How did a Hungarian general’s military analysis morph into a German leaflet of national insults?
In an age of resurgent nationalism, what ‘Styrian Tables’ are we creating today from the complex geopolitics of our own time?
The “Styrian Table of Peoples” (Steirische Völkertafel) presents a detailed, if deeply biased, caricature of ten European nationalities. It was created in the early 18th century. It is an oil painting that shows depictions of 10 different European peoples above a table of their purported characteristics. The Völkertafel was likely based on a 1720 engraving by Joseph Friedrich Leopold.
The top of the table shows 10 figures corresponding to Spain, France, Italy, Germany, England, Sweden, Poland, Hungary, Russia, and Turkey/Greece. The table shows 17 characteristics, such as manners, intellect, or vices, and charts how the people of the 10 nations correspond to these characteristics. The descriptions are harsher on the right side of the table, with Turkey/Greece shown in the most negative light.
Here is a complete account of its descriptions.
The Spaniard is haughty in appearance, of a wondrous character, and a clever and wise intellect. He is manly, excels in theology, and wears a respectable national dress. His vice is vanity, he prefers honour and glory, and is prone to constipation. His country is fertile, he is generous in war, outstanding in piety, serves a monarch, has a superfluity of fruit, enjoys games as a pastime, is equivalent to an elephant, and typically dies in bed.
The Frenchman appears frivolous, is friendly and talkative in character, and has a cautious intellect. He is childish, his science is warfare, and his dress is variable. He is deceitful, prefers war, suffers from syphilis, and his well-cultivated country is full of commodities. In war, he is cunning; his piety is merely “good”; he serves a king; his pastime is cheating; he is likened to a fox; and he meets his end in battle.
The Italian has a devious appearance, a jealous personality, and a sagacious intellect. He is opportunistic, knowledgeable in canon law, and dresses modestly. He is covetous, prefers gold, is afflicted by the plague, and lives in a beautiful and delightful land. He is cautious in war, his piety is “a tad better,” he serves a patriarch, has a surplus of wine, enjoys gossiping, is compared to a lynx, and ends his life in a monastery.
The German is openhearted, of a quite good character, and has a shrewd intellect. He is imitative, skilled in jurisprudence, and his dress imitates others. He is prodigal, prefers drinking, suffers from podagra (gout), and his country is good with abundant grain. He is invincible in war, very pious, serves an emperor, his pastime is drinking, he is the lion among animals, and his life ends “in wine.”
The Englishman has an agreeable appearance, a charming character, and a graceful intellect. He is womanly, his science is geography, and he dresses after the French fashion. He is restless, prefers pleasures, is stricken with consumption (tuberculosis), and his fertile land has many pastures. He is heroic at sea, his piety is as changeable as the moon, his master is “now one, now another,” his pastime is working, he is the horse, and he dies in water.
The Swede is strong and tall, of a cruel character, and has an adamant intellect. He is inscrutable, versed in the liberal arts, and wears leather. He is superstitious, prefers expensive food, suffers from dropsy (edema), and his mountainous land has many iron ore mines. He is undaunted in war, zealous in faith, has a liberal master, his pastime is eating, he is the ox, and he dies on the ground.
The Pole has a boorish appearance, a character that is “more cruel,” and a disdainful intellect. He is mediocre, his science is languages, and he wears long coats. He is hoggish, prefers nobility, suffers from diarrhea, and his country is wooded with many furs. He is impetuous in war, “believes all sorts of things,” serves an elected master, his pastime is arguing, he is the bear, and his life ends in the stable.
The Hungarian has a disloyal appearance and is of “the most cruel” character, with a “more disdainful” intellect. He is bloodthirsty, knows Latin, and wears a multicoloured dress. He is treacherous, prefers rebellion, is afflicted with epilepsy, and his land is rich in gold and fruit. He is an insurgent in war, energetic in piety, serves a chosen master, has a superfluity of everything, his pastime is idleness, he is the wolf, and he dies by the sabre.
The Russian has a malicious appearance, a character that is “really Hungarian” (a seeming error or placeholder), and an intellect of “nothing.” He is endlessly rude, knows Greek, and wears furs. He is “more treacherous,” prefers beating, suffers from whooping cough, and lives in an icy land. He is cumbersome in war, is an infidel in piety, serves a volunteer master, has a surplus of bees, his pastime is sleeping, he is the donkey, and he dies in the snow.
Finally, the Turk or Greek has an appearance that changes like April weather, is a “lying devil” in character, and has a pretentious intellect. He is tender, skilled in political treachery, and wears effeminate dress. He is the “most treacherous,” prefers narcissism, suffers from exhaustion, and lives in a pleasant land. He is lazy in war, his piety is “the same” (presumably as an infidel), serves a tyrant, has a superfluity of soft things, his pastime is being ill, he is the cat, and his life ends in fraud.
Zrínyi’s “Antidote to the Turkish Poison” and the Anatomy of Distrust
In 1661, the Hungarian-Croatian statesman, poet, and general Zrínyi Miklós (Nikola Zrinski) wrote a seminal political work, often referred to by its opening line: “Do not hurt the Hungarians” – An Antidote to the Turkish Poison.
In it, he presented a comprehensive program for national survival: the moral renewal of the nation, the re-establishment of the Kingdom of Hungary, the unification of Royal Hungary with Transylvania, and, ultimately, the expulsion of the Ottomans. A key pillar of his vision was the creation of a modern, permanent standing army. Notably, Zrínyi believed that a well-organized, professional core force of just 5,000 to 6,000 men—a size he himself could raise—would be sufficient to form the backbone of such an army.
