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Volume 60
Series Editors
Pompeu Casanovas
Spanish National Research Council (IIIA-CSIC), Research Institute on
Artificial Intelligence, Barcelona, Spain
Giovanni Sartor
University of Bologna and European University Institute of Florence,
Florence, Italy
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
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dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
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been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
Abstract
In this chapter, we review how the EU cybersecurity regulatory
framework impacts providers of cloud computing services. We examine
the evolving regulatory treatment of cloud services as an enabler of the
EU’s digital economy and question whether all cloud services should be
treated as critical infrastructure. Further, we look at how the
safeguarding and incident notification obligations under the General
Data Protection Regulation (‘GDPR’) and the Network and Information
Systems Directive (‘NISD’) apply to cloud providers. We also consider
how these obligations will develop under the NIS 2 Directive (‘NIS2’)
and look at what newly developed voluntary assurance mechanisms
mean for cloud providers, including codes of conduct and certification
schemes. We conclude that, since cloud providers are typically subject
to both NISD and GDPR and to jurisdiction from multiple regulators,
they face divergent regulatory approaches, which can lead to
unintended outcomes and high compliance costs.
1 Introduction
The EU cybersecurity regulatory framework has developed rapidly over
recent years, both in terms of breadth and depth. In 2018, the General
Data Protection Regulation (‘GDPR’)1 and the Network and Information
Systems Directive (‘NISD’)2 came into force. In 2019, the EU
Cybersecurity Act followed.3 In 2023, the Network and Information
Systems 2 Directive (‘NIS2’) came into force, which replaces the NISD.4
In this chapter, we review what these developments mean for providers
of cloud computing services (‘cloud providers’). We start by examining
the evolving treatment of cloud computing services as an enabler of the
EU’s digital economy and as critical infrastructure. Then, we review the
two core components of the EU cybersecurity framework, namely: (i)
safeguarding obligations (including voluntary schemes of assurance),
and (ii) incident notification obligations. Finally, we consider issues of
jurisdiction, oversight, and enforcement. Throughout, we reflect
critically on the evolving regulatory framework and highlight strengths
and shortcomings.
Our focus is on the security requirements the GPDR and NISD
impose on cloud providers directly and generally. We do not cover EU
legislation that imposes security requirements on cloud customers and
so might impact cloud providers indirectly, as part of the supply chain,
through contract negotiations. Nor do we examine sectoral
requirements, such as the Regulation on Digital Operational Resilience
in the financial sector (‘DORA’), which applies both to financial entities
and to designated cloud providers directly as critical third-party ICT
service providers to the financial sector.5 Finally, we do not cover the
Directive on Critical Entities’ Resilience (‘CERD’), which replaces the
European Critical Infrastructure Directive.6 Cloud providers are
covered directly by the CERD as ‘critical entities’. This means Member
States can identify them as critical providers and include them in their
risk assessments and strategies.7 However, the CERD does not impose
cybersecurity obligations on cloud providers directly, since their
physical security is already regulated as part of cybersecurity under the
NISD.8 Other elements of the EU cybersecurity framework beyond the
scope of this chapter include strengthening and harmonizing criminal
law,9 and the provision of trust services.10
4. search engines;
6. application stores.28
and not feel my heart yearn within me, or couple the thoughts of
England and the spleen together? Our cloud has at least its rainbow
tints; ours is not one long polar night of cold and dulness, but we
have the gleaming lights of fancy to amuse us, the household fires of
truth and genius to warm us. We can go to a play and see Liston; or
stay at home and read Roderick Random; or have Hogarth’s prints of
Marriage à la Mode hanging round our room. ‘Tut! there’s livers
even in England,’ as well as ‘out of it.’ We are not quite the forlorn
hope of humanity, the last of nations. The French look at us across
the Channel, and seeing nothing but water and a cloudy mist, think
that this is England.
——‘What’s our Britain
In the world’s volume? In a great pool a swan’s nest.’
If they have any farther idea of us, it is of George III. and our Jack
tars, the House of Lords and House of Commons, and this is no great
addition to us. To go beyond this, to talk of arts and elegances as
having taken up their abode here, or to say that Mrs. Abington was
equal to Mademoiselle Mars, and that we at one time got up the
‘School for Scandal,’ as they do the ‘Misanthrope,’ is to persuade
them that Iceland is a pleasant summer-retreat, or to recommend the
whale-fishery as a classical amusement. The French are the cockneys
of Europe, and have no idea how any one can exist out of Paris, or be
alive without incessant grimace and jabber. Yet what imports it?
