy, enjoying the protections granted by the ius gentium and the privileges usually accorded by diplomatic protocol. Early modern writers do, however, also consider other figures, the frequent use of whom seemed to necessitate their investigation, particularly in relation to their functions and legal status. But before moving on to these aspects, it is important to note that the figure of the ambassador himself as described in the premodern literature differed greatly from our modern concept. In the first place, at that time the right to send and receive ambassadors was not reserved to sovereign states.22 Although, according to Bodin, “declaring war or making peace” is a “prerogative of sovereignty,”23 and although occasionally we find in writings on the ambassador declarations of principles that reserve the right to send and receive ambassadors to “sovereigns,”24 all serious considerations of the question in the early modern period allowed the political structures of the time to emerge in all their complexity, unfettered by any strict concept of sovereignty. Alberico Gentili, for instance, acknowledged that even princes and cities subject to

22 23 24

Ambasciatoribus”); however, its use in the juridical texts is much less frequent than that of the term legatus. See for example P. Volpini ed., “Ambasciatori ‘minori’ nella Spagna di età moderna. Uno sguardo europeo,” Dimensioni e Problemi della ricerca storica 1 (2014), 5–​189. See J. Bodin, On Sovereignty, ed. and trans. J.H. Franklin (Cambridge: 1992), lib. I, c. 10, 57. Until the mid-​17th century this term was rarely used. It is found only once in Carolus Paschalius, Legatus, 2nd ed. (Paris 1612), c. 11, 41; J. Hotman, who seems to have been the only author of the period who explicitly reserved the right to send and receive ambassadors to sovereigns, uses it somewhat more frequently: see J. Hotman, “De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur,” 4th ed., in: Opuscules françoises des Hotmans (Paris: 1616), 453–​ 640: 464, 466, 549, 567, 572, 582, and 589.

44 Fedele another power could enjoy this right; he refers explicitly to Genoa, then under Spanish sovereignty.25 The religious civil wars stimulated debate among jurists like Gentili, François and Jean Hotman, Pierre Ayrault and, later, Hugo Grotius on the right of rebels to send ambassadors to their own, or other, rulers.26 And throughout the 17th century, the right of the princes and cities of the Empire to send and receive ambassadors was a hotly debated topic, extensively discussed by German authors like Hermann Kirchner, Hermann Conring, and Gottfried W. Leibniz, as well as in the famous treatise by the Dutch diplomat Abraham de Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions (1680–​1681).27 The sovereign state would in fact only be defined as the sole legitimate actor in international affairs after the second half of the 18th century, as can be seen in Emer de Vattel’s Le droit des gens (1758).28 Secondly, we must remember the close connection between politics and patronage in the early modern period, with the consequent multiplication of the tasks assumed by ambassadors in their official capacity. Numerous studies have been done on 16th-​and 17th-​century European diplomacy, in particular with regard to the ambassadors sent by various states to the Roman Curia.29 The general picture appears to be one of diplomats driven by personal interest and by the demands of their families, friends, clients, and sometimes their own rulers, to request a whole array of favours:  church positions, prebends, money, marriage dispensations—​favours which could well conflict with the official goals of their mission and involve ambassadors in corrupt activities or even treason. It is telling that Philip iv’s future ambassador, Juan Antonio de Vera y Zúñiga, in his El Enbaxador (1620), having exhorted the ambassador to devote himself entirely to the interests of his ruler, nevertheless feels obliged to confront the issue of the numerous demands made of the ambassador in Rome. Vera’s proposed solution appears to be a compromise between political

25 26 27 28 29

See A. Gentilis, De legationibus libri tres (London: 1585), lib. i, c. 4, 7. See D.  Fedele, “The Renewal of Early-​modern Scholarship on the Ambassador:  Pierre Ayrault on Diplomatic Immunity,” Journal of the History of International Law 18 (2016), 465–​467. See Fedele, Naissance, 350–​361. See E. Jouannet, Emer de Vattel et l’émergence doctrinale du droit international classique (Paris: 1998), and P. Haggenmacher, “L’État souverain comme sujet du droit international, de Vitoria à Vattel,” Droits 16 (1993), 11–​20. See C.  Giry-​Deloison and R.  Mettam eds., Patronages et clientélismes 1550–​1750 (France, Angleterre, Espagne, Italie) (Villeneuve d’Ascq and L​ ondon: 1995), T. Osborne, Dynasty and Diplomacy in the Court of Savoy: Political Culture and the Thirty Years’ War (Cambridge: 2002), and H. von Thiessen, Diplomatie und Patronage. Die spanisch-​römischen Beziehungen 1605–​ 1621 in akteurszentriert Perspektive (Epfendorf and ​Neckar: 2010).

Plurality of diplomatic agents

45

pragmatism and moral aspiration:  the ambassador should divide the affairs entrusted to him into three categories and make a different person responsible for each category. The orders of the king should be carried out by the ambassador himself; attention to the demands made by particulares should be delegated to a member of his staff; lastly, his personal affairs should be entrusted to one of the Spanish cardinals resident in Rome, in order that the ambassador not be directly involved, or even implicated, in any embarrassing situations.30 This commingling of public affairs and personal interests, moreover, was not an issue only in dynastic monarchies like Spain, but also in mercantile republics like the United Provinces, where even in the first half of the 18th century the combining of diplomatic and mercantile functions was so common that Cornelius van Bijnkershoek devoted an entire chapter of his De foro legatorum (1721) to the immunity of the legatus mercator. In this chapter, immediately after mentioning the Digesta’s prohibition on the interference of a legatus’ personal interests with his diplomatic mission, Van Bijnkershoek recalls that two and a half centuries earlier an Italian jurist, Johannes Bertachinus, had noted that this prohibition was “not observed” in practice, and concludes by accepting that an ambassador can carry out his own business, as long as he ensures that his official mission remains his priority.31 It is clear that, despite the numerous different attempts made to normalize the role of the ambassador, authors on the subject were well aware of the existence of a plurality of both actors and interests. It is equally evident that they were aware of the plurality of diplomatic agents. In this connection, it is important to point out that for many of those authors the only genuine, official diplomatic agent was the “extraordinary” ambassador, i.e. the ambassador sent on specific occasions, to deliver a message, participate in a ceremony, or negotiate a treaty. The “ordinary” (or “resident”) ambassador, on the other hand, who from the 15th century onwards had been sent on missions for a longer, often indeterminate, period, was frequently regarded with suspicion both in diplomatic practice and in theory, and sometimes definitely considered a “spy,”

30

31

J.A. de Vera y Çúñiga, El Enbaxador (Sevilla: 1620), discurso quarto, f. 75r-​75v, and, on de Vera, M.V. López-​Cordón Cortezo, “Juan Antonio de Vera y Zúñiga (1583–​1658). Modello di ambasciatori o specchio di trattatisti?,” in Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 337–​361, and M. Merluzzi, “Juan de Vera e l’Italia. Dall’ispirazione letteraria alla pratica diplomatica,” ibidem, 363–​377, with further references. See C. van Bijnkershoek, De foro legatorum (Leiden: 1721), c. 14, 99–​100, with a quotation from Dig. 50.7.9.2 and reference to Johannes Bertachinus, s.v. “Ambasiator,” Repertorium juris. Pars prima, ed. Jean Thierry (Lyons:  1552), f.  56vB. Bertachinus’ Repertorium was written in the 1470s and published in 1481.

46 Fedele at least until the 17th century.32 But, in addition to the “extraordinary” and the “ordinary” ambassador, other kinds of envoys are considered in this literature. Of these, the most often discussed are the agents sent on secret missions (especially merchants) and the consuls. Of greatest concern is, on the one hand, the function assigned to such agents and, on the other, their legal status and the question of whether they are protected under ius gentium. Let us consider some examples. The importance of news and intelligence gleaned by merchants during their travels is emphasized by Alberico Gentili in a short passage in the first chapter of his De iure belli (1598). Gentili examines the question from an unusual perspective, since he considers such intelligence to be key to the understanding of ius gentium: It is true that traders, … busied as they are with their traffic, are careless about the truth and are in the habit of saying many things in a spirit of vainglory. Nevertheless, much that is true has been learned from them, and they surely did not disregard this subject of ius gentium, which was of the greatest importance both for merchants and for their traffic; for commerce is regulated by ius gentium. Thus, then, knowledge could be gained of all peoples, thus ius gentium could be defined, thus many other matters could be settled.33 If everyday political and commercial relations, as well as the legal sources, are considered valid bases for an investigation of ius gentium, the information that comes from merchant circles can be combined with the writings of the ancient and modern historians extensively cited by Gentili and make an important contribution to the debate.

32

33

On the development of “resident” diplomacy, the emergence of the terms “extraordinary” and “ordinary” ambassador, and the suspicions raised by “ordinary” ambassadors, see D. Fedele, Naissance, 325–​335. The first author to mention “resident” ambassadors was E. Barbaro, De officio legati (1489), in: idem, De coelibatu. De officio legati, ed. V. Branca (Florence:  1969), 159:  “Non habet praefinitum aliquod tempus huiusmodi legatio, sed apud nos anno fere concluditur.” “Resident” ambassadors are considered as spies in H. Kirchnerus, Legatus (Lich: 1604), lib. I, c. 2, 25–​26, n. 19–​22: “Verum hos [viz. Residentes Legatos] Legatorum in classe propria censere non possumus, cum non tam negotii quam relationis, ut vocant, gratia missi, neque legati potius, quam speculatores, neque ex legati Jure, sed ex pacto singulari utriusque partis missi, variis de causis, ut sint nonnumquam aut foederis inter potentes, tanquam obsides.” See A. Gentili, De iure belli [1598], trans. J.C. Rolfe (slightly modified) (Oxford and London: 1933), lib. i, c. 1, 9.

Plurality of diplomatic agents

47

Charles Paschal, an Italian—​although naturalized French—​diplomat who carried out various missions under Henry iii (1574–​1589), Henry iv (1589–​1610), and the Regency subsequent to the murder of the latter, gives us a broader perspective.34 In his Legatus (1598; second edition 1612), he makes extensive use of classical historical and literary sources in a discussion of the functions of the “bearers of a caduceus” (caduceatores) and the heralds (praecones), which were primarily to convey declarations of war, participate in the ceremonies related to the conclusion of treaties, carry messages, participate in the negotiation of truces, and announce the arrival of ambassadors. Paschal claims that these envoys were considered the equivalent of ambassadors (legati) and he maintains, on the basis of various ancient examples, that they should enjoy exactly the same legal protection.35 Furthermore, this protection must also be extended to other, lower-​ranking envoys, like the trumpet players and drummers, the couriers and military messengers, and the notaries who, given the sensitive nature of their functions, are protected by the right of war, even on enemy territory.36 For Paschal, therefore, the term legatus had a wide range of meanings: although technically the designation for fully accredited ambassadors, it also included a multitude of minor envoys who did not enjoy the honours and rank of the former, but, as public envoys, could nonetheless be called legati and thus enjoy some of the benefits of their status.37 Then there are those who were sent neither as legati nor with any other public title, but were required to fulfil a diplomatic role anyway. These were the secret agents, “through whom public matters are settled in secret.”38 While he mentions both exiles and prisoners,39 Paschal considers merchants to be ideal for this role, since they are drawn to distant parts in their search for riches 34

See F. Barcia, “La figura dell’ambasciatore nei trattati di Charles Paschal e Jean Hotman de Villiers,” Trimestre 36 (2003), 25–​42. 35 See Paschalius, Legatus, c. 4, 12, 15: “Caduceator sive praeco saepe dicitur legatus; ac revera talis est. … Omnes caduceatores religiosa antiquitas vel inter medios armorum flictus praestit inviolabiles respectu iuris gentium.” 36 Ibidem, c. 5, 18: “qui [viz. Araldi] quoties violantur, eadem juri gentium vim fieri constat. … Istis annumero tubicines, aeneatores, tympanistas, tabellarios, aliosque militares nuncios & libelliones, quos jura belli, vel ipsa inter hostium agmina tutos praestant.” 37 Ibidem, 20:  “E superioribus conficitur, late patere appellationem legati. Nam etsi proprie demonstrat illos, qui honestantur hoc tanto nomine, quique sunt circumfusi illo splendore qui legationis proprius est, tamen & illos quoque amplectitur, quos sola huius ministerij fidelitas commendat, cuiusmodi sunt feciales, caduceatores, tubicines, alijque publici nuntij, qui … quodammodo dici possunt legati, sed me Hercule minores, multumque infra dignitatem illorum.” 38 Ibidem, c. 7, 24. 39 Ibidem, 25.

48 Fedele and “they do not fear arrest, and, if they are arrested, they do not blush.”40 This remark seems to indicate that Paschal believes these agents not to have diplomatic status; yet, his assertion that they “are also counted as ambassadors” suggests otherwise.41 Moreover, notwithstanding the numerous ancient examples that always accompany his arguments, a reference to the situation of the time explicitly criticizes the use of such agents in a Europe riven by religious warfare.42 Jean Hotman—​son of the famous jurist François, secretary to the earl of Leicester and then a diplomat in the service of Henry iv—​also mentions a plurality of diplomatic envoys in the second edition of his treatise on the ambassador (1604).43 He begins by drawing a distinction between “ambassadors” and “agents,” pointing out that the latter are sent by “non-​sovereign rulers, or those who are much inferior to monarchs and the great republics”: although they must be recognized as “public persons” and, as such, enjoy the protection of ius gentium, these agents are not accorded either the same honours or the same powers as ambassadors.44 So, explains Hotman, it seems that we can even include among the agents and ambassadors those who are sent to a State to negotiate secretly with certain of the highest counsellors, with the agreement, however, of the head of the corps and all its members, by whom they are recognized and admitted under the name, and in the capacity, of pensionnaires.45

40

Ibidem, 24: “Huic muneri mercatores existimantur idonei. Nam obtentu quaestus delati ad longinqua neque ne deprehendantur, timent, neque deprehensi erubescunt.” 41 Ibidem, 24. In fact the passage by Paschal is not clear, and both opinions were attributed to him in the subsequent decades: see infra, notes 61 and 63. 42 Paschalius, Legatus, c.  7, 25:  “Hasce quoque legationes non frequentius obeunt alij, quam immanes quidam lupi, qui cultu pastorum evertunt disiectantque haedilia, ut oves deglubant. Nam quo pertinent tot itiones ac reditiones, cursus & recursus, quibus negotium religionis aut pacis impie obtenditur? cum interim ob saevos horum laniatus Christiana Respublica iamdiu lacera aspiciatur ac deformata?”. 43 Four editions of Hotman’s treatise were published, in 1603, 1604, 1613, and 1616. An English translation of the first edition was published in 1603 and reprinted in 1609. Since some of the passages from which I quote were only added in the later editions, for the sake of coherence I  have not used this translation of the passages that were already included in the first edition. On Hotman, see Barcia, “La figura,” and M. Garloff, Irenik, Gelehrsamkeit und Politik. Jean Hotman und der europäische Religionskonflikt um 1600 (Göttingen: 2014). 44 See S. de Villiers Hotman, De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur, 2nd ed. (Paris: 1604), f. 4r (the first edition does not contain this passage). 45 Ibidem, f. 5r-​5v.

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49

If they are formally admitted by the authorities of the host country, secret agents then enjoy at least partial protection. The circumstances that might justify the secrecy of such missions are not specified, but Hotman’s mention—​ writing in the early years of the 17th century—​of the “religious differences” between the countries concerned and of “certain reasons of State” gives us some indication of his opinion.46 He recalls that Venice was no stranger to the secret agents of Elizabeth i (1558–​1603) and the German Protestant princes. And, more importantly, in a passage added to the third (1613) edition of his treatise, he recalls a famous case, from 80 years earlier and much discussed both in the literature on the ambassador and elsewhere: that of Giovanni Alberto Meraviglia—​born in Milan but for more than 25 years in the service of the king of France—​who, in 1532, was sent by Francis i (1515–​1547) to Milan as a semi-​official, semi-​secret agent.47 His presence put Francesco ii Sforza (1515–​ 1535) in an awkward position and, under heavy pressure from the Emperor, the duke ordered that the agent be kept under surveillance. When, on 4 July 1533, following a dispute, some of Meraviglia’s followers killed Giovanni Battista 46 Ibidem, f. 5v. 47 See J. Hotman, De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur, 3rd ed. (Düsseldorf: 1613), 11. The Venetian ambassador to the court of Francis i, although he mentioned the king’s letter to the duke of Milan, maintained that Meraviglia had not been sent to Milan on official business: “il scudier over capitanio Meraveia milanese gentilhomo di camera di questa Maestà è stà licentiato per andar a Milan non per negotio publico ma per soe facende, con lettere dil re a quel duca” (Marino Sanuto, I Diarii, vol. lvii, ed. G. Berchet, N. Barozzi, and M. Allegri (Venice: 1902), col. 203, dispatch received in Venice on 6 November 1533). Meraviglia’s letter of credentials, dated 9 October 1532, was published by P.-​M. Perret, Notes sur les actes de François Ier conservés dans les archives de Turin, Milan, Gênes, Florence, Modène et Mantoue (Paris: 1888), 36, and reveals the ambiguity of the agent’s status. On the one hand, he is described as one of the king’s gentilhommes de chambre and charged with giving the duke information about the king; on the other, his travels are declared to be for private matters, although still under the protection of Francis i: “Mon cousin. Allant presentement par delà Merveilles, gentilhomme de ma chambre, porteur de cestes pour aucunes ses affaires, je vous ay bien voullu escripre la presente par luy et luy donner charge de vous dire de mes nouvelles dont je vous prie le croire. Et si, au demourant, il a besongner de vostre bon aide et faveur en ses dictes affaires, vous me ferez très singulier plaisir de l’avoir pour recommander ...” According to Edoardo Rossetti, s.v. “Meraviglia, Giovanni Alberto,” in: Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 73 (Rome: 2009), http://​www. treccani.it/​enciclopedia/​giovanni-​alberto-​meraviglia_​%28Dizionario-​Biografico%29/​, Meraviglia’s official task was to bring specialised wool workers to France, and to set up a trade in tapestries, valuable textiles, and sumptuary goods; in fact, Meraviglia had been given unofficial instructions to keep an eye on the situation in Milan and nourish the hopes of the French faction, in order to facilitate any move the king might make to retake the duchy—​which had been under the protection of the Emperor Charles v since 1521—​if Francesco ii were to die without an heir.

50 Fedele Castiglioni, the duke used the incident as a pretext for arresting and beheading Meraviglia. The French king immediately denounced the execution of his “resident ambassador,” prompting Sforza to reply that Meraviglia had never presented his credentials at court and had therefore lived in Milan as a private gentleman; moreover, since the man was a criminal and a Milanese subject to boot, he, the duke, had every right to punish him. From the French came the retort that Meraviglia was accredited and enjoyed diplomatic status; Francis i even went so far as to say that he “intended to go to war,” since this killing had “violated the ius gentium.”48 All that summer, this volley of accusations filled the missives and busied the chancelleries of Europe, but Francis i gained nothing by it. The case, however, resurfaced when hostilities again broke out between France and the Empire, first in 1536, and then in 1542.49 The Meraviglia case owed its fame largely to a detailed account of it in the Mémoires of the Du Bellay brothers.50 The French jurist Pierre Ayrault later referred to it in his De l’ordre et instruction iudiciaire (1576), in which, making the case for complete diplomatic immunity and formulating, for the first time, a fully elaborated doctrine of the extraterritoriality of the ambassador, he cited the fate of the “equerry Meraviglia, whom [the duke of Milan], to please the Emperor Charles, ordered to be falsely accused and punished as a murderer.”51 The key issue was obviously the uncertain status of these envoys: it was unclear whether or not they could enjoy the immunity accorded to ambassadors. Meraviglia’s case was further complicated by the fact that he had been sent to the territory of his natural lord, which raised serious questions with regard to the right of ambassadors themselves to diplomatic ­immunity.52 48 49

50

51 52

See F.  Gaeta ed., Nunziature di Venezia, volume primo (12 marzo 1533–​14 agosto 1535), (Rome:  1598), 107 (letter of the papal nuncio in Venice, Girolamo Aleandro, to Jacopo Salviati, dated 18–​19 August 1533). As well as Rossetti’s entry cited supra, note 47, see M.  and G.  Du Bellay, Mémoires, eds. V. Bourilly and F. Vindry, vol. 2 (Paris: 1910), 206–​225, and V. Bourilly, “Les diplomates de François Ier. Maraviglia à Milan (1532–​1533),” Bulletin italien 6 (1901), 133–​146, who published some letters and documents from the archive. Among recent studies, see L. Frey and M. Frey, The History of Diplomatic Immunity (Columbus, OH: 1999), 131–​132, and S. Duc, “L’impuissance de l’outrance: entre Milan, la France et l’Espagne, l’affaire Meraviglia (1533),” in: E. Vivet ed., Négociations d’hier, leçons pour aujourd’hui (Bruxelles: 2014), 97–106. According to the Du Bellay brothers, Sforza, in fact, had asked Francis i to send him a diplomat and had suggested that, in order not to arouse the suspicions of Charles v, he be sent not as an ambassador, but as a private person travelling on his own business: Du Bellay, Mémoires, 208. See P.  Ayrault, De l’ordre et instruction iudiciaire (Paris:  1576), f.  55r-​55v, which actually quotes the Du Bellay Mémoires as its source. On the extraterritoriality of the ambassador in Ayrault, see Fedele, “The Renewal,” 449–​468. See Fedele, Naissance, 416–​422.

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Jean Hotman mentions the case in his discussion of secret agents, where he states that Meraviglia “had been in the secret employ of King Francis i in Milan, but this fact was still known to the Duke.”53 He also returns to it during his discussion of diplomatic immunity, where, citing it in conjunction with two other occasions upon which ambassadors had been sent to their natural lord, he comments that “it was an indiscretion on the part of these three princes to give such men those positions, and it was folly on the part of the men to accept them, since the consequences for all were bad.” Siding with the French, however, he hastens to add that Francis i was right to protest, “because once Sforza had admitted and received Meraviglia as the Ambassador of France, as the King clearly proved with a letter from Sforza himself, it was no longer possible to treat him as one of his own subjects”; Sforza had thus acted “contre la loy des gens.”54 In addition to dealing with secret agents, Hotman mentions the consuls.55 In the second edition of his treatise, he even affirms that his inclusion of consuls among the agents and ambassadors is “courageous,” as if this opinion was eccentric and unique.56 He then explains that it is based on the fact that princes approve their nomination, and authorize and recommend them in their letters, and that, when there is no ambassador, they give advice and sometimes assume their duties, in some cases with considerable success, as has been seen, in some places, in these our times. Giving us an interesting insight into the diplomacy of his time, Hotman notes in particular that the Venetians maintain consuls in Cairo, Aleppo, Rashid, Alexandria and in other important towns and cities, which is greatly to their advantage, because as well as the knowledge that they gain periodically of the prices of goods, through the consuls they receive intelligence from all over the world, at which activity they exceed all other States and Republics.57

53 54 55 56 57

See Hotman, De la charge, 11. Ibidem, 205. This passage was also contained in the first edition, Sieur de Vill. H[otman], L’ambassadeur (s.l.: 1603), 99–​100. Already in the first edition: see Sieur de Vill. H., L’ambassadeur, 6. Hotman seems to be the first author to deal with the consuls among the authors of treatises on the ambassador. See Hotman, De la charge, 2nd ed. (1604), f. 5v. Ibidem, f. 5v-​6r.

52 Fedele Hotman therefore recognizes the consuls’ diplomatic role, and the fact that they can be accredited by the authorities of their state leads him to maintain that they can enjoy a diplomatic status at least equal to that of the agents. It must be said, however, that such an opinion was indeed rather radical at the time, since, as we will see, its contrary would continue to prevail in subsequent decades and the consul was usually not considered to be a diplomatic agent.58 The debate on the use of secret agents continued throughout the 17th century, without, however, unravelling the knotty issue framed by the authors we have so far considered. In his Introduzione alla Politica, alla ragion di Stato et alla pratica del buon governo (1614), the third book of which is entirely devoted to the ambassador, Pietro Andrea Canonieri explains that secret agents are dispatched when it is feared that an ambassador will not be received; such agents can prove useful as secret negotiators. Echoing Paschal, he recalls that merchants are considered most suitable for this task, since they can operate as agents while pretending to go about their own business, and are, moreover, often used in times of war to carry letters between rulers.59 The German jurist Christoph Besold, in the first part of his Spicilegia politico-​juridica (1624), on the subject of the ambassador, cites Paschal and Hotman, although he claims that the “Capuchins, Jesuits and other wandering monks” are even more suitable than merchants.60 Besold’s refusal to describe such agents as legati61 does not necessarily mean that he believes they should not enjoy protection. In fact, when he later discusses the Meraviglia case—​citing not only the Du Bellay Mémoires and Hotman’s treatise, but also Montaigne’s Essais, Jacques Auguste de Thou’s Historiae sui temporis, and the Histoire des Guerres entre les deux Maisons de France et d’Espagne by Pierre Victor Palma Cayet, thus demonstrating 58

Hotman’s opinion was, however, developed in a discourse given in 1618 by Pierre de Cormis, avocat général of the Provençal Parliament: see G. Poumarède, “Naissance d’une institution royale: les consuls de la nation française en Levant et en barbarie aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles,” Annuaire-​Bulletin de la société de l’histoire de France (2001), 95. The status of consuls is also discussed in ­chapter 4 of this volume. 59 See P.A. Canonhiero, Dell’introduzione alla politica, alla ragion di stato e alla pratica del buon governo libri diece (Antwerp: 1614), lib. iii, c. 2, 184, and, on Canonieri, S. D’Alessio, Per un principe “medico pubblico.” Il percorso di Pietro Andrea Canoniero (Scandicci: 2013). 60 See C.  Besoldus, “De Legatis, eorumque Jure,” in: idem, Spicilegia politico-​juridica (Strasbourg: 1624), c. 2, § 7, 16, and, on Besold, L. Boehm, “Christoph Besold (1577–​1638) und die universitäre Politikwissenschaft seiner Zeit. Zum Bildungs-​und Erfahrungshorizont seiner Staatslehre,” in: C.  Besold, Synopse der Politik, C.  Cosmann trans., L.  Boehm ed. (Frankfurt am Main and Leipzig: 2000), 291–​332. 61 Besoldus, “De Legatis,” c.  2, § 7, 16:  “Legati non sunt, qui secreto mittuntur, ut occulta negotia tractent.” He attributes the same opinion to Paschal, ibidem, 17: “Eos Paschalius, cap. 7. Legatos nullo nomine vocat.”

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the impact that the case had made—​Besold accepts that, although Meraviglia had been a “secret agent,” he should have been inviolable, and that Sforza’s punishment of him for supposedly having been implicated in a murder was carried out to please the Emperor, while Meraviglia should actually have been punished, if punishment were deserved, by the king who had sent him on his mission.62 A contrasting, and quite rigid, approach to the question is adopted by Juan Antonio de Vera y Zuñiga in El Enbaxador (1620), where he reproves Paschal for having accorded secret agents the status of legati. In Vera’s opinion, such agents should never be used, nor should they enjoy any protection, since to claim otherwise would mean to negate “the basis, definition, and very nature of embassy.”63 An ambassador is a minister of peace, he declares himself openly and gives himself into the protection of the ruler to whom he has been sent, trusting in the public office that he is going to exercise. The secret agent, in contrast, is a “minister of deceit and division” and therefore if—​upon realizing that he is being spied upon, and thus offended—​a ruler punishes him, the latter cannot be accused of having violated the ius gentium.64 Anastasio Germonio—​a jurist and diplomat from Piedmont and author of De Legatis Principum & Populorum, a treatise published in 1627—​might be said to sit on the fence: he considers that merchants employed as agents can only enjoy diplomatic status in the territory to which they have been sent if they have been accredited as ambassadors. However, they do enjoy such status in the territory of the ruler by whom they have been sent, thereby obtaining, for example, the right to be considered to be absent rei publicae causa, or to compensation for any damages suffered in the course of a mission. Moreover, although they must focus primarily on the goals of their mission, the prohibition on conducting private business while abroad in such a capacity does not apply to them, because if it did they would immediately be discovered and would therefore be of no use to the ruler who sent them.65 The question of agents, it must be admitted, is not resolved in the literature on the ambassador, for all the reams of paper devoted to it. The thorny

62 63 64 65

Ibidem, § 27, 76–​77. See de Vera y Çúñiga, El Enbaxador, discurso primero, f. 27r-​27v: “Enpero, me maravillo que Pascalio en el cap. 7 diga, que el mercader que va a espiar, o a llevar cartas, o a disponer rebeliones, sea Legado en sustancia, sino en nonbre …” Ibidem, f. 28v. See A.  Germonius, De Legatis Principum, & Populorum (Rome:  1627), lib. i, c.  6, 32–​35, and, on Germonio, A. Lupano, s.v. “Germonio, Anastasio,” in: I. Birocchi et al., Dizionario Biografico dei Giuristi Italiani (Bologna: 2013), 972–​973.

54 Fedele issue of their entitlement to inviolability and diplomatic immunity remains, since these benefits can only be guaranteed when an envoy has been officially accredited, and is thus recognized as exercising a public office.66 Their usefulness, however, continues to be acknowledged, especially as secret negotiators, or in the preparatory stages of negotiations, the final stages of which are then handled by a fully accredited ambassador.67 At the end of the 17th century, for instance, François de Callières returns to the question of secret agents in his Manière de négocier (1716), emphasizing the advantages (secrecy and a reduced need for ceremony) of using them rather than ambassadors, and pointing out that both the Peace of Munster and that of Rijswijk had been negotiated by secret envoys.68 The 17th-​century debate on the consuls, on the other hand, reveals the inherent ambiguity of their role, divided as it was between the protection and administration of the merchant community and the safeguarding of the interests of their country of origin.69 This lack of clarity as to whether they are to be classified as private agents or genuine diplomats is the nub of the issue debated by various authors. Gregorio Leti, author of the monumental Ceremoniale historico et politico (1685), declares that a consul cannot be called a diplomat, since his charge is to serve the interests of the merchant community rather than those of his ruler.70 Abraham de Wicquefort also denies the 66

67

68

69 70

See in particular the argument set out in A. de Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions (The Hague: 1680–​1681), lib. i, c. 11, 275–​278 on the Meraviglia case (trans. Mr Digby, The Embassador and His Functions (London: 1716), 84–​85); a more general discussion of “ministres du second ordre” is found ibidem, lib. i, c.  5. On Wicquefort, see S.  Externbrink, “Abraham de Wicquefort et ses traités sur l’ambassadeur (1676–​1682). Bilan et perspectives de recherche,” in Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 405–​430. For example by P. de Béthune, Le conseiller d’Estat, ou Recueil des plus generales considerations servant au maniment des Affaires publiques (Paris: 1633), pars i, c. 49, 276–​277. On secret agents, see A. Hugon, Au service du Roi Catholique: “honorables ambassadeurs” et “divins espions.” Représentation diplomatique et service secret dans les relations hispano-​ françaises de 1598 à 1635 (Madrid: 2004), pars 3, M. Haehl, Les affaires étrangères au temps de Richelieu. Le secrétariat d’État, les agents diplomatiques (1624–​1642) (Brussels:  2006), 290–​291, and L. Bély, Espions et ambassadeurs au temps de Louis XIV (Paris: 1992). See F. de Callières, “De la manière de négocier avec les souverains” [1716], in J.-C. Waquet, L’art de négocier en France sous Louis XIV (Paris: 2005), c. 22, 260–261. The text was written by Callières in 1697, while actually negotiating the Peace of Rijswijk, but only published in 1716. See P. Volpini, “La trattatistica sulla figura del console nella prima età moderna. Spunti di ricerca,” in M. Aglietti et al. eds., Los cónsules de extranjeros en la Edad Moderna y a principios de la Edad Contemporánea (Madrid: 2013), 43–​44. See Gregorio Leti, Il ceremoniale historico, e politico (Amsterdam:  1685), pars i, lib. i, 283–​286.

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55

right of consuls to be considered “publick Ministers,” citing some examples of actual diplomatic practice and defining them simply as “Merchants” who enjoy “those Rights and Privileges which Custom has bestow’d on this kind of Employment.”71 François de Callières, however, although not considering them to be “ministers,” accepts that they can enjoy “certain privileges, and the public security which the Law of Nations allows to ministers.”72 And Louis Rousseau de Chamoy goes so far as to define them as “public persons” who, like the other agents sent by rulers to foreign courts, “must enjoy the privileges and protection of the law of nations.”73 Various 18-​and 19th-​century authors considered this question, including Bijnkershoek, von Martens, and Vattel,74 without definitively deciding it; and although the Vienna Convention of 1963 determined the privileges to which consuls are entitled, some ambiguities remain, even today, with regard to their functions.75 We can thus conclude that, although premodern diplomatic theory was largely focused on questions regarding the official, fully accredited ambassador, jurists and political thinkers were also, at times, required to consider the status of other (semi-​official or secret) figures, who were very often entrusted with essential tasks in diplomatic practice and whose employ inevitably raised a wide range of questions.

Sources and Bibliography



Printed sources

Ayrault, P., De l’ordre et instruction iudiciaire (Paris: 1576). Bertachinus, J., s.v. “Ambasiator,” Repertorium juris. Pars prima, ed. Jean Thierry (Lyons: 1552). Besoldus, C., “De Legatis, eorumque Jure,” in: idem, Spicilegia politico-​juridica (Strasbourg: 1624).

71 72 73 74

75

See Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur, lib. i, c. 5, 132–​133, trans. The Embassador, 40. See Callières, “De la manière,” c. 6, 206, trans. M.A. Keens-​Soper and K.W. Schweizer, The Art of Diplomacy (New York: 1983), 105. See L. Rousseau de Chamoy, L’idée du parfait ambassadeur, préface de Louis Delavaud (Paris: 1912), 13–​14. This text, published only in 1912, was written in 1697. See G. Poumarède, “Le consul dans les dictionnaires et le droit des gens: émergence et affirmation d’une institution nouvelle (XVIe-​XVIIIe siècles),” in: Ulbert and Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire, 23–​36, and the texts cited by M. Vec, “L’ambassade dans la science du droit des gens, 1750–​1830,” in: Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 517. See M. Okano-​Heijmans, “Consular Affairs,” in: A.F. Cooper, J. Heine, and R. Thakur eds., The Oxford Handbook of Modern Diplomacy (Oxford: 2013), 473–​492.

56 Fedele Béthune, P. de, Le conseiller d’Estat, ou Recueil des plus generales considerations servant au maniment des Affaires publiques (Paris: 1633). Bodin, J., On Sovereignty, ed. and trans. J.H. Franklin (Cambridge: 1992). Bijnkershoek, C. van, De foro legatorum (Leiden: 1721). Callières, F. de, “De la manière de négocier avec les souverains” [1716], in: J.-​C. Waquet, L’art de négocier en France sous Louis XIV (Paris: 2005), trans. M.A. Keens-​Soper and K.W. Schweizer, The Art of Diplomacy (New York: 1983). Canonhiero, P.A., Dell’introduzione alla politica, alla ragion di stato e alla pratica del buon governo libri diece (Antwerp: 1614). Chamoy, L. Rousseau de, L’idée du parfait ambassadeur, préface de L. Delavaud (Paris: 1912). Du Bellay, M. and G., Mémoires, eds. V.-​L. Bourilly and F. Vindry, vol. 2 (Paris:  1910), 206–​225. Gentili, A., De iure belli [1598], trans. John C. Rolfe (slightly modified) (Oxford and London: 1933). Gentilis, A., De legationibus libri tres (London: 1585). Germonius, A., De Legatis Principum, & Populorum (Rome: 1627). Hotman, J. De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur, 3rd ed. (Düsseldorf: 1613). Hotman, J., “De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur,” 4th ed., in: Opuscules françoises des Hotmans (Paris: 1616). H[otman], Sieur de Vill., L’ambassadeur (s.l.: 1603). Hotman, Sieur de Villiers, De la charge et dignité de l’ambassadeur, 2nd ed. (Paris: 1604). Kirchnerus, H., Legatus (Lich: 1604). Leti, G., Il ceremoniale historico, e politico (Amsterdam: 1685). Paschalius, C., Legatus, 2nd ed. (Paris: 1612). Sanuto, M., I Diarii, vol. LVII, eds. G. Berchet, N. Barozzi, and M. Allegri (Venice: 1902). Vera y Çúñiga, J.A. de, El Enbaxador (Sevilla: 1620). Wicquefort, A. de, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions (The Hague: 1680–​1681), trans. Mr. Digby, The Embassador and His Functions (London: 1716).

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58 Fedele Haggenmacher, P., “L’État souverain comme sujet du droit international, de Vitoria à Vattel,” Droits 16 (1993), 11–​20. Hurlet, F., “Les ambassadeurs dans l’Empire romain. Les légats des cités et l’idéal civique de l’ambassade sous le Haut-​Empire,” in: A. Becker and N. Drocourt eds., Ambassadeurs et ambassades au cœur des relations diplomatiques. Rome—​Occident Médiéval—​Byzance (VIIIe s. avant J.-​C.–​XIIe s. après J.-​C.) (Metz: 2012), 101–​126. Jouannet, E., Emer de Vattel et l’émergence doctrinale du droit international classique (Paris: 1998). Kantorowicz, E.H., The King’s Two Bodies (Princeton: 1957). Lazzarini, I., “I circuiti mercantili della diplomazia italiana nel Quattrocento,” in:  L. Tanzini and S. Tognetti eds., Il governo dell’economia. Italia e Penisola Iberica nel basso Medioevo (Rome: 2014), 155–​177. Lewis, N., The Compulsory Public Services of Roman Egypt (Florence: 1997). López-​Cordón Cortezo, M.V., “Juan Antonio de Vera y Zúñiga (1583–​1658). Modello di ambasciatori o specchio di trattatisti?,” in: Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 337–​361. Lupano, A.  s.v. “Germonio, Anastasio,” in:  I. Birocchi et  al., Dizionario Biografico dei Giuristi Italiani (Bologna: 2013), 972–​973. Maulde-​La Clavière, R. de, La diplomatie au temps de Machiavel, vol. 1 (Paris: 1892). Merluzzi, M., “Juan de Vera e l’Italia. Dall’ispirazione letteraria alla pratica diplomatica,” in: Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 363–​377. Moeglin, J.-​M. and S. Péquignot, Diplomatie et “relations internationales” au Moyen Âge (IXe-​XVe siècle) (Paris: 2017). Okano-​Heijmans, M., “Consular Affairs,” in: A.F. Cooper, J. Heine, and R. Thakur eds., The Oxford Handbook of Modern Diplomacy (Oxford: 2013), 473–​492. Osborne, T., Dynasty and Diplomacy in the Court of Savoy: Political Culture and the Thirty Years War (Cambridge: 2002). Perret, P., Notes sur les actes de François Ier conservés dans les archives de Turin, Milan, Gênes, Florence, Modène et Mantoue (Paris: 1888), 36. Poncet, O., “Les cardinaux protecteurs des couronnes en cour de Rome dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle: l’exemple de la France,” in: G. Signorotto and M.A. Visceglia, La Corte di Roma tra Cinque e Seicento. “Teatro della politica europea” (Rome: 1998), 461–​480. Poumarède, G., “Naissance d’une institution royale: les consuls de la nation française en Levant et en barbarie aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles,” Annuaire-​Bulletin de la société de l’histoire de France (2001), 65–​128. Poumarède, G., “Le consul dans les dictionnaires et le droit des gens:  émergence et affirmation d’une institution nouvelle (XVIe-​XVIIIe siècles),” in: J. Ulbert and G. Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’affirmation d’une institution économique et politique (1500–​1800) (Rennes: 2006), 23–​36.

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Queller, D.E., The Office of Ambassador in the Middle Ages (Princeton: 1967). Rossetti, E., s.v. “Meraviglia, Giovanni Alberto,” in: Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 73 (Rome: 2009), retrieved through http://​www.treccani.it/​enciclopedia/​ giovanni-​alberto-​meraviglia_​%28Dizionario-​Biografico%29/​. Senatore, F., “Uno mundo de carta.” Forme e strutture della diplomazia sforzesca (Naples: 1998). Sohn, A., “Les procureurs à la curie romaine. Pour une enquête internationale,” Mélan­ ges de l’École française de Rome. Moyen Âge, 114 (2002), 371–​389. Thiessen, H. von, Diplomatie und Patronage. Die spanisch-​römischen Beziehungen 1605–​ 1621 in akteurszentriert Perspektive (Epfendorf and ​Neckar: 2010). Ulbert, J., “La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne: définition, état des connaissances et perspectives de recherche,” in: J. Ulbert and G. Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’affirmation d’une institution économique et politique (1500–​1800) (Rennes: 2006), 9–​12. Vallerani, M., “I rapporti intercittadini nella regione lombarda tra XII e XIII secolo,” in:  G. Rossetti ed., Legislazione e prassi istituzionale nell’Europa medievale. Tradizioni normative, ordinamenti, circolazione mercantile (secoli XI-​XV) (Naples: 2001), 221–​290. Vec, M., “L’ambassade dans la science du droit des gens, 1750–​1830,” in:  Andretta, Péquignot, and Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur, 487–​522. Volpini, P., “La trattatistica sulla figura del console nella prima età moderna. Spunti di ricerca,” in: M. Aglietti et al. eds., Los cónsules de extranjeros en la Edad Moderna y a principios de la Edad Contemporánea (Madrid: 2013), 35–​45. Volpini, P. ed., “Ambasciatori ‘minori’ nella Spagna di età moderna. Uno sguardo europeo,” Dimensioni e Problemi della ricerca storica 1 (2014), 5–​189.

pa rt 2 Consuls

∵

­c hapter 3

Space, Agency, and Conflict Management in the Late Medieval Baltic: Urban Colonies and Representatives of Hanse Towns at Scania Louis Sicking 1

Introduction

The Scania (Skåne) peninsula in the southwest of present-​day Sweden, which was under Danish authority in the Middle Ages, was one of the major trading centres of medieval northern Europe. Every year large schools of herring appeared off the Scanian coast. At the crossroads between east and west, between the Baltic and the North Sea, fishermen and traders came together, the latter to buy the herring caught. Thus, during each of these fishing seasons the peninsula changed into a bustling commercial area unparalleled in the region. Because the traders also brought merchandise from different towns to trade, the Scania market was much more than just a fish market, which further increased its appeal. Per region or city, these traders had their own, legally autonomous settlements at their disposal behind the Scania beach, the so-​called vittes. Initially, these were seasonal trading colonies used for the duration of the fair, which began in August and ended in November. In the late Middle Ages the vittes grew into miniature towns that were small reflections of the traders’ hometowns. The significance of the vittes for the herring trade has been researched by Carsten Jahnke, who made use of both Hanseatic and Danish sources.1 According to Jahnke, the Scania fair developed from a local market, where the 1 C. Jahnke, Das Silber des Meeres. Fang und Vertrieb von Ostseehering zwischen Norwegen und Italien (12.-​16. Jahrhundert) (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2000) See also A. Lampen, Fischerei und Fischhandel im Mittelalter.Wirtschafts-​und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen nach urkundlichen und archäologischen Quellen des 6. bis 14. Jahrhunderts im Gebiet des Deutschen Reiches (Husum: 2000), 149–​163. I am grateful to Carsten Jahnke for reviewing an earlier version of this article. The usual disclaimer applies. I thank the students of the ba seminar “Funduqs, Vittes, Factorijen, Koopliedengemeenschappen en de organisatie van internationale handel tot 1600,” which I taught at Leiden University in 2014–​2015 for their assistance, especially Geeske Bisschop. I also thank Jelte Liemburg, Robert Nijstad, and Jurriaan Wink, who wrote papers on the topic under my supervision. Research for this article has been carried out within the context of the internationalisation programme “Maritime Conflict Management in Atlantic Europe, 1200–​1600,” financed by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_005

64 Sicking supply of food was central, into an international magnet for Hanseatic merchants. These men knew that they were supported by their hometowns, which extended and consolidated their rights at Scania. The vittes and their Vögte, representatives of the hometowns in the vittes, played an important role in this development. Before Jahnke, the Swedish archaeologist Lars Ersgård attempted to reconstruct the evolution of the Scanian herring market through archaeological research. Among other things, he looked at the features and characteristics of the peninsula’s two towns, Skanør in the north and Falsterbo in the south. Ersgård’s work added a local topographical dimension to the study of the Scanian herring market. He also paid attention to Scania’s changing coastline2 [map 3.1]. The presence on a small peninsula3—​which was partially uninhabitable because of saltmarshes and frequent flooding—​of many fishermen and merchants who did business with each other and who came from different towns, sometimes located far apart from one another, could easily lead to tension and conflict. But people from the same town could also get into a fight. Traders in the vitte of Danzig, for example, had a quarrel in 1373 because they did not have enough individual room in the overcrowded vitte.4 Lack of space was indeed a major source of tension.5 How were such tensions and conflicts dealt with? How were disputes between merchants settled? What role did the hometowns play in these conflicts? How were they represented? To what extent could merchants count on support from their hometowns? What was the relationship between the spatial arrangement or topography of the vittes at Scania and the urban representatives of the vittes?

2

3 4 5

(nwo) and the universities of Cantabria at Santander, Laguna, La Rochelle, and Nova Lisbon. (https://​www.universiteitleiden.nl/​en/​research/​research-​projects/​humanities/​maritime-​ conflict-​management-​in-​atlantic-​europe) Abbreviations hr: Hanserecesse; hub: Hansisches Urkundenbuch; mub: Mecklenburgisches Urkundenbuch; UBStL: Urkundenbuch der Stadt Lübeck. L. Ersgård. “Vår marknad i Skåne”: bebyggelse, handel och urbanisering i Skanör och Falsterbo under medeltiden (Stockholm: 1988); T. Hill and L. Ersgård, “Der Schonenmarkt—​die grosse Messe im Norden” in:  J. Bracker, V.  Henn and R.  Postel eds., Die Hanse. Lebenswirklichkeit und Mythos (Lübeck: 1999), 721–​732; O. Rydbeck, Den medeltida borgen i Skanör: histork undersökningar och fynd (Stockholm: 1935). Today it includes roughly an area of 50 km2. H.  Hanson, “Falsterbo peninsula (Sweden), Eurosion casestudy” http://copranet.projects.eucc-.de/files/000160_EUROSION_Falsterbo_ peninsula.pdf (retrieved 16 May 2015). hr i, vol. 2, no. 61d, p. 459–​460. A first example presented itself around 1350 when the Danish king indicated to Lübeck and Stralsund that they had enlarged their respective vittes without his consent. hub iii no. 225, p. 103.

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Because it is impossible within the scope of this article to answer all questions raised, the emphasis will only be on spatial planning, on urban representation and potential entanglement, and on conflicts related to space—​or rather, lack of space—​and on ways in which such conflicts were dealt with. Spatial organization was of particular importance because the peninsula was small and the number of fishermen and traders during the fishing season must have been considerable, even though Philippe de Mézière’s estimate of 300,000 people may be an exaggeration.6 So-​called Vögte (German) (≈ consul) or voogden (Dutch) acted as urban representatives of the vittes. Their origin may be traced back to the hansegraf. Initially, this was a royal commissioner who had to protect and oversee trade and who also possessed legal powers. With the decline of royal power merchants themselves formed groups to do business outside their own jurisdiction. Operating at shorter or greater distances from their home base, and being exposed to all kinds of disputes, default, extortion, or robbery, merchants trading with the same destinations formed so-​called hansas to help each other. To become a member of a hansa one had to pay an affiliation fee, also called hansa, which can be traced back to the 11th century in the case of Valenciennes. The collective responsibility abroad for debts of a fellow merchant or citizen was the reason for levying this hansa right. Either the group merchants themselves or the local merchant guild collected this right of membership. Whereas hansas originally were private law organizations, in the course of the 13th century they were taken over by town governments, as is documented for instance for St. Omers, Rostock, and Lübeck. Revenues from hansa membership then flowed into the town’s treasury.7 The hansegraf or Vogt, originally a representative of a group of merchants, now became an urban representative. These Vögte might also be compared to consuls of funduqs or merchant nations, or with governors of factories overseas.8 For the first two aspects examined in the present article—​spatial planning and representation by Vögte—​the focus will be on the Zuiderzee towns. Their 6 Lampen, Fisherei, 149. The number of boats used at the peninsula has been estimated at approximately 10,000. C. Jahnke, “The Medieval Herring Fishery in the Western Baltic,” in: L. Sicking and D. Abreu-​Ferreira eds., Beyond the Catch: Fisheries of the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, 900–​1850 (Leiden and Boston: 2009), 157–​186, 176. 7 W.P. Blockmans, Metropolen aan de Noordzee. De geschiedenis van Nederland, 1100–​1560 (Amsterdam:  2010), 113–​114. For Rostock’s Vogt in Scania in 1287, mub iii, no.  1926, p.  277 and Lübeck’s Vogt in Norø, UBStL ii, p. 1041. I owe the latter two references to Carsten Jahnke. 8 See also L. Sicking, “The Medieval Origin of the Factory or the Institutional Foundations of Overseas Trade. Toward a Model for Global Comparison,” The Journal of World History 31: 2 (2020), 295–326.

