Category: Learning in Focus

Learning in Focus

The experience of Italian Jews under the racial laws of 1938

Italy’s involvement in the persecution of Jews is often overshadowed by the horrors of Nazi Germany. Chanel Parker earned a first in her dissertation titled “Inscribed Otherness: The Role of Historical Integration on Italian Jews’ Experiences and Responses to the Leggi Razziali,” where she unveiled Italy’s historically understated role in anti-Semitic prosecution, and investigated how the country has perpetuated the idea of its benevolence towards Jews. Below, Chanel details the intricacies of her research, and discusses her experiences and advice for writing the dissertation.

Primo Levi’s haunting memoirs are among the few famous reminders of Italy’s involvement in Jewish persecution. In the overbearing shadow cast by Nazi Germany, Italy has been depicted as a beacon of morality, embodying a contrasting narrative of salvation, assimilation, and righteousness. Yet, beyond the harrowing confines of Auschwitz, Levi bore witness to the insidious effects of the Leggi Razziali– a set of racial laws imposed by Mussolini’s regime, to systematically marginalise and disenfranchise Italian Jews. He was one of many victims of Italian antisemitism.

Primo Levi as a child with his family in Rapallo, Italy, 1927, CDEC digital library

In my pursuit of underrepresented avenues in Holocaust history, I encountered the Italian racial laws for the first time. How interesting, I remember thinking, that Italy has been perceived historically as a safe haven for Jews – a lesser evil – despite its concurrent implementation of a racially discriminatory campaign independent of Nazi directives. Moreover, I found myself questioning if the substantial integration of Italian Jews into fascist society could have affected the ways in which they chose to navigate the sudden onset of antisemitism. Fascism was not anti-Semitic at its roots like Nazism; perhaps Italian Jews responded uniquely to this ideological shift. This is what ultimately inspired my dissertation question.

Deciding on my question was the most difficult part. Being notoriously indecisive, I allowed myself an anticipated period of hesitation before beginning my reading in late November. Two research challenges quickly became apparent. Firstly, the subject had garnered little attention in the English language until the revisionist period in the 1980s, when historians began to reassess prevailing ideas of Italian tolerance and leniency. This meant that many of the primary sources that I encountered were in Italian, and, even upon translation, often carried an underlying propagandistic tone. Secondly, Germany stands as the epicentre of major historiography on the Holocaust and Jewish experiences, meaning that the literature documenting Italian Jews’ experiences is notably limited in comparison to German Jews, or the global Jewish community.

Setbacks like this can leave you with your head in your hands– I spent consecutive days staring at the wall, I totally get it. However, if it is any reassurance, it is also these challenges that underscore the significance of your dissertation; the objective is to fill a gap in the historical knowledge, so approaching the topic from a unique and less-explored perspective is highly indicative of a successful piece of scholarly work. For me, the scarcity of English language literature on my topic also served to reaffirm the critical importance of minority studies; I knew that I had to responsibly portray the diverse experiences of Italian Jews under the Leggi Razziali, refraining from generalisations, and acknowledging the individuality of each perspective. This depth of research required the analysis of several diary entries, letters, and transcribed interviews, recorded in the works of leading scholars such as Renzo De Felice, Alexander Stille, and Joshua Zimmerman, among others.

What became evident from these diaries, was that the historical integration of Italian Jews resulted in distinct traumas and responses when the Leggi Razziali was implemented in 1938, emphasising the importance of assessing Italy’s history independently from the wider Jewish experience. Italian Jews’ widespread prevailing hope in Mussolini, and their struggle to relate to the Jewish aspect of their identity, influenced the ways in which they reacted to anti-Semitic legislation, causing many fascist Jews to comply with measures, with the intention of reasserting their loyalty to the regime. Italian Jews’ coping mechanisms also exhibited considerable variation depending on socio-economic status. Notably, lower-class Jews experienced comparatively less impact, primarily due to their pre-existing financial impoverishment, strong religious adherence, and infrequent affiliation with fascist ideologies. Moreover, feelings of isolation, confusion, and betrayal were particularly heightened for Italian Jews, since antisemitism had not always been a part of Italy’s fascist state, which was not the case for Germany, like other European countries.