What! though the joyous train I have just enumerated were, perhaps,
never heard of in the precincts of the Palais-Royal, is it not enough
that they gave pleasure where they were, to those who saw and heard
them? Must our laugh, to be sincere, have its echo on the other side
of the water? Had not the French their favourites and their
enjoyments at the time, that we knew nothing of? Why then should
we not have ours (and boast of them too) without their leave? A
monopoly of self-conceit is not a monopoly of all other advantages.
The English, when they go abroad, do not take away the prejudice
against them by their looks. We seem duller and sadder than we are.
As I write this, I am sitting in the open air in a beautiful valley, near
Vevey: Clarens is on my left, the Dent de Jamant is behind me, the
rocks of Meillerie opposite: under my feet is a green bank, enamelled
with white and purple flowers, in which a dew-drop here and there
still glitters with pearly light—
‘And gaudy butterflies flutter around.’
Intent upon the scene and upon the thoughts that stir within me, I
conjure up the cheerful passages of my life, and a crowd of happy
images appear before me. No one would see it in my looks—my eyes
grow dull and fixed, and I seem rooted to the spot, as all this
phantasmagoria passes in review before me, glancing a reflex lustre
on the face of the world and nature. But the traces of pleasure, in my
case, sink into an absorbent ground of thoughtful melancholy, and
require to be brought out by time and circumstances, or (as the
critics tell you) by the varnish of style!
The comfort, on which the English lay so much stress, is of the
same character, and arises from the same source as their mirth. Both
exist by contrast and a sort of contradiction. The English are
certainly the most uncomfortable of all people in themselves, and
therefore it is that they stand in need of every kind of comfort and
accommodation. The least thing puts them out of their way, and
therefore every thing must be in its place. They are mightily offended
at disagreeable tastes and smells, and therefore they exact the utmost
neatness and nicety. They are sensible of heat and cold, and
therefore they cannot exist, unless every thing is snug and warm, or
else open and airy, where they are. They must have ‘all appliances
and means to boot.’ They are afraid of interruption and intrusion,
and therefore they shut themselves up in in-door enjoyments and by
their own firesides. It is not that they require luxuries (for that
implies a high degree of epicurean indulgence and gratification), but
they cannot do without their comforts; that is, whatever tends to
supply their physical wants, and ward off physical pain and
annoyance. As they have not a fund of animal spirits and enjoyments
in themselves, they cling to external objects for support, and derive
solid satisfaction from the ideas of order, cleanliness, plenty,
property, and domestic quiet, as they seek for diversion from odd
accidents and grotesque surprises, and have the highest possible
relish not of voluptuous softness, but of hard knocks and dry blows,
as one means of ascertaining their personal identity.
OF PERSONS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE
SEEN
There was no resisting this, till B——, seizing the volume, turned to
the beautiful ‘Lines to his Mistress,’ dissuading her from
accompanying him abroad, and read them with suffused features and
a faltering tongue.
‘By our first strange and fatal interview,
By all desires which thereof did ensue,
By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
Which my words’ masculine persuasive force
Begot in thee, and by the memory
Of hurts, which spies and rivals threaten’d me,
I calmly beg. But by thy father’s wrath,
By all pains which want and divorcement hath,
I conjure thee; and all the oaths which I
And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy
Here I unswear, and overswear them thus,
Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous.
Temper, oh fair Love! love’s impetuous rage,
Be my true mistress still, not my feign’d Page;
I’ll go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind
Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind.
Thirst to come back; oh, if thou die before,
My soul from other lands to thee shall soar.
Thy (else Almighty) beauty cannot move
Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love,
Nor tame wild Boreas’ harshness; thou hast read
How roughly he in pieces shiver’d
Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov’d.
Fall ill or good, ’tis madness to have prov’d
Dangers unurg’d: Feed on this flattery,
That absent lovers one with th’ other be.
Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change
Thy body’s habit, nor mind; be not strange
To thyself only. All will spy in thy face
A blushing, womanly, discovering grace.
Richly cloth’d apes are called apes, and as soon
Eclips’d as bright we call the moon the moon.
Men of France, changeable cameleons,
Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions,
Love’s fuellers, and the rightest company
Of players, which upon the world’s stage be,
Will quickly know thee.... O stay here! for thee
England is only a worthy gallery,
To walk in expectation; till from thence
Our greatest King call thee to his presence.
