Note, the King by his proclamation, or other ways, cannot change any part of the common law, or statute law, or the customs of the realm … also the King cannot create any offence by his prohibition or proclamation, which was not an offence before, for that was to change the law, and to make an offence which was not; for ubi non est lex, ibi non est transgressio; ergo, that which cannot be punished without proclamation, cannot be punished with it…

As the field of food history has come to fruition in the last few decades, cultural historians of early modern England have begun to recognize the significance of food and eating practices in the process of identity construction. Yet its effect on religious identities has yet to be written. This article illuminates a printed discourse in which Protestants laboured to define a new relationship to food and eating in light of the Reformation, from Elizabeth I's reign up until the Civil War. It is based on a wealth of religious tracts written by the clergy, alongside the work of physicians in the form of dietaries and regimens, which together highlight the close relationship between bodily and spiritual concerns. As a result of the theological changes of the Reformation, reformers sought to desacralize Catholic notions of holy food. However, by paying greater attention to the body, this article argues that eating continued to be a religiously significant act, which could both threaten spiritual health and enrich it. This discourse on food and eating helped draw the confessional boundaries and identities of the Reformation period, and so offers a rewarding and novel insight into English Protestantism.

The Egyptian experience of the Suez crisis and subsequent conflict of 1956 has received significantly less treatment than those of the other major players, Great Britain, France, Israel, and the United States. The consensus over Egypt's role in the crisis has, moreover, has advanced very little from the narrative put forward by official participants at the time, portraying the event as a landmark in a nationalist struggle to restore Egypt's independence and national dignity. This article takes a fresh look at the Suez crisis from the perspective of the figures of an emergent Egyptian political opposition in 1955–6, whose responses differed substantially from this received view. By bringing domestic Egyptian political struggles to the foreground of this international crisis, the article will offer a more nuanced view of the origins of Suez in British planning, and of its significance for contemporary Egyptians. The conclusion will seek to explain how a collection of sometimes extreme nationalists could take such a counter-intuitive position in the Suez crisis through exploring the diversity of nationalist thought in the Egypt of the 1950s.

Based on sources from the East German regime's internal archives, this article examines how the exodus of over 3 million people from the German Democratic Republic (GDR) before the construction of the Berlin Wall undermined the communist regime's ability to exert its authority over internal affairs. Instead of focusing on the relatively well-known economic and diplomatic costs of the mass exodus, it considers rather the grass-roots political ramifications of this unique phenomenon among the Soviet satellite states. The article focuses on three interrelated issues: first, the government's little-known efforts to curb and control emigration before the Wall; second, the myriad causes of the mass emigration and how these were perceived by the party/state apparatus; and third, the variety of strategies through which ordinary East Germans who stayed in the GDR attempted to use the possibility of flight to the West to enhance their bargaining position with state authorities. It argues that the refugees to the West were not the only East Germans to capitalize on the permeable border around West Berlin. The possibility of emigrating westwards also gave those who stayed a degree of power vis-à-vis the regime that they otherwise would not have had.

The thirteenth century, like the eighteenth century, was a siècle français. Even Frederick II had failed to eradicate the impression German decline which had found expression after Philip Augustus's victory at Bouvines in 1214. After Frederick II's death in 1250, the Capetian monarchy had used its power, its prestige and its traditions to obtain political predominance in Europe and, indeed, throughout the Mediterranean world. The French monarchy was not, indeed, so firmly established as contemporaries supposed: after 1314 a period of “feudal reaction” set in, which revealed the weaknesses in the political structure the Capetians had built up. But the sudden concentration of French power in the closing years of the thirteenth century, the unity of the country around the throne, and the unanimous support which all classes, nobility, clergy and bourgeoisie, gave to royal policy, not only contrasted markedly with the divergences of interest within England and within Germany, but also gave the Capetian monarchs decisive advantages in their dealings with other governments. French policy, based on Carolingian tradition and directed to the “reintegration” of Gaul, was, by comparison with the mere conservatism of Edward I, positive, clearly defined, and systematically pursued. Unlike English or German policy i t was invigorated by a conscious “ideology”, which found expression not only in the unofficial writings of Pierre Dubois, but also in the official memoranda of Nogaret, Flote and Plaisians, and which had deep roots in French history.3 Because of these advantages, France at this period was the focal point at which all the complex problems of European politics converged: all the wires which statesmen were pulling, passed through Paris. European policy responded or reacted to the policy of France.

