Engelbert Dollfuss has not been enshrined in history as a popular political figure. The National Socialists vilified him as a Satanic evildoer who embodied everything they hated. Dollfuß's widow and two children found it imperative to flee to Switzerland immediately after the Anschluss and eventually went to Canada, where Mrs. Dollfuß and their daughter remained until 1956. Their son still lives there.

From the mid-1890s, Habsburg Austria began to follow European trends and experienced a gradual democratization of voting rights, which involved not only an expansion of the electorate but also an innovation of procedures that attempted to modernize elections. In this context, the article calls for a more systematic study of voting practices and attempts to point at some issues that have thus far received insufficient analysis. These include not only the occasional massive violent conflicts at elections that could accompany democratization until World War I but also the presence of women as voters at local and diet elections and the gradual introduction of polling booths. Measures such as allowing single women to cast their vote personally in a few crownlands or attempting to guard the secrecy of the vote suggest the level of experimentation in this period. The state's objective of orderly, “modern” elections is particularly called into question when we consider the extent to which government agents, including policemen and the army, were involved in election conflicts that resulted in fraud and sometimes bloodshed.

In October 1915, in the middle of World War I, the chief of staff of the Royal and Imperial Army, Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf, consulted the authorities on a private matter. While “the fatherland was fighting a bloody battle for its very existence, and the army and people were turning to their generals full of alarm,” the general was contemplating marriage. However, Austrian marriage laws stood in the way of his plans. Virginia (Gina) Agujari, Conrad's “chosen one,” had since 1896 been in a Catholic marriage with the industrialist Hans von Reininghaus.

On 4 October 1948, József Cardinal Mindszenty preached a sermon for the rosary feast in front of 35,000 Catholic faithful. He began by reminding his congregation of the origins of the feast day that they were celebrating: the victory of Europe's Christian states over the Ottoman Turkish fleet at the naval battle of Lepanto in 1571. This great victory in the struggle of universal Christendom against the infidel enemy recalled to Mindszenty a second, more particularly Hungarian parallel: the victory of Habsburg forces over the Ottoman Turkish enemy at the battle of Temesvár in 1716. “Hungarian history recalls too such a rosary victory—the Hungarian Christians won it over the Turks in 1716 at Temesvár.” Both military victories represented moments when Europeans had repelled a force seen at the time, and ever after, as hostile to Christian civilization.

Thirty years ago, R. J. W. Evans, in the preface to his influential work, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 1550–1700, outlined what he saw as needed in the study of this complex subject. The three themes to which he pointed and then addressed in the 450 packed pages that followed were: “a consistent account of the Central European Counter Reformation,” “a balanced view of the Monarchy as a whole,” and “an understanding of intellectual evolution from the Renaissance to the Baroque.” Over the last three decades, numerous historians have taken Evans's lead and contributed to a deeper and more variegated image of the histories of the lands of the Central European Habsburgs. Pieces by five of these historians comprise the forum under discussion here.

Historians usually portray the Congress of Vienna in a European frame—and rightly so. The actors and the diplomatic flashpoints spanned the European continent, and the negotiations began before and continued after the Congress. The rulers and statesmen had already started parleying and planning the reconstruction of Europe as they followed behind the armies in the campaigns of 1813–1814, a process that continued while making peace with France in Paris in the spring of 1814, and amid the mixed celebrations and conversations during their visit to London that summer. Even the Congress, successful as it generally was, did not clear all the outstanding issues, which instead carried over into the discussions surrounding the Second Peace of Paris after Napoleon's renewed defeat at Waterloo in 1815 and into the ambassadors' conferences in Paris and London in succeeding years. Yet, there were good reasons why Vienna was selected as the venue for the main round of celebrations and negotiations in autumn 1814, and the location did help shape both the Congress and its diplomatic outcomes. Less often treated as a subject in its own right, however, is the question of what the Vienna Congress meant for and revealed about the history of the Habsburg monarchy, in European context to be sure, but with the focus on Austrian politics and society rather than on their contribution to the European narrative.

