This article explores the actions of Prince Charles in the parliaments of 1621 and 1624. It discusses his role in the electoral process, his activities in parliaments, and the legislation which affected his interests. It begins by exploring the precedents for the heir to the throne being summoned to parliament, before examining his political apprenticeship in 1621, and how his actions in 1624 reveal the difficulties in controlling the reversionary interest. Throughout the two parliaments, Charles was an active participant, taking part in debates in the House of Lords, committee meetings, joint conferences, and in liaising between the king and parliament. The article concludes by suggesting that Charles, although successful in achieving some of his aims, believed that he had been able to manipulate parliament for his own ends when in fact the tide of events ran with him and deluded him. This led to a false assumption that he could control parliament – a notion which had disastrous consequences when he summoned his own parliaments after he had succeeded to the throne in 1625.

This article engages with recent work on the nature of religious censorship in the early Stuart period that has emphasized that the government possessed neither the power nor the will to control systematically what was written. It is argued here, instead, that there is evidence of attempts to control the presses' output of religious materials during the Laudian period and earlier, by all parties within the Church of England. Nevertheless, the intention here is not to revive a simplistic view of government ‘control’, but rather to study the means by which licensers could exert an influence over what would be printed with an aura of mainstream legitimacy. Texts were often interfered with by official licensers with a variety of motives. Interference might sometimes be essentially ‘benign’, conferring legitimacy on marginal works by massaging their contents, or texts might be modified in order to make their authors appear to endorse the views of their opponents. The issue of whether it was practically possible to publish work clandestinely is here seen to be something of a red herring, since by publishing in this illicit fashion authors were effectively resigning their right to be considered as spokesmen of the orthodox mainstream. It is the control and manipulation of the licensing process which emerges as one important means by which the religious middle ground was defined and controlled in the early Stuart period.

The commitment of Charles I's government to press censorship and the rigour with which that censorship was enforced is the subject of the present essay. In 1627 Georg Rudolph Weckherlin, the Latin secretary to the privy council, became political licenser for the press. Over the next fourteen years he granted eighty-two licences and probably was responsible for many more. Drawing on his two office diaries, his personal correspondence, and the books and pamphlets to which he gave his imprimatur, this essay attempts a small portrait of a ‘royal censor’ in 1630s London. Although he occasionally allowed works implicitly critical of government policy, he appears to have been conscientious in his duties. (At least twice he approached Charles for his opinion about a licence.) Weckherlin's eventual loss of his licensing job to secretary of state Sir Francis Windebank's staff signalled the crown's interest in an even closer watch on printing and publishing. The evidence of Weckherlin's career suggests that in the decade before the Long Parliament Charles increasingly sought to curtail the power of the press.

This article examines the history of the German Fürstenbund prior to the Prussian take-over of the scheme in 1785. In charting the union's initial conception as a small-state alliance designed to resist both Prussian and Austrian expansionism, the article reveals the cultural dimension of imperial diplomacy. Exclusive concentration on the straightforward diplomatic sources produced by Prussian-style bureaucracies has led historians to underrate the contribution of smaller German principalities, which typically employed more indirect, metaphorical means of political communication. A prominent example of such ‘cultural politics’ is the process by which Prince Franz of Anhalt-Dessau drew on English precedents in shaping the Fürstenbund. Its participants were to be united not just by formal agreements, but by a shared spirit. Under the leadership of a ‘Patriot king’, they were to act as champions of ancient regional liberties, thus resembling the English aristocrats of the anti-Walpole opposition whom Franz admired. At the same time, an English-inspired rhetoric of sentimentalism was employed to suggest that this political union would function in analogy with sentimental friendships, creating a firmer bond whilst preserving that small-state ‘individualism’ which was the source of so many reform initiatives in the late eighteenth-century German Empire.

Vincenzo Gioberti's Del primato morale e civile degli italiani (1843) has been acknowledged as a major influence on moderate liberal thinking in the Risorgimento. Yet historians and political theorists have tended to dismiss the text as ponderous, unreadable or worse. The concern of this paper is to present what was once seen as a canonical text in terms that might make its initial appeal intelligible. Gioberti's text is set in the context of theological reappraisals within the Catholic tradition sparked by the rise of the national idea. The Primato managed to bring together currents of thought which are often regarded as antithetical. Catholic universalism was used to buttress and legitimize a specific view of the Italian nation. Gioberti's synthesis was to have a lasting impact on Italian liberalism, fostering a regard for established traditions rather than abstract rights. It also served to isolate revolutionaries and reactionaries in a dramatic and decisive decade for political debate in Italy.

There was constant tension between Britain and the United States from 1840 to 1865. The Liberals, who dominated British government during this period, had no doubt why: American governments, pandering to the democratic mob, provoked crises with Britain for domestic electoral purposes. They did this by encouraging acts of aggression or provocation by American citizens, and by threatening and bullying the British government, in order to get their way on issues of contention. Furthermore, they succeeded, even though Britain's leaders usually thought either that right was clearly on the British side or was sufficiently ambiguous to justify greater concessions by the Americans than were finally secured. This policy of appeasing the United States was forced on Liberal governments because their middle-class constituency perceived a ‘special relationship’ between the two countries, based on blood, religion, liberal traditions, and trade. They would not contemplate the threat of war with the United States, and since no important British interest was involved, the British government usually gave way. When it did not, as during the Trent affair, the British interest was to prevent further crises.