66 Sicking vittes, which represented about half of the total number of about 30 vittes, have received less attention than the vittes of other Hanseatic towns, like Lübeck and Danzig. As Volker Henn, Dieter Seifert, and Job Weststrate have shown, the Zuiderzee towns can be seen collectively as a group that was part of the Hanseatic network.9 This group is mentioned as such in contemporary sources and included towns around the Zuiderzee and beyond:  for example, Zierikzee in Zealand also belonged to the group. These Zuiderzee towns can be considered as a regional group of Hanseatic towns in the same way as, for instance, the Wendish or Prussian towns.10 For the third aspect to be discussed—​ management of conflicts related to space—​the focus will be on border issues between vittes. Relations between Lübeck and Danzig at Scania could at times be especially tense as their vittes were contiguous and suffered from lack of space. The Zuiderzee towns do not seem to have been involved as much in such conflicts at Scania. Possible reasons for this will be discussed. The research into the signifance of the vittes and Vögte for the organization of long-​distance trade is closely related to three current debates in historical research, namely on new institutional economics,11 the relationship between international public and private law and conflict resolution,12 and global history.13 Like the medieval funduqs and fondacos in the Mediterranean region, foreign nations and early modern factories overseas, the vittes were institutions 9

10 11 12

13

V. Henn, ‘… de all tyd wedderwartigen Suederseeschen stedere …’ “Zur Integration des niederrheinisch-​ostniederländische Raumes in die Hanse,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 112 (1994), 39–​56; D. Seifert, Kompagnons und Konkurrenten. Holland und die Hanse im späten Mittelalter (Cologne:  1997); J.  Weststrate, “Abgrenzung durch aufnahme. Zur Eingliederung der Süderseeischen Städte in die Hanse, ca. 1360–​1450,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 121 (2003), 13–​40; J. Weststrate, In het kielzog van moderne markten. Handel en scheepvaart op de Rijn, Waal en IJssel, ca. 1360–​1560 (Hilversum: 2008), 34–​36. See and compare for example G. Graichen and R. Hammel-​Kiesow, Die Deutsche Hanse. Eine heimliche Supermacht (Hamburg 2015), 257–​260. E.g. S. Selzer and U.C. Ewert, “Die Neue Institutionenökonomik als Herausforderung an die Hanseforschung,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 123 (2005), 7–​29. E.g. A.  Cordes and S.  Dauchy eds., Eine Grenze in Bewegung:  Private und öffentliche Konfliktlösung im Handels-​und Seerecht (Munich:  2013); P.  Höhn, “Kaufmannische Konfliktaustragung im Hanseraum (ca. 1350-​ca. 1450),” in: O. Auge ed., Hansegeschichte als Regionalgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main:  2014), 317–​332; J.  Wubs-​Mrozewicz, “Die Zuiderzeestädte in der Hanse:  Informationsaustausch, Konflikte und Konfliklösung,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 134 (2016), 19–​38. See also the thematic issue L. Sicking ed., Maritime Conflict Management, Diplomacy and International Law, 1100–​1800, Comparative Legal History 5 no. 1 (2017). E.g. R. Hammel-​Kiesow, “Europäische Union, Globalisierung und Hanse. Überlegungen zur aktuellen Vereinnahmung eines historischen Phänomens,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 125 (2007), 1–​44.

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that offered merchants abroad all kinds of rights and facilities. Apart from physical and legal protection these institutions possessed inns, storage facilities, chapels, baths, and/​or brothels. Attention to the vittes in comparison to funduqs, fondacos, and factories might reveal similarities and differences and thus provide insight into the successes and challenges of European traders who were active at major and minor distances from their home base. 2

Space and Borders: the Topography of the Vittes at Scania

The first vittes appeared at Skanør, on the northern side of the Scania peninsula. With the rise of competition in the 14th century between Skanør and Falsterbo, the town located on the south side, many Hanseatic towns were attracted to the latter. Thus Lübeck relocated its vitte to Falsterbo in 1328.14 The Prussian towns, including Danzig, followed in 1368–​1370.15 The vittes of the most important Hanseatic towns were from then on located at Falsterbo. Those of the Zuiderzee towns were near Skanør. The main vitte at Skanør was that of Rostock, which had a vitte near both towns. The leading position of the Rostock vitte was reflected in its location. On the west side, it was adjacent to the Travnegade, the main road to the market in Skanør, which also was the connection between the Danish and Hanseatic merchants. The vitte of Kam­ pen, north of that of Rostock, was one of the most important vittes of the Zuiderzee towns. The Kampen vitte will in this discussion of the local topography of the vittes at Scania serve as a starting point.16 It should be noted that the rights on the Scania peninsula of the towns of Zutphen, Nijmegen, Doesburg, and Harderwijk in the county of Guelders—​which became a duchy in 1339—​went back to the period before 1300.17 In 1307 the burghers of Kampen had already received permission from the Danish king Erik vi to occupy a place in Skanør between the castle and the Høøl, which is the bay of Fotevik,18 situated northeast of the peninsula [maps 3.1 and 3.2]. This designation was still relatively vague, which may indicate that there was still plenty of room available. Vittes could be extended. In 1368, King Albert of Sweden granted permission to expand the Kampen vitte southbound with a piece of land that touched the 14 hub 2, no. 479. 15 hub 4, no. 271. 16 Jahnke, Silber, 81. Ersgård, Vår marknad i Skåne, 69. 17 Diplomatarium Danicum ii 5 (1299–​1305) (Copenhagen: 1943) no. 68–​71, p. 169–​173. 18 hub 2, no. 115, p. 48. Jahnke, Silber, 75.

68 Sicking vitte of Zutphen on the west, where the garbage collectors of the Scania peninsula previously used to stay. These garbage collectors had to remove waste from the vittes and from the places where herring was processed. They probably continued their work somewhere else. The extension of the Kampen vitte was due to the good services and friendship of the Kampen Vogt, Willem Morren.19 Delineation of the vittes was increasingly accurate. In 1316, for instance, the width and length of the vitte of Zutphen were precisely measured. The Danish king kept a record of the plots of the various vittes, in which even the Buden or huts per vitte were registered, which Jahnke interpreted as a kind of “vittes cadastre.”20 How were the vittes delineated? On the south side of the Kampen vitte were a moat and a defensive wall that ran eastwards to the aforementioned Høøl. It is obvious that these existing markers served as a starting point for limiting the vitte. Furthermore, in 1307 the area granted to the Kampen vitte was also marked with stakes.21 At the cemetery next to the church of the Rostock vitte was a stake to mark the boundaries with the vittes of Kampen and Staveren and also with an area that belonged to the Danish king.22 The survey and demarcation of vittes took place under supervision. When a new vitte had to be measured, traders from other vittes were often present. They checked whether the measurements were taken correctly, and wanted to make sure that the designated area was not bigger than allowed. For example, the vittes of Zutphen and Harderwijk were measured in 1316 in the presence of neighbouring traders from Lund and Trelleborg.23 This shows that the 19 ‘dat stre[c]‌t westwerd an die Zuytphensche vitte, daer die grumkerles plaghen te sitten voer desse[r] tyt’ hr i, vol. 1 no. 465, p. 417; H.A. Poelman, Bronnen tot de geschiedenis van den Oostzeehandel (Den Haag: 1917) 1, no. 330, p. 76; Jahnke, Silber, 79, 431. The extension of the vitte of Kampen and the granting of privileges to Zierikzee, Amsterdam, and Brill in 1368 can also be considered as compensation for the military support at sea which these towns had delivered as part of the so-​called Cologne Confederation in the strife against Waldemar iv of Denmark. Seifert, Kompagnons, 53–​57. Weststrate, In het kielzog, 34. 20 “unum locum qui fyt dicitur in nundinis nostris Skanør in latitudine et longitudine prout per dominum Johannem Kanne dilectum fidelem nostrum presentibus ciuibus nostris Lundensis et Traeleburgh mesuratum est,” Diplomatarium Danicum ii vol. 7, no.  390, p. 288; Jahnke, Silber, 75. 21 hub 2, no. 115, p. 48. 22 “Tha wysdae the hanum eeth kors hoos Rostoks kyrkegordh ok een paeael, af oldynges haftae stondat ok skyldae Kampaere fyyd ok Stowaerskae fydd ok konyngens jordh, hwilken paeael som Kampaerae fogyth lood uupgrawae i Gruutmund Dyaekens thyth, … .” hub 5, no. 945. p. 495. 23 “… in nundinis nostris Skanor in latitudine et longitudine, prout per dominum Johannem Kanne dilectum fidelem nostrum presentibus civibus nostris Lunden et Traeleburgh mensuratus est.” hub 2, no. 289 and 290, p. 120.

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boundaries were strictly defined. Trifling with these delineated boundaries seemed out of the question. Several vittes granted in the course of time to Zuiderzee towns were situated on the same field as the vitte of Kampen. This was true for the vitte of Zierikzee,24 but also for those of Brill and Amsterdam [map 3.2]. The vitte granted to Zierikzee in 1368 was established in the same fields “where those of Zealand from old times every year used to stay.”25 As will be argued later, this vitte was possibly the oldest vitte for the subjects of the count of Holland and Zealand. The Amsterdam vitte stretched in a northwesterly direction, thus further away from the main street.26 How the different vittes of the Zuiderzee towns were situated vis-​à-​vis each other is not entirely clear, but they were further removed from the main street than the Kampen vitte. Over time a lack of space arose, as is evident from the position of the vitte of Elburg, which was divided between two different fields. Half of the vitte stood in front of the castle of Skanør, “where the Flemish used to stay”; the other half was next to the vitte of Den Bosch. The field of Elburg at the fortress must have been small since it is referred to in 1444 as die luttike vitte.27 While the peninsula was becoming busier and more crowded every season and the vittes were more sharply defined, regulations followed about who was allowed to stay, where to stay, and where not to go or stay. A regulation from Kampen in 1365, for example, shows that both the inhabitants of Kampen and those who came on a ship from Kampen to Skanør-​Falsterbo were not allowed to be in any other vitte than the Kampen one.28 John iii of Bavaria, bishop-​ elect of Liège and lord of Voorne, stipulated something similar in 1406: those who came to Skanør-​Falsterbo from Brill and the county of Voorne were only

24 25

hub 4, no. 276, p. 113–​114. “dar de van Selande van oldinghes alle jar up gheleghen hebben.” hub 4, no. 276, p. 113–​ 114. The archipelago and county of Zealand in the Netherlands is meant here, not the Danish island. 26 “… ene vittes up unsem velde tŏ Schonøre … desse vittes, de dar licht van dem osten in westen und van dem suden int norden als se in erer schede begrepen is, … dar de van Campen ere vittes, de se up demsulven velde hebben, aldervryest und allervullenkomlikest mede besitten. …” P.H.J. van der Laan, Oorkondenboek van Amsterdam tot 1400 (Amsterdam: 1975), no. 257, p. 176. 27 “dar de Vlamingen pleghen tó liggende.” Poelman, Bronnen i 2, no.  1752, p.  518. Streekarchivariaat Noordwest-​Veluwe (Elburg-​Ermelo-​Harderwijk-​Nunspeet-​Oldebroek), Archief stadsbestuur Elburg, inv no. 254. 28 “Item ghebede wi, dat nyman van onsen borgheren oft de in onser borger scip vaert in nemans vittes sitten sal anders dan op de onse, bii eene pene van 40 ponden.” hub 4, no. 132, p. 157.

70 Sicking allowed to live in the vitte of Brill and had to obey their Vogt.29 This indicates a trend towards territorialization. It is true that one was subject to the jurisdiction of one’s hometown, which was reflected in the Vogt’s responsibility for the inhabitants of a particular town (and for those who came in vessels from that town), but more generally people were increasingly restricted in Scania. This was undoubtedly related to the limited space available. The aim was to control one’s own community, in order to facilitate the peaceful coexistence of different urban groups as well as possible, and to avoid conflicts. This is also suggested by the incorporation of traders from towns that did not have a vitte of their own. Neither Deventer nor, initially, Zwolle (until 1461?) had their own vitte, but their citizens were allowed to use the vitte of Kampen. Citizens of Enkhuizen and Wieringen could use the Amsterdam vitte.30 The vitte of Zierikzee was not only intended for its own residents; other inhabitants of Schouwen, the island on which Zierikzee is located, could use the same vitte.31 This division according to region probably was most suitable for existing partnerships between towns and/​or between merchants and skippers from these towns and surrounding regions. A review of the scattered and limited data on the location of the Zuiderzee vittes suggests that they all were close together, some of them even contiguous. The vittes of the towns of Holland and Zealand, which were established later than those of the towns east of the Zuiderzee (table 3.1), were located on or near the site of the Kampen vitte. Besides this regional concentration of the vittes of Holland and Zealand towns west and north of the Kampen vitte, it is striking that within these vittes regionalization also was a reality, as traders from towns without their own vitte could use that of a neighbouring town. 3

Vögte: Governance of the Vittes and Urban Representation at Scania

How was the administration of the vittes organized and how were mutual relations between vittes and their inhabitants regulated? The central figure in a vitte was the Vogt. He acted on behalf of the hometown’s government and had

29 Poelman, Bronnen i, no. 815, p. 204–​205. 30 Jahnke, Das Silber des Meeres, 80, 88; Van der Laan, Oorkondenboek, no.  257 and 258, 175–​180. 31 As becomes clear from the appointment by William vi, count of Holland, in 1414 of a new Vogt for the Zierikzee vitte: “allen onsen poirteren, meesteres, cooplude en scipmans van Zerixe ende voirt alle die gene, die in onse lande van Scouwen geseten zijn ende in der voirseiden vitte behoren of die daarin wesen willen. …” hub 5, no. 1138, p. 591.

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both internal and external responsibilities. Within the vitte he was responsible for administration and justice, which he had to carry out according to the customs in the hometown. The jurisdiction of a Vogt generally covered issues between inhabitants of his vitte.32 The authority of the Vogt as judge or mediator is in line with that of consuls of nations of foreign merchants. It was delegated to the Vogt or consul by the hometown, and in the case of the vittes at Scania also by the host, i.e. the Danish king, who granted a proper (consular) jurisdiction.33 The Vogt also had external responsibilities, mainly as representative of his town in his contacts with other vittes, the Danish authorities, or other parties. All in all, he was responsible for what we nowadays call domestic, economic, and foreign affairs. The assertion that Vögte were comparable to consuls is supported by the fact that Vögte meeting at Scania in September 1381 were referred to as “nuncii consulares et advocati civitatum maritimarum congregati in Scania.”34 Jahnke has pointed out that the position of Vogt served as a stepping stone in the careers of several administrators. The vitte served as it were as a training ground to gain management experience, although sometimes one first worked as a town’s administrator and then was appointed Vogt in a vitte.35 The role of the Vogt shows strong similarities with that of the consul in funduqs and fondacos in the medieval Mediterranean, who represented his home town or city state, and that of the representatives of foreign nations like those in late medieval Bruges.36 So, the Vogt seems to have been primarily an urban officer. Usually town governments appointed their Vögte themselves. However, a closer look at the Zuiderzee towns shows that the count of Holland and Zealand sometimes interfered with the appointment of Vögte in the vittes of towns that were under his authority. This intervention varied. Thus, Vögte of the Zealand

32 Jahnke, Silber, 207–​212. 33 Compare O. Gelderblom, Cities of Commerce: The Institutional Foundations of International Trade in the Low Countries, 1250–​1650 (Princeton and Oxford: 2013), 103–​104. 34 For a detailed description of the competences of the Vogt D.  Schäfer, Das Buch des Lübeckischen Vogts auf Schonen (Lübeck: 1887) cxxxviii, cxlvii. See for the example of Den Bosch in 1366 Poelman, Bronnen i, no. 287, p. 63. 35 Jahnke, Silber, 211. 36 O.R. Constable, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World:  Lodging, Trade and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge:  2003), 136; N.  Jaspert and J.  Kolditz, “Christlich-​Muslimische Aussenbeziehungen im Mittelmeerraum. Zur räumlichen und religiösen Dimension mittelalterlicher Diplomatie,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 41, no. 1 (2014), 1–​88, 46–​49. See for the Low Countries for instance Gelderblom, Cities of Commerce, 103–​104.

72 Sicking town of Zierikzee were appointed by the count at least as of 1355. He also appointed the Vogt for the vitte of Brill and Voorne, at least for the years 1394, 1406, and 1408, for which data are available.37 For the Frisian town of Staveren only one such appointment by the count is known, in 1397.38 For the Amsterdam vitte some names of Vögte are known, but it is not clear by whom they were appointed. The fact that in 1392 the count gave Amsterdam the freedom to appoint its own Vogt could be an indication of the count’s previous interference.39 What do the appointments of Vögte by the count of Holland and Zealand look like? We are best informed about appointments for the vitte of Zierikzee. On 30 January 1359, Albrecht of Bavaria, who acted as ruwaard or regent for Count William v between 1358 and 1389, gave Vogtei/​governorship of the vitte of Zierikzee to Jan de Hond Janszoon. He was told to perform his duties exactly as the Vögte Aernd Willem Ockensoen and Hughen Pieter Yensoen had done before him.40 The appointment of Pieter Dyrexsoen on 14 June 1406 gives a little more information on the count’s instructions. The new Vogt had to act as “een voecht schuldich is te doen.” He was authorized to do “all justice and affairs” (“alle recht ende saken”). He also had to supervise all those who were supposed to be in the vitte and those who wished to stay in it, indicating that the Vogt also had some responsibility for other people in the vitte besides those from Zierikzee.41 The count’s involvement in the Zierikzee vitte got a personal dimension in the person of Claes van Ruven. This Vogt was also the count’s chamberlain. Apparently these offices were difficult to combine because in June 1414 the count appointed a temporary substitute for the Vogtei of the Zierikzee vitte in the person of Huge Thyemanssoen,42 with the consent of Claes van Ruven. This turned out not to be a good idea: less than a year later, in March 1415, the Zierikzee Vogtei at Scania had almost vanished because of mismanagement. The sources do not mention how the vitte’s administration could have deteriorated so quickly but the count, William vi, took no half measures. He invited the town of Zierikzee to name a new, suitable Vogt. The town could choose anyone it deemed fit and did not have to ask the count for advice! However, Claes van Ruven’s rights to the office had to be respected as long as he would 37 38 39 40 41 42

hub 5, no. 165. The lists of Vögte presented by Jahnke, Silber, 400–​414 have been used. hub 4, no. 978. hub 5, no. 269, p. 142. hub 5, no. 4, p. 4. hub 5, no. 435, p. 203. hub 5, no. 724, p. 374. Poelman, Bronnen i no. 813, p. 204. hub 5, no. 1138. Poelman, Bronnen i no. 907, p. 228.

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live.43 In short, Claes could still reclaim his post, but it is clear that a new direction was taken. Zierikzee played a pioneering role in the administration and representation of subjects of the count of Holland and Zealand on the land and waters of Scania. This is evident from Count William v’s confirmation, 6 July 1355, of the appointment of a Vogt by Zierikzee, one Hughe Pieterszoon. The count ordered him to assume responsibility as well for “die voechdij van allen onse luden van Holland, Zeeland ende van Vriesland” on the Skanør-​Falsterbo peninsula. Furthermore, he was ordered “te rechte houde ende te beware ende bescherme van onrechte” as well as possible.44 In other words, the Vogt of Zierikzee, initially appointed by the town, did now receive administrative and legal responsibility for all the count’s subjects at Scania! This confirmation by the count in 1355 may have been the beginning of his interference in the appointment of Vögte at Skanør-​Falsterbo. The document is in any case the first written testimony thereof. The appointment of a Vogt was not necessarily connected to a vitte. More than once Vögte appear in the sources without any reference to a vitte. Dordrecht, for example, had appointed the skipper Willem Elwouterszoon, mentioned in 1368 and 1378, as Vogt to represent its people in Scania without having its own vitte.45 Such an appointment sometimes preceded official recognition of the vitte by the local ruler, the king of Denmark. As we just saw, in 1355 Zierikzee already had its own Vogt in Scania, while the earliest mention of a Zierikzee vitte does not happen until 1368.46 The 1355 document describes Hughe Pieterszoon’s role as “Vogt in Scania on land and in the water.”47 The fact that the count gave the Vogt of Zierikzee responsibility for all his subjects indicates that the other towns of Zealand and Holland did not yet have Vögte of their own.

43 44 45

‘also lange als hi leven sal’ hub 6, no. 14, p. 8. hub 3, no. 332, p. 145. Poelman, Bronnen i no. 224, p. 48. Skipper Willem Elwouterszoon is mentioned as being responsible for the levy of the Pfundgeld in a letter dated 5 August 1371 from the town of Dordrecht to Lübeck. W.  Mantels, Der im Jahre 1372 zu Köln beschlossene zweite hanseatische Pfundzoll (Lübeck: 1862), 7, 24; W. Frijhoff e.a., De geschiedenis van Dordrecht tot 1572 (Hilversum: 1996), 202. In the Hansisches Urkundenbuch Eliwoldsoen is described as “vogd [auf Schonen] Wihl. Eliwoldsson.” hub 4, no. 394, p. 166; The government of the town of Dordrecht referred to Elwoudsoon as “noster advocatus Wilhelmus filius Elliwoldi.” hr 1, 3 no. 309, p. 293. Advocatus corresponds with Vogt in the context of Scania. Jahnke, Silber, 400 and 407. 46 Poelman, Bronnen i no. 224, p. 48; hub 3, no. 332, p. 145. Jahnke, Silber, 401, 413. 47 hub 3, no. 332, p. 145.

74 Sicking How exceptional was the count of Holland and Zealand’s involvement in the appointment of Vögte in Scania? A comparison with other than Holland and Zealand Zuiderzee towns might offer some insight. The counts/​dukes of Guelders, the dukes of Brabant, and the bishops of Utrecht as secular rulers of the Sticht (Utrecht) and the Oversticht (Overijssel) do not seem to have cared about the appointments of Vögte. Only Duke Wenzel and Duchess Johanna of Brabant produced a document, in 1362, in which they granted Den Bosch the right to appoint a Vogt who could judge the people of Den Bosch present at Skanør-​Falsterbo. The duke and duchess did, however, demand payment of part of the money to be received from fines.48 The following year, the Danish king acknowledged the privileges of Den Bosch in Skanør-​Falsterbo.49 In 1366, the duke and duchess of Brabant granted Den Bosch the right to buy a vitte from the Danish king and to appoint a representative from Den Bosch every year.50 This shows the evolution of the position of the Vogt as a representative of a group of people to a representative of a group of people in a certain, well-​ defined territory, that is a vitte. The reference in 1406, already mentioned, to the responsibility of the Zierikzee Vogt for both those who belonged to the vitte—​people from Zierikzee—​and others who wanted to be in the Zierikzee vitte, but apparently did not yet belong to it, also points in this direction. Table 3.1 records the Zuiderzee towns with a vitte in Scania (and/​or Dragør), in chronological order according to first mention of the pertinent vitte in the sources.51 Remarkably, the towns of Guelders—​Doesburg, Harderwijk, Nijmegen, and Zutphen—​and the Oversticht town of Kampen on average possessed a vitte half a century earlier in Scania than the towns of Holland and Zealand and Brabantine Den Bosch. As for princely interference in the appointment of Vögte, nothing emerges in the oldest vittes of the Zuiderzee towns, the Hanseatic city of Staveren being the first exception from a chronological perspective. Here the lord does indeed interfere in the appointment of the Vogt of the vitte.52 And that happens to be the count of Holland. Moreover, the only known appointment of a Vogt for the vitte of Staveren took place in 1397, while the town’s right to build a vitte had already been acquired in 1326.53 The Vögte

48 Poelman, Bronnen i no. 250, p. 54. J. Hoekx and V. Paquay, Inventaris van het archief van de stad ’s-​Hertogenbosch 1262–​1810 (Den Bosch: 2004), 746, no. 5699; Diplomatarium Danicum iii 6, no. 191, p. 171–​172; hub 4, no. 53 p. 28; hub 4, no. 978, p. 427. 49 Hoekx and Paquay, Inventaris, 747, no. 5700. 50 Ibidem, 748, no. 5701. 51 Jahnke, Silber, 400–​414. hr, hub, Poelman, Bronnen. 52 hub 4, no. 978, p. 427; hub 5, no 269, p. 142–​143. 53 hub 2, no. 451, p. 192.

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table 3.1 First mention of vittes of Zuiderzee town at Scania (and DragØr), 1302–​1461

Zuiderzee town

Year

Prince

Doesburg Harderwijk Nijmegen Zutphen

Count of Guelders Count of Guelders Count of Guelders Count of Guelders

Staveren Amsterdam Den Bosch Zierikzee Brill

1302 1302 1302 1302 1346 DragØr 1307 1342 DragØr 1326 1360 1363 1368 1368

Elburg Dordrecht Deventer Maastricht

1368 1371? 1396 DragØr 1437

Zwolle

1461

Kampen

Bishop of Utrecht Count of Holland and Zealand Count of Holland and Zealand Duke of Brabant Count of Holland and Zealand Lord of Voorne; Count of Holland and Zealand Duke of Guelders Count of Holland and Zealand Bishop of Utrecht Duke of Burgundy / Prince-​bishop of Liège Duke of Guelders

Sources: Jahnke, Das Silber des Meeres, 400–​4 01. J. Hoekx and V. Paquay, Inventaris, 746–​7 48, no. 5699–​5 701.

of the oldest vittes of Zuiderzee towns were indeed appointed without the involvement of their own lord. From the second half of the 14th century onwards the lord himself did interfere in the appointment of Vögte. The example of Den Bosch not only fits into this development, but also shows that the intervention of the count of Holland was not unique. Rather than a break in time, a regional distinction among the Zuiderzee towns seems to have existed. This is supported by a stipulation, issued on 24 March 1396 in Deventer, that inhabitants of that town sailing to Copenhagen or to Dragør, located on the nearby island of Amager, had to be accompanied by an olderman, whom they themselves were allowed to select and appoint—​ which is in line with the above mentioned hansegraf. The powers of this olderman were practically identical to those of a Vogt (of a vitte): he should rule in matters that might arise between citizens of Deventer and matters submitted

76 Sicking to his judgement.54 Although this does not involve a Vogt at Scania, this state of affairs is consistent with the existing practice of the Hanseatic towns on the east side of the Zuiderzee, which appointed their own Vögte without the intervention of a lord. By the end of the 14th century the Zuiderzee towns under the authority of the count of Holland and Zealand joined the existing practice of the towns east of the Zuiderzee:  They were henceforth allowed to appoint their own Vögte: Amsterdam did so in 1392, Staveren in 1401, and Zierikzee followed in 1415.55 On 6 April 1392, Albrecht of Bavaria granted Amsterdam the eternal right to annually appoint a Vogt on the land of Scania for its vitte, on the land that it now has or may receive in the future from the king of Denmark. The Amsterdam Vogt was responsible for “all affairs and law of our town.”56 As already mentioned, apparently Amsterdam up until this moment did not yet have the right to appoint Vögte, though this cannot be determined with certainty in the absence of further data. Staveren followed on 6 December 1401, when the count ordered the town to appoint four “good men” (“goede knapen”) to guard the town’s goods and interests at Scania in the name of the count and the town. H.A. Poelman, who prepared the publication of the sources related to the Baltic trade, speaks of Staveren obtaining the power to have its own management at Scania.57 The governorship (Vogtei) was part of the assets and rights that the four “good men” had to administer. They had to be accountable and to that end run the administration. The focus was on the income of all kinds of rights.58 To efficiently guarantee the receipt thereof, the four men could get assistance from “our captains and from our court of law.”59 These captains were responsible for the defence 54 55

hub 5, no. 226, p. 119–​121. Poelman, Bronnen i, no. 611, p.154. hub 6, no. 14, p. 8; Poelman, Bronnen i, no. 913, p. 229; hub 5, no. 4, p. 4. G.F. (baron) van Thoe Schartzenberg en Hohenlandsberg ed., Groot placaat-​en charterboek van Vriesland i, (Leeuwarden: 1768), 329. 56 ‘alle saken ende recht van onser stede’. hub 5, no. 4, p. 4. 57 Poelman, Bronnen i, no. 733, p. 185. 58 ‘goide rekeninge ende bewisinge doen’. The management of excise duties, the weighing and measuring of goods, “boodambocht” (connected with the administration); het “stocgelt” (this was either money paid by a prisoner to a “stockmeester” or a tax levied for constructing a building), “dat schrijfambocht” (clerk), “die scole,” die “dobbelscole” (game hall?), “ende die baken verhueren” (illuminating the border of the vitte with torches). Charter of 10 May 1402, Diplomatarium Danicum no. 14020510002. G.F. (baron) van Schwartzberg en Hohenlandsberg, Groot placaat-​en charterboek van Vriesland i, 329 and 332. 59 ‘onser Capiteynen ende bi onser gerechte’. Groot placaat-​en charterboek van Vriesland i, 329, 332.

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of Staveren. The town administration had to obey these officers appointed by the count.60 The provisions concerning the Staveren vitte are much more detailed than those for Amsterdam. Most likely the vitte of Staveren was not only older but also larger and more developed than that of Amsterdam. The involvement of the count in the vitte of Staveren cannot be seen separately from the problems encountered by the successive counts of Holland in their failed efforts to establish their power in Frisia. Contrary to the rest of Frisia, Staveren, because of its economic interests, repeatedly recognized the authority of the count of Holland from 1292 onwards. Staveren, which the count held under control uninterruptedly from 1398 to 1411, functioned as a bridgehead of the count in Frisia. Although the majority of the people of Staveren were in favour of the count, a permanent military presence was necessary as the town was almost constantly threatened by hostile Frisians from the surrounding countryside.61 The count was keen to keep the town in his grip, and, by extension, must have had an interest in supporting the development of its foreign trade. It is interesting in this respect to note that the Vogt whom the count appointed in 1397 for the vitte of Staveren, Steven Janszoen, previously, in 1389, had been the Vogt of Brill.62 By appointing someone from outside Staveren with experience as governor the count wanted to increase his hold on the Staveren vitte. Steven Janszoen, upon his appointment, received the right to any revenues associated with his office “and which other Vögte in other vittes enjoy.” The count of Holland thus sought to adjust to what went on in other vittes.63 This also applied to the rights which the Danish (or Swedish) king awarded. For example, the rights that King Albert of Sweden in 1368 awarded to the vitte of Amsterdam were explicitly derived from those of the Kampen vitte.64 In fact, they were similar. This contributed to uniformity or consistency, which in turn strengthened norms, facilitated doing business with one another, and helped resolve conflicts.65 60 61 62 63 64 65

A. Janse, Grenzen aan de macht. De Friese oorlog van de graven van Holland omstreeks 1400 (The Hague: 1993), 286–​287. J.A. Mol, “Graaf Willem IV, de Hollands-​Friese oorlog van 1344/​1345 en de Friese kloosters,” in: Ph.H. Breuker and A. Janse eds., Negen eeuwen Friesland-​Holland. Geschiedenis van een haat-​liefdeverhouding (Zutphen: 1997), 94–​108, 95; Janse, Grenzen, 45–​46, 60, 283–​284. hub 4, no. 978, p. 427; hub 5, no. 269, p. 142–​143. ‘ende andere voechden in anderen vitten hebben’. hub 5, no. 269, p. 143. Van der Laan, Oorkondenboek, no. 257, p. 176. Compare the reference of the different Italian city states to each other’s treaties with the Byzantine emperor and with several North African rulers. These treaties are characterized by a more or less fixed form and content. L. Sicking, De piraat en de admiraal (Leiden and Boston: 2014), 17 with further references.

78 Sicking We have seen that the appointment of a Vogt in Scania who represented merchants and sailors from towns under the authority of the count of Holland was not exclusively an urban affair, whereas this does seem to have been the case for the eastern Zuiderzee towns, Staveren excepted. The count’s intervention was not unique; the duke of Brabant interfered with the Vogt of the vitte of Den Bosch. It is interesting to note that eventually the count of Holland did hand over the responsibility for the appointment of Vögte to the towns again. He thus joined the existing practice of the Hanseatic towns on the east side of the Zuiderzee and elsewhere. The count conformed to what was common practice in Scania and in this way contributed to uniformity of administration and legislation in Scania. Earlier, he already did this by making the powers of Vögte he appointed consistent with what was common in the vittes of Hanseatic towns. The end of the count of Holland’s interference in Vögte appointments, around 1400, seems to correspond with the decline of Scania’s importance to Holland and Zealand.66 4

Conflict Management at Scania

In the last part of this contribution we will look at the management of conflicts arising at Scania. For the period 1250–​1550 a total of 52 conflicts have been distinguished in the main source publications of the Hanse, the first conflict emerging in 1351.67 Without analysing all these conflicts here systematically, some developments will be highlighted, with particular attention to the role of the Vögte. On most occasions the Vogt became involved, either as judge or as mediator, particularly when there were conflicts between inhabitants of a vitte, or between inhabitants of a vitte and other foreign merchants. One such case in which the Vogt acted as a mediator took place in 1505. It was a conflict between Lübeck vitte residents on the one hand and inhabitants of the Danzig vitte on the other. The Lübeck Vogt acted as a mediator between both parties. In the end, it was decided that the Lübeck vitte people involved had to be punished because they had attacked those of the Danzig vitte in a violent manner.68 As 66 Jahnke, Silber, 107–​119; Jahnke, “Herring fishery,” 177–​178. 67 Both the hr and hub source publication series have been used. No data concerning conflicts were found between 1250 and 1351. Data have been selected by searching the following key words in various different spellings: vitte, voogd, streit, geschil, Schonen, and a rest group consisting of “Lübeck,” “Prussian,” and “Danish fishers.” This resulted in 52 conflicts. 68 hr iii, vol. 5, no 43.

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we already saw, the authority of the Vogt as judge or mediator is in line with that of consuls of nations of foreign traders. The largest group of conflicts at Scania, namely 20 out of 52 (or nearly 39 per cent), concerned issues over boundaries between vittes. The discussion that follows will be limited to this topic and allows us to make a connection with the first two parts of the present article from the perspective of conflict management. If a dispute over the boundaries of a vitte arose, the Vogt of that vitte was the first person to speak to. These conflicts stemmed from lack of space. In most cases, it was the placement of structures on the territory of a neighbouring vitte that caused a conflict. The placement or relocation of border signs could also lead to conflicts. Furthermore, the threat from the sea led to problems in the low-​lying vittes. Thus, in 1518, Danzig complained that its vitte was getting smaller and smaller because of the influence of the sea.69 It appears that the town attempted to compensate for loss of land by taking part of the Lübeck vitte. Border conflicts between vittes occurred in Falsterbo, where, as was mentioned, the vittes of the most important Hanseatic towns were established in the course of the 14th century. Lübeck was most often involved in border conflicts (14), followed by Danzig (12). Both towns fought in most of the conflicts. First of all, this can be explained by the location of the Lübeck vitte, which was wedged between the Danzig vitte in the west, Rostock in the south, Stralsund and Stettin in the east, and Copenhagen in the north [map 3.2]. Expansion of the Lübeck vitte became impossible and direct access to the sea probably became difficult as well. In addition, these conflicts can be seen in the context of the intense competition in which both towns were involved. Together, they grew into the most important exporters of Scania herring. By way of example: in 1494 Lübeck was responsible for 32.5 per cent of the herring export from Scania; Danzig accounted for 22.3 per cent.70 The towns also had opposing interests in trade with western Europe.71 A first conflict over the boundary between the vittes of the two towns occurred in the autumn of 1389, on the basis of which the role of the Vögte can be illustrated. Lübeck Vogt Johann Herborg asked his Danzig colleague Arnold van Hervorde to remove the cross that marked the boundary between the two vittes because otherwise there would be disagreement on both sides. Both 69 70 71

hr iii, vol. 7, no. 108, sections 365–​366, p. 184. W. Stark, Lübeck und Danzig in der zweiten Hälfe des 15 Jahrhunderts. Untersuchungen zum Verhältnis der wendischen und preuβischen Hansestädte in der Zeit des Niedergangs der Hanse (Weimar: 1973), 66–​67. E. Hoffmann, “Lübeck in Hoch-​und Spätmittelalter:  Die groβe Zeit Lübecks,” in:  A. Graβmann, Lübeckische geschichte (Lübeck:  1988), 79–​341, 142, 262; M.  van Tielhof, De Hollandse graanhandel, 1470–​1570. Koren op de Amsterdamse molen (The Hague: 1995), 196.

80 Sicking towns sent their oldest men to the location to take a look at the situation, but no solution was found. In the end, the residents of the Lübeck vitte took command: they removed the cross and put it back into the ground 26 feet away, so that 26 feet of the Danzig vitte was taken. Arnold van Hervorde was not amused and asked the Danzig town council for help. Danzig then approached Lübeck by letter, stating that the Vogt of Lübeck had moved the cross and that new buildings had been erected on the border.72 Lübeck was prepared to restore the old situation, but that also caused problems. Johann Herborg reported that the border sign should be put back in its original place, provided both Vögte could agree on its location.73 This conflict was the beginning of a long series of disputes between Lübeck and Danzig. The example from 1389 shows that when the Vögte did not manage to find a solution, they tried to solve it with the help of their respective hometown councils. In 1517, the council of Lübeck called upon Danzig to return a piece of land to the Lübeck vitte that inhabitants of the Danzig vitte apparently had occupied.74 This was the usual procedure: first, the Vogt had to provide a solution and he was accountable to the council. If he was unable to resolve a dispute, he had the option to involve the town council, which could, for example, submit a request to the other party to find a solution. In addition, there were border conflicts between one or more Hanseatic towns and the Danish king. In 1475, for instance, King Christian i complained that Lübeck had added a piece of Danish soil to its vitte.75 These conflicts occurred especially in the second half of the 15th century, when relations between the Hanseatic League and Denmark deteriorated because the king granted fewer privileges in an attempt to limit the power of the Hanseatic towns.76 The Zuiderzee towns do not seem to have become involved in border conflicts. The fact that the importance of the herring trade at Scania for these towns declined in the course of the 15th century, may explain this. The rise of the Holland and Zealand herring fishery in the North Sea was partly responsible for this development. It is assumed that the presence of the Zuiderzee towns on the herring market at Scania came to an end in the third quarter of the 15th century.77 It remains unclear how most of the conflicts in and around the vittes at Scania were solved. They may have been managed rather than solved. A few 72 hr i, vol. 3, no. 434, p. 448. 73 hr i, vol. 3, no. 435, p. 448. 74 hr iii, vol. 7, no. 39, section 243, p. 53. 75 ‘Denschen erden’. hr iii, vol. 1, no. 56, sections 5–​7, p. 40. 76 Jahnke, Das Silber, 101–​102. 77 Jahnke, Das Silber, 106.

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cases do offer some of the possibilities for resolution of conflicts relating to the boundaries of vittes. For example, buildings erected outside the boundaries of a vitte sometimes had to be removed. Occasionally, a meeting of Hanseatic towns—​the so-​called Hanse diet—​tried to prevent future problems. Thus it was determined in 1423 that towns were free to build in any way they wanted, provided that they stayed within the boundaries of their own vitte and that the applicable building regulations were met.78 In addition to the Hanse, the Danish king played a role in the resolution of conflicts over borders. For example, in 1462 he asked the towns to provide written proof of the size of their vittes to which they thought they were entitled. On several occasions, as in 1519 and 1528, the king appointed third parties, mostly Danes, who had to re-​establish the boundary between the vittes of Lübeck and Danzig after disagreement had arisen.79 5

Conclusion

The economic importance of the Scania peninsula—​derived from its main product, herring, which was caught in the surrounding waters—​resulted in the presence of large numbers of fishermen and merchants during the Scania fairs. The foreign, that is non-​Danish, merchants from Hanseatic towns organized themselves as groups, each with a Vogt as their representative. These groups were subsequently organized territorially in vittes, granted by the Danish king. They developed from small seasonal settlements into permanent urban colonies. While the main Hanseatic towns, like Lübeck, moved their vittes from Skanør to Falsterbo in the 14th century, those of the Zuiderzee towns remained in Skanør, where a few new ones were set up as well. Although the Zuiderzee vittes represented half of the total number of vittes at Scania, they and their Vögte have hardly been studied. The development of these Zuiderzee vittes has been reconstructed. The territorial or topographical development of these vittes was characterized by regional concentration:  they lay closely together and sometimes even next to each other. The new vittes of Zierikzee and Amsterdam were bordering the vitte of Kampen. Merchants from towns without their own vitte were housed in one of a neighbouring town: those of Deventer and Zwolle in the Kampen vitte, those of Enkhuizen and Wieringen in the vitte of Amsterdam, and those of Schouwen in the Zierikzee vitte. The reference to

78 79

hr i, vol. 8, no. 1154, p. 741. hr iii, vol. 7, no. 228, p. 430; hr iii, vol. 9, no. 659, section 16, p. 852.

82 Sicking an area for Zealanders, which has been found only once in the sources and which referred to a former situation, could indicate that this area was initially open to all Zealanders (and possibly also to Hollanders), but lacking further information nothing can be concluded about this with certainty.80 In any case, the limited space in Scania was progressively subdivided. The boundaries of vittes were precisely measured and defined. There was a clear trend towards territorialization. It is true that the people from a particular town belonged to the jurisdiction of that town, the hometown, which was reflected in the Vogt’s responsibility for all these people (and also for those who came in vessels from the town in question), but in addition they were increasingly spatially limited in the Skanør-​Falsterbo peninsula. This was undoubtedly related to the limited space available, to the aim to control one’s own community, and, in a broader sense, to the aim to facilitate the coexistence of different urban groups, to prevent conflicts, and to facilitate doing business as much as possible. In this way the vittes, those close to their hometowns as well as those further removed—​particularly those of the Zuiderzee that were farther away from Scania than many other Hanseatic towns—​can be seen as urban colonies overseas that were similar in several respects to the funduqs and fondacos on the Mediterranean and the early-​modern European trading posts on the coasts of Africa, Asia, and America. That great interests were involved in the boundaries of vittes is evident from the relatively high number of conflicts (39 per cent) over property boundaries at Scania between 1350 and 1550. Most of these conflicts occurred between 1460 and 1540. In this period competition among Hanseatic towns was on the rise, which was expressed most clearly by the rivalry at Scania between Lübeck and Danzig. The rising power of the Danish king, who tried to curtail or limit Hanseatic privileges, was reflected at Scania by his efforts to strictly maintain the borders of the vittes. The more permanent character of the vittes in the 15th century may have been another reason for the increasing number of conflicts related to the boundaries between vittes. The construction of permanent buildings, on or beyond the actual boundaries, by a neighbouring vitte entailed the risk of losing a part of an already small plot of land. The Hanseatic towns named Vögte to represent their merchant communities at Scania. The Vogt was also responsible for the vitte, which became the spatial embodiment of the merchant community and its hometown. The tasks of the Vogt, entailing both internal and external responsibilities, were similar 80 In hr and hub. The reference to a location on the Scania peninsula where the Flemish used to stay also indicates that there was a common area for the Flemish independently of their town of origin.

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to those of consuls. Internally, they were responsible for managing the vitte, including maintaining law and order. In principle, the laws and rules of the hometown applied. Externally, the Vogt represented the inhabitants and the vitte towards other urban communities at Scania and towards the Danish king and his authorities. The Vögte played an important role in the management of conflicts, both within their vitte and in conflicts with external parties. In disputes pertaining to the boundaries of the vittes the Vögte first tried to solve problems among each other. When they did not find a solution, they either contacted their respective town councils or, if that did not have the desired effect, they turned to the Danish king. The Vögte and vittes of the towns in Holland and Zealand faced interference from the count of Holland and Zealand, as he made the Vogt of Zierikzee responsible for all his subjects at Scania. The count then appointed Vögte for his individual towns and ultimately accepted that the towns appoint their own Vogt, with or without his approval. This interference was exceptional, as the German Hanseatic towns and those east of the Zuiderzee appointed their own Vögte. The example of Staveren represents a particular combination of practices both west and east of the Zuiderzee, which had everything to do with Staveren as bridgehead or ‘frontier town’ in Frisia, where the count of Holland’s influence was limited and unstable. Staveren belonged to the Zuiderzee towns which, like the other east-​ Netherlandish Hanseatic towns, got a vitte relatively early, in 1326. The count’s involvement with the Staveren Vogt in Scania should be seen in the context of the control that the count tried to exercise in Frisia at the time of the appointment. The attitude of the count of Holland suggests that he was willing to adapt to what was common at Scania. First, the Vögte he appointed received the same rights as their counterparts from the (other) Hanseatic towns. Second, the count then retransferred the appointment of Vögte to the town governments. Did the count come to the realization that the interests of merchants and skippers could better be left to an urban representative? Most probably the interest of the count declined when the merchants from Holland and Zealand lost interest in the Scania herring trade, which coincided with the rise of the North Sea herring fishery of these counties. In any case, it became clear that the count initially had extraterritorial ambitions, took corresponding measures, and felt responsible for the safety and well-​being of his trading and seafaring subjects in foreign countries. Therefore, he took measures that applied to an area that was at a great distance from his county. Eventually, however, he allowed his towns to adapt to what was common practice among Hanseatic merchants and towns. In the end, the Vögte at Scania were, first and foremost, representatives or agents of merchant communities and their hometowns. They were indeed the Baltic, or rather Hanseatic, equivalent of the Mediterranean consuls.

84 Sicking

map 3.1  Scania

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map 3.2  Scania detailed

86 Sicking

Sources and Bibliography



Manuscript sources



Printed sources

Streekarchivariaat Noordwest-​Veluwe (Elburg-​Ermelo-​Harderwijk-​Nunspeet-​Oldebroek). -​Archief stadsbestuur Elburg, inv no. 254. Erfgoed Den Bosch. -​Archief stad ’s-​Hertogenbosch, inv. no. 5699, 5700, 5701.

Bronnen tot de geschiedenis van den Oostzeehandel i 1–​2. H.A. Poelman ed. (The Hague: 1917). Die Recesse und andere Akten der Hansetage von 1256–​1430, Abteilung i, vol. 1–​8. K. Kopp­mann ed. (Leipzig: 1870–​1897). Die Recesse und andere Akten der Hansetage von 1431–​1476, Abteilung ii, vol. 1–​7. G. von der Ropp ed. (Leipzig: 1876–​1892). Die Recesse und andere Akten der Hansetage von 1477–​1530, Abteilung iii, vol. 1–​7. D. Schäfer ed. (Leipzig: 1881–​1913). Diplomatarium Danicum II vol. 5 (1299–​1305) F. Blatt and C.A. Christensen eds. (Copenhagen: 1943). Diplomatarium Danicum II vol. 7 (1313–​1317) F. Blatt and K. Olsen eds. (Copenhagen: 1956). Diplomatarium Danicum III vol. 3. (1348–​1352) C.A. Christensen, H. Nielsen, and P. Jørgensen eds. (Copenhagen: 1963). Diplomatarium Danicum III vol. 6 (1361–​1363) C.A. Christensen, H. Nielsen, and P. Jørgensen eds. (Copenhagen: 1969). Groot placaat-​en charterboek van Vriesland I, G.F. (baron) van Thoe Schartzenberg en Hohenlandsberg ed. (Leeuwarden: 1768). Hansisches Urkundenbuch, vol. 1–​11, K. Höhlbaum et  al. eds. (Halle and Leipzig: 1876–​1939). Mecklenburgisches Urkundenbuch III (1281–​1296) (Schwerin: 1865). Oorkondenboek van Amsterdam tot 1400, Laan, P.H.J. van der, ed., (Amsterdam: 1975). Urkundenbuch der Stadt Lübeck II J.F. Böhmer and F. Techen eds. (Osnabrück: 1858).

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Ersgård, L., “Vår marknad i Skåne”:  bebyggelse, handel och urbanisering i Skanör och Falsterbo under medeltiden (Stockholm: 1988). Frijhoff, W. e.a., De geschiedenis van Dordrecht tot 1572 (Hilversum: 1996). Gelderblom, O., Cities of Commerce:  The Institutional Foundations of International Trade in the Low Countries, 1250–​1650 (Princeton and Oxford: 2013). Hammel-​Kiesow, R., “Europäische Union, Globalisierung und Hanse. Überlegungen zur aktuellen Vereinnahmung eines historischen Phänomens,” Hansische Ge­ schichtsblätter 125 (2007), 1–​44. Hanson, H., “Falsterbo peninsula (Sweden), Eurosion casestudy” http://​copranet. projects.eucc-​.de/​files/​000160_​EUROSION_​Falsterbo_​peninsula.pdf (retrieved 16 May 2015). Henn, V., “… de all tyd wedderwartigen Suederseeschen stedere …” Zur Integration des niederrheinisch-​ostniederländische Raumes in die Hanse,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 112 (1994), 39–​56. Hill, T. and L. Ersgård “Der Schonenmarkt—​die grosse Messe im Norden,” in: J. Bracker, V. Henn, and R. Postel eds., Die Hanse. Lebenswirklichkeit und Mythos (Lübeck: 1999), 721–​732. Hoekx, J. and V. Paquay, Inventaris van het archief van de stad ’s-​Hertogenbosch 1262–​ 1810 (Den Bosch: 2004). Höhn, Ph., “Kaufmannische Konfliktaustragung im Hanseraum (ca. 1350-​ca. 1450),” in: O. Auge ed., Hansegeschichte als Regionalgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main: 2014), 317–​332. Hoffmann, E., “Lübeck in Hoch-​und Spätmittelalter: Die groβe Zeit Lübecks,” in: A. Graβmann, “Lübeckische geschichte” (Lübeck: 1988), 79–​341. Jahnke, C., Das Silber des Meeres. Fang und Vertrieb von Ostseehering zwischen Norwegen und Italien (12.-​16. Jahrhundert) (Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna: 2000). Jahnke, C., “The Medieval Herring Fishery in the Western Baltic,” in: L. Sicking and D. Abreu-​Ferreira eds., Beyond the Catch: Fisheries of the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, 900–​1850 (Leiden and Boston: 2009), 157–​186. Janse, A., Grenzen aan de macht. De Friese oorlog van de graven van Holland omstreeks 1400 (The Hague: 1993), 286–​287. Jaspert, N., and J. Kolditz, “Christlich-​Muslimische Aussenbeziehungen im Mittelmeerraum. Zur räumlichen und religiösen Dimension mittelalterlicher Diplomatie,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 41, no. 1 (2014), 1–​88. Lampen, A., Fischerei und Fischhandel im Mittelalter.Wirtschafts-​und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen nach urkundlichen und archäologischen Quellen des 6. bis 14. Jahrhunderts im Gebiet des Deutschen Reiches (Husum: 2000). Mantels, W., Der im Jahre 1372 zu Köln beslossenen zweite hanseatische Pfundzoll (Lübeck: 1862).