When I am gone, dream me some happiness,
Nor let thy looks our long hid love confess,
Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor bless, nor curse
Openly love’s force, nor in bed fright thy nurse
With midnight startings, crying out, Oh, oh,
Nurse, oh, my love is slain, I saw him go
O’er the white Alps alone; I saw him, I,
Assail’d, fight, taken, stabb’d, bleed, fall, and die.
Augur me better chance, except dread Jove
Think it enough for me to have had thy love.’
Some one then inquired of B—— if we could not see from the
window the Temple-walk in which Chaucer used to take his exercise;
and on his name being put to the vote, I was pleased to find that
there was a general sensation in his favour in all but A——, who said
something about the ruggedness of the metre, and even objected to
the quaintness of the orthography. I was vexed at this superficial
gloss, pertinaciously reducing every thing to its own trite level, and
asked ‘if he did not think it would be worth while to scan the eye that
had first greeted the Muse in that dim twilight and early dawn of
English literature; to see the head, round which the visions of fancy
must have played like gleams of inspiration or a sudden glory; to
watch those lips that “lisped in numbers, for the numbers came”—as
by a miracle, or as if the dumb should speak? Nor was it alone that he
had been the first to tune his native tongue (however imperfectly to
modern ears); but he was himself a noble, manly character, standing
before his age and striving to advance it; a pleasant humourist
withal, who has not only handed down to us the living manners of his
time, but had, no doubt, store of curious and quaint devices, and
would make as hearty a companion as Mine Host of Tabard. His
interview with Petrarch is fraught with interest. Yet I would rather
have seen Chaucer in company with the author of the Decameron,
and have heard them exchange their best stories together, the
Squire’s Tale against the Story of the Falcon, the Wife of Bath’s
Prologue against the Adventures of Friar Albert. How fine to see the
high mysterious brow which learning then wore, relieved by the gay,
familiar tone of men of the world, and by the courtesies of genius.
Surely, the thoughts and feelings which passed through the minds of
these great revivers of learning, these Cadmuses who sowed the teeth
of letters, must have stamped an expression on their features, as
different from the moderns as their books, and well worth the
perusal. Dante,’ I continued, ‘is as interesting a person as his own
Ugolino, one whose lineaments curiosity would as eagerly devour in
order to penetrate his spirit, and the only one of the Italian poets I
should care much to see. There is a fine portrait of Ariosto by no less
a hand than Titian’s; light, Moorish, spirited, but not answering our
idea. The same artist’s large colossal profile of Peter Aretine is the
only likeness of the kind that has the effect of conversing with “the
mighty dead,” and this is truly spectral, ghastly, necromantic.’ B——
put it to me if I should like to see Spenser as well as Chaucer; and I
answered without hesitation, ‘No; for that his beauties were ideal,
visionary, not palpable or personal, and therefore connected with
less curiosity about the man. His poetry was the essence of romance,
a very halo round the bright orb of fancy; and the bringing in the
individual might dissolve the charm. No tones of voice could come
up to the mellifluous cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged
angel could vie with the airy shapes he has described. He was (to our
apprehensions) rather “a creature of the element, that lived in the
rainbow and played in the plighted clouds,” than an ordinary mortal.
Or if he did appear, I should wish it to be as a mere vision, like one of
his own pageants, and that he should pass by unquestioned like a
dream or sound—
——“That was Arion crown’d:
So went he playing on the wat’ry plain!”’
‘Or turn,’ continued B——, with a slight hectic on his cheek and his
eye glistening, ‘to his list of early friends:
“But why then publish? Granville the polite,
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise,
And Congreve loved and Swift endured my lays:
The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev’n mitred Rochester would nod the head;
And St. John’s self (great Dryden’s friend before)
Received with open arms one poet more.
Happy my studies, if by these approved!
Happier their author, if by these beloved!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.”’
Here his voice totally failed him, and throwing down the book, he
said, ‘Do you think I would not wish to have been friends with such a
man as this?’
‘What say you to Dryden?’—‘He rather made a show of himself,
and courted popularity in that lowest temple of Fame, a coffee-
house, so as in some measure to vulgarize one’s idea of him. Pope, on
the contrary, reached the very beau-ideal of what a poet’s life should
be; and his fame while living seemed to be an emanation from that
which was to circle his name after death. He was so far enviable (and
one would feel proud to have witnessed the rare spectacle in him)
that he was almost the only poet and man of genius who met with his
reward on this side of the tomb, who realized in friends, fortune, the
esteem of the world, the most sanguine hopes of a youthful ambition,
and who found that sort of patronage from the great during his
lifetime which they would be thought anxious to bestow upon him
after his death. Read Gay’s verses to him on his supposed return
from Greece, after his translation of Homer was finished, and say if
you would not gladly join the bright procession that welcomed him
home, or see it once more land at Whitehall-stairs.’—‘Still,’ said Miss
D——, ‘I would rather have seen him talking with Patty Blount, or
riding by in a coronet-coach with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu!’