This article revisits the controversy surrounding the protection that Britain accorded the high commission territories on the advent of South African unification in 1910. Instead of incorporating these regions into the new Union from the start, the imperial government retained responsibility for them and further issued a schedule stipulating the terms on which transfer could take place later. The historiographical controversy centres around the respective roles of the high commissioner, the Liberal government, and the African inhabitants of these regions in formulating Britain's policy on this question. The present author agrees with Ronald Hyam that London made the decision to withhold the areas from the Union and that this decision has proved of critical importance to the welfare of the people concerned. This article, however, emphasizes that in the context of 1909 the question of transfer did not appear to possess the importance that it later took on, for all statesmen assumed that, sooner or later, the Territories would be transferred. What seemed more important at the time was the schedule governing transfer. This was primarily the work of the high commissioner – Lord Selborne. Though not without a trace of old-fashioned paternalism, his proposals display a modern enthusiasm for bureaucratic state building.

In the aftermath of the First World War, two schools of divergent thought emerged among Whitehall's Middle East policy-makers. One, propounded by T. E. Lawrence, found support in the Foreign Office, where many favoured Arab national ideals and backed the Hashemite family for rulership positions in the region. The other, epitomized by Arnold Wilson, the civil commissioner for Iraq, was thought to reflect the India Office view that direct British rule in Iraq was essential and that Hashemite pretensions should be opposed. In this article, the author shows that the lines separating the India and Foreign Offices were not so clearly drawn. Many senior officials in the India Office were disturbed by Wilson's imperial programme for Iraq and some were prepared to support Hashemite aspirations. But Lawrence's 1920 campaign for Hashemite rule and his hyperbolic press attacks on Wilson's policies had the paradoxical effect of moving the India Office to defend Wilson and to revert to their anti-Hashemite stance. The article concludes with an analysis of the reasons behind the triumph of the Lawrentian over the Wilsonian schools at the end of 1920, when Wilson was removed from Iraq and Middle East policy-making was consolidated in the Colonial Office.

This article examines the French response to the rise to power of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party in Germany in January of 1933. It argues that French intelligence warned civilian and military leaders that the priorities of the new regime were rearmament and the militarization of German society in preparation for a war of conquest. This essentially accurate appreciation of the situation inside Germany had little impact on the course of French foreign policy. At this juncture French society was preoccupied with worsening economic crisis and pacifist sentiment had reached its inter-war zenith. The national focus was inward and domestic concerns took priority over the external threat from Germany. Finally, France was in a position of relative isolation and could garner no support for a policy of firmness from its erstwhile allies, Great Britain and the United States. This combination of national introspection and diplomatic isolation deterred a succession of governments from taking determined steps to meet the Nazi challenge in 1933.

In the twelve months preceding the end of the Second World War, the International Committee of the Red Cross and various voluntary organizations acting with the Red Cross, were able to dispatch food parcels to increasingly large numbers of concentration camp inmates in Germany and German-controlled territory. As Allied pressure on Germany increased during the last months of the war, the possibilities of sending large-scale relief into the camps prior to their liberation expanded dramatically. However, Allied blockade policy was so deeply entrenched that it was almost impossible for these possibilities to be fully exploited. Official relief agencies failed to convince Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) that improving the rations of the camp inmates would not strengthen the German working force but would alleviate the problems that SHAEF itself would confront when it liberated the camps shortly thereafter.

This article concludes that Australia was determined to possess nuclear weapons from the end of the Second World War. The best prospects for this lay in working with Britain through the so-called ‘joint project’. British defence planners knew that their small island would not survive a future atomic blitz and, therefore, needed ‘active’ deterrent weapons. The problem was that the US after 1946 moved to protect its atomic monopoly and denied Britain research, raw materials, and test facilities. Australia was, therefore, an invaluable partner in the British deterrent weapons programme, in all its aspects from research to testing, as long as the US refused co-operation. The quest for atomic weapons lies at the heart of many of Canberra's initiatives after 1945 – the decision to build an Australian National University; the construction of the vast Snowy Mountains scheme; and ultimately the decision to deploy Australian forces into South-East Asia in the mid-fifties. The height of Anglo-Australian co-operation coincided with the atomic tests after 1952, London's decision to help build atomic reactors in Australia, and the Suez crisis. Britain's acquisition of deterrent weapons in 1957, however, saw the end of imperial co-operation on atomic weapons and delivery systems.

Die katholische Konfessionalisierung. Edited by Wolfgang Reinhard and Heinz Schilling. ‘Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte’, Vol. 198. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995. Pp. xiii+472. ISBN 3-579-01666-0. DM 148.

