Between 1584 and 1588, the Florentine merchant Filippo Sassetti sent a whole sequence of letters from India to his friends and the grand ducal court in Florence. He informed his correspondents about local Indian plants, animals, the mechanisms of commercial exchange and Indian social structures and politics. Apart from publishing and editing letters, the scholarship so far has focused on linguistic, geographic, medical and ethnographical issues related to his letters. This article focuses on a set of rarely explored resources: the valuable objects sent with Sassetti's letters to the grand duke Francesco de Medici (1541–87) and his brother cardinal Ferdinando (1549–1609). The letters are exceptional, since they allow one to reconstruct the origins and itineraries of the items that Sassetti describes in detail. None of the objects survived in Florence but some of them are traceable to the Medici inventories of the sixteenth century.

Catarina de San Juan was a slave woman who was brought to the Philippines in the 1610s on her way to Mexico, where she became a beata of great renown. Her experiences in the slave markets of Cochin and Manila suggest that Portuguese traders played a key role as the primary suppliers of Asian slaves to the Philippines. This paper argues that Portuguese slavers made a significant contribution to the Manila economy by providing an important labour force that helped build and maintain the colony from 1580 to 1640, the years of Iberian Union or, from the Portuguese perspective, the “Spanish Captivity”. One-crown rule gave Portuguese traders free trade access to Manila, allowing them to meet the city's demand for this important commodity. The slave trade's volume and profits testify to its social and economic significance and suggests that the Portuguese helped sustain the Philippines, even as they faced the logistical difficulties and legal barriers evident in Catarina's story. This paper shows that the forced migration of individuals like Catarina was a notable outcome of “Spain's Asian presence”—less significant in economic terms than the transfer of silver and textiles, but no less important in human terms.

Around the Yemeni port city of al-Mukhâ hangs the intoxicating smell of coffee. Almost no publication can be pointed out, from popularising travel guide to elaborate research report, in which mocha is not considered the export item par excellence, or rather the icon of the city. Only during the Montpellier conference on coffee, held in October 1997, was it concluded, in a contribution devoted to the emergence of the town in the early seventeenth century, that al-Mukhâ had been neither exclusively or mainly a coffee port, nor the sole one, or even the most important one. Mocha, in fact, “was not at all synonymous with al-Mukhâ”. In subsequent years, it could be demonstrated on the basis of abundant source material that spices, textiles, minerals, porcelains and aromatics were sold in the Mukhâwi market as well.

When, early in August 1538, the lifeless bodies of the Sultan 'Âmir ibn Dâwûd and six of his confidants, by order of Sulaymân Bâshâ al-Khâdim, swung from the mainyard of the Turkish Admiral's galley for three days, not only the fate of the Tâhirid dynasty hung by a thread, but also that of the city of Aden. Afterwards, the Ottoman conquerors transformed this prospering port, a junction in the commercial network encompassing the Indian Ocean, into a military bastion. Merchants were driven away by soldiers. The entry to the Red Sea was cordoned off by guns for Portuguese intruders.

Where do episodes of colonising failure fit into the historiography of European expansion? Almost by definition, this field, especially those aspects of it concerned with colonial social formation, privileges the study of those colonies which became established. Nor does an enquiry into failure have much to offer to those who have adopted the increasingly popular “Atlantic” perspective on European overseas activity. The students in this school of thought stress the importance of the commercial and social links between European-American settlements, as well as with Africa and Europe. These were forged through the unprecedented movement of people and commodities generated by early modern overseas activity, especially across the Atlantic Ocean. These connections and the corresponding mingling of peoples from four continents constitute the key elements in the development of “modernity” and the creation of a manifestly new world.

Reflecting broader trends in the study of colonial British America, historians have increasingly recognised the transatlantic nature of Protestant mission work. Both homeland and colonial participants shared a common worldview and goal when it came to the conversion of Native Americans. However, historians frequently present a bifurcated process: British-based mission boards and agencies provided funding and broad parameters, while colonial agents, ministers, and officials dictated the ways in which the missionaries themselves operated. In general, this is an accurate reflection of the reality of the Atlantic world, given the communication times and the normal inability of British sponsors to visit any work in progress. These limitations often led to a disconnect between goals laid out in Britain and practices on the ground in the colonies. An exception to this practice can be found in the early attempts of the Society in Scotland for Propagating Christian Knowledge (SSPCK) to establish a mission presence in New England.

The origin of the Saint-Joseph University of Beirut, or USJ, dates back to the Seminar of Ghazir founded by the Jesuit Fathers in 1843. The College of Ghazir, established with the intention of training the local Maronite clergy, was transferred to Beirut in 1875. This centre for higher studies was named Saint-Joseph University. In his audience of 25 February 1881, Pope Leo XIII conferred the title of Pontifical University on the USJ.