Center and periphery are popular concepts to describe geographical, political, or economic power relations. Both are mostly perceived as strict and mutually exclusive categories. This article examines a Galician border town whose history illustrates the complexities of conceptualizing center and periphery relations. At first glance, nineteenth-century Brody (in today's Ukraine) would seem to qualify as a peripheral town located on the Galician border between the Austro-Hungarian and Russian Empires. An analysis of this city under Habsburg rule (1772–1918), however, shows us that during that period it constituted both an important center and a declining periphery, not only consecutively, but also simultaneously. Its situation on the country's physical and political periphery did not harm Brody's central role in Europe's East-West trade until the first twenty years of the nineteenth century. Only in later decades did the city lose its place within a modernizing commercial system, and eventually it declined in importance. If we leave aside the economic aspect and take a closer look at Brody's mostly Jewish inhabitants, we see that for centuries this city functioned as an important center for Eastern and Central European Jewry. Even though the town's centrality for Jewish history also changed over time, Brody nevertheless kept its place on Jewish mental maps, whether as a center of religious learning, as a pioneering site of political emancipation, or as a safe haven for Jewish refugees.

In the course of the twentieth century, two years stand out as symbolic turning points in the historical evolution of Europe as well as of much of the rest of the world. Those years are 1918 and 1989. The first marked the end of World War I and the beginnings of the political reconstruction of Europe and the Middle East. The second marked the end of totalitarian-like communist rule throughout half the European continent and the rest of Soviet political space stretching across northern Asia to the coasts of the Pacific Ocean.

Over the past few decades, Austria's specific position among other European countries has been seen from ever-changing viewpoints. In the 1970s and early 1980s, neutrality and corporatism, more than any other factors, created an academic and political interest in contemporary Austria. Neutrality and corporatism were seen as qualities linked to Austria due to its geopolitical status as well as its status as a smaller country.

In 1996, Austria will celebrate its millennium. As in many other cases, the chronological justifications for the anniversary are open to question. Austria has never been “founded,” and certainly not one thousand years ago; its independence is the result of a process that took centuries and cannot be symbolized by a date like July 4 in the United States. Austria's national holiday, October 26, marks the date in 1955 when the Austrian parliament voted permanent neutrality and the last of the Allied occupation troops left the country. Nobody, it is true, would doubt that Austria's history stretches back considerably before 1955, 1945 (the foundation of the Second Republic), 1918 (the birth of the First), or even 1804 (when the Habsburg emperor Francis I declared himself emperor of Austria after the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire). Nothing comparable happened in 996. In a charter dated November 1, 996, Emperor Otto III granted some land at Neuhofen, in the west of the modern province of Lower Austria, to the bishop of Freising. Even the exact date of the charter—whose original has survived—has not always been accepted, for the seal it carries was Henry II's, whose reign began in 1002. Recently, some scholars have even tried to prove, although not very successfully, that it was a forgery.

This article considers responses to Habsburg persecution of Protestants in Hungary during the 1670s. Focusing on the Reformed church, it will first assess how long-established contacts with Reformed co-religionists in northwestern Europe came to provide support for Hungarians in the face of violent state repression. This will concentrate in particular on the trial and imprisonment of Protestant clergy after 1674 and on the liberation of one group of ministers in 1676, thanks to Dutch intervention. It will then consider the diverse ways in which Habsburg persecution of Hungarian Protestants was represented in the Dutch Republic, England, France, and in Hungary, and what this reveals about the international Reformed community toward the end of the confessional age. It will then assess the role of persistent but shifting memories of this era of martyrs and liberators in the later development of Hungarian Reformed identity.

Threevery fine papers deal with the Ottoman menace as metaphor in what we now designate as the post-Habsburg period, that discreet time span between the closing decades of the nineteenth century and World War II, with some forays into the contemporary period. In all three papers, the Ottoman (or the Turk, as was the current usage) served as a foil for contemporary grievances. It is not really the “Ottoman menace” they are dealing with, but, accordingly, the communist, socialist, working-class, Jewish, Serbian, or other “menaces” that are additionally demonized by introducing the analogy to a well-known and popular symbol. In the apt observation of the Austrian playwright J. P. Ostland, quoted by Maureen Healy, this was the present packaged as the past. It needs to be stressed that even the phrase “Ottoman menace” is a neologism form the post-World War II period, when scholarly works insisted correctly on a distinction between “Ottoman” as an imperial designator and “Turk” as an ethnic and later a national one. Although this distinction is justified for analytical purposes, it introduces a tinge of anachronism that belies one of the primary goals of history writing.

