Tag: sixteenth century

Communal music on board the Mary Rose: the significance and after-life of a shawm

For the second year module, The Hidden Lives of Things, taught by Dr Katy Gibbons and Dr Mary Cannon, for their assessment, students have to produce an ‘object biography’ for a historical artefact. Francesca Raine chose to look at one of the ten surviving musical instruments found on the Mary Rose and what it can tell us about how sixteen-century people experienced and enjoyed music.

Photograph of Shawm/Doucaine found on the upper deck of the Mary Rose, Francesca Raine.

In 1545 the Mary Rose, a Tudor carrack, sank during a confrontation with the French fleet in Portsmouth.[1] The unusual underwater conditions preserved a unique snapshot of everyday Tudor life, revealed in the 20^th century, despite earlier excavation attempts in 1545 and 1836-1840.[2]

Among the artefacts recovered in the 1970’s were ten musical instruments, the first being a shawm, also known as a doucaine, a double-reeded instrument which is the ancestor of the oboe.[3] The shawm was found on the upper deck of the ship, dismantled inside a fragmentary wooden case.[4] Traditionally, historians have neglected the value offered by such examples of material culture, preferring written sources as the ‘blood’ for early modern history.[5] Using Harvey’s three-step method, this essay will unpick and evaluate the layers of significance offered by the shawm, in early modern and more recent contexts, leading to new interpretations, understandings and narratives.[6]

Harvey prioritises the description of an object as the first step of analysis.[7] The components are made from complimentary boxwood and cherry wood, with a complete cylindrical, brass interior.[8] Despite the lack of a flared bell the instrument is remarkably intact, unlike its counterparts such as the tabor. To an extent the position of the shawm within a case, accounts for the quality of the condition, as it would have protected the object during the sinking and provided another layer of shelter underwater. However, it also implies it was an appreciated possession. There are little traces of damage for an item made to be exercised regularly. Evidence of a case shows consideration was taken to store the instrument when it was not used, reflecting the personal value placed on the object. The design is also useful for indicating a level of care during the production as well as the consumption. Mixing a dark and light wood adds a decorative element, an unnecessary touch by the creator. This suggests there is an aspect of pride and attentiveness undertaken during manufacture. No makers are imprinted, consequently limiting our understanding of how this instrument came on board or who made it. However, the shawm does significantly reveal unique emotive understandings that can be communicated through the physical and visual dimensions written sources may not provide.

Engraving of musicians at a wedding, by German artist Sebald Beham, 1537

During the Tudor period, music was a prominent feature of society well documented in non-musical sources such as administrative records; yet historical texts have filtered music into the ‘briefest mention’.[9] The discovery of the shawm has provided insights into this neglected area through experimental archaeology. Playing of a replica reveals a strong bass sound was produced due to the cylindrical bore and that it required a finger stretch ‘not comfortable to achieve’.[10] This is useful for understanding how the shawm was played and sounded, and that there was a competent skill level required, implying the owner was an experienced musician. Prior to the discovery, historical knowledge on this instrument was dependent on visual and written means. Tinctorius for example, described that doucaines had the range of a ninth, yet the Mary Rose reproduction shows that they covered an octave.[11] This finding is significant because it changes historical understandings and develops the history the shawm.[12] Furthermore, Blockley notes that replications engage with different senses, therefore the shawm provides a unique auditory and tactile dimension.[13] These distinctive characteristics offer a closer understanding to human behaviours, in this example musical ability and expressions of creativity in Tudor England.

Pinturicchio, detail from The Coronation of Pope Pius III, Piccolomini Library, Duomo, Siena (1509)

Riello highlights the importance of an interdisciplinary approach when analysing artefacts.[14] This methodology is valuable to understanding the significance of instruments on board and the role they played. A Dutch painting shows a shawm, tabor and pipe used in conjunction to produce music.[15] This introduces the prospect that that there may have been a band on board, however, it should be noted this underlines potential uses only. This is significant as it infers music was an organised event, used for strengthening social bonds and promoting leisure. This dispels narratives that everyday Tudor life had little time for entertainment. Demonstrated here, the shawm has brought musical, scientific and historical disciplines together to expand historical knowledge.

