Michael the Brave, savior of Europe?
The history of Romania as a concrete country is generally assumed to have started with the Romanian, or Danubian, principalities, similarly to how the history of Russia as a concrete country starts with Muscovy. Both of these histories are of late medieval origin, having come into being in the wake of the Mongol invasions of Europe. In both comparable cases, however, the concrete starting point is not the same as the ethnologically related spiritual precursor from which the original states derived their patronage. In the case of Russia, the spiritual precursor was the Kievan Rus’, which was situated in present-day Ukraine. For the Romanian principalities, it was the Latin-speaking element of Constantinople, which originally ruled that city. That their patronage originated in Constantinople would be a crucial, if now overlooked, starting point for the princes of Moldavia and Wallachia – and their enemies.[1] [2]
For example, Mehmed II “the Conquerer” opposed the semi-autonomy of the Romanian principalities as vassals of the Ottoman Empire. As long as Wallachia and Moldavia still stood as states in the 1400s, Mehmed’s work in overrunning Constantinople was incomplete. This is why he unsuccessfully sought to crush the principalities with armies larger than the one he had used to conquer Constantinople.[2] [3] Stephen the Great of Moldavia did not really see himself as a crusader against Islam, but he earned that reputation by handing Mehmed the worst defeat the Turks had yet seen in 1475.
Officially, the principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia both, in early modern times, held the status of what is known in traditional Islamic international law as a “house of peace” – which is neither a “house of Islam,” in the sense that either Islamic countries or thoroughly conquered areas like Bulgaria and Greece were, nor classified as an enemy “house of war.” The Ottomans only had control of port cities on the northern bank of the Danube or the coasts of the Black Sea, not firm control of the land, as in the countries south of the Danube.
The principalities were not considered outright Ottoman territory until the beginning of the eighteenth century. By then, the Ottomans, hoping to pacify a geopolitically ambiguous region that had caused them so much trouble, installed a dynasty of initially pro-Turkish Greek rulers called the Phanariots as puppet princes in the Romanian principalities. Before the Phanariot rule, no mosques (nor synagogues) could be legally built in the principalities unless the Prince himself made an exception, and the Romanian principalities were never allowed to be sources of janissary conscription. Wars between the principalities and the Turks had occasionally erupted when these terms were violated.
It should be noted that Habsburg Austria officially held the same status for decades. After the Ottoman Empire overran the Kingdom of Hungary (1526), Ottoman forces unsuccessfully besieged Vienna (1529). For the remainder of the sixteenth century, these two powers would be at war. Habsburg Austria, embroiled in other power struggles in Europe, would be content with appeasing the Turks, paying the Porte to leave Vienna alone whenever possible. This limited the struggles between the Habsburgs and the Ottomans to battles and skirmishes on the disputed Hungarian frontier for decades after 1529, but it also left Austria in an uncomfortable state of vassalage. The Turks continued to reject the Habsburg Emperors’ preferred title, “Emperors of Rome.”
“In previous centuries,” noted the German jurist and philosopher Carl Schmitt, “a controversy existed between the German kaiser (and king of Hungary) and the Turkish sultan on the question of whether the payments made by the kaiser to the sultan were in the nature of a ‘pension’ or a ‘tribute’. The debtor stressed that he did not pay ‘tribute’ but ‘pension’, whereas the creditor considered it to be ‘tribute’.”[3] [4]
The issue Schmitt refers to here is that Austria was technically an Ottoman vassal from the first siege of Vienna in 1529 up until the conclusion of the Long War in 1606, when the Ottomans humiliatingly agreed to address the Habsburgs as “Emperors of Rome.” This undermined the entire Ottoman mission since Mehmed II in the fifteenth century, which had been to conquer and destroy any state that claimed patronage from Rome. However, the amount of money paid to the Turks to leave Vienna alone actually increased in return for this Habsburg political victory, even as it was discredited as true tribute money. This contradiction wouldn’t be resolved until after the 1683 second siege of Vienna, or Battle of Vienna. Thus, the misnomer “Ottoman rule” does not apply all that much more, as a legal status, to the pre-eighteenth century Romanian principalities than it does to Austria at one point — though the Ottoman vassalage had always been much more directly felt in the principalities.
