Dr Houlbrooke's overall acceptance of the genuineness of Henry VIII's will is welcomed but his hypothesis about the protectorate is qualified, (i) Paget's testimony is shown not to indicate that the ‘gifts clause’ was added to the will after 12 January 1547. (ii) Corrections to the paper which underlies Paget's statement suggest that the distribution of honours under the clause related to Henry's wish to establish the Seymour faction, not to support for the protectorate. (iii) Moves towards the latter were only implemented when Henry's death was imminent, (iv) There is a plausible case to suspect jobbery then and (v) at the stage of the second protectorate, (vi) It is argued that in interpreting Henry's will, we must see (a) faction as intrinsic to court politics and (b) Henry VIII's religious policy as inherently and-traditional.

Contrary to received historical wisdom, Sir Robert Walpole, the pragmatist par excellence, was diverted by political ideas. Thus he invested time and an unprecedented amount of money in political newspapers. This article investigates the primary pro-government newspapers and, as well as identifying the leading circle of political writers sponsored by Walpole, addresses the varied and complex arguments that appeared in their ‘leading essay’ each week for twenty years. After identifying some common but misleading historical representations of Walpolean political thought, the article examines the treatment of three broad philosophical questions – human nature, the origin, nature and extent of government, and political morality – so demonstrating that Walpole's spokesmen were not narrowly pragmatic. Subsequently, the article focuses upon the careful pro-government response to the common charges that Walpole corrupted the political system and betrayed traditional whig values. In doing so, the article highlights the skills of some underrated eighteenth-century political writers and, more importantly, emphasizes the union of government and ideology in Walpolean political thinking.

The Treaty of Rapallo, signed on 16 April 1922, cemented a German-Soviet partnership that promised advantages of several different kinds: economically, the reconstruction and development of the Soviet Union by means of German trade and investment seemed good business for both partners; militarily, the secret co-operation between the Red Army and the Reichswehr made possible the introduction of the latest weapons for the one, evasion of the Versailles Treaty for the other, and effective training for both; and politically, German and Soviet policy-makers entertained hopes which ranged, according to the time and the individual concerned, from the modest expectation that the treaty-partner would refrain from joining any hostile coalition to the grandiose ambition of jointly attacking and dismembering the fragile and presumptuous state of Poland.

This article challenges the recent interpretation of the trial of Charles I which sees it as an ‘extended negotiation’, an attempt to achieve a settlement with the king, and depicts the execution as the by-product, contingent and reluctantly undertaken, of the failure of that attempt. This argument was developed by Dr Sean Kelsey in a number of articles, not least one in this journal, and has been embodied in recently published general works on the period. I argue that this revisionist account of on-going negotiation with Charles I up to and during the trial is defective. It relies on an uncritical approach to the evidence, particularly that distilled from newspaper accounts. It misunderstands the significance of several key texts, notably the army's November Remonstrance, the Act establishing the High Court of Justice, and the charge against the king. Finally, it emphasizes a unity of purpose among conservative judges eager to do a deal with Charles, and fails to comprehend the force of the army's and Cromwell's insistence on public justice upon ‘this man against whom the Lord hath witnessed’.

Between the sixteenth and eighteengh centuries, the nobility of the Polish–Lithuanian commonwealth had developed an ideology of extreme individualism and libertarianism, within a correspondingly weak and decentralized state structure. The first partition of 1772 starkly revealed the weaknesses of the Polish polity, but any hopes of major political overhaul were frustrated by the dead hand of Russian ambassadorial policing. The war of 1787–92 with Turkey proved a temporary distraction for Russia, which the Polish parliament of 1788–92 showed itself only partly capable of exploiting. Factional conflicts and a wary conservatism hampered reforms: the ideas of Montesquieu and Rousseau, which closely complemented so many aspects of traditional Polish noble ideology, seemed to offer the most acceptable way forward, culminating in the constitution of 3 May 1791, a compromise between enlightened idealism and political pragmatism.