Many objects on the upper deck did not survive which proved frustrating and troublesome for historians because free time and living arrangements would have been organised there.[16] Consequently, the presence of this instrument is significant because it provides a rare insight into ship life that were otherwise unobtainable. The location also reveals that leisure was not kept to strict social boundaries and was shared in communal areas. This shows that society wasn notas highly regulated as often portrayed. Consequently, the shawm is valuable for understanding expressions of leisure outside the elite Tudor classes. Although it cannot tell us about responses to music or what songs were played it does successfully answer gaps in recreational history.

It is important to study the life of an object because this can reveal different ‘contexts, functions and associations’.[17] Following the shawm’s discovery, it went under a lengthy and complicated conservation process (involving chemical baths, vacuuming, freeze-drying), suggesting there was an initial significance recognised to protect it.[18] It now resides in the Mary Rose Museum on display. Museums provide a multitude of services, from preservation and collection to interpretation and education.[19] The has a new dual purpose; to serve archaeological and historical needs whilst balancing public requirements. The public rely on museums for discovery and to experience emotive connections to history, whereas historians utilise the space for reinterpreting the relevance of Tudor history in the present, tracing the shawm’s ongoing significance and legacy. As with any source, historians need to be wary of bias, however when studying the shawm’s current location they should also consider the influence of stakeholders such as trustees and sponsors influencing the object’s display. Consequently, the modern context poses risks to distortion or misrepresentation, through balancing these non-academic and academic needs. Studying the chronological life cycle of this object is valuable for reflecting different societal needs and functions in the sixteenth and twentieth centuries. It demonstrates how objects can be repurposed and in turn need to be re-contextualised to continue understanding the historical and socio-cultural significances.

The shawm’s significance for revealing early modern human experience and contemporary values cannot be underestimated through its ability to answer gaps in historians’ knowledge. It uniquely manages to capture a cross-study analysis of everyday Tudor life, revealing socio-cultural and historical significances. Additionally, studying the biography of the shawm has revealed a longer and more intricate history.

For another post by Francesca, on Henry VIII’s navy, click here

[1] Mary Anne Alburger, “The ‘fydill in fist’: Bowed instruments from the Mary Rose”, The Galpin Society Journal, vol. 53, (2000): 12.

[2] Mary Anne Alburger, “The ‘fydill in fist’: Bowed instruments from the Mary Rose”, 12.

[3] Julie Gardiner, “The “Good Shippe” Mary Rose: An Introduction”, in Before the Mast: Life and Death on Board the Mary Rose, edited by Julie Gardiner, (Portsmouth: The Mary Rose Trust Ltd., 2005), 12; Frances Palmer, “Musical Instruments from the Mary Rose: A report on work in progress”, Early Music, vol. 11, 1, (1983): 54.

[4] Jeremy Montagu, “Dance and Skylark: Musical Instruments”, in Before the Mast: Life and Death on Board the Mary Rose, edited by Julie Gardiner, 226-249, (Portsmouth: The Mary Rose Trust Ltd., 2005), 236.

[5] Laura Sangha and Jonathan Willis, “Introduction: Understanding early modern primary sources”, in Understanding Early Modern Primary Sources, edited by Laura Sangha and Jonathan Willis, 1-14, (London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2016), 1.

[6] Karen Havey, “Introduction: Practical Matters’, in History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, edited by Karen Harvey, 1-23, (London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2013), 15.

[7] Karen Havey, “Introduction: Practical Matters’, 15.

[8] Jeremy Montagu, “Dance and Skylark: Musical Instruments”,236-237.