Michael the Brave (1558-1601) attempted to do away with Wallachia’s vassal status altogether and turn it into an empire. This Wallachian prince was, as Hans Corneel de Roos has shown, the main historical basis of Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula – when the villainous vampire was still alive.[4] [5] De Roos’ research, even more than earlier arguments by Elizabeth Miller, has displaced the claim of Raymond T. McNally and Radu R. Florescu that Stoker based his character on Vlad Țepeș.
Interestingly, McNally and Florescu themselves, in Dracula, Prince of Many Faces: His Life and His Times, note that a certain character mentioned by the Count appears to be based on Michael the Brave.[5] [6] What they do not mention is one important detail it simply takes a careful reading of Stoker’s book to understand – namely, that the Count is speaking in the third person about himself in life.[6] [7]
In the Count’s recollection in the third chapter of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the nostalgic rant that Jonathan Harker calls “the story of his race,” Dracula describes an ancestor of his, whom Stoker did indeed base on Vlad Țepeș. Stoker, as De Roos has shown, confused Vlad Țepeș, or Vlad Dracula, with his father (and Michael the Brave’s ancestor), Vlad Dracul. In making this mistake, Stoker appears to have reflected his source, William Wilkinson’s 1820 book Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia with Political Observations Relative to Them. Stoker, again like his source, knew more about Michael the Brave than Vlad Țepeș.[7] [8]
This shouldn’t surprise us. After all, Vlad Țepeș was a late-medieval, pre-Columbian historical figure, while Michael the Brave was a figure from what Anglophone historiography remembers as the Elizabethan era. Michael the Brave, a relative of Vlad Țepeș and a more successful military strategist, was more often written about in English than his predecessor until the twentieth century. There is reason to suspect that Prince Michael was written about in Britain at the time.
In Writing the Ottomans: Turkish History in Early Modern England, Anders Ingram writes, “The years of the Ottoman–Hapsburg ‘Long War’ of 1593–1606 brought an unprecedented flood of English publishing on the Turks. A substantial portion of this material either directly describes, or explicitly refers to, the events of this conflict.” During this time – which was also the age in which the plays of Christopher Marlowe, which likewise display a keen interest in the Ottoman Wars, revolutionized English literature – England’s “contemporary news market was dominated by foreign news, or reports of English involvement on the continent, rather than domestic affairs.”[8] [9]
Michael the Brave was a central figure of the Long War. Although not mentioned in Ingram’s study, it would be an interesting task to determine whether and to what extent the Wallachian prince is mentioned in any of “the fifty-four [English] items on the topic of the Turks recorded in the years 1591 to 1610,” of which “twenty-two relate either directly to the Long War, the state of Hungary, or Ottoman–Habsburg conflict, while numerous others allude to contemporary events.”[9] [10] Considering Prince Michael’s outstanding role in the Long War, it would be more surprising to come up empty-handed in this endeavor than to see this question answered in the affirmative. During the Long War, until his 1601 assassination, he was both an accomplished military commander and a controversial political leader.
A 1901 article called “THE JEWS OF ROUMANIA FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT DAY,” published by the American Jewish Committee, offers a glimpse into what led Prince Michael to reject the status quo in Wallachia’s relations with the Ottoman Empire. The study explains:
With the sixteenth century came new immigrations, composed of Polish and Turkish Jews . . . This was exactly at the time when the Jews of Turkey began to play an important rôle in the State and to gain diplomatic influence at the court, in the harems, and with the pashas and the grand viziers; and the princes of Moldavia and Wallachia turned to these influential Jews to obtain the throne or to strengthen themselves in possession. Commerce with Turkey was extended, and the Jews of Constantinople and other places frequently visited the principalities. Many established themselves there permanently. But the situation of the Jews varied with the prince, and depended upon the favor which he obtained from an influential Jew or Jewess at Constantinople.[10] [11]
Before Michael the Brave came to the Wallachian throne in 1593, he had worked this corrupt system like any other ambitious contender. Upon his rise to power, however, the moneylenders who had expected to control him were fatally disappointed. The above-mentioned Jewish source notes:
In 1594 Michael the Brave of Wallachia assembled his creditors, Turks, Greeks, and Jews, and had them all massacred; and he then informed certain individuals that they would all be released from their debts. This was the signal for a general slaughter of Turks and Jews. The entire community of Bukharest [sic] perished.