E——, who was deep in a game of piquet at the other end of the
room, whispered to M. C. to ask if Junius would not be a fit person to
invoke from the dead. ‘Yes,’ said B——, ‘provided he would agree to
lay aside his mask.’
We were now at a stand for a short time, when Fielding was
mentioned as a candidate: only one, however, seconded the
proposition. ‘Richardson?’—‘By all means, but only to look at him
through the glass-door of his back-shop, hard at work upon one of
his novels (the most extraordinary contrast that ever was presented
between an author and his works), but not to let him come behind
his counter lest he should want you to turn customer, nor to go
upstairs with him, lest he should offer to read the first manuscript of
Sir Charles Grandison, which was originally written in eight and
twenty volumes octavo, or get out the letters of his female
correspondents, to prove that Joseph Andrews was low.’
There was but one statesman in the whole of English history that
any one expressed the least desire to see—Oliver Cromwell, with his
fine, frank, rough, pimply face, and wily policy;—and one enthusiast,
John Bunyan, the immortal author of the Pilgrim’s Progress. It
seemed that if he came into the room, dreams would follow him, and
that each person would nod under his golden cloud, ‘nigh-sphered in
Heaven,’ a canopy as strange and stately as any in Homer.
Of all persons near our own time, Garrick’s name was received
with the greatest enthusiasm, who was proposed by J. F——. He
presently superseded both Hogarth and Handel, who had been
talked of, but then it was on condition that he should act in tragedy
and comedy, in the play and the farce, Lear and Wildair and Abel
Drugger. What a sight for sore eyes that would be! Who would not
part with a year’s income at least, almost with a year of his natural
life, to be present at it? Besides, as he could not act alone, and
recitations are unsatisfactory things, what a troop he must bring with
him—the silver-tongued Barry, and Quin, and Shuter and Weston,
and Mrs. Clive and Mrs. Pritchard, of whom I have heard my father
speak as so great a favourite when he was young! This would indeed
be a revival of the dead, the restoring of art; and so much the more
desirable, as such is the lurking scepticism mingled with our
overstrained admiration of past excellence, that though we have the
speeches of Burke, the portraits of Reynolds, the writings of
Goldsmith, and the conversation of Johnson, to show what people
could do at that period, and to confirm the universal testimony to the
merits of Garrick; yet, as it was before our time, we have our
misgivings, as if he was probably after all little better than a
Bartlemy-fair actor, dressed out to play Macbeth in a scarlet coat and
laced cocked-hat. For one, I should like to have seen and heard with
my own eyes and ears. Certainly, by all accounts, if any one was ever
moved by the true histrionic æstus, it was Garrick. When he followed
the Ghost in Hamlet, he did not drop the sword, as most actors do
behind the scenes, but kept the point raised the whole way round, so
fully was he possessed with the idea, or so anxious not to lose sight of
his part for a moment. Once at a splendid dinner-party at Lord ——’s,
they suddenly missed Garrick, and could not imagine what was
become of him, till they were drawn to the window by the convulsive
screams and peals of laughter of a young negro boy, who was rolling
on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see Garrick mimicking a
turkey-cock in the court-yard, with his coat-tail stuck out behind,
and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride. Of our party
only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and they
seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with their
old favourite.
We were interrupted in the hey-day and mid-career of this fanciful
speculation, by a grumbler in a corner, who declared it was a shame
to make all this rout about a mere player and farce-writer, to the
neglect and exclusion of the fine old dramatists, the contemporaries
and rivals of Shakspeare. B—— said he had anticipated this objection
when he had named the author of Mustapha and Alaham; and out of
caprice insisted upon keeping him to represent the set, in preference
to the wild hair-brained enthusiast Kit Marlowe; to the sexton of St.
Ann’s, Webster, with his melancholy yew-trees and death’s-heads; to
Deckar, who was but a garrulous proser; to the voluminous
Heywood; and even to Beaumont and Fletcher, whom we might
offend by complimenting the wrong author on their joint
productions. Lord Brook, on the contrary, stood quite by himself, or
in Cowley’s words, was ‘a vast species alone.’ Some one hinted at the
circumstance of his being a lord, which rather startled B——, but he
said a ghost would perhaps dispense with strict etiquette, on being
regularly addressed by his title. Ben Jonson divided our suffrages
pretty equally. Some were afraid he would begin to traduce
Shakspeare, who was not present to defend himself. ‘If he grows
disagreeable,’ it was whispered aloud, ‘there is G—— can match him.’