[9]John Milsom, “Music, Politics and Society”, in A Companion to Tudor Britain, edited by and Norman L. Jones and Robert Tittler, 492-508, (Williston: John Wiley & Sons, 2004), 494; Burton W. Peretti, “Music: The Composed Sound”, in History Beyond the Text: A Students Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, edited by Sarah Barber and Corinna Peniston-Bird, 89-104, (Milton: Taylor & Francis Group, 2008), 89.

[10] Jeremy Montagu, “Dance and Skylark: Musical Instruments”, 239-240.

[11] Jeremy Montagu, “Dance and Skylark: Musical Instruments”, 240.

[12] Georgio Riello, “Things that shape history: Material culture and historical narratives”, in History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, edited by Karen Harvey, 24-46, (London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2013), 25.

[13] Marion Blockley, “Archaeological Reconstructions and the Community in the UK”, in The Constructed Past: Experimental Archaeology, Education and the Public, edited by Philippe Panel and Peter G. Stone, 15-32 (London: Taylor & Francis, 1999), 16.

[14] Georgio Riello, “Things that shape history: Material culture and historical narratives”,33.

[15] Jeremy Montagu, “Dance and Skylark: Musical Instruments”, 230.

[16] Julie Gardiner, “The “Good Shippe” Mary Rose: An Introduction”, 229

[17] Karin Dannehl, “Object Biographies: From Consumption to Production”, in History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, 2^nd ed., edited by Karen Harvey, 171-186, (London: Taylor & Francis Group, 2013), 173.

[18] Mary Anne Alburger, “The ‘fydill in fist’, 14.

[19] Susan Mancino, “The Museum Profession: Protecting and Promoting Professional Commitments”, Curator, vol. 58, 2, 92016): 141.

June 24, 2024
Creating an identity through clothing: a Renaissance merchant’s fashion book

For the second year UoP History module, The Hidden Lives of Things, taught by Dr Katy Gibbons and Dr Mary Cannon, for their assessment, students have to produce an ‘object biography’ for a historical artefact. Sadie White chose a sixteen-century German fashion book.

Mathäus Schwartz by Hans Maler, painted in 1526 when Schwarz was 29, Musée du Louvre, Paris

Described as “The First Book of Fashion,” Matthäus Schwarz of Augsburg’s Klaidungsbüchlein or Trachtenbuch or “Book of Clothes” is a fascinating object.[1] This object biography explores Schwarz’s reason for producing this book, entangling ideas of self-reflection linked to the Renaissance, the importance of clothes and the idea of sentimentality. It will explore the book’s lifecycle and how someone’s relationship with an object can change its function and importance. Throughout, Riello’s approach of a “history of things” will be prevalent, placing the object in its cultural and personal context.[2]

The book itself contains over one hundred and thirty-seven colourful self-portraits that reflect upon the clothing Schwarz wore throughout his life.[3] Each page is around sixteen by ten centimetres, produced on parchment paper with vivid watercolour paints, a rarer medium of the time.[4] Also included on each page is a description of the outfit, alongside his age and occasionally the reason the outfit was worn, which Schwarz scribed himself. Schwarz worked closely with the artist Narziss Renner for four-fifths of the book, until Renner died in 1536. [5] Woodward argues that objects are “the material embodiment” of the human effort that first creates them.[6] Meeting Renner when he was just twenty years old, portrays the personal effort involved, Schwarz entrusted Renner to produce something important to him. The personal relationship between the patron and the artist was paramount in the book’s creation: after Renner’s death, only twenty-nine more paintings were produced for the book. [7]

An entry showing Matthäus as a young man, aged 21.