Thus began the first stage of an anti-Ottoman crusade in which Michael and the allied Moldavians “massacred the Jews wherever their armies passed . . .”[11] [12]
The final decade of the sixteenth century in Eastern Europe has been described as “the time when the fierce sword blows of the crusader Michael were striking against the Turks along the Danube,”[12] [13] and even far beyond the Danube, pushing as far south as Adrianople (today’s Erdine, Turkey). It was thus that Mina Harker could say of Count Dracula in life that he “won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkeyland.”[13] [14]
Michael the Brave, later feeling betrayed by his Hungarian allies, the Báthory princes of Transylvania, turned his attention northward and controversially conquered that Hungarian-ruled principality, with the help of the Hungarian-speaking Szeklers. His conquest of Moldavia in the northeast was similarly based on betrayal by a formerly allied principality. It was in Moldavia that he would recruit many Polish-registered Cossacks, who settled there.
Making quite a few enemies from Turkey to Central Europe, from the Jews to the Porte to the papacy, Michael was assassinated in 1601 by an Albanian-Italian mercenary general named Giorgio Basta. According to one historian of Hungary, Austria, and Slovakia during the Long War, Basta later “likely accompanied the Pope, both in a ceremonial and protective capacity,” and probably “served as an emissary to the Papal entourage” as well.[14] [15] Basta’s subsequent iron-fisted rule over Transylvania led to revolts among the Hungarian nobles and the Christian side of the Long War was then reduced to the defensive, freeing Austria from official Ottoman vassalage at a high price by 1606.
However, the Ottoman Empire still had to defend itself from the network of Cossack raiders that Michael had helped build throughout the principalities, especially in Moldavia, by enthusiastically using Cossacks in his armies. Some of these Cossacks were also registered in Poland’s army, and accordingly they dragged Poland into wars with the Turks. This would be a problem for the Porte for the duration of the infamous Thirty Years’ War in Europe (1618-1648), when the Turkish sultans had to deal with constant Cossack raids and a rebellious janissary corps – and were thus unable to take advantage of the Thirty Years’ War and strike at Vienna. In Polish historiography, this period is known as the Moldavian Magnate Wars.
By the time they belatedly and unsuccessfully besieged Vienna in 1683, the Turks faced a new, rationalistic system of Western international law. On both sides of the English Channel, this new system of thinking about foreign affairs had been built in response to the seventeenth century’s bloody sectarian fighting within Continental Europe and in the British Isles. In this cold new order, the Ottoman rule of Hungary had no place, and the former Kingdom of Hungary was wrested from Ottoman hands by the end of that century. Thus began the two centuries of the receding of the Ottoman holdings in Southeastern Europe.
By this time, so much blood had been spilled that Michael the Brave was largely forgotten as one of the chief instigators of the Christian reconquest of Southeastern Europe on land, following the Ottoman Empire’s defeat at sea in the Battle of Lepanto (1571). In Romania, he is mostly remembered for uniting Transylvania with Wallachia and Moldavia for a brief time. His dream of a pan-Christian empire stretching from the Carpathians to the Mediterranean Sea, Orthodox in character but tolerant of Protestants and Catholics, had died with him. But it was an ideal that helped turn the tide of history in its time.
Notes
[1] [16] For the best English introduction to early Romanian history and ethnology, see A. K. Brackob, Mircea the Old: Father of Wallachia, Grandfather of Dracula (Buffalo, N.Y.: The Center for Romanian Studies, Histria Books, 2018).