Cartoon published in “La Difesa della Razza”, 15 November 1938 on the anti-semitic laws, Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense, Milan. It states that Jews were prohibited from military service, acting as guardians, owning defence interests, owning land or buildings, and from having Aryan domestics in their households. Foreign Jews were to be expelled. Jews were prohibited from all aspects of government, banks, insurance companies and universities.

While there is so much to be said about Italian-Jewish experiences, the most important conclusion to be drawn is that the unique traumas of Italian Jews do not, of course, diminish the unique traumas of Jews of other nationalities; each community’s history is valid, and deserving of recognition. I placed significant stress on myself to address every facet of my topic comprehensively, however the reality is that the constraints of a 10,000 word limit inevitably leave some areas unexplored. While this realisation can be disheartening, it is essential to focus on delivering a thorough and coherent analysis within the given parameters. Refine your arguments, prioritise your most crucial points, and cut out anything that you don’t need- you will be completely fine.

I wish I considered myself equipped to give advice such as “start early,” and “do a little bit every day,” but that has never been my work style. If you thrive on the adrenaline of a last-minute deadline like I do, then ensuring that you have a rich repository of detailed notes and references is paramount. As you deepen your understanding of your topic through extensive reading, you are unknowingly laying the foundations that will enable the natural and effortless articulation of your argument at a later date. I sincerely can’t write well without extreme pressure, so this is what completely saved my degree. More importantly, cliché as it is, ensuring that your topic ignites a passion within you is crucial for creating compelling work. The dissertation is a lengthy process, but it can be incredibly academically rewarding; aim to approach it in a way that ensures you can reflect on it with satisfaction, not resentment. Choose a topic that really interests you, and I promise that it’s not as scary as it seems.

Good luck, you’ve got this.

June 27, 2024
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
Polar Exploration and the Imperial Imagination: the social influences that drove arctic explorers to risk all

Most histories of polar exploration focus on the biographies and psychologies of heroic, driven individuals. Matthew Voyce’s UoP BA history dissertation, Polar Exploration and the Imperial Imagination 1845-1922: Race, Science and Competing Approaches, sought to go beyond this to understand the complex ways in which these events connected with the broader social influences and ideas of their time, including imperialism, and the impetus towards scientific advancement. Matthew’s supervisor was Dr Matt Heaslip. Below Matthew writes about his approach to the topic, and his experience of the process of writing the dissertation.

Captain Scott’s grave is a lonely place. A solitary cross, hastily nailed together from pine board, watches the endless, unsettling Antarctic plain from its home on Observation Hill. This isn’t where Scott is buried. He’s buried underneath the drifting snow and shifting ice of the Ross Ice Shelf, forever part of the continent.

Of course, Scott wasn’t the first man to die during one of the myriad British expeditions to both the north and the south pole. He knew better than most the risks he was running, the suffering he would have to endure. So why did he, and countless others, go?

This is ultimately what my dissertation is about. Traditional orthodoxy places the primary motives for polar exploration in something deeply ingrained within these explorers, a certain attraction to the desolation of the poles. I believe there is some truth to this. I do not dispute the drive and ferocious bravery of every soul who ventured their lives for these voyages. But they were human. They lived in complex social systems riddled with doubt and contradictions. Focus solely on the forces at play within the minds of explorers is simply not a satisfactory answer when trying to understand why generations of Briton’s gave so much in pursuit of the poles.

When I began reading in October, two things were immediately obvious. Firstly, historians have barely scratched the surface of what polar study has to offer to the study of history. The vast majority of polar histories are biographical, choosing to portray expeditions not as part of the fabric of their era but as stand-alone curiosities. Secondly, those historians who had combined polar exploration with the broader strands of British society (naturally) did not agree with each other. One strand saw polar exploration as a product of imperial thought, and all its associated evils. The other champions scientific advancement and industrial impetus.

I knew my dissertation needed to address both of these points. It had to try to tie polar expeditions into the prevailing themes and concerns of the Victorian and Edwardian eras, whilst acknowledging the ongoing debate between imperial drive and scientific determination. After what felt like a lifetime agonising about how I could manage this in only 10,000 words, I decided to compare the two competing debates. As these two themes connected polar exploration the broad streams that made the zeitgeist of the time, I reasoned that by comparing the ongoing debate I could both demonstrate analytical skills and contextual knowledge.