At length, his romantic visit to Drummond of Hawthornden was
mentioned, and turned the scale in his favour.
B—— inquired if there was any one that was hanged that I would
choose to mention? And I answered, Eugene Aram.[8] The name of
the ‘Admirable Crichton’ was suddenly started as a splendid example
of waste talents, so different from the generality of his countrymen.
This choice was mightily approved by a North-Briton present, who
declared himself descended from that prodigy of learning and
accomplishment, and said he had family-plate in his possession as
vouchers for the fact, with the initials A. C.—Admirable Crichton! H
—— laughed or rather roared as heartily at this as I should think he
has done for many years.
The last-named Mitre-courtier[9] then wished to know whether
there were any metaphysicians to whom one might be tempted to
apply the wizard spell? I replied, there were only six in modern times
deserving the name—Hobbes, Berkeley, Butler, Hartley, Hume,
Leibnitz; and perhaps Jonathan Edwards, a Massachusets man.[10] As
to the French, who talked fluently of having created this science,
there was not a title in any of their writings, that was not to be found
literally in the authors I had mentioned. [Horne Tooke, who might
have a claim to come in under the head of Grammar, was still living.]
None of these names seemed to excite much interest, and I did not
plead for the re-appearance of those who might be thought best fitted
by the abstracted nature of their studies for their present spiritual
and disembodied state, and who, even while on this living stage, were
nearly divested of common flesh and blood. As A—— with an uneasy
fidgetty face was about to put some question about Mr. Locke and
Dugald Stewart, he was prevented by M. C. who observed, ‘If J——
was here, he would undoubtedly be for having up those profound
and redoubted scholiasts, Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus.’ I said
this might be fair enough in him who had read or fancied he had read
the original works, but I did not see how we could have any right to
call up these authors to give an account of themselves in person, till
we had looked into their writings.
By this time it should seem that some rumour of our whimsical
deliberation had got wind, and had disturbed the irritabile genus in
their shadowy abodes, for we received messages from several
candidates that we had just been thinking of. Gray declined our
invitation, though he had not yet been asked: Gay offered to come
and bring in his hand the Duchess of Bolton, the original Polly:
Steele and Addison left their cards as Captain Sentry and Sir Roger
de Coverley: Swift came in and sat down without speaking a word,
and quitted the room as abruptly: Otway and Chatterton were seen
lingering on the opposite side of the Styx, but could not muster
enough between them to pay Charon his fare: Thomson fell asleep in
the boat, and was rowed back again—and Burns sent a low fellow,
one John Barleycorn, an old companion of his who had conducted
him to the other world, to say that he had during his lifetime been
drawn out of his retirement as a show, only to be made an exciseman
of, and that he would rather remain where he was. He desired,
however, to shake hands by his representative—the hand, thus held
out, was in a burning fever, and shook prodigiously.
The room was hung round with several portraits of eminent
painters. While we were debating whether we should demand speech
with these masters of mute eloquence, whose features were so
familiar to us, it seemed that all at once they glided from their
frames, and seated themselves at some little distance from us. There
was Leonardo with his majestic beard and watchful eye, having a
bust of Archimedes before him; next him was Raphael’s graceful
head turned round to the Fornarina; and on his other side was
Lucretia Borgia, with calm, golden locks; Michael Angelo had placed
the model of St. Peter’s on the table before him; Corregio had an
angel at his side; Titian was seated with his Mistress between himself
and Giorgioni; Guido was accompanied by his own Aurora, who took
a dice-box from him; Claude held a mirror in his hand; Rubens
patted a beautiful panther (led in by a satyr) on the head; Vandyke
appeared as his own Paris, and Rembrandt was hid under furs, gold
chains and jewels, which Sir Joshua eyed closely, holding his hand so
as to shade his forehead. Not a word was spoken; and as we rose to
do them homage, they still presented the same surface to the view.
Not being bonâ-fide representations of living people, we got rid of
the splendid apparitions by signs and dumb show. As soon as they
had melted into thin air, there was a loud noise at the outer door,
and we found it was Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio, who had
been raised from the dead by their earnest desire to see their
illustrious successors—
‘Whose names on earth
In Fame’s eternal records live for aye!’