This article deals with the history of the USJ, the first great French-speaking Jesuit institution in the area which, at the time, bore the name of “Syria”. (The term Syria is used henceforth to represent the geographical entity of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which includes Syria and Lebanon of the present.) The underlying reasons for the creation of Saint-Joseph University of Beirut have to do with its being located in a province of the Ottoman Empire coveted by the future mandatory power, France. By the 1870s, the Ottoman Empire was being preserved chiefly by the competition between the European powers, all of whom wanted chunks of it. The Ottoman territory, like the territory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, encompassed a great many ethnic groups whose own nationalism was also stirring. Under Ottoman rule, the region of the Levant developed economic and religious ties with Europe. Open to the West, it became a hotbed of political strife between various foreign nations including France, Russia and Britain. These powerful countries assumed the protection of certain ethnic and religious groups, with France supporting the Christian Maronites and Britain supporting the Druzes.

The middle decades of the sixteenth century witnessed one of the most dramatic and unexpected transformations in the history of long-distance intercontinental commerce: the revival of the transit spice trade through the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, following a period of nearly fifty years during which it had been redirected almost in its entirety through the Portuguese-controlled route around the Cape of Good Hope. And yet, while modern scholars have been aware of this sea change in global commerce for generations, the reasons behind it still remain a subject of debate. Numerous explanations have been proposed, ranging from changes in the international demand for spices to corruption within the Portuguese administration. Until now, however, none has taken into account what may be the most important factor of all: the rising power of Ottoman corsairs, whose predatory raids against Portuguese targets were instrumental in subverting the Estado da India's system for controlling trade in the western Indian Ocean.

If there is one thing that everyone interested in international development issues knows, or thinks they know, it is that the countries of Asia, and especially East and Southeast Asia, have performed much better in the international development stakes since 1960 than the countries of sub-Saharan Africa. The principal metric used to measure achievement is growth in per capita GDP, although other indicators have also become widely used, including those such as the Human Development Index, which combines per capita GDP with other measures of social achievement such as literacy rates, school enrolments and infant mortality rates. But whatever measure we use to construct league tables of development progress, at the end of the twentieth century almost all the countries of sub-Saharan Africa were clustered at the bottom while those of Asia were more spread out across the spectrum. Some nations, such as Hong Kong, Singapore, South Korea, and Brunei had, by 2000, achieved the status of “high human development”. Most other countries in Asia were in the “medium human development” category, while most countries in sub-Saharan Africa were either in the bottom twenty of the “medium” category or in the “low human development” group. Of the 35 countries in the low development group in 2001, almost all were in sub-Saharan Africa (SSA).

The Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia, or National Archives of Indonesia (located in South Jakarta), offers some intriguing possibilities for researchers wishing to write transnational histories of the country over a range of time periods. The voluminous materials stretch back to the seventeenth century, and indeed anyone looking for documents or data on the development of the country should really pass through here, though scholars often spend much of their research time in the Netherlands if they have to make a choice. This can be a mistake in some cases: there are real, often undiscovered riches in the Arsip Nasional that make a sustained trip worth the effort. The present article looks at one aspect of these riches—materials usable for writing transnational histories of Indonesia—as a window into this archive. We have divided our discussion into two parts. The first examines some of the sources that can be used for writing transnational Islamic histories of the archipelago, and the second examines documents and collections that can be used for writing about the Chinese diaspora to Indonesia and connections generally between China and the islands. These are only two of the possible approaches to take, but they are two of the main ones. We hope that once informed about these sources, other scholars will make better use of these considerable riches, which shed important light on Indonesian history as a whole.

The history of forestry in British India has evoked a wide range of responses from environmental historians. Debates often centre in particular on the ethic of the bureaucratic organisation responsible for managing the government-controlled forests of India: the Indian Forest Service. Born on the subcontinent and rooted in the European scientific tradition, the Indian Forest Service model, or “empire forestry” as it came to be called from the 1920s onward, has been described as a first step in the world-wide environmental movement or, alternately, as the culprit responsible for widespread deforestation of the subcontinent. This article will address a key aspect of the debate over the Indian Forest Service (hereafter referred to as the IFS) that has profound implications for our understanding of the relationship -between imperialism and forestry conservation. By examining the tension between conservation-minded foresters who battled against timber companies and economically focused imperial bureaucrats, we answer the following question: did the IFS develop a legacy of deforestation throughout the subcontinent between 1855 and 1947? We conclude that the IFS did not develop a dominant ethic of resource exploitation, nor did the IFS rapidly accelerate the rates of deforestation during the colonial period. Rather, the IFS provided a powerful and persuasive counterweight to gentleman capitalists and economically oriented administrators who strenuously battled for more extensive exploitation of forest resources.