A 17th-century nobody

From Natalie of Philobiblon, the news that upstairs in the English department there’s a new colleague who is working on the biographies of Renaissance ‘nobodies’. (Yes, I am mildly entertained to get Aber news first from a blogger in London, but no doubt I’d have bumped into her sooner or later…)

Sometimes amongst early modern court records, you find autobiographical material. This is most common in what are known as ‘settlement examinations’ or in the petitions of paupers for poor relief: in both cases the life of the petitioner or examinant is being set out to establish the case (or lack of it) for eligibility for parish-based support. But there are a few others, confessions to crimes that (for less immediately obvious reasons) reach back into the personal history of the offender.
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Ghosts, murders and providence

   Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

   Speak; I am bound to hear.

I am thy father’s spirit,
Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away…
            … List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love —

   O God!

   Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.


(Hamlet, Act I Scene 5.)

Hamlet’s father was merely the most famous of many early modern ghosts who manifested themselves in order to reveal the dreadful truth of a murder concealed and to demand revenge or justice. It was a familiar theme of murder pamphlets and ballads (see Malcolm Gaskill and Vanessa McMahon).

Avenging ghosts could take a variety of forms: usually the murder victim him/herself, although it was not unknown for a murderer’s ghost to confess his or her crimes. As in the case of Hamlet, some appeared to their close relatives or friends. In a late eighteenth-century ballad, a young sailor was murdered at the order of his lover’s father, but he appeared in the night to tell her the truth:

Your cruel parents have been my undoing,
  And now I sleep in a watery tomb

She was so distraught that she drowned herself, and on learning of this, the boatswain whom her father had used to kill the young man was “struck with horror” and “did confess the fact he had done”.

Other victim ghosts tormented the murderer, as in a seventeenth-century ballad about a man who murdered his lover:

Sometimes her bleeding Ghost in flames appear’d
Saying, You shall not boast that you are clear’d,
   Who wrought my fatal Fall,
   For Vengeance still I call,
Alive or dead you shall have your reward. [Gaskill, p.218, reg. required.]

These ghosts represented a ubiquitous theme in cheap print about murder I’ve mentioned before, that of providentialism: God would intervene, sooner or later, to bring concealed murders to light. And He could do it in some mighty mysterious ways.

Such ghosts didn’t appear only in sensationalist cheap print, however. A number of diarists recorded cases of killers confessing to crimes because they had been tormented by the ghosts of their victims. We rational modern folk might smile and assume these were hallucinations and/or nightmares arising from guilt, but more detached witnesses sometimes claimed to have seen the ghosts of murder victims. So, a case from the Northern Assize circuit:

In 1660 Robert Hope of Appleby (Westmorland) informed a JP that he was being pursued by the ghost of Robert Parkin. When, standing in the parish church, Hope had “charge[d] the spiritt what was the reason it did soe molest him, it replyed I am murdered I am murdered I am murdered”. When Hope asked “was it by any man, it replyed noe, & thereupon he desired it to goe to its rest for when he came before the Justices he would divulge it to them”… [Gaskill, p. 231.]

Gaskill argues that this sort of testimony was intended to persuade officials, to kick-start an official investigation into local suspicions, and in this case it worked. (Unfortunately Gaskill doesn’t say what the final outcome of the case was. If no more substantial evidence were produced, a guilty verdict at trial would seem highly unlikely.) Ghosts and dreams were useful in enabling the witness to “impart knowledge about murders without attracting suspicion about either its veracity, or how it came to be acquired” (p.233). But of course, that could only be effective in a cultural context in which belief in ghosts was widely shared – including amongst the gentlemen who served as justices of the peace and coroners.

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Thinking about duels and violent gentlemen

My archival research this summer has (at last) begun to develop some sense of direction, and one of the themes is masquerading under the working title of ‘Gentlemen Behaving Badly’. And I may well be writing a lot more about this, because it encompasses a lot of tasty topics: masculinity, ‘class’ or social rank, politics, litigation, violence, rioting, drinking… [Indeed, it looks like this is going to turn into a proper little series of posts: see here and here, and this earlier post as well. Not to mention this, too. Exciting eh?]

(I suspect that I shall not, however, be taking my cue from this book.)

And right now it has me thinking about the subject of the duel, on which there’s been a good deal of research since the late 1980s (perhaps especially in the mid-90s). I realised that I have quite a bit of catching up to do, in fact. So what follows here is very provisional. I’m just thinking my way around it, but I have some issues about the ways in which ‘the duel’ seems to be discussed in the work that I’ve read so far. Key problems: the research seems to me to tend to decontextualise the practice and not really think much about the relationship between theory and practice.

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