88 Sicking Mol, J.A., “Graaf Willem IV, de Hollands-​Friese oorlog van 1344/​1345 en de Friese kloosters,” in: Ph.H. Breuker and A. Janse eds., Negen eeuwen Friesland-​Holland. Geschiedenis van een haat-​liefdeverhouding (Zutphen: 1997), 94–​108. Rydbeck, O., Den medeltida borgen i Skanör: histork undersökningar och fynd (Stockholm: 1935). Schäfer, D., Das Buch des Lübeckischen Vogts auf Schonen (Lübeck: 1887). Seifert, D., Kompagnons und Konkurrenten. Holland und die Hanse im späten Mittelalter (Cologne: 1997). Selzer, S. and U.C. Ewert, “Die Neue Institutionenökonomik als Herausforderung an die Hanseforschung,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 123 (2005), 7–​29. Sicking, L., De piraat en de admiraal (Leiden and Boston: 2014). Sicking, L., ed., Maritime Conflict Management, Diplomacy and International Law, 1100–​ 1800, Comparative Legal History 5, no. 1 (2017). Sicking, L., “The Medieval Origin of the Factory or the Institutional Foundations of Overseas Trade. Towards a Model for Global Comparison,” The Journal of World History 31: 2 (2020), 295–​326. Stark, W., Lübeck und Danzig in der zweiten Hälfe des 15 Jahrhunderts. Untersuchungen zum Verhältnis der wendischen und preuβischen Hansestädte in der Zeit des Niedergangs der Hanse (Weimar: 1973). Tielhof, M. van, De Hollandse graanhandel, 1470–​1570. Koren op de Amsterdamse molen (The Hague: 1995). Weststrate, J., “Abgrenzung durch aufnahme. Zur Eingliederung der Süderseeischen Städte in die Hanse, ca. 1360–​1450,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 121 (2003), 13–​40. Weststrate, J., In het kielzog van moderne markten. Handel en scheepvaart op de Rijn, Waal en IJssel, ca. 1360–​1560 (Hilversum: 2008), 34–​36. Wubs-​Mrozewicz, J., “Die Zuiderzeestädte in der Hanse: Informationsaustausch, Konflikte und Konfliklösung,” Hansische Geschichtsblätter 134 (2016), 19–​38.

­c hapter 4

Your High and Mighty Lordships’ Most Humble Servants: Dutch Consuls and the States General’s Diplomacy in Spain, 1648–​1661 Maurits Ebben 1 Introduction1 “And to tell the truth, these Consuls only want to protect interests, … usually they are just merchants who are sent abroad, not in order to represent their Prince in another sovereign state, but to be advocates for the subjects of their Prince with regard to trade …”2 Thus wrote Cornelis van Bijnkershoek, an internationally respected legal scholar. Consuls did not represent a monarch; they were not public servants; moreover, because they did not serve at a court, they were not diplomats. This was the general consensus in early modern times, and some leading historians continue to accept this notion to this day.3 Yet, recent international interest in the institution of ‘foreign consuls’ and its importance in the context of international European relations has altered opinions about the position and importance of the consul in early modern diplomacy.4 1 This article was originally published in Dutch in Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis. 2 “Et à dire le vrai, ces Consuls ne sont autre chose que des protecteurs, … d’ordinaire même ce ne sont que des marchants, que l’on envoie non pour représenter leur Prince auprès d’une autre puissance souveraine, mais pour proteger les sujets de leur Prince en ce que regarde le négoce. …” C. van Bijnkershoek, Traité du juge competent des ambassadeurs (The Hague: 1721). Re-​edited in conjunction with A. Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions 2 vols (Amsterdam: 1730), of which it was a commentary. The quotation is from this edition. See vol. 2, 63. 3 L. Bély, L’art de la paix en Europe. Naissance de la diplomatie moderne XVIe–​XVIIIe siècle (Paris: 2007), 677; M. Herrero Sánchez, “La red consular europea y la diplomacia mercantil en la edad moderna” in: J.J. Iglesias Rodríguez e.a. eds., Comercio y cultura en la Edad Moderna (Seville 2015), 128–​130. 4 Müller, L., Consuls, Corsairs, and Commerce. The Swedish Cosular Service and Long-​distance Shipping, 1720–​1815 (Uppsala 2004); J.  Ulbert and G.  Le Bouëdec eds., La fonction consulaire à l’époque moderne. L’Affirmation d’une institution économique et politique, 1500–​1800 (Rennes: 2006); J. Melissen and A.M. Fernández eds., Consular Affairs and Diplomacy (Leiden and Boston: 2011); M. Aglietti, M. Herrero Sánchez, and F. Zamora Rodríguez eds., Los cónsules de extranjeros en la Edad Moderna y a principios de la Edad Contemporánea (Madrid: 2013); S.  Marzagalli, ed., Les consuls en Méditerranée, agents d’information XVIe-​XXe siècle (Paris: 2015); Ch. Windler, La diplomatie comme expérience de l’autre: consuls français au Magreb,

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_006

90 Ebben Scholars now recognize that in the late 16th century and throughout the 17th century, monarchs made efforts to control consuls and assigned tasks to them in which consular and diplomatic activities of the early modern sovereign state were closely interwoven. But the formal and informal position of the consul remained unclear in the 17th century, especially because of the ambiguous nature of the position, which was in fact both commercial and for the public good. There appears to be general agreement that consular contributions to diplomatic work were limited to providing political and military information to the ambassador in residence and to the government.5 The present article examines the position of the Dutch consul within the States General’s diplomatic activities, both as a provider of services to Dutch merchants abroad and as a public servant. On the basis of actions taken by Dutch consuls in Spain, it will be demonstrated that these ‘unofficial diplomats’ were able to accomplish more than provide just military and political information. They formed an important link within the diplomatic activities of the States General, and what is more, because of their initiatives, they were able to influence the Republic’s policies towards the host country, Spain. Historians studying diplomacy conducted by the States General have generally approached their topic from the perspective of ambassadors and the highest administrators in the Republic, while the consular network and its corresponding sources have been ignored almost completely.6 Yet this Dutch 1700–​1840 (Geneva: 2002). In 2011 the Centre de la Méditerranée Moderne et Contemporaine organized in Nice an international congress on consuls, “Les consuls en Méditerranée: agents d’information et de contre-​information (XVIe–​XXIe siècles),” with follow-​ups in May 2014 and fall 2017. In September 2012 an international congress was held in Seville about consuls in the early modern period and at the beginning of the contemporary period: “Los cónsules de extranjeros en La Edad Moderna y a principios de La Edad Contemporánea.” 5 K. Malettke, Hegemonie—​multipolares System—​Gleichgewicht, 1648/​1659–​1713/​1714 (Paderborn:  2012), 64–​66; G.  Poumarède, “Consuls, réseaux consulaires et diplomatie à l’époque moderne,” in: R. Sabbatini and P. Volpini eds., Sulla diplomazia in età moderna. Politica, economia, religione (Milan:  2011), 193–​218; F.  Zamora Rodríguez, La ‘pupilla dell’occhio della Toscana’ y la posicón hispánica en el mediterráneo occidental, 1677–​1717 (Madrid: 2013), 113–​122. 6 See, for instance, for ambassadors of the States General: J. Aalbers, De Republiek en de vrede van Europa (Groningen: 1980); S. Barendrecht, François van Aerssen. Diplomaat aan het Franse hof, 1598–​1613 (Leiden:  1965); M.A.M. Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen’s politieke en diplomatieke aktiviteiten in de jaren 1667–​1684 (Groningen:  1966); J.  Heringa, De eer en hoogheid van de staat (Groningen: 1961); J.G. Stork-​Penning, Het grote werk (Groningen:1958). On Dutch consuls, see: A.H. de Groot, The Ottoman Empire and the Dutch Republic: A History of the Earliest Diplomatic Relations 1610–​1630 (Leiden:  2012), 128–​137; K.  Heeringa, Bronnen tot de geschiedenis van de Levantschen handel, 2 vols (The Hague 1910, 1917); A.E. Kersten and B. van der Zwan, “The Dutch Consular Service: In the Interest of a Colonial and Commercial Nation,” in: Melissen and Fernández eds., Consular Affairs and Diplomacy, 275–​301;

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network of consuls abroad was extensive, much more close-​knit than that of the Republic’s official representatives, and deserves much greater attention than it has received so far. Actually, the States General’s network of ambassadors in residence was quite modest. The Republic had diplomatic missions in London, Madrid, Vienna, and at the French Court, but these were rarely occupied permanently and the envoys did not always have the rank of ordinaris ambassador. The number of Dutch consuls appointed to European ports was significantly larger; they may well have constituted the largest consular service in Europe. In the Mediterranean area in particular the Dutch had established a tight network of consuls and vice consuls.7 Although the choice of a study of Dutch consuls in Spain may not seem obvious, several arguments can be made in its favour. To begin with, their number was, as just mentioned, rather high. Within 13 days after the conclusion of the Peace of Munster, the States General sent five consuls to Spain, and shortly thereafter another four left for Spanish ports. Dutch and Spanish archives provide ample opportunity to study Dutch consular representatives in Spanish territories across Europe. The consuls corresponded regularly with the States General, albeit that some did so more frequently than others. Jacob van den Hove, consul in Cádiz from 1648 until his death in 1667, was particularly active and a polygraph. His correspondence forms an important component of the sources that were consulted. Archival documents of the States General are the traditional sources for studies of the Republic’s foreign policy and diplomacy, and they have been frequently consulted for this study. In addition, several Spanish sources pertaining to local and central administrative institutions have been examined, as well as sources in the archives of the Directie van de Levantse Handel. The use of diplomatic correspondence in support of historical research often meets with

N. Steensgaard, “Consuls and Nations in the Levant from 1570 to 1650,” The Scandinavian Economic History Review 15 (1967), 13–​55; H. Wätjen, Die Niederländer im Mittelmeergebiet zur Zeit ihrer höchsten Machtstellung (Berlin: 1909), 104–​113. 7 M. Herrero Sánchez, “Las relaciones económicas entre la monarquía hispánica y las Provincias Unidas de 1648 a 1680. La red consular holandesa en los puertos españoles,” in: A. Alvar Ezquerra, J.M. de Bernardo Ares, and P. Molas Ribalta eds., Espacios urbanos, mundos ciudadanos. España y Holanda (ss. XVI-​XVII). Actas del VI Coloquio Hispano-​Holandés de Historiadores (Córdoba: 1998), 100–​110; O. Schutte, Nederlandse vertegenwoordigers in het buitenland, 1584–​ 1810 (The Hague: 1976). While there was a significant number of English consuls during the reign of Charles ii, Violet Barbour believes that the Dutch consular service was the largest of all European countries. See V. Barbour, “Consular Service in the Reign of Charles II,” The American Historical Review 33 (1928), 574; D.B. Horn, The British Diplomatic Service, 1689–​1789 (Oxford: 1961), 254–​255.

92 Ebben disparaging remarks.8 But such criticism is valid primarily for letters and nouvelles from ambassadors and other envoys that are full of details about court life and superficial, unreliable news. The letters from consuls to the States General, however—​both their public and secret messages—​discuss, in addition to general matters, concrete incidents that had triggered complaints and protests from Dutch merchants. In combination with other, Spanish, sources and studies, it is possible to get a clear image of what the consuls did in the Spanish ports and how they participated within the Dutch diplomatic network. By the way, no records are known to exist of regular and direct correspondence with Johan de Witt, who was the central architect of the States General’s foreign policy during the First Stadtholderless Period (1651–​1672). There is no doubt, though, that the grand pensionary was well informed about the contents of consular letters because he did see almost all messages addressed to the States General.9 Before actually examining the work of Dutch consuls in Spain and their share in the diplomatic activities of the States General, a brief overview will be given of the primary duties of consuls in general, and of Dutch consuls in Spain in particular. 2

Consuls and the Directie van de Levantse Handel en de Navigatie in de Middellandse Zee

Recent publications and conferences confirm that historians of diplomatic affairs have become interested in consuls and that, as a result, knowledge of the topic has increased significantly. In the fall of 2012 Arnaud Bartolomei took stock of research on the institution of the foreign consul in early modern and contemporary history. Regarding the duties assigned to consuls he concluded that there were three large areas.10 The first one concerned providing 8

9

10

G. de Bruin, “Buitenlands beleid en gezantschapswezen in de Republiek,” Nederlandsch Archievenblad 99 (1995) 9; J.C.M. Pennings and Th.H.P.M. Thomassen eds., Archieven van Nederlandse gezanten en consuls tot 1813. vol. 1. Overgedragen archieven van gezanten en consuls in de christelijke wereld (The Hague: 1994), 47–​66. R. Fruin and N. Japikse, Brieven aan Johan de Witt, 2 vols (Amsterdam 1919–​1922); Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen, 25–​31. In the De Witt archives there is, however, a letter from the grand pensionary to Van den Hove. NL-​HaNA, De Witt, 3.01.17 inv.nr. 2652 f 237, De Witt to Van den Hove, 28 February 1661. A. Bartolomei, “De la utilidad comercial de los cónsules. Problemáticas y estado de la cuestión (Europa y el mundo mediterráneo, siglos XVII, XVIII y XIX),” in: Aglietti, Herrero Sánchez, and Zamora Rodríguez eds., Los cónsules de extranjeros, 247–​258. Read additional observations in:  idem, “Débats historiques et enjeux scientifiques autour de

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information, the second one dealt with protection of and service to private merchants in their district and in the homeland, and the third area was related to legal matters. All duties were closely interwoven but can be reduced to these three areas. One should point out as well that the institution of the consul in the 17th century was in full development and was subject to many local ­variations. Much is still unclear about the tasks performed by consuls but we know most about their role as informers on economic, political, and military matters.11 Historians recognize that consular correspondence is a rich resource not only for the history of trade but for military affairs and sociopolitical developments as well, and they therefore turn to it frequently. In many instances consuls were required to inform their superiors and others in the homeland about the general political and economic developments in the host country. Nevertheless, most of their messages deal with specific trade problems that had arisen. The majority of such problems were related to the way a consul’s fellow citizens were treated by local authorities. This brings us to the most important assignment of the consul: to defend both the collective and individual interests of merchants from one’s homeland. Consuls from all nations busied themselves primarily with providing assistance to merchants from their own country. Yet, the numerous and serious conflicts that their involvement caused, raises questions about their usefulness to these merchants and sailors. Answers may be found in an analysis of whose interests consuls actually tried to protect. Many problems, by the way, developed because the right to make appointments had not been established clearly and the duties, powers, remuneration, and delineation of the area of activities had been described too concisely.12 Thus, the legal position of the consul vis-​à-​vis his fellow citizens was not always clear. Did he have adjudicating powers over them in civil and criminal cases, or was his role limited to that of an arbitrator who acted at the request of merchants in conflict? Did the consul have the right to act as a notary and to conclude legal agreements between trading merchants from his country?

11 12

l’utilité commerciale des consuls,” Cahiers de la Méditerranée 93 (2016), 49–​59, and idem, “Introduction” in: idem et al. De l’utilité commerciale des consuls. L’institution consulaire et les marchands dans le monde méditerranéen (XVIIe-​XXesiècle) Publications de l’École française de Rome, 2017 http://​books.openedition.org/​efr/​3270. T. Barker, “Consular Reports: A Rich but Neglected Source,” Business History 23.3 (1981), 265–​266; Herrero Sánchez, “La red consular europea,” 130; Poumarède, “Consuls,” 113–​122. M.C. Engels, Merchants, Interlopers, Seamen and Corsairs:  The ‘Flemish’ Community in Livorno and Genoa, 1615–​1635 (Hilversum: 1997), 127–​128; M. van Gelder, Trading Places: The Netherlandish Merchants in Early Modern Venice (Leiden and Boston: 2009), 162.

94 Ebben Remarkable is the fact that princes and states gradually increased their efforts to exert influence on the consuls. Whereas in the late Middle Ages consuls were administrators chosen by the members of the foreign colony of merchants, in the early modern period it was more and more often the prince or administrators in the homeland who made the appointments and set the rules for their employment. Historians are debating whether consuls should therefore be considered diplomats.13 Arguments in its favour are the facts that consuls were in one way or another sanctioned by the prince or state that sent them abroad, and that the ruler of the host country granted them some type of official permission to carry out their duties. Moreover, some of the tasks they actually assumed were characteristic of the work done by diplomats. Among these the most important one was to provide information to the homeland. As suggested above, in the 17th and 18th centuries people also wondered sometimes whether the consul was a diplomat.14 In general, one was of the opinion that in a legal sense he definitely was not. He usually did not enjoy the privileges and immunities accorded to envoys. Also, access to the monarch was reserved for the ambassador or envoy. Yet the status that consuls gave themselves and the way in which the authorities of the host country addressed them, often alluded to a diplomatic position. Gradually the foreign consulate acquired an internationally recognized status. That recognition, together with the relation to ‘the state,’ made it possible for consuls to look after the interests of merchants at the very highest level. In general, the duties of the Dutch consuls were similar to those of their European colleagues. Although much remains unclear about the exact descriptions of their tasks—​because the official regulations imposed on them tend to be rather vague in this respect—​actual examples show that they were first and foremost expected to assist, and defend the interests of, Dutch merchants. In 1656 Jacob van den Hove provided an overview of his consular activities since his appointment, in 1648, in Cádiz. He did this because he wanted to recommend himself to the States General as a candidate for a vacancy in Seville.15 13 14 15

Herrero Sánchez, “Red consular europea,” 128–​130; Horn, British Diplomatic Service, 241–​ 242, 253–​254; Pennings and Thomassen, Gezanten en consuls, 25; Poumarède, “Consuls,” 193–​217. See, for instance, A. de Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions 2 vols (Amsterdam: 1730, first edition Leiden: 1680–​1681), vol. 1, 63. Consul Isaak van Swanenburch died on 18 August 1656. Van den Hove applied for the position and recommended at the same time that the consulates of Seville and Cádiz be merged under his authority. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11918, fol. 221, Van den Hove to S-​G, 20 August 1656.

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During his eight years in office he had devoted himself to the protection of his fellow citizens against all Spanish infractions of the agreements made in Munster between the Spanish king and the States General. He had protested at all levels, including the very highest, against unlawful inspections of vessels, other controls, payment of deposits, and new regulations introduced by Spanish authorities. The Dutch sailors and merchants had been able to count on his assistance in legal cases and in their conflicts with port and customs authorities. He had managed to keep Dutch renegades who had been taken prisoner by Spanish privateers and warships, out of the tentacles of the Inquisition. Furthermore he had welcomed Dutch sailors who had been freed from Turkish slavery. He had arranged for the Dutch warships that sailed in convoy with merchant vessels or that fought against Berber corsairs, to be welcome in all ports on Andalusia’s Atlantic coast. Moreover he had been meticulous about sending reports on all these matters to the High and Mighty Lordships and to the colleges of the admiralties. In addition, he had informed the Spanish king and his councillors in Madrid of violations of both the collective and individual interests of Dutch merchants in the Cádiz area. While he does not mention this himself, Spanish authorities required all foreign consuls, including Van den Hove, to assist merchants from their respective home countries in completing all customs formalities.16 He may also have had duties as a notary for transactions within his area between Dutch merchants.17 Consuls most definitely were not allowed to demand of Dutch merchants that they use their paid services for loading and unloading vessels. It was possible to use such consular services but only on a voluntary basis. Furthermore, consuls did not have any authority or any type of jurisdiction over merchants and sailors. Remuneration of consuls was kept “separate from the expenditures and burdens of the Generality.” Instead, they were allowed to charge a fee, based on the size of the vessel, and to keep a fixed portion of that sum for their living expenses. The matter of payments would, however, be an ongoing ­problem.18 The appointment of consuls was not a clear and transparent procedure. The directors of the Directie van de Levantse Handel en de Navigatie

16 17 18

J. Everaert, De internationale en koloniale handel der Vlaamse firma’s te Cádiz, 1670–​1700 (Brugge: 1973), 223. NL-​HaNA LH inv.nr. 1.03.01, fol. 173; Heeringa, Bronnen, xxix, note 4. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11920 Hendrick van Deutecom to SG, Sevilla 21 April 1661and inv.nr. 11921 Hendrick van Deutecom to SG, Sevilla 7 August 1664; L. Aitzema, Saken van staet en oorlogh in ende omtrent de Vereenigde Nederlanden (The Hague: 1669–​ 1672), vol. 4, 38, 256; Heeringa, Bronnen, vol. 1, 467, vol. 2, 52; Steensgaard, “Consuls and Nations,” 33; Wätjen, Niederländer im Mittelmeergebiet, 106–​107.

96 Ebben in de Middellandse Zee and the States of Holland had decisive roles in the nomination of a candidate. Without going into the details of the complex procedure, it is important to mention that the official appointments were made by the States General, who gave consuls a kind of “certificate of competence,” yet they were not official representatives of the States General, even if they were allowed to use an official stamp of the Generality. A clear distinction was made regarding consuls in the Ottoman empire, who represented the ambassador in Istanbul, which gave them a sort of indirect sovereignty. Moreover, these consuls did have authority and jurisdiction over Dutch citizens in their district. Their colleagues in Christian states only were special assistants (“alleene en specialijcken behulpers”).19 Consuls were closely associated with the community of merchants in their district, with merchants in Holland, and with the directors of the Levantse Handel, to whom they also reported.20 Unlike the voc and the wic, the Levantse Handel was not a trading company with a monopoly but an interest group of private merchants doing business in the area near to and beyond the Strait of Gibraltar. The administration consisted of prominent Amsterdam merchants who were appointed by the city’s burgomasters and who met on a weekly basis in city hall. Later on, the organization would be expanded with a chamber in Hoorn (1644), Rotterdam (1670), and Zeeland (1696), but Amsterdam remained the most important player in the administration. The States General gave the Directie authority and means—​such as the right to collect lastgelden [taxes based on the size of a ship]—​that exceeded city and state levels, which is why it may be viewed as a Generality college. The Directie was one of the, for the Republic, typical semi-​public institutions that emphasized the protection of merchants’ interests.21

19 20

21

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11921, fol. 303; Aitzema, Saken van Staet, vol. 4, 38, 256; C. Cau, Groot Placaetboek ii (The Hague: 1658), Generael Reglement voor de Nederlantsche consuls, 1343–​1444; De Groot, Ottoman Empire, 105, 128–​132. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7049, Van den Hove to SG, 5 May 1656; NL-​ HaNA LH inv.nr. 1.03.01, 173–​175, 177–​179, 181; Jacob van den Hove wrote that in Cádiz he had some 30 merchants under his care. A. Crespo Solana, Mercaderes atlánticos. Redes del comercio flamenco y holandés entre Europa y el Caribe (Córdoba: 2009), 104–​128; J.I. Israel, The Dutch Republic and the Hispanic World, 1600–​1661 (Oxford: 1982), 420. A.H.H.  van der Burgh, De Directie van de Levantse Handel en de Navigatie in de Middellandse Zee (The Hague 1881–​1882); A.H. de Groot, “The organisation of Western European trade in the Levant, 1500–​1800,” in: P.H. Boulle, L. Blussé, and F.S. Gaastra eds., Companies and Trade: Essays on Overseas Trading Companies during the Ancien Régime (Leiden:  1981), 234–​235; J.I. Israel, Dutch Primacy in World Trade, 1585–​1740 (Oxford: 1989), 16–​18.

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97

Dutch Consuls in Spanish Ports: Jacob van den Hove, Consul in Cádiz

The Peace of Munster was ratified on 15 May 1648. The ink was barely dry when, on 28 May 1648, the High and Mighty Lordships decided to appoint consuls in Seville, Cádiz, Málaga, Alicante, and San Sebástian. At the same time two Dutchmen were instructed to establish consulates in Spanish territories in Italy, namely in Naples and Sicily. Within only a few years several additional consulates would be created, among other places in Tenerife, at the time the principal island of the Canary Archipelago. In Galicia, Barcelona, and on the Balearic Islands consuls made their appearance as well.22 The consulates on the Atlantic coast in Andalusia were the most important ones because of the Spanish wool trade and the commerce with the West Indies. The ports on the east coast of the Iberian Peninsula were important to Dutch merchants as well, because of the intra-​Mediterranean trade, while in the north—​on the Galician, Cantabrian, and Basque coast—​the Dutch were involved in the wool and iron trade.23 The appointment of consuls in Spain was not only indicative of Dutch merchants’ interest in Spanish and Spanish-​American markets, but was also a direct result of the Peace of Munster. The negotiators for the States General had managed to stipulate extremely favourable economic conditions. The treaty articles related to economic matters, which were further elaborated with the Spaniards in the 1651 Traktaat van Marine [maritime treaty], gave the Dutch a privileged commercial position in Spanish ports across Europe. Restrictive regulations, of all sorts, for foreign merchants no longer applied to Spanish-​Dutch trade relations, which gave the Dutch an enormous competitive advantage on the Spanish markets. Moreover, the now officially sanctioned use of the ports

22

23

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. NA SG Brievenboeken, 11916–​11920; liassen Spanje 7042–​7055, Secrete kast, 12575.34–​12575.35; A.  Domínguez Ortiz, Los extranjeros en la vida española durante el siglo XVII (Madrid: 1960), 377–​378; Heringa, Bronnen, vol. 1, 54–​155, vol. 2, 108–​109; Herrero Sánchez, “La red consular holandesa,” 100–​110; Israel, Dutch Republic and Hispanic World, 420–​423; idem, “The Dutch Merchant Colonies in the Mediterranean during the Seventeenth Century,” Renaissance and Modern Studies 30 (1986), 99–​100; Schutte, Nederlandse vertegenwoordigers, 389–​425; Wätjen, Niederländer im Mittelmeergebiet, 113. J.I. Israel, “The Phases of Dutch straatvaart, 1590–​1713: A Chapter in the Economic History of the Mediterranean,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 99 (1986), 1–​30; J. Le Moine de L’Espine, Den koophandel van Amsterdam, naar alle gewesten des weerelds … (Amsterdam:  1715), 644–​654; J. de Vries and A. van der Woude, Nederland 1500–​1815. De eerste ronde van moderne economische groei (Amsterdam: 1995), 563–​564.

98 Ebben of Andalusia’s Atlantic coast provided opportunities to the Dutch to participate more actively in the Spanish-​American trade, either through authorized channels or through smuggling. These new circumstances definitely did not hurt the Dutch. In his book, Interest van Holland, Pieter de la Court noted with great satisfaction that the Dutch had succeeded in dominating trade with Spain throughout the 1650s.24 Spain’s king had agreed to these far-​reaching concessions in order to involve the Dutch in the defence of the Southern Netherlands. He assumed that the Republic would agree to this military collaboration because France’s growing power in that area would also threaten the Republic’s security. It was the king’s expectation that eventually the Republic would form a political and military alliance with Spain.25 That expectation became even stronger when the Republic, because of the fight over Brazil, got into a war with Portugal, which since 1640 had been trying to secede from the Spanish Monarchy. Moreover, the king expected Dutch businessmen to come to Spain’s economic and financial aid. For all these reasons the Dutch received the same exceptional privileges that the Hanseatic League members had been enjoying since 1621 so that they would supply Spain with much-​needed goods from northern Europe. According to the king, this special association with the Hanseatic League had not been sufficiently successful and he thought that the Dutch, with their extensive business opportunities, were the obvious alternative.26

24 25

26

P.  de la Court, Het interest van Holland, ofte grond van Hollands welvaren (Amsterdam: 1662), 162. See, for instance, the leagues that the Spanish ambassador proposed to the States General. Archivo Histórico Nacional Madrid (ahn), Estado libro 720, Liga de las 17 Provincias 3 September 1663; NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 3442, 2 July 1656; 12.588.69, Une ligue pour la Sureté reciproque des deux Etats, 15 December 1661; 3465, 19 June 1664. M. Ebben, ‘“Een simpel tractaet van commercie ende marine sonder obligatie tot eenige defensie.’ Spaans-​Nederlandse betrekkingen rond 1660,” in: M. Ebben and P. Wagenaar eds., De cirkel doorbroken. Met nieuwe ideeën terug naar de bronnen. Opstellen over de Republiek (Leiden: 2006), 87–​100. A. Girard, Le commerce français à Séville et Cádiz au temps des Habsbourg (Paris and Bordeaux: 1932), 77–​88, 99–​104, 109–​110; J. Kernkamp, De economische artikelen inzake Europa van het Munsterse vredesverdrag (Amsterdam: 1951), 3–​24; Th. Weller, “Entre dos aguas. La Hansa y sus relaciones con la Monarquía Hispánica y las Provincias Unidas en las primeras décadas del siglo XVII,” in:  B. García et  al. eds., El arte de la prudencia. La Tregua de los Doce Años en la Europa de los pacificadores (Madrid: 2012), 179–​199; A.M. van der Woude, “De Vrede van Munster en de economische ontwikkeling van de Republiek,” in: H. de Schepper et al. eds., 1648. De Vrede van Munster (Hilversum: 1997), 99–​119.

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Jacob van den Hove was the first active Dutch consul in Spain after the Twelve Years’ Truce.27 The States General had appointed him on 28 May 1648 to Cádiz, the Andalusian port on the Atlantic coast that was clearly on the rise. Nine days later several nearby ports were added to his consulate: Puerto Santa María, Puerto Real, and Jerez de la Frontera. Van den Hove received his commission on 13 June and arrived in Spain in August. The first three years probably were the most challenging of his career. These were years full of tension and conflicts with local Spanish authorities culminating in a search of his home and his administrative records on 22 July 1650. Van den Hove and his colleagues had their hands full dealing with complaints from the Dutch about the behaviour of Spanish port authorities. According to the Dutch consuls the Spaniards violated articles of the Peace of Munster and the Traktaat van Marine. Dutch sailors were charged tolls that were inappropriate or too high, and there were also allegations that Dutch merchants were accused unjustly of all kinds of smuggling activities. Dutch vessels were frequently attacked by Basque, Irish, and Dunkirk privateers because they were alleged to bring goods from the enemy to Spain. Moreover, local admiralty authorities forced the Dutch sailors to pay large deposits as soon as they entered a Spanish port, to make sure they would not leave the port without paying tolls and tariffs. Furthermore, the local authorities required the Dutch merchants to contribute to loans to the royal treasury. The king had imposed this requirement on all domestic and foreign merchants and they had to meet their obligations i­ mmediately. Van den Hove made serious efforts to get along with the local and regional authorities. His contacts with the captain-​general and overall coordinator of the defence of Andalusia’s Atlantic coast, Juan Luis de la Cerda, Duke of Medinaceli, were cordial.28 Because all kinds of fiscal regulations, intended to finance military efforts, were associated with Medinaceli’s duties, the duke had significant influence on trade in southern Spain. Moreover, he was responsible for the sale of prizes and other matters related to privateering in his district.29 27

28 29

Theodore van Rodenburgh was officially consul in Lisbon but between 1611 and 1613 also represented Dutch interests at the Spanish Court, for example in conflicts with the Spaniards in West Africa. Johan van Hoorn had received his commission for Seville on 14 March 1615 and most likely had been forced to resign in 1621 (if not earlier) when war resumed between the Republic and Spain. Schutte, Nederlandse vertegenwoordigers, 405, 410; Wätjen, Niederländer im Mittelmeergebiet, 113. Medinaceli was Capitán General del Mar Océano y Costas de Andalucía. Everaert, Vlaamse firma’s te Cádiz, 23–​24; L. Salas Almela, Medina Sidonia. El poder de la aristocracia, 1580–​1670 (Madrid: 2008), 386. Salas Almela, Medina Sidonia, 230–​231.

100 Ebben Van den Hove recognized the influential position of the Grande de España and did his utmost to make him an ally of the Dutch, in particular because the duke had direct access to the king. It was indeed through Medinaceli that Van de Hove received several important royal commitments that were favourable to Dutch traders.30 The consul sent Medinaceli gifts on several appropriate occasions. For example, when Medinaceli’s daughter married the marquis of Heliche, eldest son of Don Luis de Haro, the king’s principal minister, Van den Hove offered his best wishes on behalf of the Dutch community in Cádiz and sent the duke a Japanese trunk filled with East-​Indian products.31 The two men were on such good terms that Van den Hove had direct access to the captain-​ general. During a stroll near Puerto de Santa María, Medinaceli allegedly even confided to Van den Hove that his house had always been favourably disposed towards the Dutch. To support this claim he said that his ancestor Juan de la Cerda had condemned the brutal regime of the duke of Alba in the Netherlands when he was designated to be the latter’s successor.32 Van den Hove also got along rather well with the count of Frigiliana, governor of the city of Cádiz, and his successor, the count of Molina. The king had instructed Frigiliana to support the Dutch merchants and to protect them against extortion by Spanish authorities. Van den Hove was able to convince Molina that Dutch merchants had to be treated according to the terms of the Peace of Munster and the Traktaat van Marine. Although Molina and his successors did not always cooperate immediately, they usually, after some admonition from Madrid, obeyed the king’s wish that they behave in a correct and generous manner towards the Dutch. Such was not the case with the veedores-​ generales or customs officials, who clearly targeted the new foreign traders in Spain. Andrés Hurtado de Corcuera and in particular his successor, Esteban Fermín de Marichalar, persecuted the Dutch whenever and wherever they could. According to Van den Hove it was Don Andrés’s principal goal in life to torment and ruin Dutch merchants. Between the customs officials of the Almirantazgo [admiralty] and Dutch sailors numerous problems arose about tolls levied on imported and exported goods. According to the Dutch consuls their fellow citizens were exempt from paying tolls or other port taxes in light of the agreements made at Munster. Moreover they enjoyed the same rights as the Spaniards and the members of the Hanseatic League. Time and again, so the consuls claimed, the authorities of the Almirantazgo had violated the privileges of the Dutch. Van den Hove also protested against the already mentioned 30 31 32

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7042. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7043. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7042, 7046.

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payment of deposits imposed on the Dutch by the veedores-​generales. Such payments were required to prevent the departure of vessels without the consent of the Almirantazgo. The consul argued that this was a serious impediment to the development of Dutch trade, especially because it was hard for the Dutch, as newcomers on the Spanish markets, to find people willing to grant them loans. But that was not all: the requirement was incompatible with those articles of the Peace of Munster that provided for free trade between the “respective citizens” [of both countries].The same applied, it was argued, to the high tariffs that Spanish customs officials tried to levy on Dutch vessels cruising the Atlantic within the 20-​mile zone off Andalusia’s coast. The Spaniards had created this regulation in an attempt to prevent illegal trade near their coast, especially when the American fleet was approaching.33 Although the Dutch accusations of fraud and extortion by Spanish officials were not entirely unfair, Hurtado’s and Marichalar’s determination to deal firmly with the Dutch was somewhat understandable. In the short time that Dutch sailors had been coming to Spanish ports, they had acquired among friends and foes a reputation for being smugglers of the worst kind. In 1652 the duke of Medinaceli informed the members of the Spanish Council of State and the Council of the Indies of the illegal practices by the Dutch. What was already known was confirmed by Seville’s veedor, Don Lorenzo Andrés García, with a statement from a German sailor according to whom the Dutch abused the favourable trade position that they enjoyed. Dutch vessels were subject to fewer inspection regulations. Therefore Dutch sailors smuggled goods from enemies into Spain and, worse yet, did the same in Spanish America, even though all persons, including Spaniards, were strictly forbidden from conducting business with these territories without the express consent of the king and the Casa de Contratación. What infuriated Spanish customs officials most of all was the excessive manner in which the Dutch violated the rules. Everyone was aware that in the Spanish customs system secret trading was inevitable, especially because the Spaniards themselves participated in it. But apparently the Dutch went too far, in the eyes of the Spaniards, in their attempts to circumvent regulations and to avoid paying tolls and tariffs.34 In order to prevent or at least restrict the import of illegal goods Spain forced the Dutch merchants and the States General to use certificates and passports for better control of Dutch trading activities. This led, however, to even more fraud and shrewd avoidance 33 34

Archivo General de Simancas (ags) Estado legajo (leg.)., 2096, 26 January 1660; Everaert, Vlaamse firma’s, 488–​512; W. Klooster, Illicit Riches: Dutch Trade in the Caribbean, 1648–​1795 (Leiden: 1998), 50–​51. Archivo General de Indias Sevilla (agi), Indiferente, leg. 767.

102 Ebben on the part of the Dutch, followed by Spanish retaliations and protests from Dutch sailors and consuls.35 Another source of irritation for the Spaniards were the large-​scale violations by the Dutch of the Spanish-​American trade monopoly. Dutch merchants, as well as other Europeans, entered the American markets via the semi-​legal practice of bribing Spanish or naturalized frontmen who did have the right to trade with the New World. But Dutch smugglers also conducted their business with the Americas by way of the Canary Islands, the Dutch Antilles, or Buenos Aires, without any contact with Spanish merchants or institutions.36 Although these cases of fraud were officially considered in Madrid by the Consejo de Indias, the Dutch consuls played a role in their handling as well. Balthasar Polster and Emanuel Dommer, both working as consuls in Tenerife, were overloaded with American contraband cases, not in the least because in all likelihood they were very much involved personally in this illegal business.37 The consul in Galicia, too, had to spend time on similar cases:  quite often ships would arrive that had been separated from the American fleet because of weather conditions or damage, or on purpose. Van den Hove also had to deal frequently with fellow citizens who were questioned or punished by Spanish customs officials because of their fraudulent activities. Dutchmen were trading on so-​called navíos almacenes [ships with considerable storage space] near the coast of Andalusia with vessels coming from the Americas. Outside the Spanish ports, goods that had all kinds of origins would then be loaded from one ship onto another with the deliberate intent to avoid paying tolls and tariffs. When talking to Spanish authorities, the Dutch consul in Cádiz claimed to be completely ignorant of such practices, but in 1654 he did report to the States General that the fraudulent activities of the Dutch were seriously testing the patience of Spanish authorities.38 Van den Hove had personally experienced that the local authorities were much less forgiving than the administrators in Madrid. On 22 July 1650, the veedor-​general of Cádiz, Don Esteban Fermín de Marichalar, had, with the consent of a city magistrate, given orders to search the consul’s home. Even though Van den Hove considered this to be an illegal act, on the basis of his

35 36 37 38

M. Herrero Sánchez, El acercamiento hispano-​neerlandés, 1648–​1678 (Madrid:  2000), 101–​103. agi, Gobernación y Gracia, leg., 765–​773; ags, Estado, leg., 2677; Herrero Sánchez, Acercamiento hispano-​holandés, 107–​110; Klooster, Illicit Riches, 52–​58. ags Estado leg. 3980; Klooster, Illicit Riches, 56; Schutte, Nederlandse vertegenwoordigers, 423. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7046 Van den Hove to SG, 21 September 1654; 7047 Van den Hove aan SG, 30 May 1655, 10 August 1655.

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assumed consular immunity, officials searched his administrative documents and his warehouse looking for proof of illicit trade and possession of contraband. They did not find any such proof. Van den Hove submitted complaints to the local authorities and to the king in Madrid about the methods used by Marichalar and other government officials. These complaints did have results: the veedor was severely reprimanded and transferred to an insignificant post in the Sierra Morena, in Spain’s interior. Philp iv announced again to the local authorities, emphatically, that they were required to observe the terms of the Peace of Munster and to treat the Dutch properly.39 4

Dutch Consuls and the Court in Madrid

After the conclusion of the Peace of Munster it did not take the Dutch much time to acquire a bad reputation in Madrid because of their illegal trading activities, and that reputation would only get worse in the following years.40 Nevertheless, the king’s councillors decided without fail in favour of the subjects of the Republic. The decision to reprimand and transfer Marichalar was a clear example of their attitude. Madrid insisted that Dutch merchants be treated kindly, that searches of homes be avoided, and that tolls be levied only according to the agreed terms. The Dutch consuls could count on sympathetic listeners when they took their complaints to the royal councils in Madrid because the king had very high expectations of the new Spanish-​Dutch collaboration since the Peace of Munster. Don Gaspar de Bracamonte y Guzmán, Count of Peñaranda, who should be considered as one of the architects of the Peace, was a strong advocate of cordial contacts with the Dutch. In 1649 the king charged Sancho Dávila y Toledo, Marquis of Velada, with the very special task of safeguarding the interests of the Dutch in his capacity as member of the Council of State.41 This remarkable appointment was not only the result of the Court’s favourable disposition towards the Dutch but also of the Dutch consuls’ constant pressure 39 40 41

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7043. J. Barrionuevo, Avisos de Madrid, 1654–​58 y apéndice anónimo 1660–​1664. New edition by A. Paz y Mélia (Madrid: 1894), vol. 2, 115; Girard, Commerce français, 109–​110. He was appointed as ‘protector de los vasallos de las Provincias Unidas en todos los Reinos de Su Majestad.’ Velada knew the Netherlands because he had been governor of Dunkirk and had occupied high military and diplomatic positions. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7042 Jacob van den Hove aan de Staten-​Generaal, 1 August 1649. R. Vermeir, In staat van oorlog. Filips IV en de Zuidelijke Nederlanden, 1629–​1648 (Maastricht:  2001), 155–​156, 187, 244, 325.

104 Ebben on Madrid. Van den Hove proudly saw the appointment as a personal accomplishment. In spite of the high expectations and the gifts offered by the Dutch consuls, the marquis of Velada did very little, which led to efforts to have a Dutch ambassador or other high-​ranking diplomat appointed to the Court.42 The consuls continued to put pressure on the States General for this matter while simultaneously trying to find their way in the labyrinth of royal councils and committees.43 Van den Hove carried out his duties with great success: with the help of gifts he got on the good side of various key figures. The most important person for the Dutch cause probably was Juan Alonso de Sala, solicitador de Cámara del Consejo Supremo del Rey. He was the one who made sure that the letters and memoranda of the Dutch consuls arrived on the right desk and were indeed considered. Don Juan Alonso got on good terms, for example, with the personal secretary and doorman of the marquis of Velada and they accepted the petitions and other messages from this high-​ranking nobleman. About himself Sala said that because of his social background and the offices he had held, he had the right contacts to provide valuable services to the States General and to Van den Hove and his colleagues.44 Another important contact person was Don Fernando Ruiz de Contreras, secretary of the Council of State. However, the consuls also had strong opponents, whose hostility they had incurred with their numerous protests and complaints. Thus, they encountered the resistance of the powerful Don Luis Oyanguren, the Basque secretary of the Council of War, to which the admiralties reported. In 1655 Pieter van Oorschot, consul in Spain’s Basque provinces, had to call on Juan Alonso de Sala in order to placate Oyanguren somewhat.45 When the Basque official gave Van den Hove a stern warning, the latter apologetically admitted that sometimes Dutch sailors did go too far and that he would prevent new excesses.46 42

To encourage the marquess of Velada, he received a trunk with 50 boxes of chocolate and a hat made of beaver fur. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7043, Jacob van den Hove aan de Staten-​Generaal, 4 July 1650. 43 NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11.916, Van den Hove to SG, Cádiz, 10 March 1649; Van den Hove aan SG, Cádiz, 10 April 1650; Van Oorschot to SG, San Sebastián, 20 May 1655. Consuls themselves were not allowed to stay in their professional capacity at the Royal Court of Madrid. Herrero Sánchez, “La red consular europea,” 147. 44 NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 7043, Sala to Van den Hove, Madrid 20 June 1650. 45 NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11.916, Van Oorschot to SG, San Sebastián, 20 May 1655. 46 NL-​ HaNA, Staten-​ Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11.916, Van den Hove to SG, Cádiz, 20 September 1655.

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The many efforts by the Dutch consuls to have influence at the Court apparently did not have the desired outcomes, and neither did the gifts and marks of respect, for the consuls continued to insist that the States General send a high-​ ranking diplomat to Madrid in order to have the Dutch complaints actually considered by the Spaniards. Deliberately or not, often no progress was made on these cases in the slowly moving system of royal councils. Van den Hove’s description in 1649 had been quite accurate: … because we have no other recourse than to persons who themselves are at the service of His Majesty, and while His Majesty shows that he wants to favour us in every respect, there is no shortage of other persons who are in a privileged position at the Court because they have their own friends there and who thus obstruct and make useless that which His Majesty clearly enough mandates in our favour.47 The pleas of the consuls did not fall on deaf ears. On 20 May 1656 the High and Mighty Lordships sent two gentlemen to Madrid, one of whom, Hendrik van Reede van Renswoude, would stay there as resident.48 5

Van Renswoude Resident in Madrid

Although the Spanish king had expected the States General to send a plenipotentiary ambassador with a wide range of powers, Van Reede received only the title of resident minister and was given limited authority. These restrictions were particularly obvious in 1659 when he conducted lengthy negotiations with the Spaniards about Dutch access to the salt lagoon in Punta de Araya, in present-​day Venezuela. The Dutch had requested this exception to the American monopoly in exchange for a potential alliance with Spain in the struggle against Portugal. In a direct confrontation with Portugal, the Dutch risked losing their access to the important salt pans of Setúbal. According to the States General, Spanish salt from Andalusia, Ibiza, and La Mata was available in insufficient quantities, was too expensive, and could therefore not meet demand in the Netherlands. The rich layers of salt in Punta de Araya, although far away, would be a good alternative to the loss of the high-​quality Portuguese salt. Moreover, although this was obviously not mentioned, free passage to 47 NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11.916 Van den Hove to SG, Cádiz, 10 March 1649. 48 Aitzema, Staet en oorlog, 36, 1313–​1314; Barrionuevo, Avisos de Madrid, ii, 275–​276; Schutte, Nederlandse vertegenwoordigers, 389.

106 Ebben Tierra Firme would provide opportunities to transport goods to the Americas and then trade them illegally. The Spaniards had high expectations of these negotiations. In particular they wanted to commit the Dutch to a blockade of Portugal’s ports, which would leave the rebels without war materiel and food. Spain would then be able to enter the kingdom from the east, over land, and reconquer it. When they were close to reaching an agreement, the members of the Council of State learned to their great disappointment that Van Reede was not authorized to sign a treaty. He was allowed to conduct negotiations on conditions and specific terms regarding Dutch sailors’ access to, and exploitation of, the salt lagoon, but that was the extent of his powers. Even when the Spaniards no longer required an official alliance in exchange for access to the salt lagoon in Venezuela, he was not allowed to sign an agreement. The king’s councillors then decided to have the matter handled by the Spanish ambassador in The Hague.49 The most important assignment given to Van Reede was to carry out the task that the consuls had repeatedly mentioned in their pleas for the appointment of an ambassador to the Spanish Court. He would have to make sure that all complaints collected by the consuls would be considered by the appropriate councils. That had been the specific request of the consuls and that was what he had to do, in close consultation with them.50 Van Reede did carry out his task. In December 1657 he submitted to the Consejo de Estado a 63-​page report and had it printed in a Spanish translation. This exposé of complaints submitted by the Dutch nation to the Spanish Court, or Vertooch van clachten wegens den Staet aen t’Hoff van Spangien, as he called it in Dutch, is indeed a collection of complaints regarding violations of the Peace of Munster and the Traktaat van Marine by Spanish officials, for which the consuls had been seeking adjudication for some time—​in some cases, for several years.51 Without any ostentation Van Reede reminds the king’s highest authorities in this document of the injustices suffered by Dutch merchants and consuls. In the first place he denounces, in general terms, the violence of the Dunkirk, Irish, and Basque privateers, the unlawful confiscations, the problems with certificates, 49

50 51

ags Estado leg., 2092; M.  Herrero Sánchez, “La explotación de las salinas de Punta de Araya. Un factor conflictivo en el proceso de acercamiento hispano-​neerlandés, 1648–​ 1678,” Cuadernos de Historia Moderna 14 (1993), 173–​194; Israel, The Dutch Republic, 408–​411; R. Valladares, La rebelión de Portugal, 1640–​1680. Guerra, conflicto y poderes en la Monarquía hispánica (Valladolid: 1998), 161–​163. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02 inv.nr. 3218, 413ff. and 3262. ags Estado leg. 2676, Memorial que el Residente de Holanda dio en el Consejo de Estado; NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 12.575.35, Vertoogh van clachten jegens den Staet aen t’Hoff van Spaigne.