This article seeks to re-balance the canon of anti-corn law leadership by examining the ideas and activities of Thomas Perronet Thompson. A relatively neglected figure in modern accounts of the Anti-Corn Law League and repeal in 1846, Thompson was acknowledged in his own lifetime as an outstanding campaigner whose role in the work of the League and in the mobilization of opinion was exceptional. This article investigates Thompson's free trade principles, and uses his pamphlets, articles, correspondence, speeches, and organizational efforts to create a vivid impression of repeal agitation in the 1830s and 1840s. Personal relationships between anti-corn law leaders are examined, as are the links between their movement and such other phenomena as Chartism and the campaign for factory reform. The article stresses the central importance of Thompson in the achievement of repeal and, by using his contribution as a point of entry, seeks to promote a deeper understanding of the anti-corn law creed and its modes of organization, campaigning, publicity, and propaganda.

These newly discovered letters help to reconstruct the close association between two seemingly disparate eighteenth-century Britons in India. Moreover, they suggest that a fixation on clashes of ‘cultural attitudes’ has distorted modern assessments of the politics of scholarly patronage in that era. The long-lauded William Jones and the long-dismissed John Macpherson were not so different after all. The views of each ranged from the sublime heights of Enlightened philosophy to the grubby depths of imperial politics.

Recent scholarship on the ideological origins of the British Empire has emphasized the importance of John Dee's imperial writings in justifying the Elizabethan exploitation of English Atlantic discoveries. Yet a closer reading of these writings in the context of European politics, Elizabethan Court intrigues, and Dee's occult natural philosophy and magical imperialism reveals their covert purpose of recovering a lost British Empire in Europe. Dee wrote initially to address both the chronic and acute problems facing the regime in 1576, but rather than being an autonomous authority whose ideas commanded attention because of their intrinsic power, he was subordinate to the Court patronage system. Consequently his writings only gained attention when revised to align with the policies of powerful courtiers such as the earl of Leicester, and even then influential Catholic courtiers could exploit contingent political circumstances to counter his influence. Dee's writings remained problematic not only because restoring the British Empire in Europe would entail confronting Spain, but also because in their hidden centre they proposed the creation of an apocalyptic empire by magical means, particularly the philosopher's stone. In the end the contingent events that made Dee's writings briefly influential ensured their ultimate irrelevance to Elizabethan policy-making.

Some years ago in this journal, Oliver MacDonagh suggested a general framework for the study of administrative growth and change in nineteenth century Britain. The chief significance of this work is that it views the transformation of executive government as ‘a genuine historical process’. In the peculiar circumstances of the nineteenth century, he argues, administration was’ creative and self-generating’ in the sense that its functional and structural elaboration operated ‘beyond the control or comprehension of anyone in particular’. To this extent, administrative development is depicted as having remained remarkably free from the influence of ‘external forces’, while breeding and feeding off its own internal momentum.

Historians have generally accepted the notion that Hitler's war against France was planned and conducted as a Blitzkrieg from the very beginning. Recent research, however, has shown the fallacy of this assumption by firmly establishing that Hitler and his generals expected the war in the West to become a re-enactment of the First World War. This review puts the new findings in military history in the context of other recent studies on Nazi plans to ‘solve’ the ‘Jewish Question’ after the surprisingly fast victory over France. It links Nazi war and extermination planning with Hitler's underlying ideology and strategy and looks more closely at the still controversial Madagascar plan. One of the questions discussed is why there were no plans to ‘solve’ the ‘Jewish Question’ under the cover of the war against France, a war expected to last for years.

‘To me he was always the embodiment of Cavalier romance.’ Thus Vita Sackville-West on her seventeenth-century ancestor, Edward Sackville, fourth earl of Dorset. Such labelling indicates the problems which still bedevil any study of Civil War royalism. Brian Wormald's Clarendon brilliantly revealed that the men who joined Charles I in 1642 represented a broad range of opinion. Above all, he made us aware of a coherent group of moderate (‘constitutional’) royalists who throughout sought accommodation. There was a palpable difference of strategy between these people, who favoured royal concessions in order to prevent further military initiatives, and others who favoured military initiatives in order to prevent further royal concessions. Within these two basic matrices, there were further subtle inflections of attitude between individuals and within the same individual over time. But many such inflections remain murky. Wormald's lead was never followed through. Charles's supporters have consistently received less attention than those who remained with parliament; and among the royalists, moderates have attracted fewer studies than ‘cavaliers’ and ‘swordsmen’. There is thus an urgent need to clarify different varieties of royalism and especially to bring the constitutional royalists into sharper focus. However, before we can assess their wider aims and impact, we must first identify them; and here the inappropriate labels bestowed on so many of Charles's supporters create real problems. Anne Sumner has recently ‘de-mythologized’ John Digby, first earl of Bristol, revealing him as more complex and less intemperate than the ‘hawk’ of legend.