This leads to why Schwarz created such an object in the first place, it appears that it was intended as a personal project, that would have probably only been shared with family or close friends.[8] This is interesting as it represents the object as being self-reflective, an idea that coincided with the increase of personal documents such as diaries during the period.[9] The creation of this book started in 1520, the year that Schwarz secured his position working as an accountant to the Fugger merchants, “captains of industry” in Augsburg.[10] This position represented a turning point for Schwarz, restoring family honour after the public execution of his grandfather.[11] This idea lends itself to the book having a diary-like nature as Sangha argues they reflected the way people interpreted important events in their lives.[12] Sangha also argues that self-examination at this time was usually focused on one aspect of someone’s life, for Schwarz, this was clothing.[13] During the early modern period, clothing was intrinsically linked to social status, as Prieto argues clothes were used to “fashion oneself.”[14] Therefore the creation of the Book of Fashion exemplifies the reflection of identity through clothing. Vincent asserts that clothing was a choice of “self-presentation,” Schwarz was choosing to present and remember his life through his clothes.[15] Art and fashion were “imbued with meaning,” therefore the book provides an insight into the way people chose to perceive themselves and reflects how the culture of the Renaissance meant art was just as contemplative as writing.[16]

Matthäus Schwarz painted aged 45 in 1542 by Christoph Amberger, Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid

The Book of Fashion demonstrates arguments that have started to become prevalent in the historiography of material culture, the rejection that objects are inanimate and instead that they can possess agency.[17] If the owner of an object “ascribes meaning” to it, this can lead to an emotional attachment.[18] Schwarz created this book over forty years, exemplifying that there was a relationship between the object and himself, it evoked reflection and memory through the creation of it, hence creating a personal connection.[19] Books and emotions, Downes argues, are intrinsically linked, as they proved the connection between material culture and how people used it to express emotion.[20] For Schwarz, this emotional expression is evident through the remembrance of events in his life, and the remembrance of his love of art and clothing through the object’s creation. Undeniably, The Book of Fashion had agency in Schwarz’s life because it was how he chose to remember his life, particularly key events such as weddings. This is also telling of human behaviour, why he deemed certain outfits and events as important passageways to include. Important events linked to an object are key to building sentimentality towards an object, as Fletcher argues.[21] Therefore as a book, it is an entanglement of nostalgia, passion and emotion that held forty years of life in it.

Electress Sophia of Hanover (1630-1714), Princess Palatine, bought Matthäus’s fashion book after his death. Portrait by Gerrard van Honthorst, National Trust, Ashdown House, Berkshire.

The final important analysis when discussing the book is its lifecycle, how it survived and the changing meaning it acquired through the passage of time. Matthaeus encouraged his son to work on creating a similar book, demonstrating his sentimentality towards the book. However, his son scarcely carried the project on, adding to the personal nature of the book, and its specific socio-cultural context. During Matthaeus’s time living in the rich industrial centre of Augsburg, there was a Renaissance trend of increasingly realistic portrayals of both the self and clothes in portraits, seen through the work of artists such as Daniel Hopfer.[22] This links to self-observation and explains why Schwarz created this object the way he did in 1520, and why it is a specific outcome of the cultural context. After Matthaus’s death, the book came into the possession of his granddaughter, who sold the manuscript to Jeremias Steiniger.[23] This shows the loss of personal importance of the book. His granddaughter had no relationship with him and thus no relationship to the object. With no emotional connection, the object lost its agency. In this case, it was sold, considering this was not the original intention for creation, it demonstrates that as a relationship changes with an object so does the purpose of it. It is thought that the manuscript was then sold to Sophie Electress of Hanover and two copies were made, one remaining in the Imperial Library in Paris to this day. [24] Vastly different from its original purpose of self-reflection, it now acts to reflect on the values of the Renaissance and how books are the mirror of the culture that made them.

In conclusion, The Book of Fashion when studied as an object brings to the forefront many ideas surrounding the Renaissance. It shows us the rise of self-reflection and how people carried this out through a myriad of media, whilst simultaneously exemplifying the role of objects in this process. Another salient analysis of the Book of Fashion is the clear agency it had throughout Schwarz’s life and the importance he attached to creating the object. This is why the book held a fascination, it was a personally reflective object, yet it created this reflection through art and clothing, which in turn provides huge insight into the culture of the Renaissance.