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and the ambiguities in instructions to lower-​level officials. This is followed by a multitude of specific cases that serve to illustrate the numerous irregularities that have occurred. To avoid giving an endless list, he only mentions the cases still pending at the courts. Van Reede based his extensive argumentation on the detailed information the consuls had collected on these cases as well as on older cases they had handled before Van Reede’s arrival. He had received all information directly from the consuls or from the States General, whose members had previously been apprised by the consuls. Pieter van Oorschot, for example, who was consul in the Basque and Cantabrian coastal areas, had written several times to the Lords States General about a case that because of obstruction by Spanish officials at all levels had not been solved. In December 1654 the Consejo de Guerra [Council of War] had ordered that 16,000 silver reales be confiscated in the Cantabrian port of Santoña. The sum had been paid for the 70,000 fanegas [unit of capacity] of grain that Jan Cooijmans’ company in Amsterdam had supplied to the Baron de Batteville, who was captain-​general of San Sebastíán and Guipúzcoa.52 The latter had purchased the grain for sustenance of the garrisons stationed in the local fortresses. Spanish law expressly prohibited the export of precious metals, with the exception of gold and silver received as payment for the sale of military-​related goods. Van Oorschot had asked Philip iv three times to annul the judgement of the Council of War, but while the king had decided in his favour, the councillors still had not acted accordingly. They were hiding behind all sorts of military emergency measures. Next, Van Oorschot had asked the Lords States General to write to the king, which they had done twice. Nevertheless, the silver had not been released yet. Van Oorschot himself also had a claim, which had been pending since 1655, regarding the supply of two orders of cordage and ammunition to the tune of more than 4,500 silver reales, of which two years later he had seen nothing yet.53 In his Vertoogh van clachten Van Reede also mentioned lawsuits initiated by Jacob van den Hove. The case of the ship De Haes in ‘t Velt demonstrates the close collaboration between the consul and the new diplomat in Madrid in their efforts to promote the interests of Dutch merchants and sailors. On 20 June 1656 Van den Hove reported to the States General that De Haes in ‘t Velt, which had entered the bay of Cádiz as part of a Dutch convoy, had been confiscated by the veedor Andrés Hurtado de Corcuera. The captain, Jan Kien from 52 53

Carlos de Batteville or Charles de Watteville de Joux (1605–​1670) was captain-​general of Guipúzcoa from 1654 to 1660. Next, he became Spain’s ambassador in London. One fanega equals approximately 55.5 liters. ags Estado leg. 2676 Memorial del Residente de Holanda, fol. 26v-​27v; leg. 4.111.

108 Ebben Zeeland, had been arrested by the city’s governor and imprisoned in the castle of Santa Catalina. Kien was accused of sailing on an English vessel and of transporting English and French contraband. Moreover it was alleged that he had deliberately used his ship as a warehouse where smugglers could purchase goods. The consul registered a protest with the local authorities, while also informing Van Reede van Renswoude of the incident. Both Dutch representatives promised to keep each other carefully apprised of any new developments pertaining to the De Haes in ‘t Velt.54 Although Kien was freed in August, the case would linger for several months.55 Van Reede included it in his Vertoogh van clachten and added strong arguments to support the claim that both the vessel and its goods should be released. In this, he relied primarily on information received from Van den Hove.56 6

The States General, the Resident, and the Consul

Although the consuls often complained that they were lone voices in the wilderness because they seldom received an answer from the States General, their efforts did lead to results in The Hague’s administrative circles. The States of Holland and the States General took note of the information supplied by the Dutch consuls in Spain. It was discussed and led to new measures by the Lords States General. Summoning the Spanish ambassador in The Hague to request clarifications and, in appropriate cases, ask him to relay the Dutch views, complaints, and protests to his superiors, was one of the most important diplomatic steps taken. Between 1650 and 1660 Antoine Brun, the first Spanish ambassador in The Hague, and Don Esteban de Gamarra y Contreras, his successor, appeared several times before the States General to hear complaints and to receive memoranda in which irregularities occurring in Spanish ports and in the legal process were pointed out.57 The great advantage of this approach was that through ambassadors the highest levels at the Spanish Court could 54 55 56

57

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11918 Van den Hove to SG 1 October 1656 and inv.nr. 7049 Van Reede van Renswoude to SG 4 October 1656. ags Contaduría del Sueldo Contrabando leg.131 (2)  19 January 1657; NL-​HaNA, Staten-​ Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11918 Van den Hove to SG 2 August 1656. ags Estado leg. 2676 Memorial del Residente de Holanda. The marquess of Velada was inclined to decide the case in favor of the Dutch, on condition that the sailor be severely punished in the Netherlands because officials in Cádiz did have proof that Kien was in fact guilty of secret trading. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 293 resoluties 27 March and 2 May 1656; ags Estado leg. 2676, 25v-​26; Israel, Hispanic World, 424.

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be reached rather easily—​at least, that was the assumption. Moreover, it was much less expensive to communicate with the Spaniards this way, instead of through one’s own ambassador in Madrid. Nevertheless, because of pressure from the merchants and on the recommendation of the consuls, the States General had appointed Van Reede van Renswoude as resident minister. Evidently this had not been sufficient to put an end to the constant friction with Spanish authorities. It was therefore deemed necessary to use other diplomatic methods to exert greater pressure. On 14 September 1660 the High and Mighty Lordships decided to send an extraordinary embassy to the Spanish Court, with the specific mission to ask the king and his councillors most urgently to put an end to the violations of the Peace of Munster and the Traktaat van Marine.58 From The Hague, Johan de Witt personally guided the members of this embassy by sending them many letters filled with instructions.59 During their audiences with the king, Don Luis de Haro, and other high-​level officials, the ambassadors presented memoranda which they had composed on the basis of Van Reede’s Vertoogh van clachten, resolutions by the States General, and information compiled over time by the consuls and sent to the Sates General. They had copies of documentation that served as evidence. In Madrid they were advised by Van Reede while preparing for their meetings with the king, Luis de Haro, and the councillors. They also sought his assistance in composing the memoranda that they wished to present.60 It had been their hope that Van den Hove would come from Cádiz and join them to discuss the pending cases. Illness and business problems with local authorities prevented him, however, from travelling to Madrid in time for such meetings. It was not until after the envoys’ departure that he would go to the capital to evaluate the embassy’s work with Hendrik van Reede.61 While in Madrid, the ambassadors wished to prepare themselves thoroughly in order to be as knowledgeable as possible when meeting with the Spaniards. They therefore requested very specific information from the consuls. 58 59 60 61

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 8509 Verbael van de heren hhm extraordinares Ambassadeurs, instructies 14–​16; 11920 Van Merode, Van Reede van Amerongen en Aebinga van Humalda aan SG, Madrid, 13 May 1661. Between January and mid-​May 1661 De Witt sent 12 letters with instructions to the embassy. NL-​HaNA, De Witt, 3.01.17 inv.nr. 2652; R. Fruin, G. Kernkamp, and N. Japikse, Brieven van Johan de Witt 4 vols (Amsterdam: 1909–​1913), vol. 2, 282, 307–​309. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 8509 Verbael, 33, 40–​41, 48, 52, 69; 11920 Van Merode, Van Reede van Amerongen en Aebinga van Humalda to SG, Madrid, 12 January 1661 and 21 January 1661. NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 11920, Van den Hove to SG, 23 and 27 March 1661 and 12 May 1661.

110 Ebben Pieter van Oorschot, for example, was asked to prepare a comprehensive report about the “excesses of piracy and the violations vis-​à-​vis the Dutch by the privateers in Biscay” (“excessieve piraterijen en violentieën aan de Nederlanders aangedaan door de commissievaarders in Biskaje”). They included the details of this report by the consul in San Sebastián about injustices suffered by the Dutch in their memorandum to the king.62 7

Conclusion

The Dutch consuls in Spain formed an important link in the States General’s diplomatic relations with the Spanish king after the Peace of Munster. With the agreement and collaboration of the High and Mighty Lordships, they looked after the interests of Dutch merchants at local and higher-​level administrative offices and in the judicial courts. As early as 1648 they requested the appointment of a high-​ranking diplomat to the Spanish Court to emphasize the importance of the complaints of Dutch merchants about violations by Spanish officials of certain articles of the Peace of Munster and the Traktaat van Marine. The request was granted by sending Van Reede van Renswoude to Madrid as resident minister. He became the advocate of Dutch trade interests at the Spanish Court. Although he was at the centre of the network of consuls, he did not become their head or a supervisor who gave them instructions. Rather, he was the person who somehow had to solve at the Court the cases that were stuck at lower administrative and judicial levels. The consuls submitted the complaints and protests to him, with all kinds of supporting evidence. While Van Reede’s official diplomatic status was higher than the position of the consuls, his political assignment was limited, and without the input of the consuls his role actually was only ceremonial and information-​seeking.63 The consuls also corresponded about these cases with the Directie van de Levantse Handel and the States General. They provided information on the basis of which their High Mightinesses chose their course of action. What is more, the documented requests of the consuls led to new diplomatic steps. Several times, the Lords States General summoned the Spanish ambassador in The Hague and requested that he point out to the king that the constant violations of the Peace and the Traktaat risked damaging the friendly relations and economic collaboration. The concrete knowledge received by their High 62 63

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 8509 Verbael, 69; 11920 Van Merode, Van Reede van Amerongen en Aebinga van Humalda to SG, 4 and 9 February 1661 and 18 March 1661. Pennings and Thomassen, Gezanten en consuls, 25.

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Mightinesses about the way in which Spanish authorities treated Dutch merchants, contributed to their decision in 1660 to send an extraordinary embassy to the Spanish Court. Much of what was discussed during the audiences with the king and his councillors was directly linked to the problems signalled by the consuls, as was the content of the memoranda that were presented. Obviously, the policies and diplomatic efforts of the States General towards Spain were not exclusively influenced by the consuls. Others whose interests were at stake, spoke out as well, as was the case of the Amsterdam Sephardic Jews, who by means of the Mahamad [the administrative body of the Amsterdam Sefardim], the city’s burgomasters, and the States of Holland submitted petitions to the States General in which they demanded the same treatment as the Dutch. As residents of the Republic they were entitled to equal treatment according to the Peace of Munster. Their efforts were successful, for the States General became, at the highest levels, the advocate of their demands as well. In this case, too, before adopting their position, the Lords States General sought documentation from the consuls who already were working with Amsterdam Sefardim in Spain.64 It would be naive to assume that only information provided by the consuls and their requests contributed to the States General’s policymaking with regard to economic relations with Spain. The procedure was much more complex and included prominent roles for commercial interest groups, the directors of the Levantse Handel, the burgomasters of Amsterdam, the States of Holland, and the grand pensionary. But that does not change the fact, at least for the relations with Spain, that the consuls, who represented private merchants’ interests, were in fact part of the diplomatic service of the States General and as such were able to have an impact on official policymaking. What they actually did was to make use of the sovereign diplomatic tools of the state in their efforts to defend the interests of Dutch merchants and, if possible, to improve the latter’s competitive position. Whose interests the consuls really represented is not entirely clear: those of all Dutch merchants or more specifically those of the great Amsterdam commercial houses with a seat on the board of the Dutch Levant Trade? Frequent conflicts between consuls and members of Dutch merchant communities in foreign countries give rise to the presumption that consuls gave priority to the interests of the latter. Most likely, the issues considered in this study applied not only to the consuls in Spain but to those in other places as well—​for instance in the Ottoman

64

NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal, 1.01.02, inv.nr. 8509 Verbael, 10–​11; W. van de Water, Secrete Resolutiën van de EGMH Staten van Holland (Utrecht: 1717), vol. 1, 229.

112 Ebben empire, where they enjoyed greater official powers. There also are strong indications that consuls from other western European states, in their dual role as informers in the service of their state and as advocates of the interests of private merchants, made comparable contributions to foreign-​policymaking, although they were not members of an official diplomatic network.65 What this study demonstrates is that an actor-​based approach regarding historical figures who are not recognized as official diplomats, in this case consuls, reveals the complexity of premodern foreign relations. Influential interest groups seized the opportunity to participate in diplomatic exchanges primarily to the benefit of their personal or group interests rather than state interests. The state, on its part, used the networks, knowledge, infrastructure, and material means of merchant communities to meet its political ends. What ultimately matters as much as their political influence on the state’s foreign-​ policymaking is the fact that interest groups contributed to shaping the characteristics and nature of the state’s diplomatic culture. In the Dutch case, they gave it a significant commercial orientation.

Sources and Bibliography



Manuscript sources

Archivo General de Indias Sevilla, Spain (agi). -​Gobernación y Gracia, Legajo (leg.), 765–​773. -​Indiferente, leg. 767. Archivo General de Simancas, Spain (ags). -​Estado (E) leg., 2092, 2096, 2677, 3980. -​Contaduría del Sueldo Contrabando (csc) leg.131 (2). Archivo Histórico Nacional Madrid, Spain (ahn). -​Estado (E) libro 720. National Archive The Hague, The Netherlands (NL-​HaNA). Staten-​Generaal (NL-​HaNA, Staten-​Generaal 1.01.02). Resoluties: inv.nr. 293, 3218, 3262, 3442. Liassen Spanje: inv.nr. 7042, 7043, 7046, 7047, 7049. Verbaelen en rapporten: inv.nr. 8509. Brievenboeken: inv.nr. 11.916, 11.920, 11921. Secrete kast: inv.nr. 12575.34-​12.575.35, 12.588.69. Directie van de Levantse Handel (NL-​HaNA LH). 65

Herrero Sánchez, “La red consular europea,” 144; Poumarède, “Consuls,” 193–​218; Zamora Rodríguez, La ‘pupilla dell’occhio,’ 170–​172.

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inv.nr. 1.03.01, fol. 173–​175, 177–​179, 181. Archief De Witt (NL-​HaNA, De Witt). De Witt, 3.01.17 inv.nr. 2652.



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Aitzema, L., Saken van staet en oorlogh in ende omtrent de Vereenigde Nederlanden (The Hague: 1669–​1672). Barrionuevo, J., Avisos de Madrid, 1654–​58 y apéndice anónimo 1660–​1664. New edition by A. Paz y Mélia (Madrid: 1894). Bijnkershoek, C. van, Traité du juge competent des ambassadeurs, trans. Jean Barbeyrac (The Hague: 1721). Re-​edited in conjunction with A. Wicquefort, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions, 2 vols (Amsterdam: 1730). Cau, C., Groot Placaetboek II (The Hague: 1658) Generael Reglement voor de Nederlantsche consuls, 1343–​1444. Court, P.  de la, Het interest van Holland, ofte grond van Hollands welvaren (Amsterdam: 1662). Fruin, R. and N. Japikse, Brieven aan Johan de Witt, 2 vols (Amsterdam: 1919–​1922). Fruin, R., G. Kernkamp, and N. Japikse, Brieven van Johan de Witt 4 vols (Amsterdam: 1909–​1913). Heeringa, K., Bronnen tot de geschiedenis van de Levantschen handel, 2 vols (The Hague: 1910, 1917). Le Moine de L’Espine, J., Den koophandel van Amsterdam, naar alle gewesten des weerelds … (Amsterdam: 1715). Wicquefort, A. de, L’ambassadeur et ses fonctions 2 vols (Amsterdam: 1730; first edition Leiden: 1680–​1681).

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pa rt 3 Missionaries

∵

­c hapter 5

The Mendicant Friars: Actors in Diplomatic Encounters with the Mongols Jacques Paviot The New Diplomatic History has developed mostly within Early Modern ­History.1 Can we apply its concepts to earlier periods, before the genesis of the modern state,2 before the establishment of formal diplomatic institutions?3 This essay will address the question by focusing on the 13th century, when the Mongols were determined to conquer as much of the world as possible, while western Europeans were hoping to stop them by converting them to ­Christianity.4 A description of several encounters between Europeans and Mongols will be followed by a brief analysis. 1 Cf. inter alia, J. Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38 (2008), 1–​14, and his contribution in this volume. 2 Cf. the recent trend in Mongol studies: D. Sneath, The Headless State: Aristocratic Order, Kinship Society, & Misrepresentations of Nomadic Inner Asia (New York: 2007). Cf. the series of colloquia Genèse de l’État moderne: J.-​P. Genet, “La genèse de l’État moderne. Les enjeux d’un programme de recherche,” Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales 118 (1997), 3–​18. 3 There is no entry “Diplomacy” in C.P. Atwood’s Encyclopedia of Mongolia and the Mongol Empire (New York: 2004), nor in T. May ed., The Mongol Empire: A Historical Encyclopedia (Santa Barbara and Denver: 2017). 4 For relations between the West and the Mongols in the 13th century, cf. B.  Altaner, Die Dominikanermissionen des 13. Jahrhunderts. Forschungen zur Geschichte der kirchlichen Unionen und der Mohammedaner-​und Heidenmissionen des Mittelalters (Habelschwerdt: 1924); P.  Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 3e série, vol. iii (xxiii) (1922–​1923), 3–​30; vol. iv (xxiv) (1924), 225–​335; vol. viii (xxviii) (1931–​1932), 3–​ 84; G.  Soranzo, Il Papato, l’Europa Cristiana e i Tartari. Un secolo di penetrazione occidentale in Asia (Milan: 1930); I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys to the Great Khans (London: 1971); J. Richard, La Papauté et les missions d’Orient au Moyen Âge (XIIIe-​XVe siècles) (Rome: 1977); F. Schmieder, Europa und die Fremden. Die Mongolen im Urteil des Abendlandes vom 13. bis in das 15. Jahrhundert (Sigmaringen:  1994); W.D. Phillips Jr., “Voluntary Strangers:  European Merchants and Missionaries in Asia during the Middle Ages,” in:  F.R.P. Akehurst and S.  Van D’Elden eds., The Stranger in Medieval Society (Minneapolis:  1997); P.  Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 1221–​1410 (Harlow: 2005); T. Tanase, “Jusqu’aux limites du monde.” La papauté et la mission franciscaine, de l’Asie de Marco Polo à l’Amérique de Christophe Colomb (Rome: 2013); J.D. Ryan ed., The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions (­Farnham: 2013).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_007

120 Paviot The best agents for cross-​cultural/​political/​religious contacts at this time were the mendicant friars. Both the pope and secular sovereigns used their services. Their status as religious men gave them great freedom to travel and to collect precious information, and thus one can describe them as pre-​diplomats and as political spies. First of all, however, they were members of missionary orders and expected to venture beyond the Christian world (without looking for martyrdom, as many of their brothers in the Muslim world did).5 And of course, as they did not have a high social status, their potential disappearance would have no repercussions. Although information is sketchy, the first documented case of religious men acting in some type of diplomatic role is that of friar Julian of Hungary.6 He lived in the Dominican province of Hungary, which was founded in 1221, and stayed several times at the Roman Curia. As Julian is not a Hungarian name, we may assume that he was of foreign origin. Ancient Hungarian chronicles report that there were two groups of Hungarians: those who had stayed on the Volga and those who had established themselves in Pannonia. Andrew ii, king of the latter group, sent Dominican friars on several expeditions in an attempt to locate the Volga Hungarians and to convert them to Christianity. In 1235, one such mission, led by four Dominican friars including Julian, found these people and their territory was named Great Hungary. We know about this mission from a report written by friar Richard, who mentions Julian as one of its members.7 Another mission to preach to the Great Hungarians was probably sent in

5 Cf. I. Heullant-​Donat, inter alia: “Missions impossibles. Essai sur les franciscains et leurs martyrs (XIIIe-​XIVe siècles),” Études franciscaines, nouv. série 1 (2008), 165–​174; I. Heullant-​Donat, “Les franciscains et le martyre au XIIIe siècle,” in:  L. Bertazzo and G.  Cassio eds., Dai protomartiri a Sant’Antonio di Padova. Atti della giornata internazionale di studi, Terni, 11 giugno 2010 (Padua: 2011), 11–​29; I. Heullant-​Donat, “Franciscains, martyre et ‘mission’ aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles,” in: G. Blennemann and K. Herbers eds., Vom Blutzeugen zum Glaubenszeugen? Formen und Vorstellungen des christlichen Martyriums im Wandel (Stuttgart: 2014), 179–​194; and for the 14th century, J.D. Ryan, “Conversion or the Crown of Martyrdom:  Conflicting Goals for Fourteenth-​century Missionaries in Central Asia,” in: F.R. Gu-​yug ed., Medieval Cultures in Contact (New York: 2003), 19–​38. 6 M. Dienes, “Eastern Missions of the Hungarian Dominicans in the First Half of the Thirteenth Century,” Isis 27 (1937), 225–​241, reprinted in The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions, 67–​84; H. Dörrie, “Drei Texte zur Geschichte der Ungarn und Mongolen. Die Missionsreisen des fr. Iulianus O.P. ins Ural-​Gebiet (1234/​5) und nach Rußland (1237) und der Bericht des Erzbischofs Peter über die Tartaren,” Nachrichten der Akademie des Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Philologisch-​Historische Klasse (1956), 125–​202; cf. D. Sinor, “Le rapport du dominicain Julien écrit en 1237 sur le péril mongol,” Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-​Lettres. Comptes rendus des séances de l’année 2002, 1156. 7 Dörrie, “Drei Texte,” 151–​161.

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1236, but it came across people fleeing from the Mongols. A final mission was sent in 1237, and friar Julian was again part of it. Upon reaching the borders of Russia, the travellers learned that Great Hungary had been devastated by the Tartars (a name commonly given to the Mongols), and thus friar Julian’s report became a description of the life, religion, and origins of the Tartars. He writes that the Mongol army had arrived on the Volga in four contingents, and he probably had come into contact with one of them, as he added to his letter a Mongol order of submission.8 In this ultimatum the Mongols stated that they had sent ‘embassies’ to the king of Hungary (the number 30 is either an exaggeration or an incorrect reading for three). Indeed, in their conquest of the world, the Mongols regularly sent envoys with orders of submission: people either accepted and were spared, or they refused and were destroyed9; there was no other option. As, in the case of Hungary, they got no answer, the Mongols understandably thought that their envoys had been killed. The fact that Julian and his fellow Dominicans were not killed on the spot suggests that they presented themselves as envoys of the king of Hungary, even though they did not bring any gifts—​gifts that in the Chinese tradition were considered tributes of tributaries.10 When he returned from this mission, friar Julian was, in spite of himself, an envoy of the Mongols and he passed the ultimatum on to King Bela iv (the fact that from missionary he had become an ‘ambassador’ was not unique). He wrote his report most likely at the beginning of 1238 and sent it to the bishop of Perugia, Salvio Salvi, who was then pontifical legate for Bulgaria and Hungary. Probably through the legate, the report also went to the Roman Curia. Meanwhile, King Bela iv sent it to his uncle, the patriarch of Aquileia, Berthold of Andechs-​Merania (who played a role in spreading information on the Mongols).11 The information reached the Council fathers gathered in Lyon in 1245, while the Mongols had invaded Russia several years earlier, in 1238–​1240, then Poland and Hungary in 1241–​1242. Another report was presented in person in Lyon by a Russian archbishop, Peter, and was transcribed in the Chronica Majora by Matthew Paris (an English monk and chronicler).12 Although in 1243—​a bit 8 9 10 11 12

Ibidem, 165–​182. Cf. E.  Voegelin, “The Mongol Orders of Submission to European Powers, 1254–​1255,” ­Byzantion 15 (1940–​1941), 378–​413. Cf. for later periods, J.K. Fairbank ed., The Chinese World Order. Traditional China’s Foreign Relations (Cambridge, MA: 1968), and the discussions that followed. Cf. M. Dissaderi and P. Casadio, “Andechs-​Merania (di) Bertoldo,” Nuovo Liruti. Dizionario biografico dei Friulani, vol. I-​2: C. Scalon ed., Il Medioevo (Udine: 2006), 109–​119. H.R. Luard ed,. Chronica Majora (London: 1877), vol. iv: A.D. 1240 to A.D. 1247, 386–​389; cf. another version in Annales Burtonenses, in: F. Liebermann and R. Pauli eds., Monumenta

122 Paviot late—​Pope Innocent iv had put the patriarch of Aquileia, Berthold,in charge of preaching the crusade against the Satanae nuntii Tartarique ministri, he changed his mind in 1245, following the fall of Jerusalem to the Khwarezmians the previous year. But even before the opening of the Council of Lyon, he issued two bulls, Dei patris immensa and Cum non solum homines, which were meant for the Mongols. The first one was an exposition of the foundations of the Christian faith, and discussed salvation provided by Christ’s resurrection through the mediation of the Church, baptism, and the Eucharist, and recognition of the pope’s authority. It was a bull with missionary overtones and in line with the position of the Roman papacy (which could hardly recognize the great khan’s authority or power). In the second bull the pope, appealing to natural rules, natural reason, natural law (he was trained as a lawyer), called on the Mongols to desist from their devastating fury in Christian and other foreign lands and to stop the slaughter of humans of both sexes and of all ages. He asked them to humble themselves, to break natural law no longer, and to allow the Church to preach and spread Christ’s word. The pope added a third bull, for missionary purposes: he used Gregory ix’s bull issued in 1239 for Franciscan missionaries—​but nobody thought of adding the name Tartari …13 Pope Innocent iv chose to give these bulls to mendicant friars. Indeed, the texts had a performative function: one gave them the status of messengers, of ‘diplomatic’ agents; the second one, the status of missionaries.14 As they were missionaries, he could not send prelates (at any rate, he had not received a Mongol embassy). Through the information given by Julian of Hungary, he could have known the Mongols expected presents, but he—​and the Curia—​did not take notice of this point. We know the names of some of these friars: the Dominicans Andrew of Longjumeau and Ascelin of Cremona (or of Lombardia), and the Franciscans John of Plano Carpini, Lawrence of Portugal, and Dominic of Aragon. Because it was deemed important to rally Eastern churches to

13

14

Germaniae Historica. Scriptorum, vol. xxvii:  Ex Rerum Anglicarum Scriptoribus Saeculi XII. et XIII. (Hannover: 1885), 474–​475; Dörrie, “Drei Texte,” 187–​194. K.-​E. Lupprian, Die Beziehungen der Päpste zu islamischen und mongolischen Herrschen im 13. Jahrhundert anhand ihres Briefwechsels (Vatican: 1981), Nr 20–​21, 141–​149. The first two bulls are in an English translation in C. Dawson, The Mongol Mission: Narratives and Letters of the Franciscan Missionaries in Mongolia and China in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (London and New York: 1955), 73–​76; a French version of the three bulls is in J. de Plancarpin, Dans l’empire mongol, T. Tanase trans. (Toulouse: 2014), 55–​62; cf. J. Muldoon, Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels (Liverpool: 1979), 41–​45. Cf. T. Tanase, “Les envoyés pontificaux en Orient au XIIIe siècle: ambassadeurs ou missionnaires?,” in:  N. Drocourt ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur entre mondes éloignés. Ambassadeurs, envoyés officiels et représentations diplomatiques entre Orient islamique, Occident latin et Orient chrétien (XIe-​XVIe siècle) (Rennes: 2015), 19–​32.

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Rome’s cause, friar Lawrence went to the Orthodox Greeks, while friar Dominic travelled to the Armenian catholicos in the Caucasus (the Mongols had subjected this region, but Dominic does not seem to have come across them).15 Andrew of Longjumeau16 and an anonymous companion first travelled to the Frankish states in the Levant, then on to Syria, where they discussed matters with Muslim princes, and continued to areas subjected to the Mongols—​ Mosul, then Tabriz in Persia, in 1246. Yet, Andrew and his companion did not seem eager to meet the Mongol leader Baiju, who had just vanquished the Seljuk sultan of Rûm. At Tabriz, the two Dominicans met with a Nestorian prelate, Simeon Rabban-​ata,17 a protégé of the Mongols, who recognized the authority of the pope. Further on their way to Baiju’s camp, they met a Mongol contingent and gave them the pontifical letters, without seeking to meet their leader. Next, they returned to the Frankish states. Matthew Paris transcribed a short report by Andrew of Longjumeau (who knew Arabic and Chaldean) on the Mongols.18 Ascelin of Cremona’s mission is known through an account written by one of his three companions, Simon of Saint-​Quentin, but the text has survived only in the form of excerpts that Vincent of Beauvais inserted in his Speculum historiale, ca. 1250.19 These Dominican friars stayed for a while in Frankish and Muslim Syria before reaching Baiju’s camp in the summer of 1247, one year after Andrew of Longjumeau. Baiju first sent members of his family to meet them. The initial exchanges did not go well, as Ascelin declared the superiority 15

16 17 18

19

M. Roncaglia, “Frère Laurent de Portugal O.F.M. et sa légation en Orient (1245–​1248 env.),” Bollettino della badia greca di Grottaferrata 7 (1953), 33–​44; E. Tisserant, “La légation en Orient du franciscain Dominique d’Aragon (1245–​1247),” in Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 3e série, vol. iii (xxiii) (1922–​1923), 336–​355. On these missions, G. Soranzo, Il Papato, 77–​ 125; J. Richard, La Papauté et les missions d’Orient, 65–​76; P. Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 87–​88; T. Tanase, “Jusqu’aux limites du monde,” 199–​245. P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. viii (xxviii), 3–​12; G.G. Guzman, “Andrew of Longjumeau (c. 1200-​c.1270),” in: J.B. Friedman and K. Mossler Figg eds., Trade, Travel, and Exploration in the Middle Ages: An Encyclopedia (New York and London: 2000), 20–​22. P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. iv (xxiv), 225–​262. H.R. Luard ed., Chronica Majora, (London: 1882), vol. vi: Additamenta, 113–​115. Cf. I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys to the Great Khans, 112–​115; P.-​V. Claverie, “Deux lettres inédites de la première mission en Orient d’André de Longjumeau (1246),” Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 158 (2000), 283–​292; P. Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 92–​94; J. Richard, Au-​delà de la Perse et de l’Arménie. L’Orient latin et la découverte de l’Asie intérieure. Quelques textes inégalement connus aux origines de l’alliance entre Francs et Mongols (1145–​ 1262) (Turnhout: 2005), 65–​73. S. de Saint-​Quentin, Histoire des Tartares, J. Richard ed. (Paris, 1965); excerpts in French in J. Richard, Au-​delà de la Perse et de l’Arménie, 83–​137; cf. G.G. Guzman, “The Encyclopedist Vincent of Beauvais and his Mongol Extracts from John of Plano Carpini and Simon of Saint-​Quentin,” Speculum 49 (1974), 287–​307.

124 Paviot of the pope, while the Mongols stated that the khan was the son of God. Ascelin retorted that the Mongols were an unknown people, that they had to stop their slaughters and repent, then presented the papal letters and requested an answer. When the Mongols asked for presents, Ascelin replied that the pope did not offer presents to unknown peoples and that, on the contrary, it should be the other way round. After consultations, back and forth, Baiju’s representatives informed the Dominicans of the protocol (e.g. they would have to kowtow three times in front of Baiju). As envoys of the pope, the friars refused to submit in any way whatsoever to the Mongols. Baiju then ordered that the insolent missionaries be put to death, but reconsidered. Next, the friars were asked to what extent they would be willing to comply, whereupon Ascelin slightly inclined his head. Furthermore, because the papal letters were not addressed to the great khan, he refused to obey Baiju’s orders that the friars go see this leader. Instead, he gave, contrary to Mongol custom, the letters to Baiju himself. They were translated from Latin into Persian, thanks to the friars (who evidently had interpreters with them), then from Persian into Mongolian. For five weeks, the friars stood all day long in front of Baiju’s tent, waiting for an answer. Then news came of the appointment of a new governor, Eljigideï.20 Finally, after the banquets and drinking on the occasion of Eljigideï’s arrival were over, Baiju let the Dominican friars leave and gave them his own letters.21 John of Plano Carpini22 was the first missionary to return to Lyon, in November 1247, though he made the longest journey. In his account, the Historia Mongalorum,23 he presents himself as nuntius (“envoy” or “ambassador”—​the two words were synonymous in the 13th century), of the Apostolic See to the Tartars and other oriental peoples. Not knowing the best route, he had first gone to the court of King Wenceslaus i of Bohemia, whom he had known for a long time and who recommended to him a route to Poland and Russia (which

20 21

22 23

Who was present when John of Plano Carpini was received at the court of the Great Khan; cf. infra. Cf. P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. iv (xxiv), 262–​335; I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 115–​119; G.G. Guzman, “Simon of Saint-​Quentin and the Dominican Mission to the Mongol Baiju: a Reappraisal,” Speculum 46 (1971), 232–​249; P. Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 88–​90. G.G. Guzman, “John of Plano Carpini (c. 1180–​1252),” in: Friedman and Mossler Figg eds., Trade, Travel, and Exploration in the Middle Ages, 307–​309. G.  di Pian di Carpine, Storia dei Mongoli, P.  Daffinà, C.  Leonardi, M.C. Lungarotti, E.  Menestò, and L.  Petech eds, (Spoleto:  1989); English translation in C.  Dawson, The Mongol Mission, 3–​84; French translation:  J.  de Plancarpin, Dans l’Empire mongol, T. Tanase trans. (Toulouse: 2014); German translation: J. von Plano Carpini, Kunde von den Mongolen (1245–​1247), F. Schmieder trans. (Sigmaringen: 1997; Wiesbaden: 2015).

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had been devastated only a few years earlier). In Cracow, he happened to meet Prince Vasilko Romanovich of Volhynia, who had contacts with the Mongols. The prince advised John and his companions to take large presents with them if they wanted to conduct any business with the Mongols, because the latter would surely ask for them. Thus, these papal envoys discovered the rules of official contact with the Mongols and bought skins of beaver and of other animals. In Kiev, they were advised to leave their horses and to use, instead, Mongol horses that knew how to find fodder under the snow (it was January 1246). They also met with guards of a governor for the Mongols, an Alan named Micheas (so their impending arrival was known), and were told to see him first, in fact for the purpose of getting or stealing presents from the friars. Later on, they met guards who took them to a Mongol commander named Qurumshi, but not without first having extorted presents from them again. Before any meeting with Qurumshi would take place, there were more questions about gifts. The friars answered that the pope had not given them any as he was not sure that they could reach the Mongols, that they had crossed regions full of dangers, and that they could pay homage to him only with the few presents they had. After their gifts were accepted but before they could actually see Qurumshi, the Franciscans were informed of Mongol protocol—​the one that Andrew of Longjumeau had refused to follow: to get down on the left knee in front of the tent’s entrance, not to put their feet on the threshold, and to kneel while talking to Qurumshi. The interpreter hired in Kiev proved unable to translate the papal letters, and the friars were immediately escorted to Batu, the most important Mongol prince in the region. When they arrived at his camp on 6 April, the Mongols invariably asked them for presents, and the friars had to cross two fires in order to chase out devils. Upon entering Batu’s tent, they explained again the purpose of their mission, and the letters were translated into Russian, then into Persian, and finally into Mongolian so that Batu would understand them. The following day, Batu told them they had to go to Great Khan Güyük, but that some friars had to stay with him. They left on 8 April and eventually arrived at the imperial camp on 22 July. There, they received a tent and a supply of food, more than what had been offered to the other nuntii or “ambassadors”:  the duke of Suzdal, the sons of the king of Georgia, a sultan on behalf of the caliph of Bagdad, other Muslim sultans, tribe chiefs from Inner Asia—​all of them important persons who were present because Güyük was about to be enthroned as great khan of the Mongols, which in fact happened on 24 August. After the ceremony, the new emperor received the ambassadors, who had to enter his tent on the eastern side whereas the Mongol ruler entered on the western side. The Franciscans had next to nothing to offer in comparison with the sumptuous gifts Güyük received from the other guests. John of Plano Carpini

126 Paviot and his brothers had to wait some time before being introduced at court again. First, Chinqai, a secretary of the khan, wrote down all requests (i.e. the content of the pontifical letters), and a few days later the friars had to state them orally. Asked if people at the Curia were able to understand Russian, Persian, or Mongolian, the Franciscans answered that it would be easier to have letters in Mongolian which they would render into Latin. At last, on 11 November, Mongol secretaries brought the imperial letters. Two readings in each language were requested, to make sure that no phrase was missing and that the letters were well understood. The great khan wanted a Mongol embassy to accompany the friars on their return to Europe. The latter, afraid to show the divisions among Europeans and to have some misfortune befall the embassy during the journey, dissuaded the khan. On 13 November, they received both a sealed imperial letter (which is still kept in the Vatican archives)24 and the authorization to leave. They travelled in the thick of winter, passing by Batu’s camp (9 May 1247) and Qurumshi’s to reach Kiev on 9 June, and finally Lyon in November.25 One year later, after these first ‘pontifical’ contacts, relations between Latins or Franks and Mongols seemed to take place on another footing, albeit with the same or similar actors. King Louis ix of France landed at Cyprus on 18 September 1248, on a crusade against the Saracens. Three months later, the envoys of Eljigideï (Baiju’s successor as gouvernor of Persia) arrived there. Louis ix entrusted them to friar Andrew of Longjumeau, who, as was described above, had experience in dealing with the Mongols and could serve as interpreter. Moreover, the king was acquainted with him because he had brought back the Holy Relics of the Passion from Constantinople to Paris ten years earlier. The envoys asked Louis ix to attack Egypt while the Mongols would attack the caliph of Bagdad. On 27 January 1249 they returned home, along with an embassy of the king of France, consisting of three Dominican friars (Andrew of Longjumeau, John of Carcassonne, and a certain William), two clerks (master John Goderiche and Robert of Poissy), and two sergeants at arms (Herbert the Sommelier and Gerbert of Sens).26 Undoubtedly, French authorities had learned from the information received at the Council of Lyon how to play the game with the Mongols, but perhaps without discerning the true meaning of the rules. As presents the travellers took with them a cross made of the wood 24 25 26

P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. iii (xxiii), 6–​30; K.-​E. Lupprian, Die Beziehungen, Nr. 32, 182–​189; C. Dawson, The Mongol Mission, 85–​86. I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 89–​111; T. Tanase, “Jusqu’aux limites du monde,” 221–​222. For their identification, cf. P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. viii (xxviii), 39–​48. Cf. also A. Power, “Going among the Infidels: The Mendicant Orders and Louis IX’s First Mediterranean Campaign,” Mediterranean Historical Review, 25 (2010), 187–​202.

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of the True Cross and a scarlet tent described by John of Joinville: it had the shape of a chapel and was adorned with images of the Annunciation and of all articles of the Christian faith.27 We know that this mission sent a letter from Mosul, which was received in Cyprus around 14 March, and that the friars went to Mongolia around the time that Güyük died (Andrew of Longjumeau had avoided this journey three years earlier). The travellers returned to Louis ix when he was in Caesarea, in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, after 1 March 1251, without any positive outcome. Instead, they were accompanied by Mongol envoys who demanded a tribute from the king of France, or else he and his people would be destroyed.28 We may well assume that, in light of the initial contacts and prospects of military cooperation, King Louis ix had not expected such an answer. The emphasis then shifted again to the role of missions29:  Pope Innocent iv authorized the legate Odo of Châteauroux to consecrate the necessary bishops. However, only a friar minor, William of Rubruck,30 was sent to the Mongols, in the spring of 1253. Rubruck considered himself, or was considered, an envoy or ambassador, but before setting out on his journey, Queen Margaret of France offered him a psalter adorned with beautiful miniatures, and from King Louis ix he received a bible, which showed the true and official nature of his mission, as well letters addressed to Sartaq, son of Batu, khan of the Golden Horde, who was thought to have converted to Christianity. King Louis ix would offer nothing to allow the Mongols to believe he was recognizing their suzerainty.31 Rubruck had these letters translated into Arabic and “Syrian” (no doubt Syriac, as Syrian meant Arabic for the Franks) in Acre. His account32 begins in Constantinople, which he left with 27 28

29 30 31 32

[J. de] Joinville, Vie de saint Louis, éd. Jacques Monfrin (Paris, 1995), § 133–​134, 66. P. Pelliot, “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” vol. viii (xxviii), 12–​84; I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 119–​124; F.  Schmieder, Europa und die Fremden, 81–​83; J.  Paviot, “Joinville et les Mongols,” in: D. Quéruel ed., Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-​mer (Langres: 1998), 207–​218; P. Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 99, 101. Cf. J. Richard, La Papauté et les missions d’Orient; T. Tanase, Jusqu’aux limites du monde. C.W. Connwell, “William of Rubruck (c. 1215?-​c. 1270?),” in: Trade, Travel, and Exploration, 646–​648. J. Richard, “Sur les pas de Plancarpin et de Rubrouck: la lettre de saint Louis à Sartaq,” Journal des savants (1977), 49–​61. G. di Rubruk, Viaggio in Mongolia, P. Chiesa ed. (Latin text with an Italian translation) (Milan: 1991); French translation: G. de Rubrouck, Voyage dans l’empire mongol (1253–​1255), C. and R. Kappler trans. (Paris: 1985); English translation: The Mission of Friar William of Rubruck. His Journey to the court of the Great Khan Möngke, 1253–​1255, P. Jackson trans., with D. Morgan (London: 1990); German translation: W. von Rubruk, Reisen zu den Mongolen. Von Konstantinopel nach Karakorum, 1253–​1255, H. Dieter Leicht trans. (Wiesbaden: 2012).

128 Paviot a companion, brother Bartholomew of Cremona, a clerk named Gosset, the interpreter Homo Dei (Abdallah?), and the young slave Nicholas. Merchants in Constantinople advised him to take a supply of dry fruits, muscatel, and biscuits with him by way of gifts for Mongol chiefs at the border, and above all for Sartaq. William of Rubruck and his companions did not travel to Persia and then to Central Asia, but, as John of Plano Carpini had done, opted for the route of the Eurasiatin steppe. When he entered into Mongol territory, he did not want to mention that he was an envoy of the king of France, and asked to be taken to Sartaq, which was facilitated by the fact that he also brought letters from Emperor Baldwin ii of Constantinople, who had contacts with the Mongols.33 At Sartaq’s camp, Rubruck had to wait three days and hand over to the majordomo all the presents he had, before getting an audience on 1 August. Carrying King Louis ix’s bible and Queen Margaret’s psalter on a cushion, he appeared in sacerdotal vestments and was accompanied by Bartholomew of Cremona, who was holding a missal and a cross, and by Gosset, who was holding a thurible. In front of the tent, only the clerk and the interpreter had to make the three requisite genuflexions. They avoided touching the treshold when they entered the tent, singing the Salve Regina, but had to be on their knees while talking to Sartaq. Together with one of his spouses, Sartaq examined the thurible, psalter, and bible (he may have been a Nestorian Christian but asked if it contained the Gospel). He also was interested in the cross (Christ was represented on it, which was not the case on Nestorian or Armenian crosses). Then William of Rubruck showed the letters of the king of France, in Latin, Arabic, and Syriac. The majordomo Quyaq had them translated into Mongolian and the following day told the envoys to leave all their belongings so that Sartaq could examine them at leisure. Rubruck succeeded in taking the bible and some books (including Peter Lombard’s Liber Quatuor Sententiarum) with him, but did not dare take the psalter, whose golden illuminations had drawn attention. Next, the friars were sent to Batu, Sartaq’s father, who was at several days’ distance. Batu asked them if Louis ix had sent earlier embassies to the Mongols, the Franciscans referred to the Güyük mission, and pointed out that the king would not have sent a new one if he did not think that Batu and Sartaq were Christians. (We might infer from this answer that Louis ix’s letter was about a Christian mission, and also about a military alliance against the

33 J. Richard, “A propos de la mission de Baudouin de Hainaut:  l’Empire latin de Constantinople et les Mongols,” Journal des savants (1992), 115–​121.

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Muslims.) After several weeks, Batu finally decided that the two friars and their interpreter Homo Dei would go to the Great Khan Mongkä, because he alone could authorize their sojourn as missionaries in the Mongol empire, while the clerk Gosset would stay with Sartaq. The journey began on 15 September 1253 and they arrived at Mongkä’s camp on 27 December. The following day, they were received by the great secretary or chancellor Bolghaï, who questioned them on the purposes of their visit. William of Rubruck thought it might be useful to be barefoot, but the only result was that he got frozen toes. The friars were presented to Mongkä on 4 January 1254. Rubruck explained the reasons of their visit and asked to be allowed to stay, but the exchange came to a sudden end as both the interpreter and Mongkä had been drinking too much. Next, outside the imperial tent, the secretaries asked them many more questions on the kingdom of France as if they were thinking of invading it. During the remainder of their stay the friars acted as missionaries, but always in the company of Nestorians. The whole undertaking was a fiasco as they had baptized only six persons by the time Mongkä gave them orders to leave, on 31 May 1254. He wanted to add a Mongol embassy but, like Andrew of Longjumeau and John of Plano Carpini, they refused, using the wars in the West as an excuse. The letters they received from the chancery were orders of submission. Bartholomew of Cremona, who could not endure another long journey, asked to stay with the Mongols. Leaving Mongkä’s camp on 8 July, William of Rubruck arrived at Batu’s camp on 15 September. During this journey he again met Sartaq, who was en route to the imperial court and who gave him two silk robes, which William sent to Louis ix. He was in Antioch on 29 June 1255, then in Tripoli, where a chapter of the friars minor was held. His minister ordered him to stay in Acre as a reader and to write to the king of France, instead of seeing him in person. As an epilogue to this account, William of Rubruck suggested that the king, who had just returned to France after his failed crusade, lead a new military campaign. Concerning the Mongols, this is his advice: I regard it as inadvisable for any friar to make any further journeys to the Tartars, as I myself did or as the Preaching Friars are doing. But if the Lord Pope, the head of all Christendom were prepared to send a bishop, in some style, and to give an answer to the absurdities they have written in three occasions to the Franks (once to Pope Innocent iv of happy memory34 and twice to you, the first time by David, who misled you, and now 34 Innocent iv had been pope from 25 June 1243 to his death on 7 December 1254.

130 Paviot by myself),35 he would be able to say to them whatever he wanted and also see to it that they put it down in writing. For they listen to what an ambassador has to say and ask whether he wishes to say more; though he would have need of a good interpreter—​several interpreters in fact, and plentiful supplies.36 In the Latin West nothing came of these recommendations. When, some 20  years later, the two brothers Niccolò and Maffeo Polo were at Khubilai Khan’s court, the latter sent them back to Europe as his own ambassadors, instructing them to return with 100 men, wise in religion and in the seven liberal arts, but he never saw them.37 And although westerners dealt with the Il-​khans of Persia, with the aim of a joint military campaign against the Mamluks, the contacts remained without success.38 In spite of the dual meaning of the word nuntius, “envoy” or “ambassador,” the mendicant friars ultimately only had been “envoys,” messengers who had brought letters back and forth, but not “ambassadors,” in the sense of agents who could make political commitments to the Mongols on behalf of the pope or the king of France. The western powers primarily learned the Mongolian forms of cross-​cultural/​political exchange: a formal embassy, with official letters and presents. Towards the end of the century Pope Nicholas iv cautiously sent small groups of mendicant friars, with an indeterminate status. King Louis ix of France had sent an actual embassy, but its leader was not a bishop or a lord, only the Dominican Andrew of Longjumeau. Clerks are mentioned only for this embassy (which had two) and for William of Rubruck’s (he had just one). What were their exact roles? According to their names, they were French. If they knew oriental languages, it could only have been Arabic and Syriac, as in Andrew of Longjumeau’s case, but not Mongolian. One thing is sure, these clerks, men of the pen, did not write the report of their embassy. “Embassy” had a different meaning for the parties involved. Initially, the western travellers probably thought of both sides as equals, while the Mongols viewed the relation as one between a lord and a future subject 35

36 37 38

Güyük’s letter to Innocent iv, the letter brought by Andrew of Longjumeau, and the letter brought back by William of Rubruck. On William of Rubruck’s mission: I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 125–​143; F.  Schmieder, Europa und die Fremden, passim; P.  Jackson, The Mongols and the West, passim. Translation by P. Jackson, in The Mission of Friar William of Rubruck, 278. M. Polo, Le Devisement du monde, ed. and dir. P. Ménard, vol. i: Départ des voyageurs et traversée de la Perse (Geneva: 2001), § 7, 123. I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 144–​159; P. Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 165–​195.