[2] [17] The remarks in this essay about Ottoman war aims in relation to the principalities’ original patronage were inspired by the author’s conversations with Romanian historian Fr. Dr. Mihai-Andrei Aldea. He is the author of several published and upcoming books in Romanian.
[3] [18] Carl Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, tr. George Schwab (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007).
[4] [19] Hans Corneel De Roos, “Count Dracula’s Address and Lifetime Identity,” collected in Marius-Mircea Crișan (ed.), Dracula: An International Perspective (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), pp. 95-118.
[5] [20] Radu R. Florescu & Raymond T. McNally, Dracula, Prince of Many Faces: His Life and His Times (Boston: Back Bay Books, 1989), p. 11 & 231.
[6] [21] Bram Stoker, Dracula (London: Constable & Co., 1987), chapters 3 & 18.
[7] [22] Hans Corneel De Roos, ““Bram Stoker’s Vampire Trap – Vlad the Impaler and his Nameless Double,” Linköping Electronic Articles in Computer and Information Science 14 (2012), no. 2.
[8] [23] Anders Ingram, Writing the Ottomans: Turkish History in Early Modern England (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), p. 37.
[9] [24] Ibid, p. 37 (Note: The discrepancy in the spelling of “Habsburgs” is in Ingram’s original).
[10] [25] E. Schwarzfeld, “THE JEWS OF ROUMANIA FROM THE EARILIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT DAY,” The American Jewish Year Book, Vol. 3, pp. 25-62, published by the American Jewish Committee.
[11] [26] Ibid.
[12] [27] Nicolae Iorga, tr. Laura Treptow, Byzantium After Byzantium (Portland, Or.: The Center for Romanian Studies in cooperation with the Romanian Institute of International Studies, 2000).
[13] [28] Bram Stoker, Dracula, Chapter 18.
[14] [29] Kimberly L. Craft, Infamous Lady: The True Story of Countess Erzsébet Báthory, 2nd ed. (South Charleston, S.C.: CreateSpace, 2014), p. 120.
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From this period until his definitive move to France (1941), Cioran would constantly ideologize his discourse, fight against pacifism as well as skepticism, and promote the fanaticization of the masses and the resort to violence in order to destroy critical thought – convinced of having discovered in Hitlerism a model dictatorship to be urgently imported into his own country. He also sought – with force, lyricism, and aggressiveness – to put before his compatriots the following choice: a mission or despair; the birth of a history or rotting in time’s ash-heap; the transfiguring leap or death . . . He wrote in the February 4, 1934 columns of Vremea:
Growing up in France, I was never attracted to Emil Cioran’s nihilist and pessimistic aesthetic as a writer. Cioran was sometimes presented to us as unflinchingly realistic, as expressing something very deep and true, but too dark to be comfortable with. I recently had the opportunity to read his De l’inconvénient d’être né (On the Trouble with Being Born) and feel I can say something of the man.
As literally an apatride metic (he would lose his Romanian citizenship in 1946), Cioran, then, did not have much of a choice if he wished to exist a bit in postwar French intellectual life, which went from the fashionable Marxoid Jean-Paul Sartre on the left to the Jewish liberal-conservative Raymond Aron on the right. (I actually would speak highly of Aron’s work on modernity as measured, realistic, and empirical, quite refreshing as far as French writers go. Furthermore he was quite aware of Western decadence and made a convincing case for 
My initial response to De l’inconvénient was annoyance that it had been written (I can quite understand 
Dès 1857, la Valachie parvient à stabiliser une production de pétrole de 250 tonnes. C’est évidemment très modeste. En comparaison, la Russie produit 1863 t et, juste derrière elle, les Etats-Unis en produisent 1859. La même année, Bucarest devient la première ville au monde à avoir un éclairage public grâce à des lanternes au pétrole. L’inventeur de la lampe à pétrole est, dit-on, le pharmacien Ignaz Lukasiewicz, natif de Polanka en Galicie occidentale. Ce maître en sciences pharmaceutiques construisit en 1850 un récipient de cuivre, dans lequel il épure et distille le pétrole brut et l’amène à la combustion. 