To discover more about clothes and the construction of Renaissance masculinity, read our 2017 post on King Henry VIII’s wardrobe by Andrew McCarthy.

[1] Ulinka Rublack, “Introduction,” in The First Book of Fashion: The Book of Clothes of Matthaeus and Veit Konrad Schwarz of Augsburg ed. Ulinka Rublack, Maria Hayward and Jenny Tiramni (London: Bloomsbury Publishing 2015), 3.

[2] Giorgio Riello, “Things that shape history,” in History and Material Culture: A Students Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources ed. Karen Harvey (London: Taylor and Francis, 2013), 25.

[3] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[4] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[5] Rublack, “Introduction,” 20.

[6] Ian Woodward, Understanding Material Culture, (London: Sage, 2007), 82.

[7] Rublack, “Introduction,” 10.

[8] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[9] Laura Sangha, “Personal Documents,” in Understanding Early Modern Primary Sources, ed. Laura Sangha and Jonathon Willis (London: Taylor and Francis, 2016), 107.

[10] Mark Haberlein and Gerda Schmid, The Fuggers of Augsburg: Pursuing Wealth and Honor in Renaissance Germany (Virginia: Virginia University Press, 2012), 2.

[11] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[12] Sangha, “Personal Documents,” 112.

[13] Sangha, “Personal Documents,” 115.

[14] Laura R. Prieto, “Clothing,” in Approaching Historical Sources in their Contexts: Spaces, Time and Performance ed. Sarah Barber and Corinna M. Peniston-Bird, (New York: Routledge, 2020), 184

[15] Susan Vincent, Dressing the elite: Clothes in Early Modern England, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 7.

[16] Vincent, Dressing the elite, 5.

[17] Stephanie Downes, Sally Holloway and Sarah Randalls, Feeling Things: Objects and Emotions through History, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 8.

[18] Downes, Holloway and Randalls, Feeling Things, 9.

[19] Stephanie Triig and Anna Welch, “Objects, Material Culture and the History of Emotions,” Emotions: History, Culture, Society 7 (2023): 7.

[20] Stephanie Downes, “Books,” in Early Modern Emotions ed. Susan Broomhall (London: Routledge, 2016), 132.

[21] Downes, Holloway and Randalls, Feeling things, 13.

[22] Rublack, “Introduction,” 5.

[23] Rublack, “Introduction,” 21.

[24] Rublack, “Introduction,” 21.

June 14, 2024
Getting creative with early modern history

In a previous post, Dr Katy Gibbons looked at how second-year students studying the Debating the Past module, translated Natalie Davis’s book The Return of Martin Guerre into other media: emojis, memes and poetry. Our first-year students in the Beliefs, Communities and Conflicts: Europe 1400-1750 module are also set an assessment asking them to employ the imaginative use of media to explore a theme relating to their studies on the module. Below we look at two great responses to this.

Having initially thought about crocheting an item or artwork from the early modern period (!), Megan Conway decided to produce a comic. Visual formats often make it easier to take in complex information; historical comics and cartoons were what initially got Megan to be so interested in history as a child; she says might not have studied history now at university had it not been for them.

Megan Conway

There are controversies surrounding visual media as a form of education due to “ethical implications” such as how certain cultures are displayed and the bias that evolves from such. [1] To tackle this, Megan ensured that she mainly used stick figures with the flags, or clear labels, instead of defining features. The few times she drew historical people they were “cartoonised” and based on references to other modernised cartoon drawings and comic books. [2] Additionally, she avoided biased colours for example using red backgrounds as it is often used to symbolise Catholicism and orange as it symbolises Protestantism. She thus attempted to avoid any potential bias influenced by colour theory, depictions of certain countries or people.

Elliott Thomas and Jack Baker used a different approach, a podcast, quoting statistics which show that there was an estimated 23.3 million podcast listeners in the United Kingdom.[3] Podcasts are clearly an important medium in showing information, be it life advice, comedy or history.

