This article attempts to place the Canadian contribution to the collapse of the sanctions front against Italy in 1935 in perspective. It argues that Canadian policy on the question was powerfully conditioned by, and conditioned in turn, imperial policy taken as a whole. There is no attempt to assess blame, but rather, an effort at a modest redistribution of responsibility from the shoulders of British statesmen, over-burdened, onto those of Canadian leaders, the contribution of whom to the formation of general imperial policy has largely escaped notice. The Canadian contribution is instructive in an examination of the Ethiopian crisis, in particular, because Canada alone amongst the dominions invariably opposed a ‘forward’ policy against Italy and alone amongst its fellow dominions consistently failed to support a common front against fascism. It is not without significance that this policy – or lack of policy, perhaps more properly – also became Britain's own.

‘The rapid growth of wealth, especially among the classes of the greatest activity and enterprise, has led, for a number of years past, to a diminished watchfulness, outside the walls of Parliament, respecting the great and cardinal subject of economy in the public charges, and the relation between the income of the State and its expenditure. I earnesdy desire that the paramount interest of the lately enfranchised classes in thrifty administration may operate powerfully to bring about a change.’ So Gladstone trumpeted the leitmotif of his administration, at the outset of the general election campaign in October 1868. The fundamental importance of fiscal strategy in Gladstone's politics has recently been emphasized. Faced with an ineluctable increase in civil expenditure and rising expectations of governmental contributions to the public weal – what he termed ‘scattering grants at the solicitation of individuals and classes’, the system of ‘making things pleasant all round’ and stimulating ‘local cupidity to feed upon the public purse’ – Gladstone was determined that his ministry, backed as he believed by the votes of the thrifty working classes, should reduce such expectations. ‘I t is the special duty of public men’, he told his constituents soon after taking office, ‘to watch the very beginnings of evil’ in regard to any relaxing of the general principles of economy and thrift; and he promised to reduce expenditure in the coming year.

The reunification of Germany has given a new dimension and intensity to the debate about the historical identity of German political culture. In particular, it has revived the issue of whether the Lutheran heritage was inherently conservative, if not authoritarian, in tendency. This article re-examines the issues in relation to Lutheran political and social thought in the first half of the seventeenth century. The life and writings of the Lutheran pastor and influential popular author Johann Balthasar Schupp (1610–61) are examined in detail. What emerges is something more complex than a simple injunction to obey authority at all costs. While he implicitly rejected the idea of a right to rebel, Schupp placed his faith in the willingness of rulers to assist in a ‘reformation of society’. Rebellion would thus be unnecessary. The article argues that this hope was not unrealistic in the context of the small German territorial state in the early modern period. The traditional view of a politically conservative Lutheranism in this period must therefore be revised.

It is clear that a strand of anti-Stalinism had firmly entered the political discourse of British Labour and the Left by the late 1940s. This was largely a response to mounting Cold War tension and is rightly seen to contrast with their earlier broad support for the Soviet experiment. This article adds to this picture by arguing that anti-Stalinism was first adumbrated in the late 1930s in reaction to the Stalinist purges. Whereas previous accounts have given the impression that the Labour party and the wider Left were largely uninterested in the purges, this article shows instead that they provoked sharp criticisms of Stalin from across the range of Labour and Left opinion. Moreover, it also demonstrates that while certain figures and groupings did choose not to discuss the purges publicly, this was not necessarily because of a lack of interest or knowledge. For the Left the domestic political necessities of supporting the united front meant that, at least temporarily, their real views had to be concealed. More generally, the international pressure of endorsing the Soviet Union as an ally against international fascism inhibited an even more forthright condemnation of Stalin.

The severity of many of the fines imposed in the Court of Star Chamber in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries has impressed historians as much as it impressed the members of the Long Parliament. For example, it has been calculated that out of the 240 cases brought in Star Chamber in the years 1625–41 where the sentence is known, fines of over £500 were imposed in eighty–five instances. Hudson, in his famous contemporary treatise on the Court, contended that this severity had markedly increased in the reign of Charles; ‘fines’, he wrote, ‘are new of late imposed secundum qualitatem delicti and not fitted to the estate of the person; so that they are rather in terrorempopuli than for the true end for the which they were intended, when fine and ransom was appointed£10,000 or more, under both Elizabeth and the early Stuarts.

The passage of Catholic emancipation in April 1829 was resisted, in the name of the inviolability of the Protestant Constitution, by a group of ‘ultra’ anti-catholics.1 The principles and personnel of this group have already been well described, 2 but its political activities have been inadequately explored. Since 1824, when they criticized Lord Liverpool's Government for dilatoriness in prosecuting O’Connell's Catholic Association, these ultras had tended to form a distinct group on the right wing of the anti-catholic Tories, and had been the most aggressive opponents of Canning's short-lived ministry in 1827. The emergence of an Irish demand for Catholic emancipation, of unprecedented force, was shown in O’Connell's victory at the County Clare by-election in July 1828 and in the ensuing months. This produced a determined resistance by the Irish anti-catholics, which had its counterpart in a British no-popery movement led by the ultras. Most of the leading ultras were peers, and the most prominent among them were the dukes of Cumberland and Newcastle, the marquess of Chandos, the earl of Winchilsea and Lords Colchester and Kenyon. For nine months before the passage of the relief bill they sought to counteract the immense fervour of the Irish Catholics by stimulating the ingrained anti-catholic feelings which had characterized the English masses since the sixteenth century. Their efforts, however, were of no avail against Wellington's decision to carry a Government emancipation measure. It is the object of this study to investigate the no-popery movement and to account for its failure.