This article looks at one of the less frequently examined contests in the parliamentary borough of Westminster – the election of 1796, in which Charles James Fox, Admiral Allan Gardner, and John Horne Tooke vied for the borough's two seats. This election offers an opportunity to investigate the patriotic discourses, representational strategies, and styles of political leadership available to loyalism and popular radicalism in the early years of the war with Revolutionary France. The period of the election spanned the second anniversary of Admiral Richard Howe's victory of 1 June 1794, creating significant opportunities for links to be made between Gardner's naval position and the necessity of electing a loyalist candidate. The article investigates electoral politics with an eye towards reconstructing some important features of Westminster political culture in the 1790s. While Gardner's electoral posture is revealed to depend on a series of stereotypes operating around the image of the ‘political’ admiral, Tooke's is shown to have been heavily informed by his philological studies. Given the long history of admirals serving as MPs for Westminster and the persistent presence of naval officers as members of parliament between 1790 and 1820, the article concludes by suggesting that political admiralship played a role in the development of nineteenth-century styles of political candidacy and leadership.

It is now more than twenty years since Peter Laslett argued that the Exclusion controversy and not the Revolution of 1688 was the occasion of the composition of Locke's Two treatises. Nevertheless, scholarly interpretations still resist treating Two treatises as mainly an activist tract and persist in characterizing it always as something loftier, viz. ‘political philosophy’, ‘systematic moral apologia’, and the like. Resistance to the implications of a rigorous historical mode of interpretation is surely part of the problem. The perennial or transcendent purposes with which the classics are haloed often get diminished in too specific an historical location of the motives and situation of the author. Oddly, however, even critics friendly to a strictly historical approach have hesitated before the implications of Laslett's dicta that Locke wrote as a whig pamphleteer and for Shaftesbury's purposes. This, in turn, parallels the widespread contempt felt by many contemporary English historians (Locke's interpreters among them) for the early whigs. Righteous indignation against the whigs is even detectable in those modern writings from which we take our view of the whig Exclusion pamphleteers.

Under pressure from the anti-slavery interest in the House of Commons, the British Government undertook, in 1823, to reform West Indian slavery and prepare the slaves for eventual freedom. This policy of amelioration was based on the assumption that the West Indian planters would co-operate with the British Government to improve slave conditions. As George Canning explained to the House of Commons, ‘The masters are the instruments through whom, and by whom, you must act upon the slave population.’ Ten years later the reform programme was abandoned in favour of abolition. This change of policy reflected, in part, the conversion of officials at the Colonial Office who began to urge the need for emancipation in 1831. For eight years the Colonial Office made persistent efforts to induce the co-operation of the West Indian planters; these attempts failed and a mass of evidence accumulated which suggested that the slave system could not be improved, it could only be abolished. This article demonstrates the efforts made by the Colonial Office to effect amelioration in the legislative colonies with particular reference to Jamaica and the nature of the evidence which demonstrated that emancipation was the only viable solution to the problem of West Indian slavery.

This article uses the debate over environmental and human health effects of nuclear testing to shed light on the ambivalent relationship between scientists, the public, and the state in Britain during the crucial, but often overlooked, period leading up to the first cycle of anti-nuclear weapons mass protests. In this, it examines how members of Britain's main organization of nuclear scientists – the Atomic Scientists’ Association (ASA) – used their expertise in their engagement with both the public and the state to assess these effects of fallout from nuclear testing. What made the ASA stand out from other groups of the atomic scientists’ movement was its ambivalent relationship with the government. This was, by and large, the result of several ASA members’ occupational backgrounds in government employment and the association's self-imposed adherence to an ambiguous principle of scientific ‘objectivity’ in political matters. The ASA's role in the debate over fallout thus exemplifies a basic dilemma that many scientists in Britain and other Western liberal democracies faced between their roles as ‘objective’ and ‘unpolitical’ scientific experts, on the one hand, and socially responsible scientists, on the other, illustrating the ambivalent position of experts and uses of their knowledge.