L’opération « Tidal Wave » du dimanche 1 août 1943 s’est avérée un fiasco complet pour les 178 bombardiers américains de la 9ième Flotte aérienne, partis de Benghazi en Libye. Une partie des escadres s’égare en direction de Bucarest. Les appareils sont repérés très rapidement, si bien qu’ils perdent l’effet de surprise sur lequel ils comptaient.
R.R.: Cioran’s first book to be published in Italy was Squartamento (Drawn and quartered) launched by Adelphi in 1981, even though some other titles had already been published in the previous decade by right-wing publishing houses, even if they had not had much repercussion. It was precisely thanks to Adelphi, and to Ceronetti’s wonderful introduction, that the name of Cioran became well-known to the Italian readers. Roberto Calasso is a great cultural player, but he is a rather arrogant person and, I must say, ungallant as well. My encounters with Cioran and Severino, two giants of thought, allowed me to understand how the true greatness is always accompanied by genuine humbleness a gentleness. Virtues which Calasso, in my opinion, lacks – and I say so based on the personal experience I have had with him in more than one occasion. Unfortunately, Volpi left us too early due to a banal accident while riding his bicycle on the Venetian hills (northeast of Italy), not far away from where I live. His intelligence illuminated us for a long a time. In 2002, he wrote a piece on Friedgard Thoma‘s book, Per nulla al mondo, releasing himself once and for all from the choir of censors, who had soon made their apparition. I enjoy recalling this marvellous passage: “Under the influence of passion, Cioran reveals himself. He jeopardizes everything in order to win the game, reveals innermost dimensions of his psyche, surprising features of his character… Attracted by the challenge of the eternal feminine, he allows secret depths of his thought to come to surface: a denuded thought before the feminine look which penetrates him…”
R.R.: My book undertakes a theoretical exegesis of Cioran’s thought so as to evince how the problem of Time is the basis for all his meditation. The connective “and” of the title becomes the supporting verb for the thesis I intend to sustain: Time is Destiny. The curse of existence is that of being “incarcerated” in the linearity of time, which stems from a paradisiacal, pre-temporal past, toward a destiny of death and decay. It is, to sum up, a tragic worldview of Greek origin embedded in a Judeo-Christian conception, though deprived of all éscathon. But can we be sure that Cioran dismisses each and every form of salvation? There are two polarities which communicate in my book: Severino’s absolute eternity and Cioran’s explicit nihilism. From Severino’s point of view, one might as well define Cioran’s thought as the becoming aware of nihilism inherent to the Western conception of Time. And in Cioran’s mystical temptation, on the other hand, one may find a sentimental perception of Being which seems to point to the need, the urge, the hope, so to speak, for an overcoming of Western hermeneutics of Becoming and for an ulterior word that is not Negation. The book starts with an account of my three encounters with Aurel, Cioran’s brother, in the years of 1987, 1991 and 1995, and of my two encounters with Emil, in 1988 and 1989. The book also includes all the letters which Cioran wrote to me, plus countless photographs. After the first part, there comes a bio-bibliographical inquiry on his Romanian years, a pioneer work of exhumation at a time when there were no reliable sources on the matter.
Third, the attempt to resurrect the conflict in Transnistria fully fits into the US policy of creating problems for Russia wherever possible, forcing Moscow to spread its forces, attention and resources thin on the ground so that it ultimately becomes overstretched and is unable to pursue an independent foreign policy.