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or tributary. Once they were in Mongolian territory, the western envoys noticed this, too, and they systematically refused to return to Europe with Mongol embassies because they knew that the West was very much divided and therefore unable to present a united front and a strong force against the Mongols. They became well aware that one could not talk peace with the Mongols, and that the only alternative was to come as missionaries who might also be spies. But to what extent were they able to spy? For the mendicant friars it was impossible to be spies in the modern sense of the word. There is no doubt that they were instructed to gather information on the Mongols, as the latter were known to want to submit the world and eliminate the established authorities (pope, emperor, kings in the West). The content of their accounts testifies to this. Andrew of Longjumeau’s short report copied by Matthew Paris refers to the structure of the Mongol army, which was based on the decimal system, and points to its strenght (300,000 horsemen [an exaggerated number] who, together with the tributaries and captives, preceded the army of the sovereign, which could only be even larger); the freedom of worship granted to anybody who accepted submission to the Mongol khan; the judiciary system, the quality of the fighters (resilient horse archers); and customs.39 Even though Vincent of Beauvais’ version is incomplete and fragmentary, Simon of Saint-​Quentin’s account includes passages on the origins of the Mongols, their society, their customs (barbaric and cruel), their tough application of justice, their pastoral economy, their exactions from tributaries (women, in fact), their tactics (founded on deception, trickery, and terror) with regard to invasions, fighting, and besieging towns, but also ways to counter them (by advancing before the Mongols would enter a country). He also offers a rather detailed account of their conquests in Asia, especially in the Caucasus and in Asia Minor, together with a report of the embassy of Ascelin of Cremona and his brothers.40 John of Plano Carpini adopted a similar outline for his Historia Mongalorum quos nos Tartaros appellamus. Eight chapters are devoted to 1) geography of the country of the Mongols, 2) people, material life, marriage, 3) religion, 4) lifestyle, diet, customs, 5) the beginnings of the empire, power, 6) the Mongols’ art of war (again, cunning and trickery), 7) diplomacy, conquered peoples, Mongol tyranny, and 8) how to wage war on the Mongols. In this eighth chapter he advocated the refusal of submission (because it implied horrible serfdom); the formation of alliances between devastated provinces; the use of quality 39 40

Cf. note 18. See note 19.

132 Paviot armament (bows [especially crossbows were feared], axes, swords, lances with a hook, double breastplates); an army organization similar to that of the Mongolian forces, with scouts and separated units, guards on duty night and day; fortification of more towns and fortresses; taking Mongols who had fallen from their horses prisoner on the spot (this was very different from the search for martyrdom of the first Franciscans). The account’s final chapter dealt with John of Plano Carpini’s actual journey.41 As for William of Rubruck, his account is a real travel account, but with insertions of chapters on the customs, justice, or religion of the Mongols.42 He knew that King Louis ix of France desired that the Mongols would be the enemies of the enemies of the Cross, but did not want it to be stated clearly that he was looking for military assistance from Sartaq. Yet, that is what the westerners wanted from the Mongols in the Near East, and that was the purpose of numerous embassies up to the 14th century. William of Rubruck, however, was above all a missionary, and that was the approach the Church chose to emphasize regarding the Mongols, especially in China in the 14th century.43 In all these missions, the most critical moment was that of the cross-​cultural contact, which occurred when the western envoys met the Mongol authorities. There were three aspects:  the presents, the gestures, and the language. The Christian envoys initially were not aware of the custom to offer gifts along the way, from lesser to higher officials. This became a pressing problem as they were mendicant friars, without possessions. John of Plano Carpini learned the lesson in the early stages of his journey because his Polish hosts had some knowledge of the Mongols,44 but as his presents were of no great value, he was not recognized as an important person. Others, who seemed not to have received this information, such as Andrew of Longjumeau in 1246, refused to meet a Mongol official. Ascelin of Cremona wanted to turn the tables: the pope, or his agents, did not give presents, but must receive them. As for William of Rubrouck, he had to give most of his presents to the first Mongol prince he met, Sartaq, so he had almost nothing to offer to the Great Khan Güyük.45 Unfortunately, we do not know what happened with regard to King Louis ix’s 41 42 43 44 45

See note 23. See note 32. I. de Rachewiltz, Papal Envoys, 160–​204; J. Muldoon, Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels, 59–​68, 78–​85, 92–​97; J. Richard, La Papauté et les missions d’Orient, 86–​166; F. Schmieder, Europa und die Fremden, 128–​151; T.Tanase, “Jusqu’aux limites du monde,” 557–​656. With their invasion of Europe in 1241. On the aspect of gift giving during this journey, cf. A.J. Watson, “Mongol Inhospitality, or how to do more with less? Gift Giving in William of Rubruck’s Itinerarium,” Journal of Medieval History, 37 (2011), 90–​101.

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presents and his formal embassy under Andrew of Longjumeau in 1249. In his refusal, Ascelin of Cremona was perhaps closest to the truth, as he understood that the present was a sign of subjection. Gestures and their significance for each party were of paramount importance, and quite often were the source of ‘diplomatic’ clashes. Gestures were essential when a meeting became official and formal. Usually, the Mongols asked for genuflexions. For Latin Christians, this could only be done in front of the pope—​to the point of kissing his foot—​or kings. Is this an anthropological invariant? At any rate, Ascelin of Cremona saw the point and refused to comply, at the risk of his life. It seems that Baiju’s officials were disturbed by such behaviour, did not know how to handle it, and finally accepted a nod of the head. John of Plano Carpini and William of Rubruck submitted themselves to the protocol. Language appears to have been less important than presents and gestures. Among the western envoys, only Andrew of Longjumeau seems to have known some oriental languages, Arabic and Chaldean. Each mission needed to hire interpreters. Ascelin of Cremona had the pontifical letters translated from Latin into Persian, probably by his own interpreter, then from Persian into Mongolian, probably by a member of Baiju’s chancery. We know nothing of John of Plano Carpini’s interpreters. At the imperial court, he and his companions requested that the Mongolian letters be translated into an intermediary language (Russian, Persian?), from which they would translate them into Latin. When Andrew of Longjumeau went to the Great Kahn in 1249, was his knowledge of Arabic sufficient? The only interpreter whose name is known, is William of Rubruck’s, Homo Dei, but his actual origin, Arabic or Frankish,46 is still being debated. He was of no use at the imperial court, as he was always surrounded by Nestorians. Language would still constitute a barrier, or a series of barriers, between Latin envoys and Mongols. In the premodern world, a ‘diplomatic system’ was nascent in Europe, but lacking between the West and the Mongols: we had a small polyphony of powers in front of a universal conquering empire. Establishing meaningful communication proved very difficult, in fact impossible. As they refused to send formal embassies, the papacy and the lay sovereigns could only use men who were accustomed to going to Saracen and heathen lands, the mendicant friars. Some of these agents thus could lay the foundations of a diplomacy that embraced the idea of envoys not as mere messengers but also as representatives of rulers. 46 Cf. The Mission of William of Rubruck, appendix i, 279.

134 Paviot

Sources and Bibliography



Printed sources

Joinville, [J. de] Vie de saint Louis, ed. Jacques Monfrin (Paris: 1995). Luard, H.R. ed., Chronica Majora (London: 1877), vol. iv: A.D. 1240 to A.D. 1247. Luard, H.R. ed., Chronica Majora, (London: 1882), vol. vi: Additamenta. Pian di Carpine, G. di, Storia dei Mongoli, eds. P. Daffinà, C. Leonardi, M. C. Lungarotti, E. Menestò, and L. Petech (Spoleto: 1989). Polo, M., Le Devisement du monde, ed. and dir. P. Ménard, vol. i: Départ des voyageurs et traversée de la Perse (Geneva: 2001).

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Altaner, B., Die Dominikanermissionen des 13. Jahrhunderts. Forschungen zur Geschichte der kirchlichen Unionen und der Mohammedaner-​und Heidenmissionen des Mittelalters (Habelschwerdt: 1924). Claverie, P.-​V., “Deux lettres inédites de la première mission en Orient d’André de Longjumeau (1246),” Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 158 (2000), 283–​292. Connwell, C.W., “William of Rubruck (c. 1215?-​c. 1270?),” in: Trade, Travel, and Exploration. An Encyclopedia, (New York and London: 2000), 646–​648. Dienes, M., “Eastern Missions of the Hungarian Dominicans in the First Half of the Thirteenth Century,” Isis 27 (1937), 225–​241; reprinted in The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions, 67–​84. Dissaderi, M. and P. Casadio, “Andechs-​Merania (di) Bertoldo,” Nuovo Liruti. Dizionario biografico dei Friulani, vol. I-​2: C. Scalon ed., Il Medioevo (Udine: 2006), 109–​119. Dörrie, H., “Drei Texte zur Geschichte der Ungarn und Mongolen. Die Missionsreisen des fr. Iulianus O.P. ins Ural-​Gebiet (1234/​5) und nach Rußland (1237) und der Bericht des Erzbischofs Peter über die Tartaren,” Nachrichten der Akademie des Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Philologisch-​Historische Klasse (1956), 125–​202. Fairbank, J.K., ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations (Cambridge, MA.: 1968). Genet, J.-​P., “La genèse de l’État moderne. Les enjeux d’un programme de recherche,” Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales 118 (1997), 3–​18. Guzman, G.G., “The Encyclopedist Vincent of Beauvais and his Mongol Extracts from John of Plano Carpini and Simon of Saint-​Quentin,” Speculum 49 (1974), 287–​307. Guzman, G.G., “Andrew of Longjumeau (c. 1200-​c. 1270),” in: J.B. Friedman and K. Mossler Figg eds., Trade, Travel, and Exploration in the Middle Ages:  An Encyclopedia, (New York and London: 2000). Guzman, G.G., “Simon of Saint-​Quentin and the Dominican Mission to the Mongol Baiju: a Reappraisal,” Speculum 46 (1971), 232–​249.

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Heullant-​Donat, I., “Franciscains, martyre et ‘mission’ aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles,” in: G. Blennemann and K. Herbers eds., Vom Blutzeugen zum Glaubenszeugen? Formen und Vorstellungen des christlichen Martyriums im Wandel, (Stuttgart: 2014), 179–​194. Heullant-​Donat, I., “Les franciscains et le martyre au XIIIe siècle,” in: L. Bertazzo and G. Cassio eds., Dai protomartiri a Sant’Antonio di Padova. Atti della giornata internazionale di studi, Terni, 11 giugno 2010 (Padua: 2011), 11–​29. Heullant-​Donat,I., “Missions impossibles. Essai sur les franciscains et leurs martyrs (XIIIe-​XIVe siècles),” Études franciscaines, nouv. série 1 (2008), 165–​174. Jackson, P, The Mongols and the West, 1221–​1410 (Harlow: 2005). Lupprian, K.-​E., Die Beziehungen der Päpste zu islamischen und mongolischen Herrschen im 13. Jahrhundert anhand ihres Briefwechsels (Vatican: 1981), Nr 20–​21, 141–​149. Muldoon, J., Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels (Liverpool: 1979), 41–​45. Paviot, J., “Joinville et les Mongols,” in: D. Quéruel ed., Jean de Joinville: de la Champagne aux royaumes d’outre-​mer (Langres: 1998), 207–​218. Pelliot, P., “Les Mongols et la Papauté,” Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 3e série, vol. III (XXIII) (1922–​1923), 3–​30; vol. IV (XXIV) (1924), 225–​335; vol. VIII (XXVIII) (1931–​ 1932), 3–​84. Phillips Jr., W.D., “Voluntary Strangers: European Merchants and Missionaries in Asia during the Middle Ages,” in: F.R.P. Akehurst and S. Van D’Elden eds., The Stranger in Medieval Society (Minneapolis: 1997). Power, A., “Going among the Infidels: The Mendicant Orders and Louis IX’s First Mediterranean Campaign,” Mediterranean Historical Review, 25 (2010), 187–​202. Rachewiltz, I. de, Papal Envoys to the Great Khans (London: 1971). Richard, J., “A propos de la mission de Baudouin de Hainaut: l’Empire latin de Constantinople et les Mongols,” Journal des savants (1992), 115–​121. Richard, J., “Sur les pas de Plancarpin et de Rubrouck: la lettre de saint Louis à Sartaq,” Journal des savants (1977), 49–​61. Richard, J., Au-​delà de la Perse et de l’Arménie. L’Orient latin et la découverte de l’Asie intérieure. Quelques textes inégalement connus aux origines de l’alliance entre Francs et Mongols (1145–​1262) (Turnhout: 2005). Richard, J., La Papauté et les missions d’Orient au Moyen Âge (XIIIe-​XVe siècles) (Rome: 1977). Roncaglia, M., “Frère Laurent de Portugal O.F.M. et sa légation en Orient (1245–​1248 env.),” Bollettino della badia greca di Grottaferrata 7 (1953), 33–​44. Rubruk, G. di, Viaggio in Mongolia, ed. P. Chiesa (Latin text with an Italian translation) (Milan: 1991). Ryan, J.D., “Conversion or the Crown of Martyrdom: Conflicting Goals for Fourteenth-​ century Missionaries in Central Asia,” in: F.R. Gu-​yug ed., Medieval Cultures in Contact (New York: 2003), 19–​38.

136 Paviot Ryan, J.D., ed., The Spiritual Expansion of Medieval Latin Christendom: The Asian Missions (Farnham: 2013). Saint-​Quentin, S. de, Histoire des Tartares, ed. Jean Richard (Paris: 1965). Schmieder, F., Europa und die Fremden. Die Mongolen im Urteil des Abendlandes vom 13. bis in das 15. Jahrhundert (Sigmaringen: 1994). Sinor, D., “Le rapport du dominicain Julien écrit en 1237 sur le péril mongol,” Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-​Lettres. Comptes rendus des séances de l’année 2002, 1156. Sneath, D., The Headless State: Aristocratic Order, Kinship Society, & Misrepresentations of Nomadic Inner Asia (New York: 2007). Soranzo, G., Il Papato, l’Europa Cristiana e i Tartari. Un secolo di penetrazione occidentale in Asia (Milan: 1930). Tanase, T., “Les envoyés pontificaux en Orient au XIIIe siècle: ambassadeurs ou missionnaires?,” in: N. Drocourt ed., La figure de l’ambassadeur entre mondes éloignés. Ambassadeurs, envoyés officiels et représentations diplomatiques entre Orient islamique, Occident latin et Orient chrétien (XIe-​XVIe siècle) (Rennes: 2015). Tanase, T., “Jusqu’aux limites du monde.” La papauté et la mission franciscaine, de l’Asie de Marco Polo à l’Amérique de Christophe Colomb (Rome: 2013). Tisserant, E., “La légation en Orient du franciscain Dominique d’Aragon (1245–​1247),” Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 3e série, vol. iii (xxiii) (1922–​1923), 336–​355. Voegelin, E., “The Mongol Orders of Submission to European Powers, 1254–​1255,” ­Byzantion 15 (1940–​1941), 378–​413. Watkins, J., “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38 (2008), 1–​14. Watson, A.J., “Mongol Inhospitality, or how to do more with less? Gift Giving in William of Rubruck’s Itinerarium,” Journal of Medieval History, 37 (2011), 90–101.

­c hapter 6

The New Indies, the Desired Indies: Antonio Possevino and the Jesuits between Diplomacy and Missionarism in Northeastern Europe, 1577–​1587 Felicia Roșu 1

Possevino’s Rise: Muscovy and Transylvania

Antonio Possevino (1533–​1611) was a Jesuit intellectual and diplomat credited to have contributed to the establishment of the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (1622), the Holy See’s organ that to this day oversees Catholic missionaries across the world.1 Possevino’s most famous writing is probably his Bibliotheca selecta de ratione studiorum, ad disciplinas & ad salutem omnium gentium procurandam, a massive bibliography designed to complement the Jesuit curriculum, which saw many editions after its first publication in 1593. The Biblioteca selecta contains texts that Possevino considered best for educating Catholics, while taking into account the environments in which they lived.2 The attention he gave to political and cultural details in this and other works was undoubtedly due to his extensive knowledge of local conditions in western and northeastern Europe, which informed his pragmatic and militant brand of Catholic missionarism. After entering the Society of Jesus in 1559, Possevino preached for 13 years against the Huguenots and Waldensians in Piedmont and France. Between 1573 and 1577, he held the prestigious position of secretary to the general of the Society, but that work left him hungry for more direct action. He requested to be sent to Greece or Transylvania, where he could be closer to the Ottoman empire—​the target of all his diplomatic efforts, which galvanized his attention throughout his career.3 Instead, he was sent to Sweden, where he was asked to lead the Jesuit mission that had been secretly established there in 1575, with 1 J. Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino’s Plan for World Evangelization,” The Catholic Historical Review 74, no.  2 (1988), 179–​198; J.  Santich, “The Role of the Jesuits in the Westernization of Russia, 1596–​1656” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California, Berkeley: 1992), 195–​196. 2 S. Mostaccio, Early Modern Jesuits Between Obedience and Conscience During the Generalate of Claudio Acquaviva (1581–​1615) (Burlington: 2014), 44. 3 Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino’s Plan,” 180, 188.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_008

138 Roșu the hidden purpose of converting the Swedish king, John iii Vasa—​and then gradually the entire country—​to Catholicism. The mission ended in 1580 in complete failure. The Jesuits were expelled from the country and their college in Stockholm burned when Possevino decided to make their mission publicly known, in a daring move that was meant to pressure John iii to convert and which proved a grave miscalculation.4 Despite the dismal end of his efforts in Sweden, Possevino’s enthusiasm for working on the frontier of the Catholic world was immediately employed elsewhere. In 1581, the tsar of Muscovy, Ivan iv (“the Terrible”), who had been embroiled for decades in military conflict with the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth, requested papal mediation in order to establish peace. The Muscovite side was at a disadvantage after a series of Polish-​Lithuanian advances, and Ivan was shrewd enough to use to his own benefit the Polish-​Lithuanian king’s deference to Rome and the pope’s own hopes for an anti-​Ottoman league and a union with the Orthodox Church. Despite its clumsiness with western diplomatic protocol, the Muscovite embassy proved successful.5 Gregory xiii (1572–​ 1585) decided to send a special envoy as mediator between the two parties, and the choice fell on Antonio Possevino, freshly returned from northern Europe. Possevino successfully negotiated the truce of Jam Zapolski (signed in January 1582), which gave Muscovy and Poland-​Lithuania a ten-​year respite from military engagement—​an outcome welcomed by both sides of the barricade, exhausted as they were by the rising financial and psychological toll of the conflict. Ivan’s promises of military assistance against the Ottomans, however, remained vague. As for the union of the churches, the tsar’s reaction did not leave any room for doubt. When Possevino suggested recognizing the primacy of the pope, Ivan flew into a rage that made the Jesuit fear for his life.6 Possevino’s mission to Muscovy led to a long-​lasting friendship with Stephen Báthory, king of Poland-​Lithuania. The two saw eye to eye when it came to strategies for supporting Catholicism in the region. Báthory was first and foremost a soldier, and his favourite manner of resolving conflicts was by force of arms. However, as far as religion was concerned, he was fundamentally pragmatic

4 O. Garstein, Rome and the Counter-​Reformation in Scandinavia, until the Establishment of the S.  Congregatio de Propaganda Fide in 1622:  Based on Source Material in the Kolsrud Collection, 1583–​1622, Universitetsforlaget, 2 vols (Oxford, 1963); O. Garstein, Rome and the Counter-​ Reformation in Scandinavia:  Jesuit Educational Strategy, 1553–​1622 (Leiden:  1992); Santich, “The Role of the Jesuits,” 172. 5 P. Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège: études diplomatiques (Paris: 1897–​1906), 2:11, 18. 6 A. Possevino, The Moscovia of Antonio Possevino, S.J., ed. H.F. Graham (Pittsburgh: 1977), 72; Santich, “The Role of the Jesuits,” 216.

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and would not engage in actions he deemed unrealistic. In Transylvania—​ Báthory’s home country—​he had been one of the few Catholics left in the realm, and when he was elected to the Transylvanian throne (1571), he learned to operate within a constitutional system that had been erected to protect religious pluralism. His loyalty to Rome became stronger in time, but he never went outside the legal framework of his role—​not for religious purposes, at any rate. After his election to the Polish-​Lithuanian throne (1576), he took measures that promoted the Catholic Church in the region, often with the help of the Society of Jesus, but still within the limits of the local constitution, which, like in Transylvania, protected liberty of conscience and banned religious persecution. While working with Protestants as political supporters and advisors, Báthory used Jesuits in the promotion of his own church. Not only did he support their activities in the Commonwealth, but he also sent them to Transylvania (1579–​1588) to erect colleges and seminaries, in the hope of enticing the Transylvanian youth back to the fold of the Catholic Church.7 Possevino, in turn, was a quintessential Jesuit in the sense that he believed in the power of education. Both in his correspondence and in his more formal writings, he insisted that missionaries should learn local languages, and he spent much energy advocating the importance of quality translations of fundamental Catholic texts. But education was not the only way of reviving Catholicism, in Possevino’s eyes. Like Ignatius of Loyola, he had a martial understanding of mission, best illustrated by his persistent idea of establishing military academies for Catholic youth throughout Europe, in order to prepare them for crusades against the heretics and infidels.8 Another illustration is the text he wrote for soldiers fighting against the Ottomans in the Mediterranean and the Huguenots in France (Il Soldato christiano, 1569). In this work, he depicted a chain of obedience with the pope at the top, to which the soldiers were required to submit without questioning. However, while teaching obedience to regular Christians, Possevino evidently reserved for himself—​as well as a small elite of decision-​makers within the church—​the privilege and burden of discernment, which allowed for a certain measure of individual agency

7 A. Pontecorvo Martonffy, “The Early Counter-​Reformation in Hungary: Jesuits, Papal Nuncios, and the Hungarian Lands, 1550–​1606” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Chicago: 1980), 145–​79, 229–​316. 8 P. Pierling, Báthory et Possevino:  documents inédits sur les rapports du Saint-​Siège avec les Slaves (Paris: 1887), 186; Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino’s Plan,” 196–​197; J.P. Donnelly, “Some Jesuit Counter-​Reformation Strategies in East Central Europe, 1550–​1585,” in:  Politics, Religion, and Diplomacy in Early Modern Europe: Essays in Honor of De Lamar Jensen, Sixteenth Century Essays and Studies 27 (Kirksville, MO: 1994), 8–​12.

140 Roșu and even disobedience, when necessity required it.9 Possevino never theorized about it in his writings, but his entire career illustrates that, next to education and military campaigns, he also believed in diplomacy and high-​level politics, particularly in the shape of secret dealings, which often required a good measure of discernment. As we will see below, Possevino’s discernment eventually terminated his diplomatic career. After the conclusion of the peace with Muscovy, Stephen Báthory asked Possevino’s assistance in another dispute—​this time a territorial claim he raised against Rudolf ii, king of Hungary and Holy Roman Emperor. The claim concerned the territories around Szatmár and Németi (now Satu Mare), which had belonged to the Báthory family but were occupied in 1561, along with other border areas, by Imperial troops and brought under Habsburg control as part of Royal Hungary. The territories were recovered under Báthory’s command while he was still the main military officer in Transylvania, but they were retaken by the Habsburgs in 1565. Báthory was sent to Vienna in 1565 to negotiate the situation on behalf of Transylvania’s ruler at the time (John Sigismund Szapolyai, 1540–​1570), but a change in his instructions from home led to a rash reaction from Maximilian, who ordered Báthory’s imprisonment. The future ruler of Transylvania and king of Poland-​Lithuania remained captive in Vienna and Prague for two years. He was only released at the intervention of the Polish king, Sigismund ii Augustus, and he never forgot his imprisonment, nor the land his family lost, which fuelled his deep and long-​lasting distrust of the Imperial court.10 In 1582, when Possevino suggested joining forces with the Holy Roman Emperor within the framework of a Holy League—​now that there was peace on the eastern front—​Báthory mentioned the obstacle that prevented an alliance with Vienna and asked for Possevino’s assistance in solving the matter. The pope agreed to Possevino’s role as mediator in the Szatmár dispute, and the 9

10

Possevino and a few other Jesuits were part of a group who defied their generals and involved the papacy in their attempts to reform the Society; see Mostaccio, Early Modern Jesuits, 39–​42. See also P. Foresta, “De su alteza es mandar y de nosostros obedecir: Riflessioni su obbedienza e disobbedienza nei primi gesuiti,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 92, no. 1 (2012), 328–​358. On obedience and discernment in the letters of Jesuit missionaries, see T. Peeters, “Trust in the Indipetae from Seventeenth-​Century Genoa and Corsica” in G. Imbruglia, P.-A. Fabre, and G. Mongini, eds., Litterae Indipetae. Una fonte lunga cinque secoli (forthcoming). I. Lukinich, “La jeunesse d’Etienne Báthory,” in: A. de Divéky ed., Etienne Báthory: roi de Pologne, prince de Transylvanie (Cracow:  1935), 18–​46; J.  Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino, S.J. as Papal Mediator between Emperor Rudolf II and King Stephan Báthory,” Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 69 (2000), 3–​7.

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protracted negotiations lasted between 1582 and 1585, proving to be more difficult than the peace with Muscovy. Rudolf ii refused to return the Szatmár and Németi territories to the Báthory family and offered a different area in return—​but only after long delays and much opposition from Báthory, who felt deeply offended by the fact that Rudolf contested his right to the territories in question. Possevino did his best to keep the discussions open, despite several instances when the two parties (and especially Báthory) threatened to shut them down. In between negotiation rounds on the Szatmár affair, Possevino and Báthory conversed about Muscovy (and Báthory’s desire to conquer it) and Transylvania (and Báthory’s wish to strengthen its Catholicism and fortify it militarily against the Ottomans). In 1583, the king convinced Possevino to visit his native land. The result of that 47-​day trip was a work titled Transilvania, which Possevino completed in late 1583, during breaks in the negotiations with the Imperial party at Cassovia.11 In this book, Possevino surveyed the religious situation in Transylvania and identified the groups that we would label today as Catholics, Lutherans, Calvinists, Antitrinitarians, and Orthodox Christians, together with their likely response to Catholic missionary efforts.12 Like other visitors who wrote similar reports about the area, Possevino lamented the scarcity of Catholic clergy and emphasized the despair of abandoned Catholic flocks that would beg, “with tears in their eyes,” that their confessions be heard or that at least they receive a blessing whenever a Catholic priest appeared in the area.13 Possevino was not one to dwell on lamentations or tears, though. His report was a carefully laid-​out plan for “helping Transylvania” (modi di aiutare la Transilvania)—​and through it, Hungary, Moldavia, and Wallachia as well.14 Its details are highly illustrative of how entangled religious, political, military, educational, and social aspects could be, and how seamlessly Possevino could play the role of a missionary, a diplomat, and a military strategist at once. Both in the preface and in the final part of the work, the Jesuit requested from Pope Gregory xiii money and manpower that amounted to no more than the value of “two equipped and manned galleys,” but which would be greatly effective in bringing religious change in the country. More specifically, he mentioned that he “would desire” 50 priests to be sent to the area. Other than Jesuits, 11 12

Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino,” 25. For the sake of expediency, I will make use of these rather anachronistic labels in the following paragraphs, even though they were not used as such at the time (they only became common-​place in the 17th century in Transylvania). 13 A. Possevino, Transilvania (1584) (Budapest: Tip. artistica Stephaneum, 1913), 54–​56. 14 Possevino, Transilvania, 173.

142 Roșu they could be graduates of the German and English colleges in Rome as well as Franciscans, “because the Turks have respect for them.” Besides priests, he requested interpreters (“like it is done in the Indies”), but he also insisted that “that language [Hungarian] is not impossible to learn; many Italian and German merchants and soldiers are already learning it,” and therefore the missionaries could and should do the same. Printed books, “which already exist but should be in greater number,” and the establishment of a local Catholic printing press would greatly help as well.15 What other ways of helping Transylvania were there? Possevino quickly moved to more pragmatic solutions, many of which were quite political in nature:  placing more Catholics in positions of power (counsellors but also military captains); forging political alliances with the Lutheran elite (who was less opposed to the Catholic Church than the Calvinists or Antitrinitarians); converting influential non-​Catholic figures such as Transylvania’s chancellor, Wolfgang Kowaczocsy; allowing Calvinists and Antitrinitarians to educate their sons in Jesuit schools without imposing religious obligations on them; encouraging them to study at Catholic universities rather than Leipzig, Wittenberg, or Tubingen (although it should be said that plenty Hungarians studied at Padua); establishing military schools staffed by loyal Catholics; bringing in Italian colonists from the Valtelline area, because of climate similarities; building a new fortress in northern Transylvania with funding from both Báthory and the pope (the latter could request that it be manned by Catholic soldiers only, so that Báthory does not carry the blame for introducing religious discrimination); closing the “Arian” (Antitrinitarian) school in Kolozsvár (although on this point Possevino expressed uncertainty on account of the measure being liable to provoke great unrest in the country); sending a bishop to Transylvania (which had had no Catholic bishop since 1556); and finally, opening more Jesuit residences throughout the country.16 In all of the above, Possevino insisted on caution and discreetness. “The more [we] push, the more threatening [we] seem,” he wrote.17 What should the Jesuits do instead? Teach by example, but also learn: “[They should] apply great care in [tending to] their own souls, behavior, and sobriety, not only for the salvation of the soul, but also for the health of the body … and learn the language in order to be able to help others.” Most importantly, they should avoid setting the locals against the Society; for this purpose, they should be mindful of what they write in their letters, lest they be intercepted by the 15 Possevino, Transilvania, 3, 196. 16 A summary is provided in Martonffy, “The Early Counter-​Reformation,” 211–216. 17 Possevino, Transilvania, 176; Martonffy, “The Early Counter-​Reformation,” 214.

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“heretics.”18 Ironically, the Jesuit mission in Transylvania—​just like the one in Sweden, for that matter—​would have benefited from heeding Possevino’s advice for more discretion. In the first half of the 1580s, the Transylvanian mission opened a seminary, lower schools in three cities, and upper classes in two, and it had some success with preaching and conversions in the big cities. Their greatest success was reflected in the approximately 200 students enrolled in the Kolozsvár college within one year of its foundation (1581), 18 of whom were non-​Catholics in 1585 (the students were indeed not required to profess Catholicism or to attend Catholic mass). But the locals were not happy with the Jesuit presence in the country, as they feared their religious influence and resented their tax exemptions and wine sale privileges. Rumblings against them were heard at estate assemblies in 1585 and 1586, and in the spring of 1587 the Easter procession in Várad was attacked by local Protestants. At the first opportunity, which presented itself in December 1588, the estates forced the hand of their (Catholic) ruler—​Sigismund Báthory, Stephen’s nephew, whose position on the throne had to be confirmed by the diet after his reaching majority that year—​and passed a resolution that expelled the Jesuits from Transylvania. At the assembly, the estate representatives accused the Jesuits of idol-​worship and blamed them for the 1586 plague. They were given 15 days to vacate their residences and their properties were officially relegated to the princely domain.19 2

Possevino’s Fall: Szatmár and the Polish-​Lithuanian Interregnum

Possevino himself would have done well to heed his own advice on discretion. Back in 1584–​1585, as the Szatmár negotiations were approaching their 18 Possevino, Transilvania, 196, 198. 19 The death of their protector, Stephen Báthory, in 1586, was another important blow to the Transylvanian Jesuits, who were thus deprived of their most important source of moral and material support. After their expulsion from Transylvania, the Jesuits went to Poland-​ Lithuania, Austria, and Royal Hungary, but a few remained disguised as secular priests on the private estates of the prince and several Catholic nobles. In 1591 there was a partial rescinding of the expulsion order, allowing Sigismund Báthory to have a Jesuit teacher and a confessor at court. The expulsion order was canceled in 1595, at the beginning of the 15-​year war between the Habsburgs and the Ottomans, which marked a temporary ascendance of Catholic influence in Transylvania, but although the Jesuits could return at the turn of the century, they never regained the visibility they had in the 1580s. In 1607, a law was passed by the Transylvanian estates that requested all Catholic priests working in the principality to be of Hungarian origin—​an interesting decision openly directed against outside missionary activities. Martonffy, “The Early Counter-​Reformation,” 163–​74.

144 Roșu conclusion, Imperial complaints against the Jesuit mediator started piling up on the desks of his superiors, General Claudio Acquaviva (1581–​1615) and the pope’s secretary of state, Tolemeo Galli (1572–​1585). According to Rudolf and his councillors, the Jesuit was far from impartial but favoured the Polish-​Lithuanian king, and for this reason they requested his removal from the negotiations. Their suspicions were supported—​and to a certain extent fuelled—​by the negative sentiments of the papal nuncios to the Empire and the Commonwealth (Germanico Malaspina and Alberto Bolognetti) who, as the pope’s official ambassadors in the region, felt slighted by Possevino’s prominent diplomatic role at the two courts. Possevino blamed their jealousy—​and especially Malaspina’s—​for the rising mistrust in his role as mediator, but he also attributed it to the interception of several letters written to him by Báthory and his chancellor, Jan Zamoyski, which showed how little well-​disposed they were towards the Emperor, and which compromised Possevino along with the entire endeavour. Despite Possevino’s attempts to defend himself, General Acquaviva was more concerned with the reputation of the Jesuit order, so he approached Galli and asked that Possevino be removed from the Szatmár negotiations. In February 1585, after obtaining approval from the pope (who, like Acquaviva, was keen to show impartiality in the matter, since Rudolf’s suspicions extended all the way to the Holy See), Galli gave Possevino the order to place himself under the authority of the local Jesuit superior and withdraw to Braunsberg college, where he was to occupy himself with purely religious and intellectual pursuits. Thus Possevino was deprived, only days before the Szatmár agreement was signed, of the special diplomatic authority that had been conferred on him by the pope.20 Bitter but powerless, Possevino did as requested. Only two months later, however, Gregory xiii’s death in April 1585 reopened the door to his diplomatic ambitions. Báthory had continued to treat Possevino as a close confidant even after the latter’s retirement to Braunsberg. The king’s dream to invade Muscovy and bring it under his control had been growing in the previous years, and he had often shared these ambitions with the Jesuit. After the Szatmár affair was finally concluded and matters were settled with Rudolf ii, the Polish-​Lithuanian king grew restless, and the election of a new pope only stoked the fire. Sixtus v (1585–​90) was a Franciscan known for his austerity and crusading spirit, and 20

R. Reichenberger ed., Nuntiatuurberichte aus Deutschland, 1584–​1590, vol. 2/​1 (Paderborn: 1905), 23–​ 24, 62–​ 67, 74; Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​ Siège, 2:272–​ 273; Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino,” 52–​55; L. Burkiewicz, “Sylwetka Antonio Possevino SJ (1533–​1611),” in:  D. Quirini-​Popławska ed., Antonio Possevino SJ (1533–​1611). Życie i dzieło na tle epoki (Cracow: 2012), 175–​176.

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his background encouraged Possevino to take the liberty to write to his secretary of state (Decio Azzolino) about Báthory’s plans. Gregory xiii’s vision of a broad Holy League was no longer on the table; the king was now requesting direct financial support for swift military action against Muscovy, which would then—​Possevino insisted—​make possible an attack on the Ottoman empire. Báthory pushed Possevino to go to Rome and discuss these matters in person with the pope, practically treating him as his own envoy. But Possevino could not emerge from his exile without at least asking for permission. In February 1586, he and the king sent letters to Acquaviva and Azzolino, asking the Jesuit general and the papal secretary to authorize Possevino’s role in this highly sensitive matter. Acquaviva gave no definite response—​which shows how reticent he was to allow Possevino to become involved in politics again. Azzolino, by contrast, invited the Jesuit to Rome—​but without pressing him too hard or setting a deadline. As militant as he was, the new pope was still reluctant to support belligerence against a tsar whose father, only four years before, had sought Rome’s assistance in bringing peace between Muscovy and Poland-​Lithuania.21 Possevino went to Rome without waiting for Acquaviva’s permission. His trip went on the heels of Báthory’s nephew and official envoy to the pope, Cardinal András Báthory, who made a general presentation to the pope in March 1586. While preparing for his own departure, Possevino told Azzolini to delay all decisions on the matter until his arrival, as he was in the possession of “secrets” that he could only transmit orally on behalf of Báthory. At this point, he was virtually an independent agent, acting outside his usual chains of command—​ the papacy and the Society of Jesus. At best, he was Báthory’s representative, although he was not completely compliant to the king’s ideas either—​he often tried to steer Báthory back to the idea of an anti-​Ottoman crusade each time the king seemed to forget the supposed ultimate goal of his plans. In Rome, throughout the late summer and autumn of 1586, Possevino managed to convince Sixtus v to support Báthory’s plans. In November, the pope wrote the king an encouraging letter. More importantly, he also sent him an installment of 24,000 scudi, which were entrusted to the new papal nuncio to the Commonwealth, Annibale de Capua, who started towards Poland-​Lithuania together with Possevino in late 1586. In a misguided attempt to leave the door open to a more pacifist approach, Sixtus also wrote to the Muscovite tsar, Feodor i (1584–​1598), letting him know about Báthory’s ambitions and advising him to reach an agreement with the Polish-​Lithuanian king rather than resort to 21 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 2:288–​295, 304–​306.

146 Roșu war. He requested that Possevino take the letter to Muscovy in person, but the Jesuit used every reason he could fathom to shake free of this unwanted mission: it was inappropriate for a member of the Society of Jesus to become so involved in such matters; it would give the wrong idea to the Commonwealth about the pope’s intentions; and last but not least, his health was not so good. Not heeding his protestations, Sixtus also gave Possevino the authority to deal with the details of whatever agreement might be reached between Feodor and Báthory, and—​strangely enough—​to act as mediator between Báthory and his own parliament (the Polish-​Lithuanian Sejm), which was expected to oppose the king’s request to finance his planned campaign against Muscovy.22 In the end, none of these preparations amounted to anything. On 12 December 1586, soon after Possevino started his trip towards Poland-​Lithuania, Stephen Báthory died unexpectedly after a short illness. When the pope learned the sad news, he forcefully expressed his regret at having to abandon the king’s plans, to which Sixtus had evidently become more attached than he had previously let on. Possevino found out about Báthory’s death while passing through the Holy Roman Empire, and the news was disheartening in more ways than one. Not only was the Jesuit devastated by the loss of his favourite monarch, but he had the unfortunate chance to witness first-​hand how bitter the race for the Polish-​Lithuanian throne was going to be—​and how dangerous for his own position in the region. Poland-​Lithuania was an elective monarchy, and Báthory’s death opened an interregnum characterized by unusually intense factionalism, thanks in no small part to the Habsburgs’ previous attempts to win the Polish-​Lithuanian crown. While still in Prague, in January 1587, Possevino had a conversation with Archduke Maximilian, the Emperor’s brother and one of the strongest Habsburg candidates in this election (several of Rudolf’s brothers entered the race, but in time it became apparent that Archduke Ernest and especially Archduke Maximilian had the highest chances to win). Maximilian conveyed to the Jesuit how intent he was on winning the election and asked for his support. Possevino, who in an earlier letter to the pope had suggested in a veiled manner that the Swedish candidacy was probably more viable, could only respond with vague promises of impartiality and hopes for providential help, and advised Maximilian to reach an agreement with the other archdukes who were poised to enter the race. The meeting must have been particularly uncomfortable, because almost immediately afterwards, on 22 January, Possevino wrote to Rome asking permission to retire somewhere quiet until the electoral storm would pass. He was not mistaken: complaints 22 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 2:304–​312.

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about him started pouring from Rudolf ii soon enough. The Emperor wrote to the Imperial crown-​cardinal Ludovico Madruzzo that Possevino had designs against his brothers’ candidacy to the Polish-​Lithuanian throne, and he asked for his removal from the region. In early April, Madruzzo wrote back to let Rudolf know that both Acquaviva and the pope had been mobilized in solving this problem. Possevino immediately wrote to Archduke Maximilian to deny the rumours that he favoured the Swedish candidacy (which was incidentally supported by Báthory’s former councillors and allies, and with whom Possevino undoubtedly sympathized, despite his efforts at impartiality). He even ventured to give Maximilian advice about how to best rule Poland-​Lithuania in the event that he was elected. “Despite all this, these sirs [the Habsburgs] remain unsatisfied,” wrote the papal nuncio to Vienna, Antonio Puteo, in a letter to Cardinal Montalto, the pope’s nephew and secretary of state. On 6 April 1587, Montalto wrote to Possevino ordering him, in the name of the pope, to leave Poland-​Lithuania and go either to Italy or to a Jesuit college in Germany, and once there to await further orders from the pope. Acquaviva supported the decision: he wrote to request that the Holy See leave all members of the Society out of politics. Possevino did not wait to be asked again: he left the Commonwealth almost immediately and by the end of June was already in Padua.23 Before he left the region, in early May, Possevino wrote one last memo on the subject of the Polish-​Lithuanian election. The text had been requested by Stanisław Gomoliński, a Polish prelate connected to Chancellor Zamoyski, who at that time was by far the most powerful dignitary in the realm and who might have been behind the request, although we have no evidence on this matter. Gomoliński’s objective was to learn Possevino’s thoughts about the Swedish and Muscovite candidacies (Feodor i had also joined the race, and he had a rather significant following among the Lithuanian and Polish nobilities). Possevino’s answer was extremely cautious. He refused to express any preference whatsoever for any of the Catholic candidates, be it the Swedish prince or one of the Austrian archdukes (whom Gomoliński had not even mentioned). Instead, he focused most of his answer, which went on for five pages, on the undesirability of putting the Orthodox Feodor on the Commonwealth’s throne. Possevino’s words against the Muscovite tsar had a forcefulness that contradicted his earlier optimism about the union of churches or the possibility of 23 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 2:315–​320; Joseph Schweizer, “Antonio Possevino S.J. und die polnische Sukzessionsfrage im Jahre 1587,” Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und für Kirchengeschichte 23 (1909), 179–​ 190; J.  Schweizer, ed., Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland: nebst ergänzenden Actenstücken: 1585 (1584)–​1590. Abt. II: Die Nuntiatur am Kaiserhofe. 2. hälfte: Antonio Puteo in Prag: 1587–​1589 (Paderborn: 1912), 28.

148 Roșu an alliance with Muscovy. According to the Jesuit, Feodor would never convert to Catholicism nor would he ever fight for the Church, and what is worse, he would also subject the Commonwealth to religious and political persecution.24 Considering that the Zamoyski party was staunchly anti-​Habsburg, Possevino’s response may be seen as a subtle green light for the only remaining option, namely the Swedish candidacy—​although this is arguably reading too much into it. At face value, all Possevino did was discredit the Muscovite candidate, which in no way went against papal instructions or Imperial interests. Other members of the papal diplomatic machine were in fact much more explicit about the advantages of electing the Swedish prince. In early 1587, Horatio Spannochi, secretary to the late nuncio Alberto Bolognetti, wrote a report on the Polish-​Lithuanian interregnum that clearly showed the likelihood and potential benefits of a Swedish success.25 Granted, Spannochi’s report was a memo addressed to the pope, not to the Polish-​Lithuanian voters, and its author’s relatively low position in the papal hierarchy must have protected his candor. Still, this example goes to show that whatever partiality Possevino might have had for Sigismund Vasa was not an isolated preference based on personal fondness, but fit in a wider trend that made the Swedish candidate quite popular in Poland-​Lithuania. Indeed, on 19 August 1587, Sigismund Vasa—​soon to become Sigismund iii (1588–​1632)—​was elected king of the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth by Zamoyski’s faction and the larger part of the nobility. But that was not the end of the electoral race. The pro-​Habsburg faction was not willing to accept defeat, and a rival assembly, dominated by Zamoyski’s archenemies, the Zborowski family, elected Archduke Maximilian on 22 August. The situation was tense, but it was not the first time a double election occurred in the Commonwealth. In December 1575, Stephen Báthory’s election by the greater part of the Polish nobility was a protest against the election of the Emperor Maximilian ii by the Commonwealth’s most important senators, which had occurred only days before. What solved the conundrum 11 years before had been the swiftness with which Báthory arrived in the country and took the crown, while his rival hesitated over the electoral contract that all Polish-​Lithuanian kings were required to sign. Maximilian’s son did not make the same mistake. In fact, he went one step too far. The archduke gathered an army and tried to 24 25

The memo was published in full in O.  Halecki, “Possevino’s Last Statement on Polish-​ Russian Relations,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 19 (1953), 261–​302. H. Spannochi, “Discours de l’interregne de Poloigne l’annee 1587,” in: Trésor politique divisé en trois livres contenant les relations, instructions, traictez, et divers discours appartenans à la parfaicte intelligence de la raison d`Estat (Paris: 1608), 341–​373.

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take Cracow—​Poland-​Lithuania’s coronation capital and the headquarters of anti-​Habsburg resistance—​by force. His daring, however, was not matched by his military skills. The siege ended in defeat on 24 November, and after a two-​ month retreat, Maximilian was captured by Zamoyski’s army. He remained their prisoner for more than one year.26 For the third time in seven years, the pope had to send a mediator to help solve a dispute involving Poland-​Lithuania. Although Possevino knew northeastern European affairs better than anybody else in Rome, his involvement was no longer welcome. Ippolito Aldobrandini (the future Clement viii, 1592–​1605) was appointed in his stead to help broker an agreement that could pacify the region. The new mediator felt daunted by the task and requested Acquaviva’s permission to take Possevino along, but the Jesuit general was so adamantly opposed to the idea that Aldobrandini had to embark on his mission armed only with Possevino’s written advice. The memos written for Aldobrandini focused on reconciling the Imperial and Polish-​Lithuanian courts after Archduke Maximilian’s renunciation, which Possevino saw as inevitable. The best reconciliation that Possevino could fathom was intermarriage between the Habsburg and the Vasa houses, which had already been discussed before the Polish-​ Lithuanian election, as a way to bring Sweden closer to Catholic interests. After months of assiduous efforts on Aldobrandini’s part, an agreement was finally reached on 9 March 1589. Archduke Maximilian abandoned his claim to the Polish-​Lithuanian throne and recognized Sigismund Vasa—​who had already been crowned in Cracow more than one year before—​as the rightful king of the Commonwealth. They pledged mutual friendship and, three years later, despite strong opposition from Zamoyski and the anti-​Habsburg nobility, Sigismund married one of Maximilian’s cousins.27 Thus ended the rivalry between the Imperial and Polish-​Lithuanian courts, which cost Possevino his diplomatic career. 3

Possevino’s Identities

Possevino was a Jesuit at heart, but he performed most of his diplomatic work as a representative of the Holy See, not the Society of Jesus. Perhaps because of 26

The two interregna are discussed in detail in: F. Roșu, Elective Monarchy in Transylvania and Poland-​Lithuania, 1569–​1587 (Oxford: 2017); A. Pieńkowska, Zjazdy i sejmy z okresu bezkrólewia po śmierci Stefana Batorego (Pułtusk: 2010); E. Dubas-​Urwanowicz, Koronne zjazdy szlacheckie: w dwóch pierwszych bezkrólewiach po śmierci Zygmunta Augusta (Białystok: 1998). 27 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 2:322–​325. One of Possevino’s memos to Aldobrandini (written in Padua on 4 June 1588) was published in full in Schweizer, “Antonio Possevino,” 190–​198.

150 Roșu Acquaviva’s dislike of political involvement, and his own attraction to it, Possevino preferred the high-​flying world of papal politics, where kings and popes concocted secret  alliances and planned to take over the world in the name of the Church. Possevino was a learned man, but he was even more a man of action. He saw politics and war as useful and sometimes more efficient ways to implement religious change than missionary efforts alone. Except for his time in Sweden, when he acted in the name of the Jesuit order, his other missions in northeastern Europe were carried out on behalf of and in close consultation with the pope—​not the Jesuit general. He had Acquaviva’s acquiescence, but between 1581 and 1587 he was practically on loan to the Holy See. There were times, however, when his Jesuit identity came to the fore—​ sometimes as a limitation, but more often as a useful asset. Possevino resorted to it in order to deny or refuse political involvement whenever affairs took dangerous turns, such as when Sixtus v wanted to send him to Muscovy in 1586, or when Archduke Maximilian pressured him for support in 1587. At times, he rather embodied the persona of a missionary, such as when he went to Transylvania and helped to organize the college and seminary in Kolozsvár, or when he entreated Ivan iv to recognize the primacy of the Catholic Church. In fact, his two identities—​just like politics and religion—​were so entangled that trying to separate them might be missing the point. It was only when diplomatic mishaps forced him to withdraw from public life that his Jesuit identity truly took precedence, as illustrated by his placement under the authority of the local superior in February 1585. His return to the Society’s fold in 1587 was meant as a demotion, but it also provided him with refuge and a safety net. After all, Possevino did not end his life in poverty and disgrace, but rather as a respected intellectual made famous by the books he wrote in his retirement at the Jesuit colleges of Padua and Ferrara. Like most diplomats of his time, and indeed like most missionaries who had to operate far from their headquarters, Possevino enjoyed a remarkable amount of autonomy on the ground, which in turn required him to make liberal use of his powers of discernment. He often had to make decisions without consultation with his superiors, and he was as much an advisor as a representative of the pope. The close council he kept with Báthory turned him into a strong supporter of the Polish-​Lithuanian king, although it should be said that his efforts at impartiality, visible in his correspondence, were more significant than his Habsburg detractors were willing to admit. After the death of Gregory xiii, however, Possevino went beyond the usual autonomy of discernment that all Jesuits were meant to possess. He actively disregarded Acquaviva’s order of retirement and departed for Rome, on the basis of only a vague invitation from the new pope, in order to advocate Báthory’s military plans against

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Muscovy. At that point, he no longer was an obedient Jesuit or a papal legate; instead, he effectively became Báthory’s representative before the Holy See. This paradoxical change did not occur at once. It was a gradual process already under way in 1584, when the king praised in a letter to the pope “the singular trustworthiness of Father Possevino”: I have often thoroughly discussed these matters with him, which I feel pertinent to the public good of the Christian name, so I reiterate my request that Your Holiness have complete trust in him about these matters.28 Such words are often found in ambassadors’ letters of accreditation, but less frequently in letters addressed to those who accredited them in the first place. It is important to note that Possevino’s violation of his order of retirement and his diplomatic metamorphosis into Báthory’s envoy were not the cause of his final downfall. The new pope—​and even Acquaviva, tacitly—​went along with it. What ruined Posesvino’s political career was the dislike that the Habsburg court had taken to him, and their impression that the Jesuit worked against their interests. In the interregnum that followed Báthory’s death, Possevino had received formal instructions from Sixtus v to remain neutral and only show partiality on the side of the Catholic faith. Informally, however, the letters he received from Rome indicated that the pope favoured the Habsburg candidacy and especially that of Archduke Ernest (another one of Rudolf ii’s brothers), whose success Sixtus was prepared to support behind the scenes, including financially. Possevino, however, seemed to have missed the point—​or perhaps he willfully ignored it—​when, in his audience with Archduke Maximilian, he refused to take sides, to the archduke’s frustration.29 Ironically, Possevino’s diplomatic career ended because of excessive impartiality. 4

Epilogue: the Jesuits and the Delayed Invasion of Muscovy

After his departure from Poland-​Lithuania in the summer of 1587, Antonio Possevino spent the rest of his life in virtual exile from the world of high diplomacy, writing and preaching in Padua and Ferrara. But even from a distance, he continued to take an interest in the affairs of northeastern Europe. In 1604, the Polish-​Lithuanian army invaded Muscovy and installed on the

28 Báthory to Gregory xiii, 27 August 1584, in Donnelly, “Antonio Possevino,” 8. 29 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 2:320.