They decided to do a podcast about colonial empires as they were an important aspect of the development of early modern Europe. More specifically, they decided on a tier list ranking a selection of colonial empires. Those empires were: Scotland, Denmark, Sweden, Russia, Spain, England/Great Britain, France and Portugal. Before setting off on research, in the group they discussed the parameters of how an empire is ranked, as naturally it can be controversial due to the sometimes-abhorrent crimes committed in their name. They decided that they should compare the empires based on: territorial extent, impact, military might and to a certain extent: legacy (mainly in the short term). They were quite strict in confining their discussions of the empires to the early modern period (c. 1450-1750)

They decided to group the empires in five tiers: The Best, good, middling, bad and the worst.

Their conclusions were surprising: instead of the stereotypical winners like the Spanish or Portuguese, France came out on top. Have a listen to their podcast and see if you agree.

[1] Annette Kuhn, ‘Memory Texts and Memory Work: Performances of Memory in and with Visual Media’, Memory Studies 3, no. 4 (27 September 2010), https://doi.org/10.1177/1750698010370034.

[2] Newcastle University and National Civil War Centre, ‘Fact File: Oliver Cromwell’, British Civil Wars (blog), accessed 4 March 2024, https://britishcivilwars.ncl.ac.uk/key-people/fact-file-oliver-cromwell/; Andy Hirsch, History Comics: The Transcontinental Railroad, 10 vols, History Comics (Macmillan Publishers, 2022), https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250794772/historycomicsthetranscontinentalrailroad.

[3] “Estimated number of podcast listeners in the United Kingdom (UK) from 2017 to 2016”. https://www.statista.com/forecasts/1147560/podcast-reach-uk#:~:text=Podcast%20reach%20in%20the%20United%20Kingdom%20(UK)%202017%2D2026&text=As%20of%202021%2C%20there%20were,28%20million%20listeners%20by%202026 , last accessed 18 March 2023

May 3, 2024
Criminal punishments in Devon, 1598-1638

In the second-year UoP history module, Underworlds: Crime, Deviance & Punishment in Britain, 1500-1900, taught by Dr Fiona McCall and Professor Brad Beaven, students study the history of crime and punishment between 1500 and 1900. Students can take this option on a range of courses at Portsmouth, including History, Criminology and English Literature. In this blog post, based on his work for the module, second year UoP history student Edward Sainsbury discusses what can be learned from a detailed table of statistics on sentences given to criminals at the Devonshire assizes and quarter sessions courts between 1598 and 1638.

Over the course of an almost 30-year period almost 10,000 punishments were recorded in Devonshire in the early 17^th century. These punishments were overseen by the Courts of Assize, which were justices appointed by the sovereign and travelled around England and Wales trying people for crimes. Also included in this source, is the Court of Quarter Sessions, which were county level courts that were typically held 4 times each year. The source meticulously catalogues each punishment from a list of 16 categories. The source, based on surviving archival records at the Devonshire Heritage Centre, was compiled by historian J.S. Cockburn as evidence for his research on court proceedings in the Western Circuit.[1] In this post, I will be analysing the source to discuss what it can tell us about executions and public punishments in the early modern period.

Detail from John Reynolds, The Triumphes of Gods Revenge Agaynst The Cryinge, & Execrable Sinne, of Willfull, & Premeditate Murther (1670)

Executions were clearly a popular punishment during this time period. During this time there were a number of ways people were executed but the use of gallows was by far the most common way to execute someone.[2] The source tells us that 620 people were sentenced to execution, this makes executions the third most popular punishment in Devon behind being granted clergy and whipping.[3] Crimes which merited a criminal to be executed were those where breaking the law was seen as an attack on the sovereign and punishable by death.[4] This led to minor crimes being punishable by death. A source depicting the percentage of crimes that resulted in execution in Sussex suggests that 94% of horse theft crime resulted in the accused being executed, while a more serious crime of murder was only 65%.[5] The number of executions over the period the source covers do not seem to change too significantly. The rate of executions in Devon would not drop significantly until the start of the civil wars.[6] The source ends in 1639 but by 1637 the rate of executions looks to be in decline.