It is well known that trading companies played an important role in the formation of British colonies during the Partition of Africa. Eventual developments in areas such as Nigeria, Rhodesia and East Africa, however, have tended to give a false impression of the relations between commercial undertakings and the British Government. It has been suggested that the authorities deliberately used chartered companies for imperialist purposes.1 Contemporary observers, too, suspected the existence of a comprehensive plan whereby it was ‘to private initiative that the British Government at first leaves the task of paving the way for its political designs’.2 But in actual fact official circles were usually extremely reluctant to extend their obligations, and at a time when interest in expansion is generally assumed to have been great and growing were still by no means always willing even to grant a Royal Charter to any newly-formed Company that applied for one. One such undertaking that became painfully aware of this was the North-West African Company, a now-forgotten concern that has left no mark on the modern map. Nevertheless, an account of its history, of the means which it used to try to enrol official support and of the attitude of the British Government is not without interest as a qualification of the usual view of the years 1875–95, which have too often been treated as dominated by a ‘scramble’ for overseas territory and a ruthless struggle for new markets and sources of raw material.

It is normally assumed that antisemitism in post-war France needs to be understood primarily in the light of the German occupation of 1940–4. This article seeks to describe the relationship between political antisemitism and events after 1945. Special attention is given to the issue that obsessed a large part of the French right: the loss of Algeria. It is argued that between 1954 and 1962 right-wingers came to took on the Jewish population of Algeria, which was often fervently opposed to French withdrawal, with new favour. Furthermore, many right-wingers began to admire Israel, which seemed so successful in combating Arab nationalism and which was widely believed to have links with the Organisation de l' Arméte Secrète. Changes in attitudes to Israel and the Jews were linked with a wider change in the French right that had been going on since 1945: most of the right now focused their loyalties around ‘l' occident’ a block of nations led by America and including Israel rather than around the France that was so important to Gaullist thinking. Finally, an attempt is made to show how the French right's new attitude to the Jews influenced its reaction to the 1965 Presidential election campaign, de Gaulle's denunciation of Israel in 1967 and the student riots of 1968.

This article looks at the relationship between professional and political aspiration in Georgian England by examining the office of attorney general during the period 1714–1810. It argues that while the office offered a unique opportunity for a lawyer to combine a legal and political career, this was a formidable task and one rarely achieved. The generally hostile attitude toward lawyers in the house of commons was a significant obstacle. More important, however, were the complex and potentially conflicting expectations associated with the office of attorney. The relationship with the government was an awkward balance of loyalty and remoteness, whereby the attorney was encouraged to regard fellow ministers both as colleagues and as clients. Moreover, he owed a duty to parliament that was independent of, but inevitably linked to, his obligations to the crown. As a consequence of these various pressures attorneys tended to remain aloof from politics and interested primarily in their own professional advancement. The office of attorney general was less the stepping-stone to ministerial office than the reliable path to the bench.

On the death of Tiberius, Gaius Caesar, the son of the popular Germanicus, and often known in history by his nickname of Caligula, was acclaimed by the Senate as ruler of the Roman Empire, amid scenes of universal rejoicing, on 18 March in the year 37. On 24 January in the year 41 he lay dead, a tyrant murdered by Cassius Chaerea and his confederates, while the consuls convened a meeting of the Senate, not in the Curia Julia, for the name had now such hateful associations, but on the Capitol, to discuss the restoration of the Republic. In the space of a little less than four years the young man—he was under twenty-five when he became Emperor—had so alienated men's minds from the system of Augustus that Senators were ready to consider the abolition of the Principate and the condemnation of the memory of the Caesars. Ignominy and ridicule have fastened upon his name ever since: the common view held was (put briefly) that Gaius was mad and bad, and went from bad to worse. The nineteenth century witnessed the activity of scholars who questioned the traditional account of all the Julio-Claudian emperors, by using the new knowledge offered by inscriptions or by analysing and criticising closely the account in the literary authorities.