Par son renoncement hypnotique à l'égard de tout ce qui séduit l'intellect ou la 
Pero más recientemente todavía y con motivo de la publicación consecutiva de las Memorias de Eliade, la perspectiva sobre la irradiación guenoniana se ha ampliado y así hemos tenido la oportunidad de leer un erudito artículo del estudioso italiano Cristiano Grottanelli, bajo el acápite de «Mircea Eliade, Carl Schmitt, René Guénon, 1942», en la Revue de l’Histoire des Religions Tome 219, fascículo 3, julio-septiembre 2002, pp. 325-356, que arroja nuevas luces y sombras sobre la cuestión claramente anticipada en el título y que amplia el panorama con la mención del gran jurista y experto en derecho internacional, Carl Schmitt, tan apreciado en los comienzos de los años 30 por el régimen nacionalsocialista, como posteriormente repudiado tanto por la SS y el nazismo que representaban, como por sus vencedores aliados.
En vísperas de Navidad del mismo año Eliade recibió Tierra y mar de parte de Schmitt, y Goruneanu le informa que el número 3 de Zalmoxis que había enviado a Schmitt lo acompañaba a Jünger en su mochila. Y esta triple relación de personas, directa, en un caso, e indirecta en el otro – por medio de la revista Zalmoxis-, se repite en 1944 y posteriormente. El primer caso se concretó por un nuevo encuentro de Schmitt -quien consideraba a Guénon: “El hombre más interesante de su tiempo” según señala Eliade en Fragmentos de Diario- con éste en Lisboa. En la visita de 1942, conjetura Grottanelli, de acuerdo con los testimonios de una simpatía recíproca de ambos personajes sobre Guénon, conversarían sobre él posiblemente no sólo como maestro sino también como teórico de la Tradición. El segundo encuentro a que nos hemos referido de Jürgen y Eliade y que nos interesa menos en este trabajo, llevó a que un tiempo después Jünger y Eliade dirigieran la revista Antaios.
Nuevamente en este texto transparente están reunidas por Eliade las dos puntas de su posición de aceptación y crítica en relación con Guénon y otros autores vecinos por las ideas: simbolismo e ideas tradicionales garantizadores de la universalidad de las creencias sagradas como fondo organizador, pero a partir de la investigación científica. El reunir y avecinar documentos no es erudición positivista ni vacía, sino que en el allegamiento surgen ante la mente sensible y perspicaz a los fenómenos aproximadamente las ideas y principios transcendentes que subyacen. Las hierofanías, como manifestaciones de lo sagrado, revelan uniones o integraciones mediadoras que ligan a los contrarios –lo profano y lo sagrado- con equilibrio, lo organizan en sistemas estructurales en el lenguaje del símbolo y del mito, y permiten al alma religiosa arcaica y actual ascender a los orígenes constitutivos. No hay una diferencia insalvable acerca del reconocimiento del fondo espiritual entre Eliade y Guénon, sí lo hay en cuanto al método de acceso. Firmeza de la tradición y de la iniciación en cuanto a Guénon, ingreso por el reconocimiento de los fenómenos sagrados reflejados en la conciencia que cada vez exigen mayor comprensión, para Mircea Eliade. Guénon aspira a romper con lo profano para tener acceso no reflejo, sino directo a lo sagrado; Eliade, se sumerge en la dialéctica de lo sagrado y lo profano que acompaña a la vida del cosmos y la sociedad. Lo primero da una existencia digna de iniciados; lo segundo, de hombres en el mundo vitalmente sacro, que eligen diferentes destinos.
(2007) is Francis Ford Coppola’s stunning film adaptation of a 
by 
by Osvaldo Golijov (who describes himself as an East European Jew born in Argentina) is in the lush, late Romantic idiom, although it avails itself of Oriental and “modernist” styles when the film requires it.
Sono innumerevoli gli autori relegati nel limbo dell’editoria, un po’ perché le loro tesi sono considerate politicamente scorrette, dalla massa degli utili idioti che popolano il mondo della critica letteraria, un po’ perché questi scrittori vengono sempre etichettati come impresentabili, a causa dei loro percorsi esistenziali che non corrispondono al cliché dell’intellettuale “democratico”. Fra i dannati della letteratura, un posto di primo piano lo occupa sicuramente Vintila Horia, il déraciné per eccellenza.