The Scot Adam Blackwood (1539–1613), often cited though seemingly no longer much read, studied in Paris under two of the leading humanist scholars of his time, their influence upon his thinking being profound. A staunch supporter and protégé of Mary, queen of Scots, he published in 1575 the first of his political tracts, the De coniunctione religionis et imperii, in which he argued for stability in religion as the necessary underpinning of political order, and against resistance to the monarch, seen as divinely authorized and the sole law-giver. Six years later he produced his Pro regibus apologia, a rebuttal of George Buchanan's De jure regni apud Scotos. Polemical in tone, this work of Blackwood's nevertheless developed further his view of the monarch as the principle of unity and cohesion necessary to the existence of any body politic. In both of these works he deployed a sophisticated array of legal and philosophical arguments whilst pursuing ultimately irenic purposes. But Mary Stewart's execution in 1587 drew from him a diatribe against Elizabeth I where such purposes succumbed to his outraged sensibilities and his combative rhetorical style.

While there seems no end to the polemics of nationalism, a critical analysis is far to seek; for which reason an account of the beginnings of the theory of nationality in the eighteenth century may be of value to the political theorist as well as of interest to the historian. We may say of its beginnings, because although nationality as a fact is in England and some other countries of Western Europe a heritage of the Middle Ages, as a theory it is much more recent in origin. In Shaw's Saint Joan, Pierre Cauchon, discussing with Warwick the popular uprising in France under the Maid, says, “If I were to give it a name I should call it—nationalism.” Mr Shaw's Bishop is nearly four centuries in advance of his age. It was not till the nineteenth century that men in general began “to call it nationalism,” and under the guidance of such as Wordsworth and Mazzini to understand in some degree what they implied when they did so. The Revolutionary upheaval and the Napoleonic dominion were necessary to rouse the nations to self-consciousness. But these events, though they may partially account for the fact, do not altogether elucidate the theory of nationality. For its veritable beginnings we must look earlier. It is a significant fact in considering the causation of the nationalistic movement that the first and possibly still the wisest of the theorists of nationality had developed his ideas long before the Revolution.

Although Henry Hallam (1777–1859) is best known for his Constitutional History of England (1827) and as a founder of ‘whig’ history, to situate him primarily as a mere critic of David Hume or as an apprentice to Thomas Babington Macaulay does him a disservice. He wrote four substantial books of which the first, his View of the state of Europe during the middle ages (1818), deserves to be seen as the most important; and his correspondence shows him to have been integrated into the contemporary intelligentsia in ways that imply more than the Whig acolyte customarily portrayed by commentators. This article re-situates Hallam by thinking across both time and space and depicts a significant historian whose filiations reached to Europe and North America. It proposes that Hallam did not originate the whig interpretation of history but rather that he created a sense of the past resting on law and science which would be reasserted in the age of Darwin.

S. R. Gardiner, the doyen of English historians, wrote of the earl of Northampton's oration, delivered at a conference between the two houses of parliament in 1607, that it was ‘a speech which hardly any other man in England would have allowed himself to utter. In him was combined the superciliousness of a courtier with the haughtiness of a member of the old nobility. He treated the Commons as if they were the dust beneath his feet.’1 Furthermore, Northampton was accused by some contemporaries and most later historians of engineering the abrupt dissolution of the Addled Parliament in 1614, an abortive two-month session that was the last for seven years. For both, Northampton epitomized the authoritarian and anti-parliamentary views which came to dominate the early Stuart court.

This article examines Chen Di's 1603 text Record of Formosa (Dongfan ji), the earliest first-hand account in any language of the indigenous people of Formosa (now called Taiwan). Recent commentators have viewed Chen's text as a key elaboration of Chinese imperial discourse and its various tropes of hierarchical difference. In contrast, I argue that Chen reads the perceived cultural differences between his society and Taiwan's indigenous peoples as evidence of the contingency, rather than inevitable superiority, of a historical story that produces the outcome of ‘civilization’. Building on a broader understanding of Chen's intellectual biography and his extant works, I show that Chen Di places the indigenes along a different timeline in which they forge their own contingent history parallel to, rather than behind, that of a civilizational centre. By doing so, Chen's historical narrative resists aligning their society with Han Chinese forms of development and offers a glimpse of how late Ming syncretic thought could produce an account of legitimate otherness.

This article addresses the development of the British government's policy towards the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in France, which arose from the British occupation of Toulon from 28 August to 19 December 1793. The discussions conducted by prime minister William Pitt and foreign secretary Lord Grenville on the shape of Toulon's civil government under occupation clarify official British perceptions of an ‘ideal’ Bourbon monarchy in France. British thoughts on this subject were determined, not only by traditional English whig beliefs about the institutional foundations of political, constitutional and civil liberty, but also by consideration for the upheavals that the French Revolution had witnessed. Alhough Pitt and Grenville were interested in establishing a model government capable of healing the French social and political conflicts that had emerged since 1789, their deliberations on the fate of Toulon reveal that the French ancien régime was still a negative entity in British minds despite the advent of the French Revolution and Revolutionary Wars.