152 Roșu throne a recently converted Catholic pretender who claimed to be the son of Ivan iv, known as Dmitry Ivanovich or False Dmitry (1605–​1606). Dmitry’s claim won the support of the Polish-​Lithuanian king as well as that of the Polish Jesuits, who in turn persuaded the papal nuncio to the Commonwealth and eventually the pope that a Jesuit mission to Muscovy was in order. Enthused by Dmitry’s conversion to Catholicism, and encouraged by Possevino’s writings about Muscovy, which claimed that the tsar’s power was so vast that his subjects could be forced to do anything he pleased, the Jesuits assumed that mass conversion or at least the union of the churches would naturally follow the enthronement of a Catholic tsar. “Oh my Father, we have the new Indies, the desired Indies, and we hold [them] already in [our] hands,” wrote in June 1605 Andrzej Lawicki, one of the Jesuits who accompanied Dmitry to Muscovy.30 In the following year, Lawicki went to Rome to report on Dmitry’s readiness to start an anti-​Ottoman campaign, in an almost perfect mirroring of the 1580s, even though the Jesuits had been warned to avoid any political or military involvement at the beginning of the Dmitry affair.31 Unsurprisingly, Possevino was kept in the loop. This was his field of expertise, after all. He maintained a regular correspondence with the Jesuits who accompanied the Polish-​Lithuanian army to Muscovy in 1604–​1606, and in 1606 he dedicated a special issue of one of his books to Dmitry.32 In the previous year, Possevino had also published a booklet under the pseudonym Barezzo Barezzi, defending Dmitry’s claim to the Muscovite throne. After he was installed in Muscovy in 1605, Dmitry contacted Possevino directly. At the new tsar’s request, the Jesuit sent him a collection of religious books in Slavonic, with the purpose of supporting him in his declared intention to spread Catholicism throughout Muscovy. However, neither Dmitry’s reign nor the Jesuit mission to Muscovy had any lasting effect. As a matter of fact, both proved highly unpopular and the Jesuits did not have a chance to make their mission public, for fear of violent reactions. The Muscovites were evidently more set in their ways and less docile than expected. In 1606, Dmitry was assassinated and the two Jesuits accompanying his court were thrown into prison, where they languished for two years. When the Polish-​Lithuanian army invaded again in 1609–​1619, the only noticeable success was the annexation of certain areas to the territory of the Commonwealth. The Jesuits who joined the army 30 A. Lawicki quoted in Santich, “The Role of the Jesuits,” 246, 261. 31 Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, 3:143. 32 L. Balsamo, “How to Doctor a Bibliography: Antonio Possevino’s Practice,” in: G. Fragnito ed., Church, Censorship and Culture in Early Modern Italy (Cambridge: 2001), 76–​77.

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during these two invasions were publicly referred to as army chaplains—​not missionaries—​and their work was entirely confined to the spiritual needs of the Polish-​Lithuanian soldiers, even though their activities in Rome were recorded under the pompous name Missio Moscovitica. After these and a few other failed attempts, the Jesuits were only able to establish a more stable presence in Muscovy under Peter and Catherine the Great, but they never had much success among the Orthodox population. The desired Indies were never attained.33 5

Conclusions

Possevino’s story is a perfect illustration of the complexity of early modern Catholic diplomacy. The study of papal mediation on the frontier of the Catholic world reveals not only the multilayered identities and conflicting loyalties of the temporary ambassadors employed in these mediations, but also the contradictory nature of the Catholic institutions they were supposed to represent. While the papacy was expected to be a unifying force in Christendom, best symbolized by the claims of impartiality professed at these mediations, and therefore not a traditional state actor, it also behaved like any other government constrained by the exigencies of its allies, as shown in the pope’s deference to the Habsburg court. While the Jesuits were supposed to support the unity of Christianity and avoid becoming involved in politics, as Acquaviva repeatedly insisted, they were nevertheless found at the court of every Catholic monarch in Europe and beyond, counselling rulers and concocting political and military plans with them. There is certainly nothing new in this vision of a duplicitous Catholic Church—​traditional diplomatic history has been looking at the papacy as a regular state actor ever since Ranke. However, this overly political image may simplify the story too much. Neither the papacy nor the Jesuits were animated by solely political goals. In fact, not even the monarchs with whom they dealt only cared about the accumulation of power. Religious ideals of unity and peace were inextricably connected with secular interests in all areas of early modern life, including diplomacy. This study therefore answers to the call of the “new diplomatic history,” which has been resounding in the past two decades, to abandon the teleological study of the medieval and early modern periods as developmental stages of increasingly secularized practices 33

On the False Dmitry story and the Polish-​Lithuanian invasions of Muscovy, see: Santich, “The Role of the Jesuits,” 222–​323; Pierling, La Russie et le Saint-​Siège, vol. 3, passim; P.P. Szpaczyński, Mocarstwowe dążenia Zygmunta III w latach 1587–​1618 (Cracow: 2013).

154 Roșu that culminated in the establishment of permanent embassies as the epitome of modern diplomacy.34 The examination of diplomatic dealings at the highest level does not have to be discarded in the pursuit of a new diplomatic history.35 However, we can approach these dealings from a broader perspective. It is instructive to explore not just what was accomplished, but also what was not—​for instance Báthory’s invasion of Muscovy, or the union of churches—​in order to better understand the mental universe of the actors involved. It is relevant to study not just official embassies, but also unofficial and temporary ones, and even mediation efforts on matters that may seem mundane, such as the territorial dispute between Rudolf ii and Stephen Báthory, because at closer inspection they reveal hidden motivations for later, more momentous actions. Moreover, it is crucial to look at diplomats not just as docile instruments in the hands of the governments that employed them, but as three-​dimensional beings with a life outside their diplomatic activities, and, most importantly, with an enormous amount of autonomy on the ground—​at least compared to the modern period. Lastly and perhaps most importantly, it is essential to integrate the ‘peripheries’—​such as eastern Europe and more generally the non-​western world—​into our vision of western diplomacy, because only then can we properly understand the centrality of frontier zones in the world of early modern decision-​making.36 A deeper analysis of the world of missionaries and papal legates from all these standpoints can bring a fresh perspective on the history of diplomacy.

Sources and Bibliography



Printed sources

Pierling, P., Bathory et Possevino: documents inédits sur les rapports du Saint-​Siège avec les Slaves (Paris: 1887). Possevino, A., The Moscovia of Antonio Possevino, S.J., ed. H.F. Graham (Pittsburgh: 1977).

34

35 36

D. Reynolds, “International History, the Cultural Turn and the Diplomatic Twitch,” Cultural and Social History 3, no. 1 (2006), 75–​91; J. Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38, no. 1 (2008), 1–​14; M.A. Ebben and L.H.J. Sicking, “Nieuwe diplomatieke geschiedenis van de premoderne tijd. Een inleiding,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 127, no. 4 (2014), 541–​552. On this point see especially Reynolds, “International History,” 89–​90. Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History,” 3–​4; Ebben and Sicking, “Nieuwe diplomatieke geschiedenis,” 547.

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Possevino, A., Transilvania (1584) (Budapest: Tip. artistica Stephaneum 1913). Reichenberger, R. ed., Nuntiatuurberichte aus Deutschland, 1584–​1590. Vol. 2/​1. (Paderborn: 1905). Schweizer, J. ed., Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland:  nebst ergänzenden Actenstücken: 1585 (1584)–​1590. Abt. II: Die Nuntiatur am Kaiserhofe. 2. hälfte: Antonio Puteo in Prag: 1587–​1589. (Paderborn: 1912). Spannochi, H., “Discours de l’interregne de Poloigne l’annee 1587,” In Trésor politique divisé en trois livres contenant les relations, instructions, traictez, et divers discours appartenans à la parfaicte intelligence de la raison d`Estat (Paris: 1608), 341–​373.

Bibiliography

Balsamo, L., “How to Doctor a Bibliography: Antonio Possevino’s Practice,” in: Fragnito, G. ed., Church, Censorship and Culture in Early Modern Italy (Cambridge: 2001), 50–​78. Burkiewicz, L., “Sylwetka Antonio Possevino SJ (1533–​1611),” in: Quirini-​Popławska, D. ed., Antonio Possevino SJ (1533–​1611). Życie i dzieło na tle epoki (Cracow: 2012), 155–​184. Donnelly, J., “Antonio Possevino, S.J. as Papal Mediator between Emperor Rudolf II and King Stephan Bathory,” Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 69 (2000), 3–​56. Donnelly, J. P., “Antonio Possevino’s Plan for World Evangelization,” The Catholic Historical Review 74.2 (1988), 179–​198. Donnelly, J., “Some Jesuit Counter-​Reformation Strategies in East Central Europe, 1550–​1585,” in:  Politics, Religion, and Diplomacy in Early Modern Europe:  Essays in Honor of De Lamar Jensen. Sixteenth Century Essays and Studies 27 (Kirksville, MO: 1994), 83–​94. Dubas-​Urwanowicz, E. Koronne zjazdy szlacheckie: w dwóch pierwszych bezkrólewiach po śmierci Zygmunta Augusta (Białystok: 1998). Ebben, M.A. and L.H.J. Sicking, “Nieuwe diplomatieke geschiedenis van de premoderne tijd. Een inleiding,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 127.4 (2014), 541–​552. Foresta, P., “De su alteza es mandar y de nosostros obedecir: Riflessioni su obbedienza e disobbedienza nei primi gesuiti,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 92.1 (2012), 328–​358. Garstein, O., Rome and the Counter-​Reformation in Scandinavia:  Jesuit Educational Strategy, 1553–​1622 (Leiden: 1992). Garstein, O., Rome and the Counter-​Reformation in Scandinavia, until the Establishment of the S.  Congregatio de Propaganda Fide in 1622:  Based on Source Material in the Kolsrud Collection, 1583–​1622, Universitetsforlaget, 2 vols Oxford, 1963. Halecki, O., “Possevino’s Last Statement on Polish-​Russian Relations,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 19 (1953), 261–​302. Lukinich, I., “La jeunesse d’Etienne Báthory.” in: Divéky, A. de ed., Etienne Báthory: roi de Pologne, prince de Transylvanie (Cracow: 1935), 18–​46.

156 Roșu Martonffy, A.P., “The Early Counter-​Reformation in Hungary: Jesuits, Papal Nuncios, and the Hungarian Lands, 1550–​1606” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Chicago: 1980). Mostaccio, S., Early Modern Jesuits Between Obedience and Conscience During the Generalate of Claudio Acquaviva (1581–​1615) (Burlington: 2014). Pieńkowska, A., Zjazdy i sejmy z okresu bezkrólewia po śmierci Stefana Batorego (Pułtusk: 2010). Pierling, P., La Russie et le Saint-​Siège: études diplomatiques. 3 vols (Paris: 1897–​1906). Reynolds, D. “International History, the Cultural Turn and the Diplomatic Twitch,” Cultural and Social History 3.1 (2006), 75–​91. Roșu, F., Elective Monarchy in Transylvania and Poland-​Lithuania, 1569–​1587 (Oxford: 2017). Santich, J., “The Role of the Jesuits in the Westernization of Russia, 1596–​1656.” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California, Berkeley: 1992). Schweizer, J., “Antonio Possevino S.J. und die polnische Sukzessionsfrage im Jahre 1587,” Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und für Kirchengeschichte 23 (1909), 173–​198. Szpaczyński, P. P., Mocarstwowe dążenia Zygmunta III w latach 1587–​1618 (Cracow: 2013). Watkins, J., “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38.1 (2008), 1–​14.

pa rt 4 Spies

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­c hapter 7

Secrets, Diplomatics, and Spies in Late Medieval France and in the Burgundian State: Parallel Practices and Undercover Operations Jean-​Baptiste Santamaria 1

Introduction

In May 1464, the ambassador of the duke of Milan to King Louis xi unveiled a project for a permanent embassy of his duchy in France. The king rejected the proposal, indicating that this was unusual practice in France and would be perceived as a sign of mistrust, rather than of friendship.1 It would be easy to blame French archaism as an explanation for this opposition to permanent embassies. Cultural differences play a part. French and Italians had opposite visions: whereas French princes favoured more personal but more temporary relationships, Italians tended to try to set up institutions as a means of avoiding trips which were both exhausting and required rethinking the way their work was organized. The subtle link between espionage, secrecy, and diplomatic practices might be a key to understanding what could be called international relationships in the late Middle Ages: political relationships between sovereign powers. Yet, matters of espionage have mostly attracted specialists of French modern history, just as with the history of political secrecy.2 French medievalists have been more reluctant to pursue research into this question,3 which is often perceived as a feature of “modern” ages.4 The subject has been more thoroughly studied in the German Empire, the Swiss cities,5 and 1 2 3 4 5

B. de Mandrot, Dépêches des ambassadeurs Milanais en France sous Louis XI et François Sforza (Paris: 1916). L. Bély, Espions et ambassadeurs au temps de Louis XIV (Paris: 1990); idem, Les secrets de Louis XIV: mystères d’État et pouvoir absolu (Paris: 2013); M. Sennelart, Les arts de gouverner. Du “regimen” médiéval au concept de gouvernement (Paris: 1995). S. Péquignot and J.M. Moeglin, Diplomatie et “relations internationales” au Moyen Âge (IXe-​XVe siècle), (Paris: 2017); J.B. Santamaria, Le secret du prince. Gouverner par le secret, France-​Bourgogne, XIIIe-​XVe siècle (Ceyzérieu: 2018). A. Dewerpe, Espion :  une anthropologie historique du secret d’État contemporain (Paris: 1994); W.Krieger, Services secrets: une histoire, des pharaons à la CIA (Paris: 2010). J.M. Elukin, G. Engel, B. Rang, K. Reichert, and H. Wunder, Das Geheimnis am Beginn der europäischen Moderne (Frankfurt: 2002); M. Jucker, “Secrets and Politics: Theoretical and

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_009

160 Santamaria England.6 But thanks to a considerable renewal of diplomatic studies concerning the kings of France and the dukes of Burgundy,7 we can now draw a picture of the complex relationships between espionage and diplomacy. The late Middle Ages were characterized by an increase in the means attributed to diplomacy, as treatises became technically sophisticated and relationships between princes grew in intensity in a competitive context to impose sovereignty by building organized states. While diplomacy became more and more judicial and technical, it kept its theoretical goals of ensuring peace between Christians and upholding honour, rights, and justice.8 On the other hand in medieval times espionage was mostly legitimate during a war, when underhand behaviour was permitted.9 Spying for diplomatic use could raise moral and intellectual concerns as it was indicative of profound mistrust. Furthermore, institutionalization in diplomatic, fiscal, and judicial matters was in its infancy:  many agents were not, strictly speaking, specialists. And other political players were able to interact through their own networks, notably the Church, noble families, and cities. Princely diplomacy did not work in a closed circuit, as it was influenced by other kinds of connections, which could be either challenged or accepted. We also must take into consideration the impact of the growth of communications, especially written ones, which went hand in hand with an increase of the number of civil servants recruited by princes, whose influence increased at the expense of a growing risk of leaks. To counter this, secrecy represented a necessary protection10 which might be used both by diplomats and spies, who shared an equal desire to know the intentions

Methodological Aspects of Late Medieval Diplomatic Communication,” Micrologus: Nature, Sciences and Medieval Societies 14 (2006), 275–​309. 6 J.R. Alban and C.T. Allmand, “Spies and spying in the fourteenth century,” in: C.T. Allmand ed., War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages. Essays in Honour of G.W. Coopland, (Liverpool: 1976), 73–​101; J.M. Elukin, “Keeping Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern English Government,” in: Elukin, Das Geheimnis, 111–​129. 7 C. De Borchgrave, “Diplomates et diplomatie sous le duc de Bourgogne Jean sans Peur,” Les Relations entre États et principautés des Pays-​Bas à la Savoie (XIVe-​XVIe siècles). Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 32 (1992), 31–​47; P. Contamine, “Méthodes et instruments de travail de la diplomatie française. Louis XI et la régale des évêchés bretons (1462–​1465),” in:  P. Contamine, Des pouvoirs en France, 1300–​1500 (Paris:1992), 147–​167; L’envers du décor. Espionnage, complot, trahison, vengeance. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 48 (2008); A.B. Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs de Philippe le Bon, troisième duc Valois de Bourgogne, 1419–​1467 (Turnhout: 2013); Péquignot and Moeglin, Diplomatie. 8 Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs. 9 P. de Mézières, Le songe du vieil pèlerin, ed. G.W. Coopland (Cambridge: 1969), 84–​85. 10 J. Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 269.

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of their rival in the great game without usually looking for open conflict. As diplomats’ and spies’ paths could sometimes cross, suspicion naturally arose. This chapter aims to attempt to understand the nature of these ‘dangerous liaisons,’ to make it clear that espionage cannot be considered as marginal or anecdotal with regard to the history of relationships between political powers. At first glance, the diplomat has to be wary of the spy, an attitude which leads the former to adopt the methods of the latter. For that reason, and as a consequence of the use of secrecy by each power, proximity between espionage and diplomacy seems obvious, as they both learn from each other. Their mutual interaction is intensified by the necessity for diplomacy to recruit power brokers and middlemen who are able to use their own networks but may have their own interests in mind, which makes them suspect. 2

Diplomacy Facing Espionage: the Cult of Secrecy

In principle, espionage used outside wartime may be considered transgressive. Since medieval diplomacy’s ambition was to build a relationship based on trust and friendship,11 only a deceitful and morally questionable mind could spy on a present or potential future ally while working towards an alliance. Guillaume Fillastre quoted Seneca to explain that one has to share secrets with one’s friend:  “to [a friend] one cannot hide one’s fortune, one’s secrets, and one’s councils.”12 Diplomatic espionage was thus tolerated as a necessary evil that could not be easily owned up to, even in Italy.13 It tended to blur limits between peace and war, friend and enemy, close friend and stranger, as everyone was subject to mistrust.14 Only a tyrant would spy on his friends, subjects or allies. Louis xi was described by Georges Chastellain as a “beasty man” for his intrigues.15 But one had to protect oneself against such actions, especially during diplomatic negotiations which were also the main targets of spies. That overwhelming fear shaped diplomacy in its oral and written forms, and led to a systematic use of secrecy seen as legitimate since it allowed one to avoid being outwitted by dishonest people, but without recourse to lies.

11 Péquignot and Moeglin, Diplomatie, 147. 12 K. Oschema ed, Le “Traité de l’amitié”—​Guillaume Fillastre sur l’idéal de l’amitié (Paris: 2011). 13 A. Cirier, “La face cachée du pouvoir. L’espionnage au service d’États en construction en Italie à la fin du Moyen Âge XIIIe-​fin XIVe siècle,” in: L’envers du décor, 7–​28. 14 Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 139–​176. 15 G. Chastellain, Œuvres, vol. 5, J. Kervyn de Lettenhove ed. (Brussel, 1864).

162 Santamaria 3

Networks, Infiltration and Corruption: Diplomacy in Danger

One of the most effective ways of spying in diplomacy was to infiltrate a mole into the highest echelons of power: the council where the prince took his major political decisions. The former secretary of Duke Philip the Good, Etienne Fryon was sent to England during a Burgundian embassy in 1480 and then recruited as a secretary of the king of England, a way of showing the climate of confidence between the two powers. While he gained access to major diplomatic secrets concerning England and France, and even obtained influence in the council, he stayed secretly faithful to his first master and proved to be very useful.16 Diplomats and messengers could be even more easily watched while travelling, because they spent time in public places such as taverns. A classic way to make them talk was to get them drunk: Louis de la Trémoille, as governor of François i in Burgundy, employed that method with spies and envoys of the Habsburgs.17 Drunkenness was thus a much feared weakness: King Sancho iv of Castile recommended avoiding drunkenness when on a diplomatic mission as a means of keeping secrets.18 The prince’s advisers might also be gently influenced, especially since there was a hazy border between corruption and courtesy: it was indeed customary to give presents as a mark of honour. Even diplomats sometimes had to pay power brokers in order to gain access to the prince:19 the way Venetian ambassadors paid Maximilian’s minions might be construed as sharp practice, but it seems to have been standard practice at the time.20 Nor is it uncommon to prepare for a treaty by making ‘gifts’ to adversary prince’s advisers: Charles vii distributed large sums of money to highly placed Burgundian officers before the signing of the Treaty of Arras in 1435.21 Such conduct could be considered as interference, because it meant paying people engaged to their prince by

16 17 18 19 20 21

M. Balard and C.S.L. Davies, “Étienne Fryon: Burgundian Agent, English Royal Secretary and ‘principal counsellor’ to Perkin Warbeck,” Historical Research 62 (1989), 245–​259. L. Vissière, “Les ‘espies’ de La Trémoille et le comte Guillaume de Fürstenberg: à propos d’une nouvelle de Marguerite de Navarre,” Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes 167 (2009), 465–​486. S. Péquignot, “Les ambassadeurs dans les miroirs des princes en Occident au Moyen Âge,” in: S. Andretta, S. Péquignot, and J. Waquet eds., De l’ambassadeur. Les écrits relatifs à l’ambassadeur et à l’art de négocier (Rome: 2015), 33–​56. A. Derville, “Pots-​de-​vin, cadeaux, racket, patronage. Essai sur les mécanismes de décision dans l’état bourguignon,” Revue du Nord 56 (1974), 341–​364. J.M. Moeglin, “La place des messagers et des ambassadeurs dans la diplomatie princière à la fin du Moyen Âge,” Études de lettres 3 (September 2010), 11–​36. R. Vaughan, Philip the Good: The Apogee of Burgundy (London: 1970), 100.

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oath of loyalty. For example, Louis xi’s diplomatic strategy included favouring the pro-​French party inside the court of Burgundy, by controlling the clan of the Croÿs, a stratagem Chastellain described as the “hidden hand of the king.”22 Corruption was, however, clearly a two-​way street: a princely host could show friendship without being suspected or blamed, and so could easily ‘buy’ ambassadors. Popes readily handed out prebends to ecclesiastical diplomats on missions, as we know from Andrew Offord, who came to Avignon from England in 1343. Kings also, of course, knew how to shower favours on their visitors. As ambassadors of cities were liable to be tempted, they received limited delegations of authority. Many attempts were made to make them refuse or at least not openly ask for such gifts, but this was often in vain.23 It was common knowledge that diplomats came under constant observation. That is why they had to swear not to reveal any of their master’s secrets24 and to learn how to escape surveillance:  Commynes recommended sending several ambassadors to reduce the risk of spies. A good ambassador would also know how to disguise himself en route: the vice-​chancellor of Brittany travelled to the king of England and the duke of Burgundy dressed as a Jacobin,25 and his colleague the abbot of Bégart led his pursuers on various false leads.26 Others disguised themselves as merchants.27 Solitary or clandestine trips are nonetheless rare because diplomats have to reflect the honour of their prince, and need a level of comfort that reflects their rank. 4

Espionage and Diplomacy in the Era of Handwriting

As diplomacy becomes more judicial and professional, writing is used more and more: this phenomenon is part of a broader extension of what we may call “the writing revolution.”28 Since letters are handwritten and sent by messengers, 22 Chastellain, Œuvres (Brussels: 1863), vol. 4, 345. 23 Moeglin, “La place des messagers.” 24 R. Vaughan, John the Fearless: The Growth of Burgundian Power (Woodbridge: 2002), 211. 25 Chastellain, Œuvres, vol. 5, 76. 26 G. Guihard, ““Et se fussent les princes mis en essay …” Étude des moyens diplomatiques au service de l’alliance entre la Bretagne et la Bourgogne (1465–​1475),” Négociations, traités et diplomatie dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 125–​147. 27 Péquignot and Moeglin, Diplomatie, 431. 28 M.T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record:  England 1066–​1307 (London:  1979); I. Lazzarini, “La communication écrite et son rôle dans la société politique de l’Europe méridionale au Moyen Âge,” in: J.P. Genet ed., Rome et l’état moderne européen (Rome: 2007), 265–​285.

164 Santamaria they are easy to intercept as well as to attribute. A good spy is able to identify the hand behind the writing: in order to stay unknown, the spy-​diplomat sent by Louis xi to Maximilian uses a clerk.29 A letter can unveil the diplomatic duplicity of an agent or a prince: by showing intercepted correspondence to the Flemish, Louis xi pushed them to arrest the senior advisers of Mary of Burgundy sent to negotiate a marriage between the dauphin of France and Mary. This would lead to their assassination.30 Diplomatic mails are indeed much sought after: Louis xi is to buy them from various sources across Europe31 and sends agents between Rennes and Lille to capture the letters exchanged between the dukes of Brittany and Burgundy.32 How might this type of interception be prevented? French kings and princes show very little interest in cryptography. At times they used the Spartan scytale, consisting of a stick around which one wraps a leather strap on which the message was written. The message became unreadable once the strap unrolled, unless one used an identical stick. King René of Sicily resorted to it as prisoner of the duke of Burgundy in the castle of Bracon.33 Complex codes were well known to Italians and popes,34 but the duke of Burgundy did not use them,35 nor did the king of France, a fact which amazed the Milanese ambassadors.36 To French princes, a seal was used to protect correspondence: a closed letter cannot be read without breaking it.37 Letters were also hidden in hats.38 Princes trusted the loyalty of messengers, who were counted on to be faithful to their oath to keep their secrets, just like ambassadors.39 Finally, the 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38 39

D. Clauzel, “Les révélations d’un agent de Maximilien sur les intrigues de Louis XI pour s’emparer de Lille” L’envers du décor, 195–​216. J. Favier, Louis XI (Paris: 2012), 733. P.M. Kendall, Louis XI : “l’universelle araignée” (Paris: 1974), 314. Guihard, “Et se fussent les princes mis en essay.” J. Richard, “Cryptographie,” in C.  Samaran ed., L’histoire et ses méthodes (Paris:  1961), 616–​632. D. Kahn, The Codebreakers: The Story of Secret Writing (New York: 1996), 90. J. Nowak, “El Duca de Bergogna, ut dico, se lassia tutto reger da altri. La prise des décisions en Bourgogne du point de vue milanais,” Les cultures de la décision dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 57 (2017), 187–​197. J. Verdon, Information et désinformation au Moyen Âge (Paris: 2010), 257. M. Jucker, “Trust and Mistrust in Letters: Late Medieval Diplomacy and Its Communication Practices,” in M. Mostert, P. Schulte, and I. van Renswode eds., Strategies of Writing: Studies on Text and Trust in the Middle Ages (Turnhout: 2008), 213–​236; B. Walter, “Transmettre des secrets en temps de guerre,” Revue d’Alsace 138 (2012), 7–​25. E. Burkhardt, “Arguments rhétoriques pour la grandeur du pouvoir bourguignon et pour la nécessité d’une croisade. Les traités de Jean Germain présentés en 1451 au chapitre de la Toison d’or,” Les cultures de la décision. Péquignot, “Les ambassadeurs dans les miroirs.”

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most sensitive letters came with orders for their destruction. Some of Louis xi’s letters ended with the command: “burn after reading.” Historians may be thankful that this injunction was not always obeyed.40 An author could also write anonymous orders on separate sheets called cé­ dules in order to stay anonymous. The instructions delivered to ambassadors can then be contradicted by secret counter orders. Such a document can be found concerning the negotiations between Margareth, widow of Duke Philip the Bold, the Flemish cities and England in 1405: the princess sent an instruction ordering to discuss the capture of English ships by the Flemings and at the same time a cédule forbidding them to do so.41 The safest way for a prince remains writing nothing but entrusting “by word of mouth” one’s intentions to the messenger, and delivering a letter whose unique function would be to accredit its bearer. Many diplomatic secrets are meant to be communicated orally: in 1432 Philip the Good wrote to his chancellor that the English had informed him by letter that they did not intend to come to the peace conference to be held at Auxerre, whereas they had explained to him “by word of mouth” that they would come secretly.42 Fear of spies and traitors prompted princes to hide their documents. They were locked away and protected by illiterate guards, especially in chambers of accounts filled with confidential documents, such as registers of expenses for embassies or payment of spies. Payment orders to agents would even be pre-​ emptively censored: the prince would explain that he did not want his intentions to be known and vaguely mentioned “secret business” or “secret trip” as a reason for payment.43 Such concern is far from paranoid: we know that the dukes of Burgundy bribed guards in the royal archives to access sensitive information.44 Secrecy especially concerned diplomatic documents. In Aragon the copies regarding embassies were protected in “secret registers.”45 The refusal by the kings of France and dukes of Burgundy to concentrate diplomatic services in a single administration could be a way of better concealing data in the documentary mass, and the same motivation could explain why they did not systematically archive the deliberations of their council. Regarding this aspect,

40

J. Vaesen, É. Charavay, and B. de Mandrot eds., Lettres de Louis XI, roi de France (Paris: 1883–​ 1909), vol. 5, 212. 41 Lille, Archives départementales du Nord, B 535. 42 Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs, 194. 43 Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 241. 44 J.B. Santamaria, La Chambre des comptes de Lille de 1386 à 1419 :  essor, organisation et fonctionnement d’une institution princière (Turnhout: 2012), 244. 45 Péquignot and Moeglin, Diplomatie, 431.

166 Santamaria princes had an advantage over cities, where decisions needed to be taken collectively and accounts were publicly audited.46 5

The Prince Enters the Scene: the Temptation of Personal Policy

The prince could sometimes bypass his own administrative and diplomatic structures in order to avoid spies. The rise of bureaucracy might be fruitful in terms of efficiency but hindered the freedom of the prince and involved many middlemen who would have access to his secrets.47 The development of parallel procedures was therefore deemed necessary. Besides the great seal entrusted to their chancellor, princes used a secret seal and recruited secret clerks or “secretaries” for their private correspondence. Under King Philip vi this parallel chancellery became a true political correspondence and encouraged him to develop his personal diplomacy.48 Princes could also try to enter into direct negotiations as a means to resolve their problems by a frank, face-​to-​face meeting, thereby reducing the risk of leaks. By doing so they sometimes managed to foil spies: a spy of King Edward iii sent to Avignon was unable to ascertain what Pope Benedict xii and King Philip vi had been discussing because no witnesses were allowed to attend the meeting.49 Such meetings might have their own particular risks however, as a direct confrontation could lead to an argument breaking out, or worse: the cost of avoiding espionage could end up being very high. During the 15th century, meetings between great rulers of this type tended to be rare as fear of assassination rose: Philip of Commynes was to call them “great follies,” as foremost in his mind was the death of Duke John the Fearless during a diplomatic meeting in 1419.50 A safer way for a prince was to have direct talks with ambassadors to avoid the ears of his own courtiers. P ­ hilip vi left a powerful impression on the Aragonese ambassador Ramon Melany as he received him alone in a backroom and urged him to reveal information about Aragon and Grenada, threatening him with death if he talked to anyone 46

F. Blockmans, “Le contrôle par le prince des comptes urbains en Flandre et en Brabant au Moyen Âge,” in: Finances et comptabilité urbaines du XIIIe au XVIe siècle (Brussels: 1964), 287–​338; D.  Clauzel, “Lille:  un laboratoire d’expérimentation pour la Chambre des Comptes?” in: Liber Amicorum Claude Lannette. Bulletin de la Commission Historique du Département du Nord (Lille: 2001), 37–​48. 47 Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 211. 48 R.H. Bautier, “Recherches sur la chancellerie royale au temps de Philippe VI,” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 122: 1 (1964), 89–​176. 49 J. Sumption, The Hundred Years War (Philadelphia: 1999), vol. 1, 155. 50 Moeglin, “La place des messagers.”

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else about the discussion.51 But fear of foreign spies did not stop princes from using espionage. In fact one can affirm the opposite: resorting to the self-​same methods was seen as the best protection against diplomatic espionage, despite the dangers involved. 6

Diplomacy at the School of Espionage: Dangerous Liaisons

The resplendent and more visible side of embassies manifested itself through their declared goal: representing the magnificence of the prince in a dignified manner, regardless of whether he is present or absent.52 Espionage is the hidden side of power relationships, and the two faces of that Janus-​like structure are strongly intertwined. 7

A Common source: the Power of the Prince

Diplomatic relationships combine representation, negotiation, and information.53 Espionage represents a major part of that last aspect, especially in a period when diplomacy is becoming more complex and the gap between principles and harsh reality is widening. Many common points can paradoxically be observed between espionage and diplomacy. They both intend to empower and glorify the prince in a game of jockeying for position. Furthermore, the different categories we use to distinguish between functions of power (justice, police, and army) remain flexible, especially since the concept of the separation of powers is, largely speaking, anachronistic: they are all in the hands of the prince.54 The dividing line between the two universes is also blurred since they share most of the same methods: a mixture of confrontation, alliance, and manipulation in the relationships with the outside world. Spies and diplomats can be encountered in the same places: on the borders and at the heart of power. Calais, Saint-​Omer, and the border between the Calais and Artois regions

51 52 53 54

Bautier, “Recherches sur la chancellerie.” Moeglin, “La place des messagers.” P. Monnet, “Jalons pour une histoire de la diplomatie urbaine dans l’Allemagne de la fin du Moyen Âge,” in: D. Berg, M. Kintzinger, and P. Monnet eds., Auswärtige Politik und internationale Beziehungen im Mittelalter (Bochum: 2002), 151–​174. H. Oudart, “Introduction générale. Prince et principat durant l’Antiquité et le Moyen Âge : jalons historiographiques,” in: Hervé Oudart ed., Le Prince, son peuple et le bien commun (Rennes: 2013), 7–​54.

168 Santamaria are, for example, key sites for diplomacy during the Hundred Years’ War, places where meetings are often held. In Leulinghem truces are signed in 1384, 1389, and 1393. But these places are also full of spy networks.55 A similar situation can be found in cities with a specific status of neutrality. Tournai, for example, is a royal city in the heart of Burgundian Flanders and just as much a natural place for diplomatic meetings56 as a nexus for espionage.57 Ambassadors and spies may also be found close to the prince, especially since the distinction between private and public space is ill defined, as a court is as much the house of the prince as the seat of his government:58 an ambassador is a guest who can be a threat but may be flattered into sharing some private confidences with his host. Louis xi uses such means with the Milanese ambassador Pietro da Pusterla, who was quite shocked by the king’s familiarity, yet avoided having the wool pulled over his eyes by reading Louis’s intention: to extract secret information.59 Every important court was to attract spies and diplomats: the pontifical court was in fact the best place for meeting a range of people and gaining information not just about the pope but about every part of Christendom. That is why princes tried to place their loyal men as pontifical notaries.60 Finally, spies and diplomats share a taste for all that is secret, which is generally accepted in the Middle Ages as perfectly legitimate in political matters, as much as in theology and handcraft. Secrecy protects rulers from enemies who could use knowledge to commit dangerous acts or treason. Transparency is thus anything but a very popular idea.61 Princes claimed their right to secrecy as a part of their sovereignty, as almost a divine right, quoting Tobias 12.7: “It is good to keep close the secret of a king.”62 Espionage as diplomacy expresses political ideals of the age, such as sovereignty and common good, 55

Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying”; J.B. Santamaria, “Un pays de frontière dans la guerre de Cent ans: le nord de l’Artois aux lendemains du traité de Brétigny-​Calais,” in: Les espaces frontaliers en Europe de l’Antiquité au XVIe siècle (to be published). 56 J.B. Santamaria, “Chantage maternel, patriotisme capétien ou réalisme diplomatique ? Le rôle de la comtesse d’Artois et de Bourgogne Marguerite de France et de ses conseillers dans le mariage de Marguerite de Male et Philippe le Hardi,” Négociations, traités et diplomatie dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 29–​49. 57 D. Clauzel, Finances et politique à Lille pendant la période bourguignonne (Dunkirk: 1982). 58 C. Revest, “Secret, public, privé. Quelques pistes de réflexion” Questes. Revue pluridisciplinaire d’études médiévales, 16 (2009), 1–​11; Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 122. 59 Verdon, Information et désinformation, 144. 60 Cirier, “La face cachée du pouvoir.” 61 Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 25. 62 Ibidem, 42.

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such concepts being commonly assumed to be the main goals of espionage in Italy.63 8

Espionage Serving Diplomacy

Spy networks can have their own autonomy and work outside diplomatic circles, employing merchants, friars, travellers, and local informants. But ambassadors may use ‘dormant cells’ during their stay in foreign countries: the Breton delegation sent to England in 1413 was supported by agents who had been sent years prior to that.64 A professional spy was often well informed on diplomatic matters and could deliver major intelligence information when arrested. The Burgundians were to obtain a good picture of the relationship between King Charles vii and the others princes after interrogating a royal spy, Étienne Charlot. Such agents were part of some major secret intrigues; but they might also use strategies of disinformation, which even in this period was a recognized method in diplomacy.65 If in some ways espionage may be presented as the opposite of an ‘open’ diplomacy, we have to admit that accomplishing a diplomatic mission requires mostly good intelligence and the ability to thwart hostile manoeuvres and circumvent any alliance attempt by adversaries. One method was to try to break the secrecy of a meeting between one’s enemies: that is the reason why in 1398 the duke of Burgundy spied on the meeting between Wenceslas of Luxembourg and the bishop of Cambrai.66 By knowing the strength of rivals, the intentions of allies, the existence of parallel negotiations, by pressurizing foreign diplomats or corrupting them, Louis xi managed to sign a treaty with King Edward iv without recourse to violence in 1475 and thereby isolate his rival, Duke Charles the Bold.67 Systematically sharing secret information can even be part of diplomatic relationships and testify to mutual trust, such as today’s ‘Five Eyes’ intelligence network, which brings together the United States, the United Kingdom, 63 64 65 66 67

Cirier, “La face cachée du pouvoir.” G.A. Knowlson, Jean V, duc de Bretagne et l’Angleterre (1399–​1442) (Cambridge: 1964). N. Gonthier, “À propos d’un complot pro-​bourguignon à Lyon: les révélations et les mé­ thodes d’un cordelier espion (1423–​1424),” Cahiers d’histoire 38 (1993), 139–​151. M. Maillard-​Luypaert, “Le duc de Bourgogne Philippe le Hardi a-​t-​il voulu faire assassiner l’évêque de Cambrai Pierre d’Ailly en 1398?,” L’envers du décor, 41–​55. N. Bock, H. Simonneau, and B. Walter, “L’information et la diplomatie à la fin du Moyen Âge. L’exemple de Picquigny (1475),” Négociations, traités et diplomatie dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 149–​164.

170 Santamaria Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. A precursor of this type of structure may be found in a league project uniting several Imperial cities in 1422.68 Under the agreement, a prince was supposed to alert his counterparts if his herald had communicated secret information and betrayed the foreign prince who had hosted him.69 9

Diplomacy Serving Espionage

On the other side, diplomacy can easily be used to encourage espionage. An ambassador would have access to the court, and could hear a lot of what was going on: “in no house is everyone happy,” warns Commynes. Finding people complaining and putting down their master is an easy matter.70 Besides, the idea of a princely agent exclusively committed to one function is not very realistic or pertinent. An officer represents his prince and can take an interest in various aspects of his policy. Being talented as an ambassador and a spy is acceptable in the Italian cities.71 Even if he is not a spy, an ambassador has to watch and pass on everything he learns. When the dukes of Burgundy, Orléans, and Berry were sent to Avignon in 1395, they reported everything they heard to the French royal council, even though the pope asked them to keep in secreto some of the information he had divulged.72 A diplomatic mission was always a good opportunity to recruit spies: while visiting France in 1414, the bishop of Norwich recruited a French priest called Jean Fusoris, who later delivered crucial intelligence during Henry v’s military campaign in 1415. Then Fusoris travelled to England as part of a French embassy and met the king at night.73 The dukes of Burgundy also used diplomacy to collect information in order to plan a crusade: Bertrandon de la Broquière travelled simultaneously in the guise of a diplomat, a spy, and a pilgrim, reaching Jerusalem and Constantinople in 1432–​1433.74 A diplomat could even be an “agent provocateur”: such 68 Monnet, “Jalons pour une histoire de la diplomatie.” 69 Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century.” 70 Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs. 71 Cirier, “La face cachée du pouvoir.” 72 L. Bellaguet ed., Chronique du religieux de Saint-​Denys contenant le règne de Charles VI, de 1380 à 1422 (Paris: 1839–​1852), vol. 2, 259. 73 C.T. Allmand, “Spionage und Geheimdienst im Hundertjährigen Krieg,” in: W. Krieger ed., Geheimdienste in der Weltgeschichte (Munich: 2003), 97–​110. 74 J. Paviot, “Les ‘Nouvelles de Levant’ à la cour de Bourgogne,” Pays bourguignons et Orient : diplomatie, conflits, pèlerinages, échanges (XIVe-​XVIe siècles). Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 56 (2016), 27–​39.

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is the best description of the envoys of Louis xi in Liège who came actually to challenge the authority of the prince-​bishop, Louis de Bourbon, and probably encouraged an assassination attempt.75 10

The Rise of Secret Diplomacy: Spy Behaviour

A few diplomatic operations required espionage-​like behaviour and mastering the art of secrecy, in order to conduct unacknowledged undercover operations. These were specifically referred to in princely accounts as ‘secret matters,’ a euphemism used to point to espionage. Philip de Commynes specified there were “secret and public ambassadors.”76 Secret diplomacy could avoid public failure: by leading secret negotiations with Emperor Frederick iii, Philip the Good sends his herald “without other embassy for now, to keep those things secret.” He could thus escape the public embarrassment of being rebutted when his project to gain a crown for himself was finally rejected.77 Secrecy is also required when a prince has to enter into discussion with someone he cannot recognize as a legitimate partner. Charles the Bold had to make “talk and treat by middlemen” and negotiate “under cover and under the finger” with his personal enemy, the lord of Croÿ.78 Such covert diplomacy was obviously criticized by those who were victims of it. Count Willam i of Hainaut was to complain to King Philip vi after the latter succeeded in marrying one of his daughters to the duke of Brabant, while the count had a similar project. According to him it justified his choice to switch alliances and support King Edward iii.79 Beyond all these specific practices, diplomacy also usually required secrecy and precaution. A marriage proposal might rapidly lead to competing counter-​ proposals or to attempts to overturn the project.80 King Edward iii was thwarted in his endeavour to marry his son to Margareth of Male by King Charles v, informed of the project and then supported by the pope: the heiress of Flanders eventually married Charles v’s brother, the duke of Burgundy, Philip the Bold.81 A  diplomat was at the same time flattered and seen as a suspicious 75

A. Marchandisse, “Une tentative d’assassinat du prince-​évêque de Liège Louis de Bourbon par le roi de France Louis XI (1477?),” L’envers du décor, 177–​193. 76 Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs, 87. 77 E. Birk, “Documents relatifs à l’ambassade envoyée par Philippe, duc de Bourgogne, à la cour de Frédéric IV en 1447–​1448,” Messager des sciences historiques de Belgique (1842). 78 Chastellain, Œuvres, vol. 5, 175. 79 J. Froissart, Chroniques, S. Luce ed., (Paris: 1869), vol. 1, n°2, 121. 80 C.A.J. Armstrong, England, France and Burgundy in the Fifteenth Century (London: 1983). 81 Santamaria, “Chantage maternel.”

172 Santamaria agent to be watched. Heralds, commonly used in diplomatic matters as they represented their prince, were frequently accused of being spies.82 At moments of tension Aragonese ambassadors were stopped and bodily searched as they passed French borders.83 Once admitted at the court, now close to the prince, they might be chaperoned in order to prevent any unauthorized communication: that is the way French ambassadors were watched as they came to King Henry v just before his invasion of France. They had in any case only come to spy on the English court. Housing them made it easier to keep an eye on them, but one could also decide to refuse to grant accommodation to ambassadors. Such was the custom at the pontifical court at Avignon.84 Proximity between these two sides of power was encouraged by the nature of recruitment of both spies and diplomats. Princes were naturally interested in using external networks of influence, which could prove both useful and dangerous for the prince as for his agent. 11

Power Brokers, Spies, and Diplomats: Networks of Influence

Princes partially depended on ecclesiastical, noble, and urban networks in order to recruit servants who in return were to use their rank to empower their own position in those very networks. Such relationships established solidarities favouring both diplomacy and espionage, as such recruits were potential double agents: they were considered both useful and potentially unreliable. 12

Versatile Careers

While the trend towards specialization is a characteristic of the period,85 the most influential officers at the council are often multi-​facetted: thus, the chancellor for Duke Philip the Good, Nicolas Rolin, supervised both diplomacy and espionage86 relevant to the secret or private council which brought together the most trusted

82 83 84 85 86

Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century.” S. Péquignot, Au nom du roi: pratique diplomatique et pouvoir durant le règne de Jacques II d’Aragon, 1291–​1327 (Madrid: 2009), 286. Péquignot and Moeglin, Diplomatie, 446. F. Autrand, “Offices et officiers royaux en France sous Charles VI,” Revue Historique 242, n°2 (1969), 285–​338. B. Léthenet, “La pratique du renseignement et sa chaîne de décision dans le duché de Bourgogne au temps de la guerre contre les Armagnacs (1407–​1435),” Les cultures de

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men.87 Besides, French and Burgundian diplomacies did not belong to a specific centralized institution as was the case in England.88 The use of non-​permanent agents could be understood as a desire for flexibility and control, since the foundation of institutions generated more autonomy in favour of stable agents, which had been the case for royal councillors serving at the French Parliament. The kings and the dukes of Burgundy did not use their most trusted men exclusively as ambassadors, since they were not primarily ambassadors but councillors, secretaries, and servants at the court and had to deal with various matters. A veteran Habsburg diplomat like Jerome Vent was also a man of war able to organize border surveillance. Many of his missions were classified as secret.89 French princes did not use institutional and recognized spies as was the practice in Italy.90 Some ‘subtle men’ like Olivier le Daim or the lord of Lude used diplomacy as one of the tools to accomplish the general policy of domination and overthrow of Burgundians led by Louis xi. Besides, terms can sometimes end up being confusing: spies as diplomats could be designed as messengers or horsemen in France, Burgundy, and England, especially since a messenger might also get a ‘bonus’ for the information he collected during his mission and would deliver orally to his prince.91 Such versatility was strengthened by the use of men connected to various networks and was a means of influence during diplomatic or underground or underhand manoeuvres. Such useful power brokers were not necessarily to be trusted and might be considered as diplomats and spies, agents and traitors at any moment. 13

A Good Candidate for Espionage and Diplomacy: the Cleric

Many careers were simultaneously held in the service of several princes and in the Church.92 Burgundian prelates thus benefited from the influence of Philip the Good with the pope and vice versa as they climbed the hierarchical ladder. la décision dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 57 (2017). 87 Santamaria, Le secret du prince, 122. 88 F. Autrand, L.  Bély, P.  Contamine, and T.  Lentz, Histoire de la diplomatie française (Paris: 2007), 42–​43. 89 G. Docquier, “Du zéphyr de Naples aux bourrasques de Gueldre: Jérôme Vent, diplomate au service des Habsbourg († 1513),” Bourguignons en Italie, Italiens dans les pays bourguignons. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 49 (2009), 69–​85. 90 Cirier, “La face cachée du pouvoir.” 91 Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century.” 92 V. Tabbagh, Gens d’Église, gens de pouvoir: France, XIIIe-​XVe siècle (Dijon: 2006).