A section from Cockburn’s table of punishments.

During the 17^th century, punishments were often conducted in public spaces; it was seen as a spectacle.[7] On the source we are looking at, punishments such as execution, stocks/pillory and whipping would commonly be done in front of a live audience.[8] Visual punishments were useful as they acted as a reminder of authority within the lower classes. Public trials and punishments were an innovation that came about during the Tudor Period, these punishments were originally reserved for the upper-class as a way to show the power of the crown, but their effectiveness as both entertainment and societal control meant they were gradually used on the lower ends of social hierarchy by the end of the Tudor Period.[9]

Whippings as a form of punishment remained largely popular throughout the period. They were overwhelmingly popular for the Quarter Sessions, being the most common punishment inflicted. This could be because the Quarter Session would typically look over lesser cases. For the Assizes it is a fairly even split between whippings and executions. Public punishments often had religious motivation as well. The punished were encouraged to redeem themselves, for public executions this often meant the punished was expected to make a speech humbling the crowd and seeming accepting of death in order to be ‘reborn again in death’.[10] This gives us an idea of the role religion played in everyday life and more importantly in the legal framework of 17^th century England and Wales.

Moving on to religion, a notable inclusion to the list of punishments presented, is ‘granted clergy’. This involved the accused proving to the courts that they are a member of the clergy. This could be proven by reciting a verse of the bible. The original idea was that if the accused successfully convinced the judge he was a clergyman, they would be required to be tried in the ecclesiastical courts, which were notoriously more forgiving with their punishments. By the early modern period you did not need to be in religious orders to make this plea. Crimes which would overwise condemn a man to the gallows like grand larceny and manslaughter were commonly saved with ‘benefit of clergy’.[11] The number of people who were granted clergy stayed healthy through the time period recorded in the source, which suggests this was a tried and tested method for criminals to get out of a worse punishment. This was clearly an exploited part of the legal system as many years more notably in early years like 1598 and 1609 being granted clergy was close to being the most common verdict in the courts.

The source shows us what punishments were used during the early 17^th century. It gives us insight into what people experienced during this time and it gives us a specific idea of the standard practices of English and Welsh courts. From this period, we know that capital punishment was commonly used and that the executions were public spectacles, which could hint at one reason for their continued use. Religion played a significant role in the legal process. This source only applies for Devonshire but with the information it provides it could be cross referenced when looking at punishments of other counties.

[1] J.S. Cockburn, A History of the English Assizes 1558-1714, (Cambridge, 1972), 94-96

[2] Paul Griffiths, “Punishing Words: Insults and Injuries, 1525-1700,” in The Extraordinary and the Everyday in Early Modern England: Essays in Celebration of the Work of Bernard Capp, ed. Angela McShane and Garthine Walker, (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 79.

[3] For certain serious offences, it was possible for criminals to be spared execution by pleading ‘Benefit of Clergy’, by proving they could read.

[4] Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, (London: Penguin Press, 1991), 49.

[5] C.B. Herrup, The Common Peace: Participation and the Criminal Law in Seventeenth-Century England, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 169.

[6] J.S. Cockburn, “Criminal Proceedings,” in A History of the English Assizes 1558-1714, 93.

[7] Griffiths, “Punishing Words: Insults and Injuries, 1525-1700”, 68.

[8] Sarah Covington, “Cutting, Branding, Whipping, Burning: The Performance of Judicial Wounding in Early Modern England,” in Staging Pain, 1580-1800: Violence and Trauma in British Theater, ed. by James R. Allard and Mathew R. Martin, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 95.

[9] Sharpe, “Civility, Civilizing Processes, and the End of Public Punishment in England,” 221.

