Even before the war in Europe ended formally on 8 May 1945, there could be no serious misconceptions—either among defeated and liberated peoples or among the victorious Allied powers—as to how complex the challenges of reconstructing physical infrastructure and social networks would be.1 This was particularly true in urban areas within what had been Germany's 1938 borders, where the impact of air raids had reduced many areas to rubble and had damaged the rail and road connections that supplied foodstuffs and other necessities. In Berlin and other cities, images of people clearing debris from lunar landscapes dominated the popular imagination in the late 1940s and over the following decades. Indeed, when images of immediate postwar reconstruction have been invoked, it would appear as if there existed a heroic, unbroken connection between the initiative of these largely female volunteers (Trümmerfrauen) and the economic miracle associated overwhelmingly with largely male labor in West Germany a decade later. If a remarkable preparedness to come to terms with the exigencies of the present manifested itself during the initial postwar months, historians have subsequently offered insights into how problematic a consistent and thorough confrontation with the Nazi past proved to be during the later 1940s and beyond.

Austrian historians owe Richard Rudolph, Nachum Gross, and David Good a great intellectual debt for their repeated attempts to apply quantitative methods to the study of intricate economic developments in the last century of the Habsburg monarchy. In his present paper, Rudolph gives us a résumé of the results thus far attained by the trio of scholars and broadens the scope of his own research somewhat by extending the period of investigation to include what Franklin Mendels has called the phase of “proto-industrialization.”

IN DECEMBER 1883, Habsburg political and military leaders met in crisis session to discuss the situation in Serbia. Serious rioting threatened to. topple the friendly government of Prince Milan Obrenović, which two and a half years earlier had concluded a secret agreement in Vienna that made the country a dependency of the Habsburg Monarchy. The Serbian war ministry had rushed troops from the large Belgrade garrison to the troubled areas and had placed the two battalions that remained in the capital on a war footing in an attempt to ensure continued calm. Alarmed by these drastic measures, an Austro-Hungarian crown council, although not obligated to do so under existing treaties with Belgrade, authorized the commitment of Habsburg military forces should unrest escalate to revolution in Serbia.

An Enthusiastic Group of Romanians gathered in Sibiu at the 1905 annualassembly of Astra, the largest Romanian cultural association in Transylvania, to celebrate their nation and their future. Moved by the gathering and the festivities, the editor of the association's paper, Transilvania, expressed a hope he and thousands of his compatriots shared: “Never before has this people been in a more favorable position as a superiorethnic element, as an important factor of civilization, and as a gifted nation with vitality, character, and great talents that guarantee it a bright future and a distinguished place among the peoples of eastern Europe.”1 Like many prominent Romanians of his time, the editor firmlybelieved that his nation would enjoy equal status with other European national groups in the near future. Equal standing had been a central goal of theRomanian intellectuals and clergy who founded the Transylvanian Associationfor Romanian Literature and the Culture of the Romanian People, or Astra, in 1861. Since the eighteenth century, Romanian elites in Transylvania had worked to obtain recognition for their national community so that they couldparticipate fully in the political life of the region. Two centuries later Astra members still hoped they were on the verge of forming a Romanian nation that could achieve the right to control its own destiny.

Scenes of deep national division, competition, and conflict dominate standard historical narratives about the Austro-Hungarian monarchy during the late nineteenth century and most of its successor states in the 1920s and 1930s. Nationalist political movements flourished in this multicultural environment as capitalist agricultural and industrial development encouraged popular social ambitions and resentments over inequalities, while the advance of modern civil society and constitutional government provided public space for political movements. After the 1860s, political parties committed to nationalist interests increasingly dominated middle-class politics, and by 1900 national loyalties created growing fissures even in the ostensibly international Social Democratic movement. Some of the most intense nationalist social and political competition developed in the Crownlands of Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia between Czech and German national interests. The Bohemian capital, Prague, became the stage for repeated mass nationalist demonstrations and rioting in the 1890s and after 1900 (see Figure 1).

Encompassing the final decades of Habsburg rule and the rise of modern culture, the cosmopolitan and Jewish Vienna of the fin de siècle was a despised locus in the Nazi historical imaginary. Vienna 1900 was a polyglot, multicultural city, a place where European Jewry had risen to unforeseen heights of economic prosperity and cultural influence; many Nazi ideologues, historians, and authors focused on the verjudet nature of late imperial Vienna. A variety of strategies were employed to distance the Nazi present from Vienna 1900; it was alternately suppressed and ignored, or deeply vilified. Yet the period was also inseparable from two figures celebrated in Nazi Vienna: Mayor Karl Lueger and artist Gustav Klimt. This article examines Nazi discourse on Vienna 1900, especially that originating from Viennese writers, ideologues, and political figures. Reflecting both scholarly and popular views, I examine academic texts, books for popular readers, films, and art exhibitions. After examining the perception and appropriation of Vienna 1900 between the years 1938 and 1945, I end by exploring its instrumentalization in a different context. In an ironic twist of history, the very period suppressed and derided in Nazi discourse would in turn be called upon, by the 1970s, to distract from the shadow of the Nazi era that still hung over the city.

During the years 1765–1767, there was serious peasant unrest in Transdanubian Hungary, a region where large estates owned by a few prominent families such as the Esterházy, Batthány, and Festetics were prevalent. Especially in Vas, Zala, and Somogy counties, located in western Hungary across the border from Styria, peasant inhabitants protested the growing demands for services and other payments placed upon them by landlords eager to increase the income produced by their lands. No uniform standards existed; both the size of peasant land holdings and the obligations attached to these holdings varied markedly, determined by various contracts or, more often, by custom.