This article argues that the Edinburgh physician Archibald Pitcairne made a significant and original contribution to European religious heterodoxy around 1700. Though Pitcairne has been studied by historians of medicine and scholars of literary culture, his heterodox writings have not been analysed in any detail. This is partly because of their publication in Latin, their relative rarity, and their considerable obscurity. The article provides a full examination of two works by Pitcairne: his Solutio problematis de historicis; seu, inventoribus (‘Solution of the problem concerning historians or inventors’) (1688); and the Epistola Archimedis ad Regem Gelonem (‘Letter of Archimedes to King Gelo’) (1706). As well as untangling their bibliographical and textual difficulties, the article places these tracts in the context of Pitcairne's medical, mathematical, and religious interests. A range of readers deplored the sceptical implications of the pamphlets, but others, particularly in free-thinking circles in the Netherlands, admired Pitcairne's work. And yet Pitcairne himself was no atheist. He doubted a priori proofs of God's existence, but had been convinced by a version of the argument from ‘design’. The article concludes by relating Pitcairne's complex religious attitudes to his background in late seventeenth-century Scotland.

This article examines Irish nationalist attitudes towards electoral reform between 1885 and 1918. It argues that before 1917 mainstream Irish nationalist opinion attached little importance to the franchise, being instead more concerned about the consequences for home rule if the number of Irish parliamentary seats was reduced through redistribution. However, the introduction of wartime legislation to reform the franchise and registration system repoliticized electoral reform in nationalist Ireland. While the Irish parliamentary party vociferously protested at the coalition government's belated attempt to redistribute Irish constituencies, its critics (a coalition of heterodox nationalists, socialists, and suffragettes) accused it of deliberately conspiring to exclude Ireland from the ‘fourth’ reform bill because the young men and women it would enfranchise intended to vote for Sinn Fein. This article argues that the concerns of the Irish party regarding redistribution were genuine and legitimate, while the conspiracy theory was essentially a propaganda device. None the less, the theory gained widespread attention because its underlying assumption about the voting behaviour of the new electorate was shared not only by its exponents, but by sections of the press, the British administration in Ireland, and the Irish party itself. Indeed, so convinced was the party that the cleavage in Ireland was as much generational as ideological that ultimately the franchise was a factor in its defeat at the 1918 general election.

In the course of a survey of manuscripts, undertaken for the forthcoming edition of Saint Bernard's works, the writer had the good fortune to find in Paris a series of unedited letters dealing with the problem of the disputed election of York. A rapid examination showed that whilst they threw no additional light on the main point at issue in this controversy, namely, on the truth of the accusations laid by his opponents against William of York, they certainly illuminated other aspects of the question, which hitherto had not been quite clear. They showed, for instance, the cause of the failure of the first legation to Rome in the early part of 1142, who were the main supporters at the Roman Curia of the opposing party, the dangers run by the Cistercians and Augustinians in presenting their case, and several other details of a like nature. Above all, the letters strongly confirmed all the conclusions reached by Professor Knowles in his article describing all the stages of this rather involved affair. Apart, therefore, from the inherent interest which a series of letters of this kind undoubtedly possesses, the decision to print them here seems, in view of the confirmation they provide, to need no further justification.

It is hardly surprising that, for many years, historians of the political crisis of 1885–6 gave relatively little attention to the land purchase proposals which accompanied Gladstone's first Home Rule Bill. For the Land Purchase Bill progressed no further than its first reading on 16 April 1886, one week after that of its partner. Within weeks it was recognized by its sponsors as a political liability and, unlike the Home Rule Bill, never reached a parliamentary division. In recent years, there has been a re-evaluation of its significance as a policy initiative for Ireland. Two major works published in the centenary year of the crisis challenged Professor John Vincent's claim, in an article which appeared just over a decade ago, that the Land Bill was a ‘dummy’ whose place in Gladstone's scale of priorities was dictated by the exigencies of the parliamentary timetable and of internal cabinet manoeuvrings. Both Dr James Loughlin and Dr Alan O'Day see purchase as part of a coherent policy designed by Gladstone to tackle the problem of agrarian violence and to lay the foundations of a more secure social order in Ireland. For the first time, then, the content of the Bill has received serious and lengthy treatment. What remains to be discussed in some depth is its reception in the country in the spring and summer of 1886.