[10] Katherine Royer, The English Execution Narrative, 1200-1700. (London: Taylor and Francis, 2015), 63.

[11] Sharpe, “Civility, Civilizing Processes, and the End of Public Punishment in England,” 223.

January 31, 2024
The challenges faced by Catholics under Queen Elizabeth I

Image © The Trustees of the British Museum

UoP History’s Katy Gibbons has recently published a chapter in volume 1 of the Oxford History of British and Irish Catholicism. This major multivolume work seeks to explore the complex and contested stories and experiences of Catholic communities in Britain and Ireland across 5 centuries, and to bring together aspects of their stories that are often approached separately.

Katy’s contribution explores the many challenges faced by Catholics in England, Wales and Ireland in the reign of Elizabeth, and how their responses were shaped by the specific local, national and international context. In particular, it considers the linguistic, political, ecclesiastical and legal frameworks in which Catholics negotiated their existence as subjects of a Protestant monarch, including the divisions this provoked amongst them.

November 20, 2023
Telling tales about the Past

The celebrated historian Natalie Zemon Davis died recently. In this post, our own Dr Katy Gibbons looks at how second-year students studying the ‘Debating the Past’ module, translated her most famous work into other media: emojis, memes and poetry!

What role does story telling play in history writing? How far can historians use their own imagination when discovering and relaying the stories of people in the past?

This is one of the many questions that we engage our students with as they look in depth at historiography, and think about how historians ‘do’ history. In our second year core module, ‘Debating the Past’, one of the texts that might be studied is Natalie Davis’ groundbreaking book, The Return of Martin Guerre. First published 40 years ago, it reveals how a 16^th century peasant community, and individuals within it, respond to a unlikely yet true case of a missing person, identity theft and imposture. Years after Martin Guerre disappeared from his village of Artigat in South-West France, a man turned up claiming to be him and resumes his life in his family and community. When doubts crept in, a series of court cases ensued, with a dramatic conclusion. Davis’ book remains inspirational and much cited, not only for the interest of the story, but for the questions she raises about the role of the historian in creating their accounts of the past, and the role of imagination in history writing.

Thie Martin Guerre story is one which exists today in different media – a film (for which Davis was historical consultant) and play amongst others. When students study the book, in their seminars they are set a challenge: can they retell their own version of the story of Martin Guerre, using a different media? And having retold it, how does this help reflect on their responses to and analysis of Natalie Davis’ account?

We are always impressed by the creativity and imagination of our students! To give a few examples from last year’s graduating cohort, we had Martin Guerre through emojis from Rachel:

through memes from Pauline (a few of my favourites below):

and even through a poem from Charlotte!

Once students had shared their own story telling, they discussed the decisions about the emphasis they played on particular events, and on the actions of the different protagonists. This opened up an exploration of how other scholars have responded to and been inspired by the way Natalie Davis chose to tell the story, and, importantly, why it’s important to know and think about these stories.

This connects to a bigger question: how does thinking about this intriguing case of 16^th century peasants help us to think about our own world, as well as our 21^st-century approaches to the past?

Natalie Zemon Davis; photo: Marit Hommedal/SCANPIX

Natalie Davis died very recently, after a lifetime of producing thought provoking and inspiring history, of encouraging others to ask useful questions, and of advocating for stories of marginalised people to be told. As historians (both lecturers and students) at Portsmouth,who continue to explore her unique contributions, we have much to learn by returning to Natalie Davis’ own words:

‘No matter how bleak and constrained the situation, some forms of improvisation and coping takes place. No matter what happens, people go on telling stories about it and bequeath them to the future. No matter how static and despairing the present looks, the past reminds us that change can occur … The past is an unending source of interest and can even be a source for hope’. [1]

[1] Natalie Zemon Davis, “A Life of Learning”, Charles Homer Haskins Lecture for 1997, ACLS Occasional Paper, No. 39 (1997), 23.

November 16, 2023