Spanish bullfights have been organized twice in Hungary: in 1904 and 1924. Unlike in 1904, when the bullfights arrived in Budapest from Paris and were held with the city's urban tourism promotion interests in mind, the 1924 corrida was connected to the internationalization of Spanish bullfights through their support by fascist Italy, causing a domestic political imbroglio in Hungary due to competing political and business interests at home. At the same time, the bullfights represented another novelty in the field of transnational popular entertainment, whose different waves had continuously reached Budapest since the late nineteenth century. Focusing on the 1924 event, the article argues that the bullfights organized in Budapest that year need to be understood from the perspective of interactions between postwar European authoritarian cultural politics, the domestic political scene in Hungary, and Spanish attempts to turn the bullfights into a transnational spectacle rivaling the popularity of British football. Although the bullfights did not take root in Hungary, their organization in Budapest represents an important chapter in the global advance of twentieth-century popular culture, a historically informed understanding of the formation of which requires consideration not just of successful but also failed processes of cultural transfer.

The example of the Slovaks, next to the Ruthenians the weakest and least privileged people of the Danubian monarchy, is eminently fitted to the examination of Austria's ability to deal with the main problem of its modern political life, namely, that of the coexistence and possible reconciliation of its nationalities. One of the first to point out this fundamental issue for the continued existence of Austria with unusual clarity was František Palacký in his 1848 letter to the Vorparlament of the Frankfurt National Assembly. Far from being an expression of unreserved faith in the future of the monarchy, his memorable words on the necessity of the Habsburg state1 were dictated by political realism and foresight. Emphasizing the dangers of German nationalism and Russian imperialism, which he perhaps intentionally exaggerated,2 the Czech leader was fully aware of the political weakness of the small Slav nations who were only gradually establishing their national identity. It was for their sake that he gave a final expression to the policy of Austro-Slavism, seeking the salvation of the Austrian Slavs in the preservation of the monarchy. He endeavored, however, to give it a new raison d'être based on the creation of a common defensive system for its individual nationalities in which all were to be given “complete equality of rights and respect.” While sincere, Palacký's support of Austria was neither unconditional nor devoid of a strong element of doubt. The nationalist policies of the Austrian Germans and the rebellious Magyars, whose chauvinism was only thinly covered by a veneer of liberalism, caused him to moderate his opinion in regard to the ability of the Austrian rulers to change the empire into a federal and democratic state. Thus, at the end of his Frankfurt message Palacký expressed only the hope that the Habsburg monarchy would not miss the opportunity to change into a state based on principles of justice, which alone could save it from disintegration.

The Habsburg monarchy was never a major sea power, and for most of its four centuries of existence it had no substantial navy at all. Especially before the nineteenth century the history of Habsburg naval armaments, therefore, is of little interest to the military specialist and more significant as a footnote to the domestic political history of the monarchy. At no time was this more the case than during the reign of Maria Theresa (1740–1780). From a military point of view the naval projects of this period could furnish, at best, the plot of an opera buffa, but from an administrative and economic point of view they highlight some of the most fundamental problems of enlightened absolutism in Austria.

Nowadays employment in the civil service is often considered a well-nurtured, relatively well-paid position and a “safe” way to earn a living that is not overly stressful. In addition, a lucrative civil servant's pension is seen to ensure a leisurely retirement with medical insurance. However, this widespread assumption is based on misconceptions and obscures the reality of its conditions and circumstances. This article analyzes how the Habsburg state in the first half of the eighteenth century implemented modern concepts and ideas of social security and health in connection with public welfare and to support imperial officials. It focuses in particular on office-bearers employed in the Habsburg province Banat of Temeswar and their close relatives.

The typical dictator of the interwar period was, like Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini, already a convinced fascist or authoritarian when he first came to power. This was not the case in Austria, where Engelbert Dollfuß, the semifascist dictator of 1934, was seemingly a genuine democrat when he was appointed chancellor in May 1932. Even his appointment was accidental. Had the Social Democrats accepted Ignaz Seipel's and Karl Buresch's overtures in 1931 to join the Christian Socials in a coalition government, Dollfuß might never have become chancellor. And had they not rejected a second effort by Buresch in April 1932 and demanded new elections, democratic government in Austria would have been strengthened rather than weakened.

Whatever we call “treason”—Hochverrat, trahison, velezrada, veleizdaja, felségsértés—it has been a constant phenomenon in human history. The “traitor,” the individual who breaks a major bond of trust, has emerged in every era and is usually treated as a pariah in society. At the most significant treason trial of the late Habsburg monarchy, that of fifty-three Serbs in Zagreb in 1909, the main defense lawyer Hinko Hinković began his concluding speech with a typical legal adage: that treason was “the most loathsome thing” imaginable. Down the centuries, he said, humanity had singled out two types of traitors. First, there were those who betrayed God, best personified in Judas Iscariot. Second, there were traitors to the nation such as the Spartan Ephialtes who, according to Herodotus, fatally betrayed his homeland to the Persians at Thermopylae in 480 BCE. While both types were “repulsive and terrible,” Hinković quickly opined that the latter—the national traitor—was really the most terrible. However, with an eye on the Serbs he was defending, he added that some national treasons were not actually directed against the nation. For where national aspirations did not mesh with state aspirations, or where the state was not the same as the homeland (otačbina)—there, a deed that the state might consider treasonous could be viewed as a heroic, patriotic act by the nation. In other words, treason could be interpreted as liberation from oppression, and numerous examples might be cited in this regard from recent Habsburg history, not least the way that the Magyars were now able to celebrate and memorialize the traitor-liberator Lajos Kossuth.