To convince his readers of the urgent need for self-reliance, Zrínyi undertook a sobering geopolitical survey. He meticulously listed the major European powers and assessed whether Hungary could realistically rely on them for aid against the Ottoman Empire. His conclusion was stark and disillusioning: he found no true ally. Each nation was dismissed due to its perceived self-interest, weakness, duplicity, or inherent national character.
The following excerpts from this section of Zrínyi’s work are not merely a catalogue of political constraints; they are a mirror of 17th-century European prejudices. In his pragmatic, often cutting assessments, we can trace the very stereotypes of neighboring peoples that, some forty years later, would be codified and popularized in the anonymous Styrian Table of Peoples. Where Zrínyi analyzed allies, the later leaflet would caricature national identities, revealing a continuum of thought where political realism bled into ingrained cultural bias.
“For I see not a single neighbor, nor any foreign nation, who would gladly endanger its own peaceful state for our sake, to share in our perils. Even the man sitting safely in the boat fears one drowning, lest he be pulled down with him.
Poland is one of our neighbors, but from it we can expect no help, for it itself has been weakened in these recent wars, and even now it is not left in peace by Muscovy, nor is it so secure from Sweden that it could entertain other plans. For he lies in the neighborhood of the Tatars; for he has not settled his affairs with the Cossacks in such a way that he could be confident in them; for he has a peace with the Turk, and (as they say) the Turk has indeed bound the Poles with favors during these past conflicts through Tatar assistance. For this republic has no zeal either for new glory, or for the pursuit and acquisition of lands, but only for remaining in its own peace. Therefore, there is nothing to hope for from Poland.”
“Germany is our other neighbor. (…) But let us speak in genere—in general terms of the German nation and the Empire.
Do we then know whether the German nation would exchange its domestic peace and happiness for our peril? Do we know whether it is so obliged to the Hungarian name that it would risk its own security against such a great beast as the Turk? Has it forgotten the plunder and devastation wrought in Germany by the ancient Huns under Attila, and later by other Hungarians? Does it wish to see the Hungarians restored to their feet only to have to fear them afterward? Does it wish to see our gracious lord, the Emperor, acquire so much power and growth, from which they would afterward have to fear for their own liberties?
And even if it does give aid—as I believe it will give some—will that aid be substantial or continuous? Will it be sufficient for our preservation? Will it be without hardship for us? If it gains something, will it not wish to keep it for itself? Will it come in tempore—at the proper time, which the Hungarians say comes to the latecomer? I can scarcely believe it.”
“Italy is the third neighbor, but its distance, the sea lying between us, the division of its land among many lords and princes, and each having their own separate interest, leave us little hope of placing great expectation in help from there. Though I do believe that those great lords and princes would not indeed remain idle if they were to see earnest endeavor on our part, and they would assuredly assist with actual assistance, both with money, with men, and with counsel.”
“The Spanish nation’s great distance, and its entanglement and warfare in Lusitania [Portugal], cut off at once all further discourse on the matter; we need not speak more of it.”
“Of the French nation, we have something to say. This nation is undoubtedly warlike, glorious, and mighty, but it is also plain that when it does not act for itself and does not wage war for itself, not much good can be hoped from it. Our Hungarian history presents two examples concerning them. One, when at Naples* King Sigismund lost the battle because of the French; the other, the papal* betrayal*. From neither can we form a desirable memory of them. Moreover, the Frenchman, when victorious, is insufferable; when wretched, he is good for nothing.”
“I do not count Muscovy [Russia], for it would be a discourse more akin to a dream than to reality; though I know that certain great men have fashioned for themselves, I know not what kind of hopes. But as I have written above, we can neither hope for it nor should we desire it. Their lands are far, their peoples rude, their warfare good‑for‑nothing, their gallantry ridiculous, their politics foolish, their realms tyrannical; who, then, should need their help!”
“England is almost another world, a different nature, a different warfare; we do not need for such, nor can we desire it.”
Zrínyi concluded:
“Indeed, we have now counted up all of Christendom, and we plainly see that from these, too, help cannot be such as to be the foundation of our liberation. But let us grant, let it be possible, let us grant that many foreign peoples come to our aid—yet if the conduct of the war is to rest in foreign hands, we can certainly hope for nothing. For let us turn over the pages of history, and we shall find that although the Hungarians too have often stumbled in valor and many times acted poorly, nevertheless the substantial disasters came from foreigners; since either they did not feel our affliction as keenly, or necessity did not compel them to risk fortune as it did the Hungarians.
For he who has no calf does not lick it, and the Hungarian nation bears a nature equal with Hungary itself; whoever comes into it as a stranger either does not know how, or has no luck, to wage war effectively.”
“God forbid that my pen should strive to write reproaches about any of the foreign nations: that is not my aim, for I know that every nation sufficiently proves its own glory daily, even through history. But what I wish to conclude is this: that we Hungarians should place the foundation in no one’s valor but our own. Rather, as long as God has given each of us sound hands and feet, let us strive so that foreigners may not be needed principaliter [primarily], but accessorie [accessorily], as aid. For surely our wound pains no one as it pains us; no one feels our affliction as we do.”
“Shall we flee? There is nowhere to go. Nowhere else will we find Hungary; no one will leave his own land for the sake of our friendship to settle us within it. Our noble freedom exists nowhere under heaven but in Pannonia [Hungary]. Hic vobis vel vincendum vel moriendum est. [Here you must either conquer or die.]“
(He adds, after scolding the Hungarians:) “Although I have well described our own people as they now are, nevertheless, if you ask: whom do I desire, and what nation do I want for my defense, I say: I desire the Hungarian. Why? Because this is the most suitable, the strongest, the swiftest, and—if it so wills—the most valiant nation. It will soon be two hundred years since the Hungarians have been fighting the Turks.“
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