It is curious that in the abundant literature produced in the greatest democracy of Greece there survives no statement of democratic political theory. All the Athenian political philosophers and publicists whose works we possess were in various degrees oligarchic in sympathy. The author of the pamphlet on the ‘Constitution of the Athenians’ preserved among Xenophon's works is bitterly hostile to democracy. Socrates, so far as we can trace his views from the works of Xenophon and Plato, was at least highly critical of democracy. Plato's views on the subject are too well known to need stating. Isocrates in his earlier years wrote panegyrics of Athens, but in his old age, when he wrote his more philosophical works, became increasingly embittered against the political régime of his native city. Aristotle is the most judicial in his attitude, and states the pros and cons, but his ideal was a widely based oligarchy. With the historians of Athens, the same bias is evident. Only Herodotus is a democrat, but his views have not carried much weight, partly because of his reputation for naïveté, and partly because his explicit evidence refers to a period before the full democracy had evolved. Thucydides is hostile: in one of the very few passages in which he reveals his personal views he expresses approval of a régime which disfranchised about two-thirds of the citizens, those who manned the fleet on which the survival of Athens depended. Xenophon was an ardent admirer of the Spartan régime.

The historian, Hannah Lawrance (1795–1875), played an important role in nineteenth-century public debate about women's education. Like Catharine Macaulay and Mary Wollstonecraft, she argued that virtue had no sex and she promoted the broad education of women in order to increase their opportunities for employment. But unlike her bluestocking predecessors, she derived her argument from a scholarly reappraisal of women's history. Whereas the Strickland sisters' Tory Romantic histories celebrated the Tudor and Stuart eras in particular, Lawrance's ‘olden time’ celebrated the medieval period. This is when she located England's civilizational progress, driven by the education of queens and the wider state of women's education, allowing her to evade the potential conflict of a feminine creature in a manly role. Using the condition of women to measure the peaks and troughs of civilization was a familiar approach to historical writing, but Lawrance's radical argument was that women were often responsible for England's progress, rather than passive bystanders. Her emphasis on women's contribution to public life complemented the Whig-nationalist narrative and secured her a high reputation across a range of political periodicals. Above all, it appealed to other liberal reformers such as Thomas Hood, Charles Wentworth Dilke, and Robert Vaughan, who shared Lawrance's commitment to social reform and helped to secure a wide audience for her historical perspective.

On 27 February 1885, Kaiser Wilhelm I signed a Schutzbrief, or Imperial Charter, drafted under Bismarck's supervision at the Foreign Ministry, which placed about 60,000 square miles of east African territory under the protection of the German Reich. Incorporating the interior districts directly west of the island of Zanzibar, the German protectorate was based on treaties made with local chieftains late the previous autumn by Carl Peters, founder and co-director of the Gesellschaft für deutsche Kolonisation. Bismarck, in endorsing Peters' claims to territory in east Africa, approved as well the sending out of further expeditions. The eastern boundaries of the soon to be established Congo Free State were described as the anticipated limit of continued annexations which the German company was authorized to undertake at once.

In February 1951, the Sunday Express printed a piece extolling the virtues of a Colonial Service career, under the headline: ‘Sanders of the River, Still the Best Job for a British Boy’. This article explores the ideological and practical reasons why Sanders of the River, a character apparently so at odds with the post-Second World War Colonial Service message, continued to hold enough cultural resonance that it was considered appropriate to utilize him as a recruitment tool in 1951. Edgar Wallace's literary creation occupied a defining place in metropolitan understandings of the Colonial Service's work. Yet, by 1951, the ideological aims of the colonial project were changing. Sanders's paternalism had been dismissed in favour of a rhetoric that emphasized partnership and progress. The post-1945 district officer was expected to be a modern administrator, ready to work alongside educated Africans to prepare Britain's colonies for self-government. Exploring both Colonial Office recruitment strategies and recruits’ career motivations, this article situates the often ignored issue of Colonial Service recruitment at the end of empire within a wider cultural context to illuminate why, even as many turned away from careers in empire after 1945, a significant number of young Britons continued to apply.