174 Santamaria Pierre Bogard was close to the pope and secretary to the duke: he acted as a prosecutor for the duke at the pontifical court and led diplomatic missions. He built up his networks by exchanging information and favours with a variety of people. Yet, he was not perceived as a spy even when he used their methods, because his masters still considered him as trustful and continued to thank him for his services.93 But as the gospel says (Matthew 6: 24), “no one can serve two masters.” Going against this maxim was indeed dangerous. Those who were seen to do so roused suspicions. Travelling clerics might be perceived as a threat to national security: the kings of England contested their free movement and required prelates to declare the names of foreign clerics entering their kingdom.94 It appears that many spies were indeed recruited from their ranks, showing that this mistrust was in no way paranoid. Documents attest to the fact that cleric spies were mostly members of the Franciscan order, who were almost by nature travellers, or poor clerics facing difficulties accumulating prebends. This is what happened to Brother Etienne Charlot, a Burgundian Franciscan and a spy sent to plot in Lyon in favour of Duke Philip the Good.95 Such an opposition between high and low clergy, the first serving as diplomats, the second as spies, might be a consequence of the more subtle way prelates acted, as they were introduced in more influential circles. Intricate plots often came out of this, plots which could be disavowed in the event of their failure, or because they came into conflict with other projects, or indeed because of the disgrace of their sponsor. The diplomatic activity of the cardinal of Boulogne, an uncle of King John ii the Good and a cousin of Charles the Bad, king of Navarre, can be seen as a good example of this: he was first powerful at the French court thanks to his contacts. Then, as the conflict between Charles the Bad and John ii became more intense, he was disavowed and considered as something close to a double agent serving all the enemies of France, including England.96 14

Nobles, Defectors, Renegades, Strangers: between Instrumentalization and Mistrust

Besides the clergy, many other types were part of an ‘international’ society which could prove useful. Nobles possessed many estates in different countries 93 94 95 96

M. Prietzel, “Procureurs, agents et alliés. Les réseaux bourguignons à la cour papale au milieu du XVe siècle,” Bourguignons en Italie, 9–​21. Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century.” Gonthier, “À propos d’un complot.” P. Jugie, “L’activité diplomatique du cardinal Gui de Boulogne en France au milieu du XIVe siècle,” Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 145 (1987), 99–​127.

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and were therefore vassals of several princes. They were frequently sent as ambassadors, as they possessed every social skill required and could count on kinship ties that went beyond borders. Diplomats were commonly chosen because of their cultural and geographical proximity to the other contracting party and because of their potential personal interest in the success of their mission when their heritages were at stake. Such was the case in 1446–​1447 as Thibaut ix of Neufchatel negotiated a potential alliance between his master, the duke of Burgundy, and the cities of Bern and Zurich. These two cities were close to his own lands in the county of Burgundy.97 The fact that nobles like Jean de Lannoy were bilingual was also appreciated by dukes. Such individuals were vital for bringing princes together: the Croÿ family, whose estates were located both in France and the Low Countries, was a key contributor to the reconciliation between France and Burgundy. But by acting thus they could also be denounced as spies or traitors by any rival on either side. Charles the Bold accused the house of Croÿ of betraying Burgundy to create a rift between himself and his father.98 When they were at the court of a prince, noble strangers served as a leverage and as a guarantee of good relations: such was the case between the courts of Burgundy and Savoy.99 Not only nobles but also Lombard bankers serving at court were seen in the same light: they were deemed to facilitate court-​to-​court relationships but also to favour conspiracies, as was the case for Antonio da Saliceto. He was involved in the court of Savoy and in the city of Fribourg and facilitated their relationships; then he was considered a traitor to the city and was executed in 1460.100 In fact, using foreign agents to facilitate relationships or the understanding of another country could lead to a change of allegiance, and some diplomats might be seen by their contemporaries as defectors or as double or even triple agents, especially when it came to triangular relationships. Such was the case in the years 1480–​1490 between France, the Habsburg Low Countries, and England: the Habsburg officer Pregent captured by England in January 1491 became a well-​paid English servant, whose knowledge and networks were to prove useful.101 Between diplomacy and espionage, such careers could be as profitable as dangerous, the danger being more limited for nobles than for ordinary people. 97

A.B. Spitzbarth, “Le choix des ambassadeurs bourguignons sous Philippe le Bon, troisième duc Valois de Bourgogne (1419–​1467),” Études de lettres 3 (2010), 37–​60. 98 É. Lecuppre-​Desjardin, Le royaume inachevé des ducs de Bourgogne :  (XIVe-​XVe siècles) (Paris: 2016), 67–​69. 99 G. Castelnuovo, “Les étrangers du prince: cour, crédit et seigneurie en Savoie à la fin du Moyen Âge,” Revue du Nord 84 (2002), 429–​452. 100 Castelnuovo, “Les étrangers du prince.” 1 01 Balard and Davies, “Étienne Fryon.”

176 Santamaria 15

Between Princely and Urban Diplomacy: the Bourgeois

The cities are the third main parallel network a prince could mobilize in his diplomacy. The diplomatic action of the cities has long been neglected by scholars, but knowledge of their role has recently increased especially in the case of the Empire and the northern territories of the dukes of Burgundy.102 The urban diplomacy can be described as a mixture of political and economic considerations contributing to defining its identity and unity.103 The influence of cities on foreign policy depended very much on their degree of autonomy and on their geographical position. Flemish cities were a borderline case as they were recognized as major players. Their wealth, their vast privileges, and their border position allowed them to build bonds, to federate, and even to try to benefit from rivalries between their count, the kings of France and England, the Emperor, and the pope.104 Such influence was obviously stimulated by foreign sovereigns, especially the king of England: such was the strategy of King Henry iv in 1407, as he encouraged them not to help their lord, Duke John the Fearless, who intended to prevent an English expedition in Guyenne.105 Urban diplomacy used intercity message networks as well as financial means including donations, bribes, and above all the intense merchant networks criss-​crossing borders. That is the way Ghent dealt with England in 1337 at the beginning of the Hundred Years’ War, especially via Sohier le Courtrisien, a patrician linked to the court of Flanders who was eventually decapitated as a traitor by order of the king of France.106 Such agents tended to have their own agenda and to favour their own business, as did Lubrecht Scutelare, at the end of the 14th century, thanks to his family ties in Bruges and closeness to the English court.107 Princes were naturally eager to make use of those networks: John the Fearless and Philip the Good were happy to count on Flemish cities to favour trade agreements and truces between Flanders and England.108 It was easier when princely and urban interests coincided, or when the prince was unchallenged. 102 Monnet, “Jalons pour une histoire de la diplomatie”; É. Lecuppre-​Desjardin, “Par-​delà la muraille. La conscience politique urbaine dans les anciens Pays-​Bas bourguignon à l’épreuve de la politique extérieure” Revue historique 666 (2013), 259–​288. 103 Monnet, “Jalons pour une histoire de la diplomatie.” 104 M. Boone, Gent en de bourgondische hertogen: ca. 1384–​ca. 1453 (Brussels: 1990), 201–​242. 105 Lecuppre-​Desjardin, “Par-​delà la muraille.” 106 Ibidem. 107 W. Prevenier, “Les perturbations dans les relations commerciales anglo-​flamandes entre 1379 et 1409: causes de désaccord et raisons d’une réconciliation,” in: Mélanges Edouard Perroy (Paris: 1973), 477–​497. 108 De Borchgrave, “Diplomates et diplomatie”; Lecuppre-​Desjardin, “Par-​delà la muraille.”

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French cities were then also entrusted with genuine diplomatic missions, without being the force behind them. Their main aim was promoting and maintaining peace.109 But when princes and their cities fought each other, we can observe the superposition of two competing diplomatic networks, the first being official and the second underground. In such instances princes tended to consider urban networks as a form of espionage or even treason:  the attempts made by Ghent to involve King Charles vii in their conflict with Philip the Good in 1453 was considered disloyalty, especially since the king ended up refusing to help them, fearing a contagion of urban revolts to his own cities including Tournai.110 Urban networks were certainly useful but princes wanted to control them and tended to restrict their right to send embassies, especially after 1300.111 Moreover, cities faced a specific reality of diplomatic customs: in order to be heard they needed to send ecclesiastical and noble ambassadors or jurists, which were mostly recruited at the court of a prince. That was why urban delegations, including Flemish ones, tended to employ the prince’s men, who ended up serving their own interest, not the city’s.112 When sent on a mission to a foreign prince they would easily be bribed by an office or a gift. When the Basel patrician Herman Offenburg was sent to the Court of France, the king and his son offered him the prestigious office of chamberlain. When prosecuted in Basel for treason in 1445, his defence strategy was to explain that he had not been paid by his city and had had to cover his expenses. He also claimed he could have betrayed the city but instead remained trustworthy.113 Princes were less worried, on the whole, by the existence of such parallel underground networks than by the ability of cities to form a stable network which could compete with their power and could include other cities or foreign princes. This only happened episodically in Flanders. The same is true for the cities of the Empire, the exception being the lasting interaction of the cantons of Switzerland.114

109 A. Rigaudière, “Qu’est-​ce qu’une bonne ville dans la France du Moyen Âge?,” in: La charte de Beaumont et les franchises municipales entre Loire et Rhin (Nancy: 1988), 59–​105. 110 Vaughan, Philip the Good, 325–​333. 111 G. Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (New  York:  1988), 26; Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs, 29. 112 W. Blockmans, De Volksvertegenwoordiging in Vlaanderen in de overgang van middeleeuwen naar nieuwe tijden:  1384–​1506 (Brussels:  1978), 191; De Borchgrave, “Diplomates et diplomatie.” 113 Moeglin, “La place des messagers.” 114 Jucker, “Trust and Mistrust in Letters.”

178 Santamaria 16

Conclusion: Diplomacy in an Era of Suspicion

In some respects, the late Middle Ages are a period of tension: the permanent strength of transnational networks is an asset that princes intend to use by recruiting agents able to connect foreign powers and to make a difference in their favour. Meanwhile, the building of national identities and the centralization of powers can foster greater distrust of foreigners or cosmopolitans, especially as the risks of betrayal are real.115 When those networks are useful, they are part of diplomacy; when they prove to be uneffective or dangerous or are used by enemies, they are considered as treason and espionage. As competition intensifies and power concentrates in the hands of fewer princes, many ecclesiastics, nobles, and cities are urged to choose their allegiance, as the risk of being crushed grows for those who continue to play both sides. That tension increases the nefarious reputation of diplomatic relationships, as does the necessary use of espionage methods by princes in order to protect their own diplomacy or to counter the attempts of their enemies. In those times and nowadays, there is no such thing as transparent diplomacy, except for propaganda.116 By knowing the secrets of the others and by keeping his mysteries, by accepting non-​reciprocity as the main political rule, the prince can benefit from it as long as he is the most subtle and powerful. Every power rejects foreign diplomat-​spies but not its own. Espionage and diplomacy are part of a global strategy of power. The deep links between espionage and diplomacy—​with similar methods or recruitment—​have enduringly made foreign policies suspicious. Escorting (which meant watching) diplomats, messengers, and heralds during their stay at court becomes perfectly ordinary: an expert like Commynes clearly recommends acting that way. The plan for the expedition to Normandy conceived by Henry v was almost discovered by a French embassy sent to England for this unique purpose. The refusal of permanent embassies has more to do with the fear of spies than with a supposed archaism of France. Even Italians recognize that their permanent embassies are some sort of institutional espionage!117 Such methods do not throw doubt on diplomats only. An unskilful prince can also quickly lose credibility by playing secret games or talking out both sides of his mouth. The duke of Brabant has to pay the price for such an attitude at the dawn of the Hundred Years’ War. By showing contradictory intentions to Edward iii and Philip vi he eventually becomes “commonly defamed” because he acts in such 1 15 Alban and Allmand, “Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century.” 116 Spitzbarth, Ambassades et ambassadeurs, 87. 117 D.E. Queller, The Office of Ambassador in the Middle Ages (Princeton: 1967).

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an obvious manner, “so clearly” that everyone notices and is surprised by his attitude.118 An abuse of such behaviours is a reputational risk since it tends to show the prince as a liar, deceitful, therefore a tyrant. Louis xi is then called by Chastellain as a “non-​man man” doomed to damnation because he is constantly hiding his intentions and betraying peace.119 At last, an immoderate use of conspiracy may be counterproductive and jeopardize current diplomatic effort: all the secret intrigues conducted by Margareth of Austria at the English court through her secret agents Warbeck and Fryon prove to embarrass the official negotiations led by the council governing the Netherlands in order to conclude a peace treaty with England.120 When war prevails, spies start to be denounced as such on both sides. When time for negotiation comes, everyone tends to make such intrigues disappear in the dustbin of history. As an envoy of Duke Charles the Bold to King Louis xi, Guillaume Filastre tries hard in 1465 to minimize the obscure manipulations of a royal spy known as the bastard of Rubempré against the duke in order to reconcile the princes.121 The peaceful virtues of voluntary forgetfulness are not unknown to medieval leaders: the same year, as the duke of Brittany makes peace with King Louis xi, he thanks him for accepting to forget and annihilate all past problems.122 The ambassador and his prince can then even see the efforts of spies to find information as a risk for peace. Deafness, amnesia, and blindness may be occasionally considered as virtues for diplomats and princes, but never for spies or historians.

Sources and Bibliography



Manuscript sources



Printed sources

Lille, Archives départementales du Nord, B 535.

Bellaguet, L. ed., Chronique du religieux de Saint-​Denys contenant le règne de Charles VI, de 1380 à 1422 (Paris: 1839–​1852), vol. 2, 259.

1 18 J. Viard and E.Déprez eds., Chronique de Jean le Bel (Paris: 1904), vol. 1, 150. 119 Chastellain, Œuvres, vol. 5, 143–​146. 120 Balard and Davies, “Étienne Fryon.” 121 M. Prietzel, “Rumeurs, honneur et politique. L’affaire du bâtard de Rubempré 1464” L’envers du décor, 159–​176. 122 Quoted by D. Godefroy and N. Lenglet du Fresnoy eds., Mémoires de Messire Philippe de Comines (London: 1747), vol. 2, 564.

180 Santamaria Birk, E., “Documents relatifs à l’ambassade envoyée par Philippe, duc de Bourgogne, à la cour de Frédéric IV en 1447–​1448,” Messager des sciences historiques de Belgique (1842). Chastellain, G., Œuvres, vol. 5, J. Kervyn de Lettenhove ed. (Brussels: 1864). Froissart, J., Chroniques, S. Luce ed. (Paris: 1869), vol. 1, n 2, 121. Godefroy, Denys and Nicolas Lenglet du Fresnoy eds., Mémoires de Messire Philippe de Comines,vol 2 (London: 1747). Mézières, P. de, Le songe du vieil pèlerin, G.W. Coopland ed. (Cambridge: 1969). Oschema, K. ed., Le “Traité de l’amitié”—​Guillaume Fillastre sur l’idéal de l’amitié (Paris: 2011). Vaesen, J., É. Charavay, and B. de Mandrot eds., Lettres de Louis XI, roi de France (Paris: 1883–​1909). Viard, J. and E. Déprez eds., Chronique de Jean le Bel vol 1 (Paris: 1904).

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184 Santamaria ses conseillers dans le mariage de Marguerite de Male et Philippe le Hardi,” Négociations, traités et diplomatie dans l’espace bourguignon. Publications du centre européen d’études bourguignonnes 53 (2013), 29–​49. Santamaria, J.B., La Chambre des comptes de Lille de 1386 à 1419 : essor, organisation et fonctionnement d’une institution princière (Turnhout: 2012). Santamaria, J.B., Le secret du prince. Gouverner par le secret, France-​Bourgogne, XIIIe-​ XVe siècle (Ceyzérieu: 2018). Sennelart, M., Les arts de gouverner. Du régime médiéval au concept de gouvernement (Paris: 1995). Spitzbarth, A.B., “Le choix des ambassadeurs bourguignons sous Philippe le Bon, troisième duc Valois de Bourgogne (1419–​1467),” Études de lettres 3 (2010), 37–​60. Spitzbarth, A.B., Ambassades et ambassadeurs de Philippe le Bon, troisième duc Valois de Bourgogne, 1419–​1467 (Turnhout: 2013). Sumption, J., The Hundred Years War (Philadelphia: 1999), vol. 1, 155. Vaughan, R., John the Fearless: The Growth of Burgundian Power (Woodbridge: 2002). Vaughan, R., Philip the Good: The Apogee of Burgundy (London: 1970), 100. Verdon, J., Information et désinformation au Moyen Âge (Paris: 2010). Vissière, L., “Les ‘espies’ de La Trémoille et le comte Guillaume de Fürstenberg: à propos d’une nouvelle de Marguerite de Navarre,” Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes 167 (2009), 465–​486. Walter, B., “Transmettre des secrets en temps de guerre,” Revue d’Alsace 138 (2012), 7–​25.

­c hapter 8

‘Secret Wheeles’: Clandestine Information, Espionage, and European Intelligence Alan Marshall In July 1653, the Dutch ambassador, Hiëronymus van Beverningk, writing home from London noted: “I dare not write much news. All our actions are spied. We have spies set to watch us in our houses. We cannot be certain of anything that we do, that it shall not either be known or miscarry.”1 In that same period Clement Walker was openly complaining that there were “hundreds of Spies and Intelligencers … swarming over all England as Lice and Frogs did in Egipt.”2 Evidently the figure of the early modern spy was an increasingly familiar one to most contemporaries in this era. What is more, by the mid-​1650s covert intelligence gathering in general, and the more sinister skills of espionage specifically, had become a distinctive part of the exercise of secret power for many early-​modern European states; a power indeed which commonly projected itself beyond national boundaries. Yet while such clandestine affairs, and the individuals who practiced them, were typically located within the emergence of political and philosophical ideas of the arcana imperii or “secrets of state,” the actual collection of diplomatic intelligence was to find itself regularly driven on in its lowest levels by spies and secret agents.3 But, who were the spies in this era? Peter Burke has wisely noted that “division,” and, “professional activities had not [yet] taken place” in intelligence, and that “there was spying rather than spies.”4 Not only were looser espionage structures available, but also the figure of the ‘spy’ frequently melts into those other contemporaneous personalities of the age:  the merchant, the

1 J. Thurloe, A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, ed. Thomas Birch, vol. 1 (London: 1743), 335–​347. 2 C. Walker, The Compleat History of Independencie upon the Parliament begun in 1640 (London: 1661), part iii, 34. 3 See A. Marshall, The Secret State in Early-​modern Britain (Manchester: forthcoming 2020). 4 P. Burke, “Early Modern Venice as a Centre of information and Communication,” in: J. Martin and D. Romano eds., Venice Reconsidered: The History and Civilization of an Italian City–​State, 1297–​1797 (Baltimore: 2000), 393.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004438989_010

186 Marshall intelligencer, and the news vendor. So, the question of just when and where the ‘professional’ spy actually emerged is perhaps a pertinent one. It may be that what can be described as the ‘non-​state’ actor can provide a solution. For while espionage matters always prowled around in a culture of expediency, and also lurked within state bureaucracies, state diplomacy, and state politics, as well as squeezing into the cultural values of many early-​modern governments, they could, and they did, employ a variety of non-​state actors: those “relatively humble men [and women], adventurers, merchants, publicists, who accepted a fee in exchange for espionage or newsletters.” We can add also to this list the many European exiles and mercenaries of the day and suggest it was not always the fee that motivated such people, but often outright threats of violence and other forms of pressure were used, as well as notions of private enterprise, for intelligence could also be as much economic as political and military.5 Why was this? At least partially we are witnessing something of a mid-​ century espionage turn both in the development of the secret structures of the state and in an era in which many of those being used for espionage and covert intelligence gathering activities really can begin to be described as professional, or at least semi-​professional, spies. Prior to this, and despite the regular use of the term by historians, it had been a much more irregular, even amateur, trade in most quarters. By the 1650s, however, spying seems to have begun to become a full-​time occupation, especially for those expatriate men and women who were scattered by Europe’s wars across the continent of the day, and who would (for a price) regularly agree to act as secret agents for those who had money, or enough desperation, to pay for their services. Two elements might be said to have pushed this forward: first, a model of supply and demand for information of all sorts now exerted sufficient pressure for a true espionage trade to flourish. Secondly, there was the growth in the demand for news and information in what has been subsequently labelled the public sphere.6 This was matched by government demands for a steady flow of covert information 5 J.B. Wolf, The Emergence of the Great Powers 1685–​1715 (New York: 1951), 7. See L. Stone, An Elizabethan: Sir Horatio Palavicino (Oxford: 1956), 231–​37; F. de Vivo, Information and Communication in Venice: Rethinking Early Modern Politics (Oxford: 2009), 70–​75. 6 P. Lake and S. Pincus, The Politics of the Public Sphere in Early Modern England (Manchester: 2007), 1–​30; J. Raymond, Making the News: An Anthology of the Newsbooks of Revolutionary England 1641–​1660 (London: 1993); J. Peacey, Print and Public Politics in the English Revolution (Cambridge: 2013), 1–​14; J. Soll, The Information Master: Jean-​Baptiste Colbert’s Secret State Intelligence System (Michigan: 2009), 10; B. Dooley, The Social History of Skepticism: Experience and Doubt in Early Modern Culture (Baltimore: 1999), 9–​26; for the modern “secret state” see P. Hennessy, The Secret State: Preparing for the Worst, 1945–​2010, 2nd ed. (St Ives: 2010).

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in order to create and sustain policy decisions. As spies therefore they were able to provide information and covert intelligence to various governments in Europe, often regardless of any personal, national, political, or religious allegiances that they might actually hold. Consequently espionage by mid-​century had become a recognized trade in early modern Europe. While conceding that it was a trade in which many acted, few were successful for long, and it always carried with it considerable risks. Inevitably in an era of almost constant warfare, many of these individuals also had military connections. They were engaged in contracting mercenary troops, or in the profitable business of exchanging prisoners of war, or in selling munitions to the great powers, or indeed they had themselves once served as mercenary soldiers or military advisors, which at least gave them insight into the type of information that was valuable to any minister of state. Such matters also gave them some experience in the commissions of espionage.7 Similarly, picking up the trade of espionage allowed them to carry on making money, which was a prime motive to them in most cases. Just as frequently such individuals, who lacked any real loyalties, regularly played what Cardinal Mazarin, a surprisingly consistent user of such “creatures,” tersely described as a “double part in some closet intrigue.”8 This essay will seek to explore a few of the roles played by professional secret intelligence gathering and espionage agents at this level, and it will also examine the work of some of the spies who were employed in this trade in the Europe of the mid-​17th century. In particular it will reconsider the espionage games played by Richard and Ignatius White. These men were brothers, and members of a large exiled Irish family, and also members of the Irish exile community in Europe, and they took on an espionage role within the transnational intelligence networks of the diplomatic world of the late 1650s and early 1660s.9 Indeed by operating across state borders in the service of Spain, France, and England, the White brothers deliver a valuable example of how such ‘non-​ state’ (or at the least very loosely attached) actors could operate in what Alain Hugon has fittingly called Europe’s “monde du secret,” and how such people also became included in the state policy and diplomacy of their day.10 7 8 9 10

A. Marshall, The Secret State in Early-​Modern Britain (Manchester: forthcoming 2020). Thurloe State Papers, iii, 69. E.S.  de Beer, “The Marquis of Albeville and His Brothers,” English Historical Review 45 (1930), 397–​408. It is clear is that there is also a problem of terminology over words such as ‘spy’ to describe non-​state actors in the early modern era. The term spy does carry some baggage in any case and indeed all sorts of similar words in this area of European secrecy had their own lengthy history of moral negativity, awkwardness, and ambiguity, mainly because

188 Marshall 1

“Philosophicall rudiments”

In his book Philosophicall rudiments concerning government and society (1651), Thomas Hobbes observed that an essential part of the duties of those who ruled was “To be warned, and to be forearmed.” Hobbes also went on to note that: it is … necessary to the defence of the City, First, that there be some who may as near as may be, search into, and discover the counsels and motions of all those who may prejudice it; for discoverers to Ministers of State, are like the beames of the Sunne to the humane soule, and we may more truly say in vision politicall, then naturall, that the sensible, and intelligible Species of outward things, not well considered by others, are by the ayre transported to the soule, (that is to say to them who have the Supreme Authority) and therefore are they no lesse necessary to the preservation of the State, then the rayes of the light are to the conservation of man; or if they be compared to Spiders webs, which extended on all sides by the finest thre[a]‌ds, doe warn them, keeping in their small holds, of all outward motions.11 Obviously to Hobbes the employment of spies was a natural outcome of state and interstate political life, and such individuals proved necessary both to the health of a state and even to its survival. Leaving aside the domestic arena where such people were often to be found, we find them mostly within the interstate diplomacy of the day. Yet, while the emergence of resident ambassadors in the Italian city states by c 1500 has provided one traditional model for our interpretation of the diplomatic side of the relations between the European states, and thus a place to put such secret agencies, new scholarship has also shown how limited this type of model can

11

the work they represented was embedded in a world of moral choices. Yet even when the phrase ‘secret agent’ for state-​or non-​state actors began to come into play, this also brought with it moral connotations. For while such ‘secret agents’ tended to be seen in much more positive moral terms, it was still all a matter of a point of view, as they (whoever they were) were always seemingly employing ‘dirty’ spies, we (whoever we were) invariably had access to the somewhat more ‘noble’ ‘secret agents.’ D. Carrió-​Innvernizzi, “A New Diplomatic History and the Networks of Spanish Diplomacy in the Baroque Era,” The International History Review 36 (2014), 607; A. Hugon, Au service du Roi Catholique. “Honorables ambassadeurs” et “divins espions.” Représentation diplomatique et service secret dans les relations hispano-​françaises de 1598 á 1635 (Madrid: 2004), 359. T. Hobbes, Philosophicall rudiments concerning government and society (London:  1651), 195–​196.

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be in historiographical and interpretive terms.12 Clearly we need a more multilayered view of espionage than we currently have. Furthermore, in the case of early modern espionage we often find somewhat anachronistic ideas being used about structured and permanent state secret services operating in the era.13 Organizationally speaking, possessing a national secret service in this era is far more modern sounding than it should be. Such a term implies, and it imposes, ideas of something more permanent in organization, and in structure, than could be generally maintained for much of the early modern period, which tended to resort to more fluid and flexible approaches to such matters than naturally occurs in the modern ­nation state.14 If not a mature secret service, then what was available to gain covert intelligence and engage in espionage in this period? Simply put, what we can see are rather looser combinations that can more realistically be labelled as intelligence systems. This term reflects the more fluid reality of the espionage world 12

13 14

The classic view being that of G. Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (London: 1973); but see J. Watkins, “Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38 (2008), 1–​14; I. Lazzarini, “Renaissance Diplomacy,” in:  A. Gamberini and I.  Lazzarini eds., The Italian Renaissance State (Cambridge: 2012), 425–​443; D. Frigo, “Introduction,” in: D. Frigo ed., Politics and Diplomacy in Early Modern Italy: The Structure of Diplomatic Practice, 1450–​1800 (Cambridge: 2000), 1–​24; C.H. Carter, The Western European Powers, 1500–​1700 (London: 1971); M.S. Anderson, The Origins of the Modern European State System 1494–​1618 (Singapore: 1998), 52–​68; also C.G. Picquet, La diplomatie française au temps de Louis XIV (Paris: 1930); L. Bély, “Les Temps Modernes (1515–​1789),” Histoire de la diplomatie française, présentation de Dominque de Villepin (Paris: 2005), 159–​208; L. Bély, L’Europe des Traités de Westphali., Esprit de la dipliomatie et diplomatie de l’esprit (Paris: 2000); L. Bély, Les secrets de Louis XIV:mystères d’État et pouvir absolu (Paris: 2013); C. Fletcher, Diplomacy in Renaissance Rome: The Rise of the Resident Ambassador (Cambridge: 2015), 94–​97;105–​121; and the essays in B. Perez, ed., Ambassadeurs, apprentis espions et maîtres comploteurs, les systèmes de renseignement en Espagne à l’époque moderne (Paris: 2010). For this debate see Marshall, The Secret State. There were some exceptions to this: Venice and Spain. France and England seem to have lagged behind. See I. Iordanou, “What News on the Rialto? The Trade of information and Early Modern Venice’s Centralised Intelligence Organisation,” Intelligence and National Security 31 (2016), 305–​326; also D.N. Bonilla, Cartes entre espías e inteligencias secretas en el siglo de los validos Juan de Torres-​Gaspar Bonifaz 1632–​1638 (Madrid: 2007) and D.N. Bonilla, “ ‘Secret intelligences’ in European Military, Political and Diplomatic Theory: An Essential Factor in the Defence of the Modern State (Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries),” Intelligence and National Security 27 (2012), 283–​301-​though I  cautiously differ with some of the latter’s findings here about the amount of theoretical “bleed through” from contemporary military to civil life within such treatises about the subject of espionage.

190 Marshall of the day and it makes more space to uncover the regular use of the non-​state agent within it.15 It matches emerging exchange mechanisms in information in economic life and the developing general news networks, and also links into the foundation of the client-​patron system of the day. Equally, continuity in such systems was difficult to sustain for some states and contemporary intelligence systems frequently came and went with what may seem to us to be an alarming frequency. They habitually lasted only as long as the individuals who enabled them had the power, or the inclination, to keep them afloat. Accordingly, a second visible trend, perceptible in the historiography of espionage as a whole, has been that many histories generally fall back upon describing a form of individualism, often seemingly seen as heroic in tone, when explaining such contemporary intelligence systems.16 This is in fact a form of understanding historical intelligence work mainly through the biographies of those individuals of power and their political strength: those who seemingly made their mark on the development of intelligence work in the era. While this does at least reflect the more obvious immediate and personal control of such fluid systems as existed, it also sensibly turns us towards the important questions of contemporary individual motivations, cultural attributes, and the social roots of the world of espionage. There is little doubt that personality was a most prominent factor and a real trend of early-​modern government espionage. Further, these intelligence and espionage systems were not just mere machines for gathering information, but instead were wide-​ ranging series of moral decisions and choices, always made in particular circumstances, by individuals who were inevitably grasping towards some other form of goal rather than just gathering intelligence for its own sake. These purposes might be financial, social, mental, cultural, linguistic, or cultural, or even governmental, but they tended to be personal and they were factors that lay within an emerging power structure in the state. Besides, given an era where monarchs ruled as well as reigned, the importance of the individual in contemporary power is clear. Monarchs ruled though ministers, who were in turn driven by their own ambitions, their family connections, and by their shared values of gloire and reputation.17 Here we 15 16 17

The importing of such modern terminology into this era masks the more fluid reality embedded in the espionage of the period. For more on these matters see Marshall, The Secret State. A classic example of this is the Walsingham phenomenon, Marshall, The Secret State. For concepts of gloire see J.T. O’Connor, “The Diplomatic History of the Reign,” in:  P. Sonnino ed., The Reign of Louis XIV (New Jersey: 1992), 145.

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can argue for a social interpretation for engaging in espionage in the era, for such matters were never neutral exercises for some higher state cause or even ­ideology. What’s more, given the ‘new diplomatic history’ we can also find more parallels in the multidisciplinary evaluation of diplomatic practices and theories than was previously the case. In fact the ‘new diplomatic history’ indeed has shown how diplomacy was not only linked to multiple discourses and multiple images, and multiple actions, but how it could also use non-​state actors at numerous levels of its work. Consequently we can begin to use similar methodological keys within the history of early modern intelligence and espionage and by so doing show the more fluid and flexible nature of multiple cultural complexes, social trends, and patronage networks in espionage. 2

Diplomacy and the Non-​state Actor

Obviously, while ambassadors and diplomats acted on the highest level, other lower-​level diplomatic players, both state and non-​state, were rather more prone to engaging in private enterprise, both as mediators and as informants in this period. They were keen to promote diplomatic action, economic contacts, literary discourse, and even artistic images, to further their own careers. Naturally enough they also sought access to the all-​important key of patronage: for this was the real fluid that made any early-​modern administrative engine work, and to gain it they regularly pursued political information to trade. Some of this activity, indeed the majority of it, was open and above board, and it must be said deliberately viewable, especially in the newly media-​ conscience world of the ‘public sphere.’ It enabled open posturing of talent and success in a wide public arena. But some of it existed more covertly, and this operated in what Hugon has called the ‘subterranean’ world or “le monde du secret.”18 We can find a growing hierarchy of roles for diplomats across Europe. The creation of ambassadors and plenipotentiaries (for special occasions), ordinary and extraordinary, became the custom. Usually these posts were aristocratic in nature, often temporary, and were not invariably career driven—​at least such individuals were generally more intent on emphasizing their own and their monarch’s gloire, rather than on performing the day-​to-​day drudgery 18

Carrió-​Invernizzi, “A new diplomatic history,” 607; Hugon, Au service du Roi Catholique, 359.

192 Marshall of diplomatic work.19 Still, for the resident diplomat, the secretaries of any embassy, consuls, and the lowly clerks of embassies, who were not only much cheaper financially, but significantly often lower in terms of their social caste, there were more functional tactics at play. Their status, and their ability to perform actions, was not only governed by their position in the hierarchy, but also by their successes that could lead to promotion or honours. Diplomatic duties generally became threefold:  the representing of the sovereign, or their state in the host nation; the conducting of negotiations (though important ones would often get a special plenipotentiary added as well for good measure, and Richelieu was to claim that political success revolved around “continual negotiations … ceaselessly, overtly or secretly”), and the third element: the routine tasks of gaining information and intelligence for policy makers at home, both overt and covert.20 Overt information gathering required some cultivated social abilities in order to fit in with the social scene at a foreign court in its corridors of power—​the covert information gathering, on the other hand, required distinct skills of intelligence network creation and lowering one’s status by engaging in bribery and corruption of lesser officials, or dealing with spies.21 And a diplomat’s use of spies demanded social skills of its own and was discussed in most of the theoretical texts of the day.22 3

“Le monde du secret”

If we push aside the somewhat unconvincing depictions of spies and informers who usually haunt the popular espionage literature and history of our own 19 20 21

22

See W.J. Roosen, The Age of Louis XIV: The Rise of Modern Diplomacy (Cambridge, MA: 1976). Richelieu quoted in T. Hampton, Fictions of Embassy: Literature and Diplomacy in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca: 2009), 3. See for a brief introduction to the period’s diplomacy: D. McKay and H.M. Scott, The Rise of the Great Powers 1648–​1815 (Harlow: 1993), 201–​214; W.J. Roosen, The Age of Louis XIV: The Rise of Modern Diplomacy (Cambridge, MA: 1976). Both works tend to play down the significance of espionage in diplomacy, though we know that contemporaries spent much time, money, and effort over such matters. For a more judicious view of its significance see below and C. Levillan, “French Diplomacy and the Run-​up to the Glorious Revolution (1688): A Critical Reading of Jean-​Antoine d’Avaux’s Correspondence as Ambassador to the States General,” Journal of Modern History 88 (2016), 130–​150. An important contemporary work on these matters remains F. de Callières, The Art of Negotiating with Sovereign Princes &c (London: 1716); L. Pope, François de Callières: A Political Life (Dordrecht: 2010). See F. de Callières, The Art of Negotiating with Sovereign Princes &c (London: 1716), 20 26, 27, 87, 88–​90, 94, 172.

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day (all secrecy, violence, courage, and derring-​do), then we, like many of the diplomats of the era, are found dealing with much more subtle differences than might at first appear.23 The intelligence systems of the period were as much recording mechanisms for aspects of “social mapping and control” as practical politics. This clearly emerges within the growing files and archives of the state, for such texts generally followed archetypal phrases, tropes, and signifiers: what might be called the very “sound of the discourse” of espionage.24 Moreover, the diplomat who ended up as a intelligencer, or espionage coordinator, was already part of distinct social/​cultural class structure that based its values around concepts of “gentlemanliness” and the importance of social ranking. But espionage, of course, proved “dirty” work for any “gentleman” to engage in.25 A culture in which they would have to mentally lower themselves from their rank in order to deal with those lesser mortals (the spies and informers) who invariably lay far beneath them socially. There was in fact a reasonably long history behind this issue. It impinged on questions of honour vs. utility. ‘Useful” ’ acts meant either personally useful to the operator or politically beneficial to his monarch, but “honour” contained within it important ideas of virtue, morality, and status. The tension lay in the gentleman diplomat, or intelligencer, being asked to do something useful that could be morally compromising. As by its very nature all espionage was at its base level usually morally dubious and invariably dealt with individuals who generally lacked either any morality at all, or very much in the way of honour that would be recognized by any real gentleman, it could prove a difficult conundrum. Lucius Cary, Lord Falkland, when he was made a secretary of state by Charles i for instance, simply refused to countenance either the use of spies or to engage in having the post illicitly opened (a regular task of the day): the first, he said, was “void of all ingenuity and common honesty,” and thus not “fit to be credited.” Indeed, he went on, “no single preservation could be worth so general a wound and corruption of human society as the cherishing such persons would carry with it”26—​while the second technique, to Falkland, was simply “a violation of the law of nature that no qualification by office could justify a single person in the trespass.”27 23 Marshall, The Secret State. 24 Ibidem. 25 J. Dewald, The European Nobility 1400–​1800 (Cambridge: 1996). 26 E. Hyde, earl of Clarendon, The history of the rebellion and civil wars in England begun in the year 1641 by Edward Earl of Clarendon, W.D. Macray ed., 6 vols (Oxford: 1958 ed.), iii, 185. 27 Ibidem.

194 Marshall Yet, as Michel de Montaigne noted: “in all polities there are duties which are necessary, yet not merely abject but vicious as well.” And these he thought should be left to the “more vigorous and less timorous, those prepared to sacrifice their honour and consciences as men of yore once sacrificed their lives: for the well-​being of their country.”28 If this didn’t suit then at least Cicero offered, in his widely read De Officiis, an escape clause that there were naturally “occasions when an action which we often tend to consider base turns out not to be base at all.”29 Espionage was consequently an involvement that could be expensive, not just financially, but in social status, even with such political ideas as reason of state and arcana imperii to bolster it. Yet, of course, such matters could be overcome, not only by sheer practicality, but the basic state needs for covert intelligence, and by moving to embed espionage relations between spy and intelligencer into the more regular and current norms and social mores of contemporary client-​patron relations. This move especially allowed such relations to be managed in a more familiar way—​it gave the intelligencer back his moral authority (Auctoritas).30 It also allowed information from the morally dubious and socially lower ranked spies clear mediation and regulation and to be socially filtered, and, more significantly perhaps, it also enabled the same information to be used by the spymaster himself at a higher level for his own particular purposes, without the stigma and natural distaste about how, and by whom, it was acquired.31 Still, diplomatic ability was also about acquiring the numerous practical skills to check the authenticity of such networks of information, as sometimes the material gathered by such means was really a government’s only actual source. Such practical skills could only really be learned on the job. Detailed covert material was, of course, naturally difficult to obtain at the best of times, although it could be much more reliable than those old standbyes for diplomatic correspondence: “partisan politics” (framed as conversations between friends), or political gossip—​“private discussion of revealing, immoral, or dangerous behaviour learned and passed on through unofficial channels.”

28

M.  de Montaigne, Michel de Montaigne:  The Complete Essays, M.A. Screech ed., (St Ives: 1991), 892. 29 P.G. Walsh ed., Cicero On Obligations (Oxford: 2008), Book iii, 19, [91]. 30 We need therefore in the case of spies and their functions, to go back, like Hobbes, to the very purpose of words in this world, for as he observed: “truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our affirmations” and: “by Authority, is alwayes understood a Right of doing any act.” T. Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. R. Tuck (Cambridge: 2011 ed.), 112. 31 Marshall, The Secret State.

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One significant urge to use the professional agent did lie in the fact that diplomats always needed to send information home in a constant stream—​ indeed they were usually soundly scolded if they failed to do so. Such material could be bought, or it could be stolen, but it needed to be obtained. This sense of urgency, still more so in an era when communication could be subject to natural interruptions, wind, wave, disease, and war, or by deliberate intervention, meant that detailed reflection on the actual information obtained was not always undertaken with any great skill, or that some information was merely accepted in much too nonchalant a manner. It also resulted in opportunities to pass off intelligence that could be misread, or even invented, and above all it gave the professional agent plenty of scope to make a profit from it. Not that we should overestimate the penchant for secrecy in this period. Everyone loved the idea of secrecy in principle, but leaks were unavoidable. Information indeed could be regularly uncovered and sold on. The movements of troops or ships were almost impossible to disguise, the postal systems of Europe were preyed upon, couriers were ambushed, codes could be broken, and although most statesmen flattered themselves that their codes were the indecipherable ones they often weren’t. A prime source of information always lay at hand in the ubiquitous and prying servants within households and at court.32 Courtiers themselves endlessly gossiped about politics and diplomatic affairs, and above all because it mattered so much to them, about who was ‘in’ and who was ‘out’ of favour at court. Given all of this, the professional agent perhaps had it easy.33 Still, and naturally enough, the best sources were considered to be someone who really knew policy: ministers (who could be bought or pensioned), or on an easier level, those many writing clerks, or secretaries, who wrote such matters down as a daily part of their administrative role and could, for a price, make copies for sale. François de Callières thought that any ambassador, or spy for that matter, looking for intelligence should regularly look for “interested 32

33

The ‘watchful and prurient curiosity’ of servants in the era was notorious, see: L. Stone, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England, 1500–​1800 (St Ives: 1990), 169–​170. F.de Callières recommended that an ambassador ought to avoid having natives of the host country as servants, “because they are usually spies upon all his actions”: F. de Callières, The Art of Negotiating with Sovereign Princes &c (London: 1716), 172. D. Croxton, Peacemaking in Early Modern Europe:  Cardinal Mazarin and the Congress of Westphalia, 1643–​1648 (Cranbury, NJ:  1999), 43–​47, 78; G.  Parker, “The worst—​kept secret in Europe?:  The European Intelligence Community and the Spanish Armada of 1588,” in: K. Neilson and B.J.C. McKercher eds., Go Spy the Land: Military Intelligence in History (Westport: 1992), 49–​72; L. Jensen, “The Spanish Armada: the Worst-​kept Secret in Europe,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 19 (1988), 621–​641.

196 Marshall persons” or “indiscreet persons, who often tell more than they ought,” or the “discontented and passionate,” who to “discharge their spleen” would often tell all anyway; while another target should be the older courtier who had been at court many years and who would tell all so that they could be “admir’d for their penetration.”34 4

The Form and Functions of the Spy

How then do we define the typology, form, and function of the spy in this period? John C. Rule, pace his reading of the work of Lucien Bély, created for us a more or less practical typology of seven particular categories of the spy in the era. These, while they remain ultimately somewhat mechanical, and perhaps less fluid in function than they should be in reality (such espionage tasks as were set did tend to blur at the edges in this period), may well be a useful starting point to begin to categorize such people.35 Yet, while we should not reject these categories, indeed they are useful points of entry for analysis, there was also much more of a fluid contemporary perception of the spy’s function, and the idea of divisions of labour in such a profession will not entirely work on the ground level. For any spy might well find him-​or herself working both at home and abroad at various times in their career, as their mission and master dictated and upon tasks that overlapped or were recreated in the course of action and circumstances. It might seem obvious to say it but there was no training to become a spy, mostly this role could lead to hardship and even death, and almost certainly to being discarded when it was deemed necessary to do so. Some of these people did ultimately obtain government jobs, but most lived on their wits and the small sums that came to them. Certainly the use of merchants and financiers as purveyors of intelligence and news was common in the period. As well as acting as go-​betweens for the employment and payment of their lesser espionage brethren, their business

34 Callières, The Art of Negotiating, 89–​90. 35 The seven categories were as follows:  1-​“those in the immediate war zone”; 2-​“agents secreted” near main strategic sites; 3-​“spies on mission”; 4-​“gadflies, living at court or in major urban centres”; 5-​“deep seated spies—​in modern parlance moles”; 6-​“diplomats recruited by a foreign power”; 7-​“the spymasters (sic), who direct field operations”: J.C. Rule, “Gathering Intelligence in the Age of Louis XIV,” The International History Review 14 (1992), 737–​739; L. Bély, Espions et ambassadeurs au temps de Louis XIV (Paris: 1990), 91, 93, 234.

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letters were frequent and, being up to date, were especially valuable indicators of political and military intelligence that could be vital to the state. The information needed to be the latest in order to manipulate the market and to hunt out new enterprises. In any event Michel Foucault’s view of power relations can also provide a further key to illuminate the spy in the round, and it is helpful to heighten the rather simplistic, if functional, ideas expressed so far. They can indeed provide more depth to what might be seen as a necessary complexity on those entrapped, as it were, within espionage. Foucault’s idea of the tacit violence that was done to criminals in the same era who were caught in the spotlight of legal texts, and the mechanics of the legal world (violence that could be mental, cultural, linguistic, or cultural), is also reflected and paralleled in the world of espionage and spies. In fact the spy’s very presence in the documentary evidence we have available, it could be argued, inevitably changes what they really were, into what the government thought they were, or what they themselves thought they were actually doing in such a business. They were, so to speak, like Foucault’s “infamous,” inevitably “snatched from the darkness” by the very “encounter with power,” and they then left “traces—​brief, incisive, often enigmatic … at the point of their instantaneous contact with [this] power.” It is this that we can read and interpret.36 Because of this action, however, it is “doubtless impossible to ever grasp them again in themselves, as they might have been ‘in a free state’; they can no longer be separated out from the declamations, the tactical biases, the obligatory lies that power games and power relations presuppose.”37 The very idiom of espionage therefore constrains such people into particular forms. Consequently our awareness of these men and women is really only due to the fact that they entered into a system of power relations (aka espionage) that inevitably changed them even as it used them, and that subsequently made their lives, work, and feelings difficult to grasp outside the language of government. One might agree therefore that what we really see in early modern espionage was a creation and recreation of individual lives that speaks in the documentation—​what Foucault has called a “legend”—​wherein always lies a “certain ambiguity between the fictional and the real.” Such matters gave our spies verbal or textual existence, but it also limits our perception of the real persons behind the text.

36

M. Foucault, “Lives of infamous men” in: J.D. Faubion ed., Michel Foucault, Power, Essential Works 1954–​1984 volume 3 (St Ives: 2012), 161. 37 Ibidem.

198 Marshall 5

The White Brothers and Their Intelligence Business

Across early modern Europe by the 1650s information or intelligence in the broadest sense had become a natural and established part of a greater connectivity in life. Intelligence as a product had emerged as a commodity, with growing literacy, developing government, client-​patron relations, state structures, business, finance, and diplomacy all feeding on it and producing it. Intelligence itself provided new epistolary structures, with new forms of writing emerging. The eagerness for news of all sorts lay at the heart of the “media landscape” of the era as well as government and it was exploitable. And in this sense the White family’s dealings in the underworld of international intelligence gives us some good insights into the activities and attitudes of the ‘non-​state’ actors who set up on their own as intelligence agents and suppliers of information in the era. Their motives were undoubtedly self interested: they were mercenary men, lacking any real loyalty to those whom they ostensibly served. Granting that they do seem to have reserved some loyalty for members of their family, they also had a shared idea of a common interest that seems to have emerged from a multilayered conception of the personal (or family) interest over that of any state, and they possessed a view of risk-​taking that only went so far. As one observer noted, men such as the Whites were really there to grab the money and make their fortunes, and as a result they were frequently the greatest plague on any state.38 And yet, they regularly found employment brokering secrets, and they found more than enough buyers for their covert intelligence and dealings—​mainly by working equally between the great powers of Spain, England, and France. This somewhat secretive and transitory life was largely paid for by their own, generally self-​imposed, tasks:  chiefly obtaining intelligence that could be sold to the highest bidder, and by a conception of what an agent should do, was doing, and ought to do. It was matched only by a genuine reluctance not to overcommit and by an eventually unhealthy idea of their self-​worth.39 As a result, the White brothers regularly fell foul of impatient and suspicious ministers to whom they took their intelligence, and often they ended up mistrusted in broken relationships. Obviously such a life was a challenging one and, unsurprisingly perhaps, it was also increasingly punctuated by spells of arrest and imprisonment. 38 39

M.Á. Chéruel ed., Lettres du Cardinal Mazarin, pendant son Ministère, vi (Paris, 9 vols, 1872–​1906), 184, 442. J. J. Silke, “The Irish Abroad, 1534–​1691,” in: T. W. Moody, F. X. Martin, F. J. Bryne eds., A New History of Ireland, III: Early Modern Ireland, 1534–​1691 (9 vols, Oxford: 1993 ed.), 591, 594.