The Salzburg transaction: expulsion and redemption in eighteenth-century Germany. By Mack Walker. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1992. Pp. xvi+242. ISBN 0-8014-2777-0. $38.50.

War, state and society in Württemberg, 1677–1793. By Peter H. Wilson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Pp. xvii+294. ISBN 0-521-47302-0. £18.95.

Kaiser Maximilian II. Kultur und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert. Edited by Friedrich Edelmayer and Alfred Kohler. ‘Wiener Beiträge zur Geschichte der Neuzeit’, Vol. 19. Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1992. Pp. 263. ISBN 3-486-0317-3. ÖS 396.

Post-Reformation development in Germany has few of the features that encourage historians to describe an age with a catchy noun or turn of phrase. As a land comprised of hundreds of principalities, dioceses, and free imperial cities, Germany does not easily lend itself to descriptions of the evolving state. Equally, as the German lands were divided by confessional alliance and subject to a wide range of intellectual currents and traditions, it has proven difficult to come up with a term comprehensive enough to include the full sweep of social, religious, and intellectual life. Most of the concepts we use to define European development in this age fall short when applied to Germany. In view of this, historians tend either to emphasize certain aspects of the nation's development, or to isolate events that seem to reveal something central. Both approaches have been taken in the books under review.

The French Revolutionary wars, 1787–1802. By T. C. W. Blanning. London: Longman, 1996. Pp. xvii+286. ISBN 0-340-56911-5. £15.99.

The wars of Napoleon. By Charles J. Esdaile. London: Longman, 1995. Pp. xii+417. ISBN 0-582-05955-0. £14.99.

The Younger Pitt: the consuming struggle. By John Ehrman. London: Constable, 1996. Pp. xv+911. ISBN 0-09-475540-x. £35.

British victory in Egypt, 1801: the end of Napoleon's conquest. By Piers Mackesy. London and New York: Routledge, 1995. Pp. xii+282. ISBN 0-415-04064-7. £45.

Britain and the defeat of Napoleon, 1807–1815. By Rory Muir. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996. Pp. xiv+466. ISBN 0-300-06443-8. £29.95.

Traditional historians of war and foreign policy in Britain have often been accused – sometimes justly – of all manner of sins, among them Anglo- and Eurocentricity. There is no trace, however, of insularity in the five new publications by John Ehrman, Rory Muir, Piers Mackesy, Charles Esdaile, and T. C. W. Blanning on the struggle with Napoleon. The global sweep of that conflict, to quote Rory Muir's Britain and the defeat of Napoleon, forces the historian to address an ‘interlocking mosaic of problems’ (p. xii), spanning the Baltic to the Cape of Good Hope, and the Indian subcontinent to the Caribbean.

A history of the Jews in the English-speaking world: Great Britain. By W. D. Rubinstein, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996. Pp. viii+539. ISBN 0-312-12542-9. £65.00.

Pogroms: anti-Jewish violence in modern Russian history. Edited by John D. Klier and Shlomo Lambroza. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Pp. xx+393. ISBN 0-521-40532-7. £55.00.

Western Jewry and the Zionist project, 1914–1933. By Michael Berkowitz. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Pp. xvi+305. ISBN 0-521-47087-0. £35.00.

Three books under review deal from different perspectives with the responses of Jews in Western and Eastern Europe to the increasing and more or less violent outbursts of anti-Semitism which they encountered in the years from 1880 to the Second World War. The first two titles consider how deep-rooted anti-Semitism was in Britain and Russia and in what sections of society it was most conspicuous, whereas the third asks how Western Jewry became motivated to support the Zionist project of settlement in Palestine; all three approach the question of how isolated or intergrated diaspora Jews were in their respective countries.

The conservative tradition in America. By Charles W. Dunn and J. David Woodard. Lanham, MD: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1996. Pp. ix+199. ISBN 0-8476-8167-X. $14.95.

Hoods and shirts: the extreme right in Pennsylvania, 1925–1950. By Philip Jenkins. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1997. Pp. 343. ISBN 0-8078-2316-3. $29.95.

From demagogue to Dixiecrat: Horace Wilkinson and the politics of race. By Glenn Feldman. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1995. Pp. xviii+311. ISBN 0-8191-9783-1. $32.50.

From George Wallace to Newt Gingrich: race in the conservative counterrevolution, 1963–1994. By Dan T. Carter. Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1997. Pp. xv+134. ISBN 0-8071-2118-5. £21.95.

According to political scientists Charles W. Dunn and David Woodward in The conservative tradition in America, the dramatic Republican gains in the 1994 elections exemplified the eclilse of New Deal liberalism by a resurgent conservatism, a politcal shift that began in the late 1960s and which Ronald Reagan's victory in the 1980 fortified. In their short survey the authors investigate the intellectual roots of modern conservatism and attempt to define and explain the recent manifestation of this heritage. The three other recent works reviewed here provide a larger historical context, which Dunn and Woodward ignore, for understanding conservatism and right extremism in America.