The Articles By David Sorkin and Edmund Kern have a common starting point. Both address aspects of the reform movement that unfolded in the Habsburg lands under Maria Theresa. They underline an argument made by much recent work on the subject that the movement in question, though committed to substantial changes in the social and cultural fabric, was fundamentally Catholic in its inspiration and only loosely and partially aligned with either the great intellectual challenge of the Enlightenment or the fuller and later program of reconstruction that has come to be known in the Austrian context as Josephinism. Both writers acknowledge the powerful contributory stimulus from abroad to the new climate of ideas generated in the monarchy by the travails of the mid-eighteenth century, but submit that those ideas besically arose out of a domestic evolution, especially within ecclesiastical circles.

The endless and frequently meaningless disputes involving the contribution of one or another nationality group to the maintenance or dissolution of the Habsburg monarchy have obscured the essential question: was the multinational empire viable? Different answers have been provided, usually on the basis of the historian's individual national prejudices, whether Hungarian, Yugoslav, Polish, Ruthenian, Italian, or Rumanian. The ranks of the disputants have been swelled by “volunteers” of non-East European origin ever ready to champion, on sentimental or ideological rather than historical grounds, whatever causes may have been appealing at a given time.

Histories of dynastic empires frequently add up to studies of power, its attributes, and its expressions. Much attention is paid to how skillfully sovereign families turned to their advantage control of far-flung territorial holdings, their political and legal institutions, and fiscal resources, credit included. Military superiority, diplomatic ingenuity, variants of cultural hegemony, and cultivation of good public relations are usually part of the story as well, along with opportunism and sheer ruthlessness. All these considerations had roles in the story of the rise of the sixteenth-century Habsburg House of Austria to global eminence. By 1550, the totality of their patrimony would stretch from east central Europe to Spain, the Netherlands, the Americas, and the maritime fringes of Asia.

Austria's status of neutrality contended with crises almost immediately after its founding along with the 1955 State Treaty. First, during the Soviet invasion of Hungary in October 1956, Austrian neutrality faced the threat of conflict when Soviet-Hungarian clashes spilled over into Austria. Then, in July 1958, Austrian neutrality contended with more benign, but nonetheless disturbing, provocations from the Cold War's Western superpower, the United States. As U.S. military planes transited Austria in broad daylight on their way to Lebanon, the cozy, covert Austro-American relationship became all too overt. Although many Austrians believed neutrality would end foreign (particularly Soviet) domination and would ensure an ultimate withdrawal from global upheavals, these events showed that neutrality by itself could not remove the strategic implications inherent in Austria's position in Cold War Central Europe. Indeed, partisan strategic calculations in both East and West had played a significant role in creating Austrian neutrality. As a result, preserving both Austria's neutrality and its links to the West required delicate maneuvering by a small, poorly defended country amid Cold War crosscurrents of Eastern threats and Western sympathies. Already in its early years, Austrian neutrality proved to be less of the holiday from history that many Austrians expected during the festive mood of May 1955.

After a long period of neglect, the Austrian Military Frontiers have once again aroused the interest of historians. This article is based on the assumption that, because of the new interest, the reader will be familiar with the frontiers' basic organizational features. Presumably it is well known that the inhabitants of the border area between the Austrian and Turkish empires were subject to military conscription and that because of their unique role their living conditions were better than those of the Hungarian serfs.

In 1960, Robert A. Kann pointed out in A Study in Austrian Intellectual History: From Late Baroque to Romanticism that “[h]istorians of the future will still have to meet the challenging task of writing the comprehensive German-Austrian intellectual history.” The value of the project Kann called for is generally acknowledged, but there is no clear agreement in the field about what a survey of German-Austrian intellectual history should look like. In 2007, I argued in an article for The Austrian History Yearbook that the scope of Austrian intellectual history still needs to be circumscribed and characterized adequately—geographically, linguistically, and comparatively. Rather than concentrating on Vienna or extending the field to the whole of the Habsburg monarchy, including Hungary and Galicia, I proposed that we concentrate our approach to this question on the historic core of the Austrian state: the Austrian and Bohemian Crownlands, a unity from at least 1749 to 1918. This was the region where state-building, centralization, and reform were most coherently pursued in the century after 1749, when the German language was dominant in education and public life. I contrasted this view to the disembodied approach to the German intellectual life of the entire Habsburg monarchy, which relies on conventions that were developed for dynastic and diplomatic history, conventions that also work quite well for economic history or even for cultural history, neither of which is so directly dependent on language. The region I have in mind is the southeastern part of the German Confederation that was included in the Frankfurt Parliament in 1848 but excluded from Bismarck's Germany in 1866. The very existence of this region, let alone its long and rich history since the Middle Ages, often gets lost in political narratives of German nationalism and the Habsburg monarchy (Figure 1).