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We can first pick up the brothers’ trail in 1650, when Richard White entered into the trade of military contractor, seeking to supply Irish troops to Spain.40 Mostly these soldiers were drawn out of Ireland’s recent wars of the 1640s. The English government was anxious to get rid of them from the newly reconquered Ireland; mainly by shipping as many of them off to the wars in Europe as possible. Once aboard the government believed they could live or die as they would, but it was also noted that one of the main benefits of such a policy, for the English government at least, was that few of them ever came back: exile, chance, war, battle, or disease, soon carried them off.41 Thus the White brothers were able to become entrepreneurs and middlemen for major troop contracts between the English and Spanish government.42 By 1653 Richard’s brother Andrew White was involved in the same trade. As has been noted, this was a profitable enough trade for contractors after the British civil wars, although it could be hampered by frequent changes in foreign policy at the highest level, as yesterday’s friends quickly became today’s enemy. Yet, both France and Spain (still engaged in a somewhat desultory war at this point) welcomed any influx of trained soldiers into their armies, and both powers were eager to participate in such recruitment, mainly by issuing contracts to private brokers. Alongside this trade, and gradually just as frequently, the Whites also began to dabble in the ancillary and just as potentially profitable trade of espionage. By 1654 Richard White was in Madrid, while his brother Andrew was based in Paris, ostensibly being employed by Cardinal Jules Mazarin. Meanwhile, Ignatius White had joined the entourage of Henri de Taillefer de Barrière, who was closely linked to the Ducs de Rohan, a Huguenot family, and who was a native of the Languedoc. De Barrière, was acting as an envoy and had been sent to London by Louis ii de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, who at that point was in political conflict with Mazarin.43 Ignatius, however, was soon happily working 40 41

42 43

D. Parrott, The Business of War:  Military Enterprise and Military Revolution in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge:  2012); R.  A. Stradling, The Spanish Monarchy and Irish Mercenaries: The Wild Geese in Spain, 1618–​68 (Trowbridge: 1994). Such a brutal display of “realpolitik” towards the Irish was not an uncommon one in both royal and republican English governments in this century, see: A. Marshall, “Irish Spies and Plotters in seventeenth-​century Europe,” Irish Studies Review 9 (Winter 1994/​95), 7–​12. For context see: É. Ó. Ciosáin, “Regrouping in Exile: Irish Communities in Western France in the Seventeenth-​Century,” in: T. Ó hAnnracháin, R. Armstrong eds., Community in Early Modern Ireland (Dublin: 2006), 133–​53. See R. A. Stradling, The Spanish Monarchy and Irish Mercenaries: The Wild Geese in Spain, 1618–​68 (Trowbridge: 1994), 72–​74. For Condé’s career see:  J.J. Inglis-​Jones, “The Grand Condé in Exile:  Power Politics in France, Spain and the Spanish Netherlands, 1652–​1659” (D.Phil., Oxford University: 1994); M.  Bannister, Condé in Context:  Ideological Change in Seventeenth-​ Century France

200 Marshall for de Barrière, but transmitting information to Mazarin as well; for as Mazarin noted “luy et ses frères sont espions doubles.”44 Andrew meanwhile was sent over to London to ensure Ignatius’s loyalty by Mazarin and ordered to continue his supply of information to the cardinal about the Frondeurs’ latest plans. By January 1655, after various journeys, both Richard and Andrew found themselves back in Paris, seemingly set for a “conference” with the cardinal. Following a two-​hour meeting at the Louvre, and as they left the palace, indeed “before they were down the stairs … [they] were both arrested and committed to the Bastille.”45 With the brothers now incarcerated, the French authorities had more than enough time to seize their papers and they discovered, as was expected, that the brothers had been treacherously selling French military secrets and other information to Spain. Later the Whites were to claim that this intelligence was being used as bait in order to tempt the Spanish into further revealing their plans, so that they could then pass the results onto Mazarin, but this seems unlikely.46 Additionally, they had been apparently working on plans to move 6,000 Irish soldiers from French service to that of the Spanish Crown, and thereby to gain money from both parties in the process. Richard White had already been on a substantial stipend of 400 pistoles a year for his intelligence work from the French government, and seemingly Mazarin found it hard to believe that “he could not be contented with that, but he must play the Knave.” Although among their papers were also found bills of exchange for 700 to 800 pistoles from Spain.47 One correspondent of John Thurloe, the English Cromwellian intelligencer, who was now also beginning to take an interest in the Whites for his own reasons, noted that all six brothers were clearly involved in espionage at this point and apparently making a good living out of it, given their flexible loyalties. And yet when hauled out of the Bastille for a more problematic interview with Mazarin, and confronted with the evidence, all was denied, so the brothers remained in gaol for quite some time.

44

45 46 47

(Oxford:  2000). For the Fronde see:  W. Gibson, A Tragic Farce:  The Fronde (1648–​1653) (Exeter: 1998). M Á, Chéruel, ed., Lettres du Cardinal Mazarin, pendant son Ministère, 9 vols (Paris: 1872–​ 1906), 442. E. Hyde confirms this betrayal: W.D. Macray, ed., Calendar of the Clarendon State Papers, 6 vols (Oxford:  1876–​1970), iii, 94. See also F.  Guizot, History of Oliver Cromwell and the English Commonwealth, ii (2 vols, London: 1854), 490 for a letter from White to Mazarin with political information. Thurloe State Papers, iii, 68–​69. Another younger White brother, who had been in the entourage of Christopher O’Bryan and also came from Spain was arrested and joined his brothers in the Bastille. Thurloe State Papers, iii, 69.

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201

The Cromwellian Protectorate and the White Brothers

The unsavoury reputation of the Cromwellian Protectorate’s “secret state” reached its height around the same time as the Whites were operating across Europe (1655–​1656) and drew in its wake many barbed comments. It was a security-​conscience regime,48 which is where men like the White brothers came in. Vivid images of the Cromwellian secret state in action were further sustained in the subsequent histories of the era painting a bleak picture of a mistrustful state, dominating a country where “whole swarms of informers wandered about in all places”; where churches, taverns, and alehouses were watched; where noblemen and gentlemen’s servants were corrupted, where the prisons were full of “accuser,” and there was “no village free from snarlings nor snares,” while the cities themselves “were filled with solitude, silence, trembling and fear.”49 In reality, of course, such widespread espionage practices were much more difficult, if not impossible, to sustain, despite one of the main issues for the Cromwellian regime being a constant awareness of its own safety.50 With these views in mind, how did John Thurloe, the Cromwellian intelligencer, become involved with the Whites? The main link was with a state foreign policy dominated by national security and religious themes.51 The activities of Spain and France were of great interest to the regime, and consequently opportunities for foreign English intelligence gathering became concentrated on them, especially on France. France was politically split on various levels by the Fronde, and to further pique English interest the exiled Royalist court of Charles ii also lay in Paris. The Cromwellian regime was more than content to have a distracted France. Yet Spain, having also been weakened by earlier revolts in Catalonia and Portugal, was likewise seen as a major opportunity for English economic gain, especially given her large empire in the Americas. On her side, Spain, seemingly debilitated by her never-​ending war 48

See for a flavour of this: Hinds, A.B. ed., Calendar State Papers Relating to English Affairs in the Archives of Venice, vol. 30: 1655–​1656 (London: 1930), 142–​143. 49 G. Bates, Elenchus Motuum Nuperorum in Anglia or a short historical account of the rise and progress of the later troubles in England &c (London: 1685), pt. ii, 80–​81, 184–​185. 50 For such arguments see: H. Reece, The army in Cromwellian England, 1649–​1660 (Oxford: 2013), 158; J.  Ive, “The local dimensions of defence, the standing army and militia in Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex,1649–​1660” (D. Phil., Cambridge University: 1986), 338–​339; A.M. Coleby, Central Government and the localities: Hampshire 1649–​1689 (Cambridge:  2002), 35, 38–​39, 41. 51 Marshall, The Secret State.

202 Marshall with France, was very keen to court the now militarily powerful English for any use that might be made of them. This international situation gave ample opportunities for non-​state actors like the White brothers to exploit. All the three great powers, Spain, France, and Cromwellian England, enthusiastically jostled for alliances and spoils. The English, who possessed a large fleet and idle army that could be thrown into the scales of war by any power that could win their support, had a good hand, but of course the Cromwellian Protectorate wanted some tangible rewards for its efforts: a continental sally port of entry for one thing (Dunkirk became the French offer, while Calais remained that of Spain), as well as funding for its forces in any campaign. However, it was especially difficult for the powers to predict which way Cromwell would jump in his foreign policy, and debates in the Cromwellian Council of State also proved contentious, with the existence of both pro-​Spanish and pro-​French factions.52 In London the Spanish ambassador, Don Alonso de Cárdenas, who had had links to the Parliamentary side since 1640s, avowed Spain’s recognition of the regime, but in turn wanted more in exchange for this than just items taken from the dead King Charles i’s art collection. In exchange for an offensive/​ defensive alliance he promised the Cromwellians the town and fortress of Calais—​although only when it actually fell to a joint army—​and he placed some 50,000–​100,000 escudos per month on the table as well. Additionally De Cárdenas hoped to achieve more gains from French difficulties in southwest France around Bordeaux, by support for Huguenots and Frondeurs there, and by exploiting Condé’s hostility to Mazarin. Three of Condé’s own envoys meanwhile were skulking in London on their own designs. On the other hand for the French government side, M. Antoine de Bourdeaux-​Neufville was the French envoy, and the Baron Paul de Baas, who personally represented Mazarin, later joined him.53 All of these diplomats were dabbling in the espionage world and all represented opportunity for the Whites. The eventual inclinations of the Cromwellian regime came down to a Spanish war, especially in the West Indies, mainly for trade reasons. The Treaty of Westminster (April 1654) resolved the sporadic conflict between England and 52

53

For useful background see:  F.J. Routledge, England and the Treaty of the Pyrenees (Liverpool:  1953), 1–​ 22, 47–​ 75; J.F. Battick, “Cromwell’s Diplomatic Blunder:  The Relationship between the Western Design of 1654–​55 and the French Alliance of 1657,” Albion 5 (1973), 279–​298; T. Venning, Cromwellian Foreign Policy (Basingstoke: 1995), 49–​51; R.A. Stradling, Europe and the Decline of Spain: A Study of the Spanish System, 1580–​1720 (London: 1981), 135–​139. C.H. Firth and S.C. Lomas, Notes on the Diplomatic Relations of England and France 1603–​ 1688 (Oxford: 1906), 40–​41.

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France, freed up commerce between the two countries, and by a secret article in it Cromwell also agreed to expel Condé’s Frondeur diplomats in return for the expulsion of Charles ii and his court from France. In fact the exiled king had already left France for Cologne. Charles’ hopes for French aid had languished and he now anticipated a Spanish alliance instead, mainly by promising a Royalist rising in England, and the use of his English and Irish regiments serving in the French army against their former colleagues. Royal plans, however, were immediately bogged down by Spanish leanings towards another party in the game: the ex-​Leveller and former Cromwellian spy Edward Sexby. Sexby was, for his own reasons, offering Spain the wholesale overthrow of the Cromwellian regime, alongside Cromwell’s assassination, and a mutiny in the English army and navy, together with the seizure of an English port on the south coast for a Spanish invasion of England. He would also offer toleration for Catholics in the country. What Sexby wanted in return was money to make his military revolt a success, and Spanish support for the “Good Old Cause” in the shape of the return of the Rump Parliament that Cromwell had originally overthrown in his coup d’état of April 1653.54 Meanwhile, the longstanding mercenary soldier and professional intelligence agent for a number of parties across Europe, Colonel Joseph Bampfield, entered the scene. Although he remained one of the most dishonest of people to depend upon in this mixture and a free agent in the world of intelligence, Bampfield had already openly sold his services far too often in the European intelligence market to be thought that reliable.55 Yet, by the spring or summer of 1654, John Thurloe had taken him into his employ as a secret agent. Based in France and Flanders, Bampfield was soon passing on as much intelligence on the exiled Royal court, the many plots against the Protector, and political affairs in France as he could lay his hands upon. Due to the interception of his letters, however, Sir Edward Hyde in the exiled Royal court was well aware of this new employment. Hyde, who had a personal grudge against Bampfield, cynically noted that he “gives himself reputation by the news he makes or receives from others, yet it is plain he has intelligence with some one in the Court

54

55

For Sexby see:  Marshall, The Secret State; Bodleian Library, Rawlinson MSS, A, 28, fols.27, 28; 564; Clarendon MS 53 fo.105: Thurloe State Papers, vi, 831, 833; Rome: Vatican Archives, “Nunziatura di Fiandra,” 39, fols. 467, 469; “Philippe IV to Léopold-​Guillaume, 23 December 1655” H. Lonchay, J.Cuelier, and J. Lefèvre eds., Correspondence de la Cour d’Espagne sur les affaires des Pays-​Bas au XVII Siécle, Tome IV: Précis de la Correspondence de Philippe IV (1647–​1665) (Brussels: 1933), 527–​528. Marshall, A., “Joseph Bampfield (1622–​1685)” in: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: 2008).

204 Marshall or rather with someone at The Hague.”56 Despite being in and out of gaol for debt and other supposed crimes, Bampfield continued to be employed. Hyde’s paid agent in the French post office, Marcés, who undertook to intercept letters for him there, noted how Bampfield frequently changed his seal and had at least two postal addresses available in order to receive his correspondence for his own security.57 Thurloe on the other hand retained some suspicion of this free agent, regularly leaving Bampfield pleading neglect and begging for £60 and other sums of money in order to get his clothes out of pawn.58 Even so, while based in Paris Bampfield could pick up much foreign intelligence himself, but he was also experienced enough to try to subcontract his information gathering, enabling his own private intelligence networks to expand. In this respect therefore, he evidently thought the White brothers were now worth cultivating, and so it was that Joseph Bampfield helped to get Richard White released, hoping thereby not only to recruit the brothers but their networks of agents to supply him with Spanish intelligence and news. Eventually Bampfield came to have doubts about Richard, for as he noted in September 1656: I have received, intercepted, and seen 5 or 6 letters within theise twelve days from Madrid, written by White, who appears a very knave, as you shall finde by his letters; some of which deciphered I will send you by the next: however great use is in my oppinion to be made of him, as you will finde upon the whole matter.59 Yet, given Richard White’s now constant intrigues and dabbling in diplomacy in London, Madrid, and Paris, this was not very surprising. By now the dealings of the White brothers were becoming pan-​European in scope: Andrew White, aka “Aylmer” in their ciphers, was in Florence; Ignatius White, aka “Jaxon,” remained in London; while Richard White, aka “Roulan,” soon moved back to Madrid.60 Mitchell White, aka “Mr Monfrid,” was located in Brussels, while James White was located in Paris.61 Also becoming connected to the brothers 56

W.D. Macray, ed., Calendar of the Clarendon State Papers, 6 vols (Oxford:  1876–​1970), iii, 319. 57 Ibidem, iii, 274. 58 Ibidem, iii, 280. 59 Thurloe State Papers, v, 381. 60 Richard also used the aliases of “Wescomb” and “Jean Williams.” The brothers’ aliases were given to Thurloe enabling him to intercept their correspondence. London, The National Archives, SP 78/​113, fo.378–​79; 380. 61 The National Archives, SP 78/​113, fo.380.

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was Don Alonso de Cárdenas, who went by the name of “Mr Allen” in their cipher correspondence. Cárdenas had his fingers in any number of pies at this point on behalf of his king and he, too, evidently thought the Whites worth encouraging. Meanwhile, in 1656, Bampfield arranged for the newly released Richard White to visit Thurloe in London. Thurloe quickly sought to employ White for his own intelligence gathering and news from Madrid. Ciphers, and a monetary arrangement, were duly exchanged and by July 1656 Richard had been packed off back in Madrid. Landing at San Sebastián, and allegedly picking up Spanish naval intelligence on the way, which Thurloe had prioritized as one of his main needs, White was soon pursuing contacts in Madrid with Don Lewis de Haro, being “well received,” or so he claimed. Don Luis de Haro y Zúñiga was King Philip iv’s chief minister and thus White was aiming high.62 Rather than run of the mill naval intelligence, White’s first information, via Bampfield, mainly dealt with possible peace plans between the Spanish and French, alongside an inevitable plea for money.63 Later on, when Thurloe again insisted on Richard obtaining as much naval intelligence as possible, White merely sent a subagent to Cádiz to find out the state of the fleet there.64 Clearly, however, Richard White now became something of an attention-​ seeker, mistakenly attempting to placate an impatient Thurloe with his ideas: I assure you that you cannot have better advice of their fleet, than I give, though you say, that you have contrary of what I advise. Mark the end, and you shall know mine to be the best; for I believe, though you may have forty others to give advice, there will be none of them, that will judge aright of these men’s proceedings no better than myself.65 And then prominently promoting his links with the Spanish government by bragging and shameless name-​dropping: I will assure you, that four days ago don John said, that he would not wish, that any thing should happen to the protector, when some report was 62 63 64 65

For De Haro see:  A. Malcom, “Don Luis de Haro and the Political Elite of the Spanish Monarchy in the mid-​seventeenth century” (D. Phil., Oxford University: 1999); see also R.A. Stradling, Philip IV and the Government of Spain, 1621–​1665 (Cambridge: 2002). Thurloe State Papers, v, 185–​186. Thurloe State Papers, v, 743. Thurloe State Papers, vi, 68.

206 Marshall that treachery was intended against him; and said further, that he doubted not, but to have a further understanding with him. This was, however, a dangerous game to play with John Thurloe, but White blithely went on to note: I assure you, that I have good advice from Cadiz, though I will not trust to it, without going myself, as soon as you remit the pension; for I have been, and am at great charges; and unless you perform soon, I am afraid to loose my credit, and be much prejudiced, that now eight months is past, and no performance, after that you assured me the pension in yours of the 22d November; and in this last you intend no such thing as payment. If I had done as others, in giving great promises, and making news, you would perform better; but I will not, but deal really. I hope you have performed before this; if you have not, I pray give it to Bamfylde, whereby he might follow my orders. I swear I am never the better for it; for I repair not my charges. My hopes are for the future; otherwise I would not venture to write as I do.66 In any case a pattern of dilatory correspondence soon set in. This was, conceivably, a deliberate action on Thurloe’s part, as it was a favoured technique used by him on other occasions. Perhaps psychologically he needed to make his agents keen to gain his favour; although Thurloe was just as capable of neglecting his agents through pressure of business.67 Back in London, Ignatius White, who had been left behind after the retirement of de Barrière, now made serious contact with de Cárdenas. Although Ignatius was described as a “dangerous and perfidious person” by one of Thurloe’s informants, he had been swiftly handed £300 in order to set up private intelligence networks in England and Ireland for the Spanish government, but with his qualified loyalties even now Ignatius sought to hold onto his links with Condé, and for added measure merrily engaged in “intelligence and other tricks” to all the parties concerned, including Cardinal Mazarin.68 In his later published “Vindication” of 1660 Ignatius was to fiercely deny ever having been recruited as a spy for the Lord Protector. Yet, if truth were told, his current espionage activities were soon temporarily curtailed by his arrest and in the spring of 1656 he was incarcerated in the Tower of London. 66 Ibidem. 67 Thurloe State Papers, v, 376. 68 Thurloe State Papers, v, 381.

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Intercepted letters and information against Ignatius had found its way into the hands of Thurloe, and this immediately led to White’s three-​month confinement in Lambeth House. Later on, Ignatius claimed that during this period he was often sent for from his prison after midnight in order to be interrogated, and various attempts were made, or he said, to persuade him to work for the Protector.69 He was even given a cipher, but in 1660 he stoutly maintained that he had made no use of it. Even so, Ignatius was eventually ejected from the country. The truth behind this is that he took Thurloe’s money just as easily as that of Mazarin, de Cárdenas, or Condé. For in November 1660 Ignatius extracted what can only be read as a subtly ironic statement from John Thurloe to the effect that he had not actually worked for the Republican regime against the new king.70 Gilbert Burnet portrays Ignatius as a stateless and rootless man, easily corrupted, who gained most of his intelligence though the minor arts of bribing clerks, but was usually unable to keep his own temper, or for that matter any real secrets. Burnet later painted a picture of a bold enough man, but one who increasingly liked others to know that he was someone who was well versed in news, with a “fawning and smooth [way] with him.” These are obviously characteristics that were the result of White’s personal vanity, but were impractical skills in the higher forms of espionage. According to Burnet, White was also a fluent, but “coarse” liar, whose lies were frequently exposed.71 Ultimately Burnet damned him as “contemptible and ridiculous.” In general the brothers’ shared intelligence techniques were simple enough: they gathered their intelligence by association with those who were, or purported to be, well informed, and this especially included talking to those in power, as well as suborning various Spanish or French writing clerks who 69

70 71

I. White, Mr Ignatius White, His vindication & (London: 1660), 22. It was written to exculpate himself after his involvement with the exiled Thomas Scot, a former Republican regicide and intelligencer on the run in Flanders in 1660. Needless to say White betrayed Scot in the end; Marshall, The Secret State. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS, Carte 31, fo. 63. While Thurloe denied employing White to spy on Royalists, he didn’t really deny using him in other covert capacities against the Spanish and French. The resulting certificate therefore suited both parties. H.C. Foxcroft ed., A Supplement to Burnet’s History of my Own Time (Oxford: 1897), 255–​ 256; G. Burnet, History of his own Time (1837 ed.), 450. While Ignatius was given a grant of £1,000 and a baronetcy by King Charles in June 1659, for his apparent services and switching sides, doubts over whose side he was actually on still existed. Edward Hyde noted that White was a very “cunning man,” apparently still working for the Spanish, using disguised language, but zealously, or so he claimed, working for King Charles ii, while at the same time maintaining his links with the English republican government and Joseph Bampfield. Calendar of Clarendon State Papers, iv 262, 270, 301, 345.

208 Marshall were close to ministers, so that they could safely provide information and copies of letters to them.72 This close intelligence could then be sold at market value to the various great powers where it gave some advantages in diplomatic negotiations. And if the espionage trade failed, then they could always fall back on contracting mercenaries for sale.73 Meanwhile, the exiled Royalist court of Charles ii had also begun to take an interest in the Whites.74 The Whites came into the view of Sir Henry Bennet. Bennet arrived in Spain in 1657 to represent the exiled King Charles ii and had been ordered to ingratiate himself with the Spanish monarchy to gain assistance (troops and money) for a Royalist restoration.75 He was sent to push for more open support from the Spanish king and for financial support in particular, while at the same time he could promise an Irish revolt and a request to use the Irish troops, currently in Spanish employment. Bennet worked to rapidly curry favour with Spanish ministers, especially with Don Luis de Haro. He soon discovered that Richard White was already on the scene in Madrid. Naturally hostile to White, Bennet noted: “great use is made of his rogueries here.” As a by-​blow to his own negotiations, removing White from the equation could be useful, so Bennet acted to have White’s correspondence stopped and read, from which it was clear that Richard was “playing” the Spanish by using his links to Thurloe and to Mazarin.76 In due course, in July 1657, Bennet took up the offer of a personal interview with White and this revealingly captures both Richard’s character and ideas. Although by this stage White had been warned not to meddle with affairs by the Spanish government, who evidently were beginning to see the exiled Royalists as a safer bet in diplomatic manoeuvres, as they apparently owed White a great sum of money, so his total removal from the scene was prevented. Nevertheless, ever the opportunist, White now whispered of switching political horses from Thurloe and Cromwell, towards Bennet and King Charles ii. Accordingly, as Bennet recorded, Richard brought along all of his papers and ciphers with him to “verify what he saide,” and openly admitted his clandestine connections with Thurloe. These, he said, had been arranged in 1656. 72 73 74

75 76

Thurloe State Papers, v, 513—​Bampfield called this a “mere jugle”—​although it was a tried and trusted technique in this period and beyond. Thurloe State Papers, 255, 264, 377, 381, 390, 514. Edward Hyde’s contact Marcé, the postmaster in Paris, intercepted English ambassadorial correspondence and missives being sent from Thurloe’s agents. As a result no one among the king’s ministers held the Whites in much regard and kept a watchful eye on their actions. Bennet was the future earl of Arlington. Bodleian Library, Clarendon MSS, 55, fols. 138-​138v.

‘Secret Wheeles’

209

White claimed that he had spoken to Thurloe about peace with Spain and had taken “a cipher from him with a promise of a pension for intelligence, w[hi] ch he did give according to his capacity,” Bennet rather sneeringly noted. He also admitted his links to Bampfield. Bennet was shown “many letters” and noted how Bampfield was “well chosen for a part in this play.” Up to that point White had been willing to set himself up as a mostly self-​appointed mediator over peace talks between England and Spain (though it’s very possible Thurloe and Cromwell merely saw him as more of a spy, and the Spanish saw the potential in White and his brother Ignatius as channels of information). White admitted to Bennet that, for a price, he was supplying intelligence to Thurloe, and he talked of corrupting clerks in the entourage of De Haro to obtain his intelligence. He now sought to use the opportunity of the interview with Bennet to implore a pardon from Charles ii and he made a “promise to repair his faults.” White handed over letters from Bampfield, Mazarin, and the exiled Royalists Lord Jermyn and Sir John Berkeley, among others, to prove his worth and connections.77 Afterwards Bennet sent all this material to Edward Hyde for an opinion. How then did the Whites really obtain their covert intelligence? Was it of any use or was it merely a way of letting them make money and fool their employers? It seems that their intelligence gathering techniques were a mixture of gaining relatively open news (far more common than we would like to think), using social linkage with those who purported to be in the know (ministers, or hangers-​on, or clerks and undersecretaries), listening and reporting on gossip and rumour, and at times, using sheer guesswork. We can break down this sort of intelligence by choosing one example, from many, in this era. It does give a flavour of the sort of intelligence that was moving between the brothers and their customers. This is a letter from Richard White (originally heavily ciphered and disguised, which was frequently as much to give it a certain mysteriousness as for security reasons) from Madrid (15 July 1656), to John Thurloe. White opens his letter by referencing his previous correspondence in case that had gone missing: “My last to you was from St. Sebastian, advising of my arriving so far, and how one, that was employed from thence to Cadiz, was dragged, and is like to suffer.” He openly told Thurloe that he had an readily available subcontracted agent of his to gain intelligence—​unfortunately this gentleman was soon, caught and suffered the consequences of his actions. There are natural hints of how clever White had been not to get caught up in this situation and “I would give you an 77

Bodleian Library, Clarendon MSS, 55, fols. 138v-​139.

210 Marshall account more particularly of it, but that I believe you have it from several other hands.” In other words, it is now general knowledge—​there is, of course, no real sympathy for the fate of this captured agent. Secondly, White provides actual intelligence on the Spanish fleet in San Sebastián: “they can put out 20 men of war little and great; three of them 20 guns, and the rest from 6 to 12 more or less.” Naval intelligence in general was useful and enabled an assessment of Spanish power, but it would need to be checked by other sources that Thurloe had and also later discussed in the Protector’s council. The third level of the letter showed off White’s connections at the Spanish court and emphasized how significant and brave an agent he was because of the dangers of his work: “At my arrival here I was well received by don Lewis de Haro, but many informations were given against me, but I hope in God to overcome them all.” From this link some general political intelligence on peace treaties followed. This is in fact a mixture of readily available public and less readily available private information: “You may take notice, that the cardinal Mazarin is treating of peace with the king of Spain; and the parties have been here these ten days privately, no man knowing them; but several reports.”78 Information on the dealings of the Spanish with the “Scotch king or his brother” (Charles ii and James Duke of York), “with many other railleries” would also have been significant to both Thurloe and Cromwell. Yet how trustworthy was this? It is intelligence, says White, that “I know it of a certain, and be confident of it; it is privately carried, that when they came to don Lewis de Haro at night very late, he sendeth his servants and secretaries out of the house.” This suggests that White had Don Luis’ house watched, or had at least bribed someone inside to provide him with information; a logical move to gain ­information. Lastly comes some general information on the plans of the Spanish that were lying in the public domain: “For the good success of the design now in

78

Treaty making and diplomatic congresses provided rich pickings and opportunities for the non-​state agent. See, as examples, the Whites at the Peace Treaty of the Pyrenees: F.J. Routledge, England and the Treaty of the Pyrenees (Liverpool: 1953), 37–​39; and An ccount from Paris of the articles of peace concluded betwixt the two crownes of France and Spaine (London: 1659); G. Treasure, Mazarin: The Crisis of Absolutism in France (London: 1995), 254–​260; J.B. Wolf, Louis XIV (London:  1970), 159–​164; L.  Williams, Letters from the Pyrenees: Don Luis Mendez de Haro’s Correspondence to Philip IV of Spain, July to November 1659, Exeter Hispanic Texts, 57 (Exeter: 2000).

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211

hand here prayers are commanded to be in all the churches of this town.” The letter ends with a plea, and drawing attention to his work, with a distinct suggestion he be well paid for his pains: “You would hardly believe, what diligence and pains I have taken for to know this of the treaty of peace, and besides some charges. I pray advise of the receipt hereof.”79 Various other levels of information gathering are seen in other correspondence from the White brothers:  stories, most of which were openly told at court, were retold by them with a distinct twist of supplying secret information. A very useful level of information came through direct observation; though the Whites seem to have used their discretion here, preferring to employ others to do this when possible, as it was rather a more dangerous job for them. Confident language is used throughout; the brothers were after all selling themselves and their skills to their patrons as much as the actual information. Frequently the correspondence shows their default braggardly personalities, matched only by occasional peevishness (these latter elements are in fact to be commonly found in espionage correspondence in general), alongside the usual denials, obfuscation, and. just occasionally, a nugget of information. With all this underlying such correspondence, why use such very unreliable people in intelligence work at all? A number of reasons exist. First, because it was convenient to use such people, and necessity, as ever, required using intelligence from any number of sources in order to obtain a general and specific picture of the outside world. Besides, it was the job of men such as Thurloe and Mazarin to cut though the regular source’s extraneous material and realistically assess its plausibility and then compare it with other sources. Furthermore, the potential of actual success in such individuals was always there and it could be exploited. Last, but not least, these were also men and women who could be repudiated if they got into trouble; arrested, if their betrayals became too blatant; or merely ultimately discarded and sent on their way.80

79 80

Thurloe State Papers, v, 185. Post 1660, Richard while still in Madrid became involved with the English Royal Africa Company and the slave trade as well as plots. See The National Archives, SP29/​74, fo. 67-​ 67v; SP29/​75, fo. 76; SP 29/​77 fo. 83. For the context see R.A. Stradling, “Spanish Conspiracy in England, 1661–​1663,” English Historical Review 87 (1972), 269–​286; E.S.  de Beer, “The Marquis of Albeville and His Brothers,” English Historical Review 45 (1930), 397–​408. The White brothers were all dead by 1712: Historical Manuscripts Commission, Calendar of the Stuart papers belonging to His Majesty the King, preserved at Windsor Castle, i (London: 1902), 245.

212 Marshall 7

Conclusion

“The truth is,” complained Edward Hyde in 1652, “ther is so greate a license of writinge under the nocon of gettinge intelligence for which evey man thinks himself qualified, that men care not what they write, so they may praetende to know much.”81 Much might be said of this fact of life and especially of using the non-​state actor in espionage. The merits, or otherwise, of employing such individuals could be said to be dubious even at the best of times in the mid-​century, as we have seen. Yet with political and economic intelligence gathering now a European-​wide phenomenon, it became a constant part of the individual advancement of any statesman’s or diplomat’s interest, and used to bolster their position both at home and abroad. This obviously needed dealers in news, intelligence, and information as suppliers, or at least an involvement in the exchange of overt and covert information. It also needed, as we have seen, spies and the involvement of men such as the White ­brothers.

Sources and Bibliography



Manuscript sources



Printed sources

Bodleian Library, Oxford. MS, Carte 31. Clarendon MS 53. Clarendon MSS, 55. Rawlinson MSS, A, 28. The National Archives, London (tna). SP29/​5, SP29/​58, SP29/​74, SP29/​75, SP29/​76, SP 29/​77, SP29/​80, SP44/​15, SP 78/​113. Vatican Archives, Rome. Nunziatura di Fiandra, 39.

An account from Paris of the articles of peace concluded betwixt the two crownes of France and Spaine (London: 1659). Bates, G., Elenchus Motuum Nuperorum in Anglia or a short historical account of the rise and progress of the later troubles in England &c (London: 1685).

81

E. Hyde in: W. Bray, Diary and Correspondence of John Evelyn, FRS &c, iv (4 vols, London: 1857), 246–​247.

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213

Burnet, Gilbert, History of his own Time (Oxford: 1837 ed.). Bray, W., Diary and Correspondence of John Evelyn, FRS &c, 4 vols (London: 1857). Callières, F. de, The Art of Negotiating with Sovereign Princes &c (London: 1716). Chéruel, M.Á. ed., Lettres du Cardinal Mazarin, pendant son Ministère, 9 vols (Paris: 1872–​1906). Foxcroft, H.C. ed., A Supplement to Burnet’s History of My Own Time (Oxford: 1897). Historical Manuscripts Commission, Calendar of the Stuart papers belonging to His Majesty the King, preserved at Windsor Castle, i (London: 1902). Hobbes, T., Leviathan, ed. R. Tuck (Cambridge: 2011). Hobbes, T., Philosophicall rudiments concerning government and society &c (London: 1651). Montaigne, M. de, Michel de Montaigne: The Complete Essays, ed. M.A. Screech (St Ives: 1991). Thurloe, J., A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, ed. T. Birch, 7 vols (London: 1742). Walker, C., The Compleat History of Independencie upon the Parliament begun in 1640 (London: 1661). Walsh, P.G. ed., Cicero On Obligations (Oxford: 2008). White, Ignatius, Mr Ignatius White, His vindication & (London: 1660).

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Index of Names Abdallah (Homo Dei) 128–​129, 133 Accursius 39, 42 Acquaviva, Claudio 144–​145, 147, 149–​151, 153 Albert, king of Sweden 67, 77 Albrecht of Bavaria 72, 76 Aldobrandini, Ippolito, see Clement viii Andechs–​Merania, Berthold of 121–​122 Andrew ii, king of Hungary 120, 121 Aragon, Dominic of 122–​123 Ayrault, Pierre 44, 50 Azzolino, Decio 145 Baas, Paul de 202 Baiju 123–​124, 133 Baldwin ii, Latin emperor of Constantinople 128 Bampfield, Joseph 203–​205, 207–​209 Barezzi, Barrezo, see Possevino, Antonio Bartolomei, Arnoud 92 Báthory, András 145 Báthory, Sigismund 143 Báthory, Stephen, king of Poland–​Lithuania  138–​148, 150–​151, 154 Batteville, Charles baron de 107 Batu, khan 125–​129 Beauvais, Vincent of 123, 131 Bela iv, king of Hungary 121 Benedict xii, pope 166 Bennet, Henry 208–​209 Berkeley, John 209 Bertachinus, Johannes 45 Besold, Christoph 52–​53 Beverningk, Hieronymus van 185 Bijnkershoek, Cornelis or Cornelius van 45, 55, 89 Bodenham, Roger 32 Bodin, Jean 31, 43 Bogard, Pierre 174 Bolghaï 129 Bolognetti, Alberto 144, 148 Bond, James 4 Bono 27 Bordeaux–​Neufville, Antoine de 202 Bourbon, Louis de 171 Bracamonte y Guzmán, Gaspar de 103 Broquière, Bertrandon de la 170

Brun, Antoine 108 Burghley, lord 32 Burgundy, Mary of 164 Callières, François de 54–​55, 192, 195–​195 Canonieri, Pietro Andrea 52 Capua, Annibale de 145 Carcassonne, John of 126 Cárdenas, Alonso de 202, 205–​207 Cardinal Montalto 147 Carter, Jimmy 27 Cary, Lucius (Lord Falkland) 193 Castiglioni, Giovanni Battista 50 Cayet, Pierre Victor Palma 52 Cerda, Antonia de la, daughter of the duke of Medinaceli 100 Cerda, Juan Luis de la 99–​100 Chamoy, Louis Rousseau de 55 Charles i, king of England 193, 202 Charles ii, king of England 91, 201, 203, 207–​210 Charles the Bad, king of Navarre 174 Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy 169, 171, 175, 179 Charles v, Holy Roman Emperor 49–​50, 171 Charles vii, king of France 162, 169, 177 Charlot, Étienne 169, 174 Chastellain, Georges 161, 163, 179 Châteauroux, Odo of 127 Chinqai 126 Christian i, king of Denmark 80 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 194 Clement viii, pope 149 Commynes, Philip of 163, 166, 170–​171, 178 Conring, Hermann 44 Cooijmans, Jan 107 Count Palatine 33 Court, Pieter de la 98 Courtrisien, Sohier le 76 Cremona, Ascelin of 9, 122–​124, 131–​133 Cremona, Bartholomew of 128–​129 Cromwell, Oliver 202–​203, 208–​210 Daim, Olivier le 173 Dávila y Toledo, Sancho 103–​104 Dommer, Emanuel 102

218  Donovan, James 27 Du Bellay, Guillaume 50, 52 Du Bellay, Martin 50, 52 Duke Wenzel 74 Durantis, Gulielmus 39 Dyrexsoen, Pieter 72 Edward iii, king of England 166, 171, 178 Elizabeth i, queen of England 32–​33, 49 Eljigideï 124, 126 Elwouterszoon, Willem 73 Erik vi, king of Denmark 67

Index of Names Hond Janszoon, Jan de 72 Hotman, François 44, 48 Hotman, Jean 44, 47–​49, 51–​52 Hove, Jacob van den 91–​92, 94–​97, 99–​100, 102–​105, 107–​109 Hungary, Julian of 9, 120–​122 Hurtado de Corcuera, Andrés 100, 107 Hyde, Edward 203, 207, 209, 212 Innocent iv, pope 122, 127, 129–​130 Ivan iv, tsar of Muscovy 138, 150, 152 Ivanovich Dmitry, tsar of Muscovy 152–​153

Feodor i, tsar of Muscovy 145–​148 Fermín de Marichalar, Esteban 100, 102 Fillastre, Guillaume 161 Francis i, king of France 49–​51 Frederick iii, Holy Roman Emperor 171 Frigiliana, count of, see Manrique de Lara, Íñigo Fryon, Etienne 162, 179 Fusoris, Jean 170

James ii, king of England 210 Janszoen, Steven 77 Jermyn, lord 209 Johanna of Brabant 74 John ii the Good, king of France 174 John iii of Bavaria 69 John iii Vasa, king of Sweden 138 John the Fearless, duke of Burgundy 166, 176  Joinville, John of 127

Galli, Tolemeo 144 Gamarra y Contreras, Esteban de 108 García, Lorenzo Andrés 101 Gentili, Alberico 31–​32, 43–​44, 46 Germonio, Anastasio 53 Goderiche, John 126 Gomoliński, Stanisław 147 Gosset 128–​129 Gregory ix, pope 122 Gregory xiii, pope 138, 141, 144–​145, 150 Grotius, Hugo 31, 44 Güyük, khan 125–​127, 132–​133

Keohane, Robert O. 26, 28 Khubilai Khan 130 Kien, Jan 107–​108 Kirchner, Hermann 44 Kowaczocsy, Wolfgang 142

Habsburg, Ernest of 146, 151 Habsburg, Maximilian of 140, 146–​151 Haro y Guzmán, Gaspar de 100, 103 Haro, Luis de, see Méndez de Haro, Luis Heliche, marquis de, see Haro y Guzmán, Gaspar de Henry iii, king of Engeland 47 Henry iv, king of England 47–​48, 176 Henry v, king of England 170, 172, 178 Henry viii, king of England 30 Herborg, Johann 79–​80 Hervorde, Arnold van 79–​80 Hobbes, Thomas 188, 194

Lannoy, Jean de 175 Lawicki, Andrzej 152 Leibniz, Gottfried W. 44 Leti, Gregorio 54 Lombard, Peter 128 Longjumeau, Andrew of 9, 122–​123, 125–​127, 129–​133 Louis ii de Bourbon, prince of Condé 33, 199, 206–​207 Louis ix, king of France 126–​130, 132 Louis xi, king of France 159, 161, 163–​165, 168–​169, 171, 173, 179 Lucca, Rolandus de 39 Luxembourg, Wenceslas of 169 Madruzzo, Ludovico 147 Malaspina, Germanico 144 Male, Margaret of 168, 171 Manrique de Lara, Íñigo 100 Margaret of France 127–​128

219

Index of Names Margareth, widow of Duke Philip the Bold 165 Mattingly, Garrett 4, 21, 23, 29 Maximilian i, Holy Roman Emperor 164 Mazarin, Jules Raymond 187, 199–​200, 202, 206–​211 Medicina, Pillius de 39 Medinaceli, duke of, see Cerda, Juan Luis de la Melany, Ramon 166 Méndez de Haro, Luis de 100, 109, 205, 208–​210 Meraviglia, Giovanni Alberto 49–​54 Mesía de Tovar y Paz, Pedro 100 Micheas 125 Molina count of, see Mesía de Tovar y Paz, Pedro Mongkä, khan 129 Montaigne, Michel de 52, 194 Montecorvino, Jean de 10 Morren, Willem 68

Polo, Niccolò 130 Polster, Balthasar 102 Portugal, Lawrence of 122–​123 Possevino, Antonio 10–​11, 13, 137–​153 Pusterla, Pietro da 168 Puteo, Antonia 147

Nicholas 128 Nicholas iv, pope 130 Nye, Jospeh S. 26, 28 

Saint–​Quentin, Simon of 123, 131, 133 Sala, Juan Alonso de 104 Saliceto, Antonio de 175 Salvi, Salvio 121 Sancho iv, king of Castile 162 Sartaq 127–​129, 132 Schroeder, Paul 25 Sens, Gerbert of 126 Sexby, Edward 203 Sforza, Francesco ii, duke of Milan 42, 49–​51, 53 Sicily, René of, duke of Anjou 164 Sigismund ii Augustus, king of Poland, grand duke of Lithuania 140 Sigismund iii Vasa, king of the Polish–​ Lithuanian Commonwealth 148–​149  Sixtus V, pope 144–​146, 150–​151 Sommelier, Herbert the 126 Spannochi, Horatio 148 Susa, Henricus de 39 Szapolyai, John Sigismund 140

Ockensoen, Aernd Willem 72 Offenburg, Herman 177 Offord, Andrew 163 Oorschot, Pieter van 104, 107, 110 Orange, William of 33 Oyanguren, Luis 104 Paris, Matthew 121, 123, 131 Paschal, Charles 47–​48, 52–​53 Peñaranda, count of, see Bracamonte y Guzmán, Gaspar de Peter, Russian Archbishop 121 Philip ii, king of Spain 32–​33 Philip iv, king of Spain 44, 107, 205, 210, 216 Philip the Bold, duke of Burgundy 165, 171 Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy 162, 165, 171–​174, 176–​177 Philip vi, king of France 166, 171, 178 Pieterszoon, Hughe 73 Plano Carpini, John of 9, 122–​125, 128–​129, 131–​133 Poissy, Robert of 126 Polo, Maffeo 130

Qurumshi 125–​126 Quyaq 128 Rabban–​ata, Simeon 123 Reede van Renswoude, Hendrik van 105–​110 Richard, friar 120 Richelieu, Armand–​Jean Du Plessis, Cardinal de 192 Romanovich, Vasilko 125 Rubruck, William of 127–​130, 132–​133 Rudolf ii, Holy Roman Emperor 10, 140–​141, 144, 146–​147, 151, 154 Ruiz de Contreras, Fernando 104 Ruven, Claes van 72

Taillefer de Barrière, Henri de 199 Temür Öljeytü Kahn, keizer van China 10 Thibaut ix, lord of Neufchatel 175 Thou, Jacques Auguste de 52 Thurloe, John 200–​201, 203–​211

220  Thyemanssoen, Huge 72 Trémoille, Louis de la 162 Vattel, Emer de 30, 55 Velada, marquis de, see Dávila y Toledo, Sancho Vent, Jerome 173 Vera y Zúñiga, Juan Antonio de 44, 53 Vitoria, Francisco de 31 Walker, Clement 185 Watteville de Joux, Charles de, see Batteville, Charles baron de Wenceslaus i, king of Bohemia 124 White, Andrew 12–​13, 187, 198–​202, 204–​205, 208–​212

Index of Names White, Ignatius 12–​13, 187, 198–​202, 204–​212 White, James 12–​13, 187, 198–​202, 204–​205, 208–​212 White, Mitchell 12–​13, 198–​205, 208–​212 White, Richard 12–​13, 187, 198–​202, 204–​212 Wicquefort, Abraham de 3, 44, 54 Willem V, count of Holland 72–​73 Willem vi, count of Holland 70 William i, count of Hainaut 171 William, friar 126 Witt, Johan de 92, 109 Yensoen, Hughen Pieter 72 Zamoyski, Jan 144, 147–​149

Index of Places Acre 127, 129 Alicante 97 Amager 75 Americas 102, 106, 201 Amsterdam 68–​70, 72, 75–​77, 81, 96, 107 Andalusia 95, 97, 98–​99, 101–​102, 105 Antioch 129 Aragon 41, 165–​166 Artois 167 Avignon 163, 166, 170, 172 Bagdad 125, 126 Balearic Islands 97 Barcelona 97 Basque provinces 97, 104, 107 Bern 175 Biscay 110 Bordeaux 202 Bracon 164 Braunsberg 144 Brazil 98 Brill 68–​70, 72, 75 Bruges 7, 176 Buenos Aires 102 Bulgaria 121 Byzantium (see Constantinople) Cádiz 91, 94–​97, 99–​100, 102, 107–​109, 205 Caesarea 127 Calais 167, 202 Canary Islands 97, 102 Cantabria 64, 97, 107 Cassovia 141 Caucasus 123, 131 Central Asia 128 China 132 Cologne (see Köln) Constantinople 10, 38, 41–​42, 57, 126–​128, 170 Copenhagen 75, 79 Cracow 125, 149 Cuba 4 Cyprus 126–​127 Danzig 64, 66–​67, 78–​82 Den Bosch 69, 71, 74–​75, 78

Deventer 70, 75, 81 Doesburg 67, 74–​75 Dragør 74–​75 Dunkirk 202 Dutch Antilles 102 Dutch Republic 8, 90–​91, 96, 98–​99, 103, 111 Elburg 69, 75 El Puerto de Santa María 99–​100 England 28, 32, 160, 162–​163, 165, 169–​170, 173–​176, 178–​179, 185, 187, 189, 198, 203, 206, 209 Europe 1, 7–​9, 13, 20, 41, 43, 48, 63, 79, 91, 97–​98, 126, 130, 133, 137–​139, 150–​151, 153–​154, 187, 191, 201, 203 Falsterbo 67, 79, 81 Ferrara 150–​151 Flanders 168, 177, 203, 207 Florence 42, 204 Forlì 42 Fotevik 67 France 7, 49–​50, 129, 137, 139, 159, 162, 170, 173, 175, 187, 189, 198–​199, 201–​ 203 Galicia 97, 102 Genoa 41, 44, 140 Ghent 176–​177 Gibraltar 96 Great Hungary 120–​121 Greece 137 Grenada 166 Guipúzcoa 107 Harderwijk 67–​68, 74–​75 Holland 8, 70, 73–​74, 78, 83, 96 Holy Roman Empire 9, 44, 50, 144, 146, 159, 176–​177 Hoorn 96 Hungary 120–​121, 140–​141, 143 Iberian Peninsula 97 Ibiza 105 Ireland 199, 206 Italy 1, 38, 41–​42, 97, 147, 161, 169, 173

222  Jerez de la Frontera 99 Jerusalem 122, 127, 170 Kampen 67–​70, 74–​75, 77, 81 Kiev 125–​126 Köln 203 Kolozsvár 142, 143, 150 La Mata 105 Languedoc 199 Lebanon 4 Leipzig 142 Leulinghem 168 Levant 123 Liège 171 Lille 164 London 91, 107, 185, 199–​200, 202, 204–​206 Lübeck 65–​67, 73, 78–​82 Lund 68 Lyon 121, 124, 126, 174 Madrid 9, 91, 95, 100, 102–​105, 107, 109–​110, 199, 204–​205, 208–​209, 211 Málaga 97 Milan 42, 49–​51 Moldavia 141 Mongolian Empire 9, 127, 129, 131, 133 Mosul 123, 126 Munster 95 Muscovy 137, 140–​141, 144–​146, 148, 150–​153 Naples 97 Near East 132 Németi 140–​141 Nijmegen 67, 74–​75 Ottoman Empire 96, 112, 137, 145 Padua 42, 142, 147, 149–​151 Pannonia 120 Paris 126, 199–​201, 204, 208 Peking 10 Persia 123, 128, 130 Perugia 42, 121 Piedmont 53, 137 Pisa 41–​42 Poland 121, 124 Poland–​Lithuania 9–​10, 138, 140, 145–​149, 151

Index of Places Portugal 98, 105–​106, 201 Puerto Real 99 Punta de Araya 105 Rennes 164 Rome 45, 138–​139, 142, 145–​146, 149–​153 Rostock 65, 67–​68, 79 Rotterdam 96 Royal Hungary 139–​141, 143, 156 Rûm 123 Russia 10, 121, 124 Saint–​Omer 167 San Sebastián 97, 110, 205, 209–​ 210 Santoña 107 Scania 8, 13, 63–​68, 70–​76, 78–​83 Schouwen 70, 81 Setúbal 105 Seville 90, 94, 97, 99 Sicily 97 Skanør 64, 67–​68, 81 Skanør–​Falsterbo 69, 73–​74, 82 South Africa 4 Southern or Spanish Netherlands 98 Spain 8, 32–​33, 45, 89–​92, 97–​101, 103–​106, 108, 110–​111, 187, 189, 198–​203, 208–​209 St. Omers 65 Staveren 68, 72, 74–​78, 83 Stockholm 138 Suzdal 125 Sweden 137–​138, 143, 149–​150 Syria 123 Szatmár 140–​141, 143–​144 Tabriz 123 Tenerife 97, 102 The Hague 9, 106, 108–​110, 204 Tierra Firme 106 Tournai 168, 177 Transylvania 11, 137, 139–​143, 150 Travnegade 67 Trelleborg 68 Tripoli 129 Tubingen 142 United States of America 4, 20, 169 Valenciennes 65 Várad 143

223

Index of Places Venezuela 106 Venice 21, 41–​42, 49, 189 Vienna 91, 140, 147 Volga 120–​121 Voorne 72 Wallachia 141 West Africa 99 West Indies 97, 202

Westphalia 2 Wieringen 70, 81 Wittenberg 142 Zeeland 73, 96, 108 Zierikzee 13, 66, 68–​70, 72–​76, 81, 83 Zurich 175 Zutphen 67–​68, 74–​75 Zwolle 70, 75, 81