But here the methodological reasoning ended. As I began to read more and more, I understood less and less. It was like drowning in paradox. The concepts I was dealing with were even more complicated than I first realised. Elements such as social Darwinism and British morality kept figuring in both the secondary literature and primary sources. Eventually, I was trying to grapple with the twisting contradictions that propped up British society. It was a lot.

But luckily, I had help. My dissertation supervisor, Matt Heaslip, was always available for questions, pointing me in the right direction on subjects such as Pax Britannica. I also had my teaching to fall back on. Over my three years of undergraduate study, I had studied the British Empire in depth, particularly its seedy underbelly. Because of this I already knew something of the driving forces underneath the empire and such I had a launch pad into an incredibly dense and difficult subject. That, I think, is the key. It is important to fall back onto what you know and have confidence in that base rather than fixating on what you don’t know. Only after I learnt this could I begin to dive into the substance of my dissertation.

What I found took me by surprise. The dual forces of racialised thinking and scientific endeavour were littered throughout the primary sources. You could see it in the press, you could see it in expedition publications. Underneath everything there was a perplexing blend of pseudoscience that sought to justify the human and financial expense undertaken by the likes of Scott. It was a peculiar blend of social influences that seemed to take on another dimension every time I took another look at my evidence. Explorers themselves didn’t necessarily embody originality. Yes, demonstrated bravery that is vanishingly rare in this world. But instead of being pulled to the poles by internal personalities they were pushed by the conditions of Britain at the time.

The true balance between internal drive and external pressure is difficult to understand and would require far more than 10,000 words. But looking back it is clear to me that these men themselves were products of their time in the most Victorian way. I do worry that perhaps this is unnecessarily dismissive of Scott, Shackleton and company. After all, they risked everything the most hostile environment of all, and someone doesn’t do that with extraordinary determination. But I also realise that by showing the conflicted nature of both explorers and society alike we achieve a fuller and more complete picture of this imperial niche.

I’m not ashamed to say I loved writing my dissertation. It was my first foray into history not shaped by an essay question of characterised by casual interest. It was also difficult. It was frustrating and at times agonising. But at the end of the day, I believed in my ability and knew I had 10,000 words to write and no amount of giving up would get them written. My advice to anyone reading this is three-fold. Firstly, work to your strengths. You cannot build without foundations. And secondly, keep ploughing on no matter what. You might only manage twenty minutes a day, but it all counts as progress even when it doesn’t feel like it. And lastly, try not to lose the passion. Watch films, read stories and keep that interest in your topic ignited. If you manage all three, then you will succeed no matter what gets thrown at you.

Good luck and go well.

June 19, 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
A virtual tour of the British Museum

On 9 May 2024 some of our UoP history third-year students did a virtual reality tour of the British Museum as part of their option, ‘Collecting the World: From Cabinets of Curiosity to the British Museum’ taught by Dr Alexandra Ortolja-Baird. Thanks to, @cci_digital_studios, for hosting the session.

May 13, 2024
Tombfinders: Working with the Napoleonic past

As part of the Working with the Past Module, four second year undergraduates from the University of Portsmouth’s BA History program (Izzy Turtle, Emily Harris, Damiana Kun and Rebekah Money) have been working with the Napoleonic & Revolutionary War Graves Charity (NRWGC) on a dedicated project to locate Napoleonic era veterans, locating and assessing their graves, and working to restore them. Founded in 2021, the NRWGC (UK Registered Charity No 1196849) was founded by Zach White to honour the memory of veterans of all nationalities who served between 1775 and 1815. The charity does this by locating veteran’s long forgotten graves, cleaning and restoring them where appropriate, and reburying disinterred veterans so that they can have the dignity of a final resting place.

Highland Road Cemetery, Portsmouth

In this podcast launched on Sunday 5 May 2024, project members talk about their recent efforts to find the graves of Napoleonic veterans across Portsmouth, and their experiences of cleaning graves. The students travelled to the Hampshire County Archive in Winchester, before narrowing down their search to Highland Road Cemetery, spending hours tracking down and assessing graves in the cemetery, and the rolling their sleeves up and cleaning one of the graves – that of Major General Dwyer, of the Royal Marines Light Infantry. Their research also saw them request and receive access to St Ann’s Church, on the Portsmouth Dockyard Naval Base, as they went searching for a little-known memorial to Admiral Maitland – the man who arrested Napoleon.

To find out more about the efforts of the NRWGC, and the support their work, go to www.nrwgc.com

May 7, 2024