Tudor England

Folger guides provide lively, authoritative surveys of important aspects of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English cultural history. Attractively illustrated with material from contemporary documents, the Guides are designed for the general reader and are particularly valuable as enrichment resources for courses in Renaissance history and literature.

This book reveals the most popular instrument in the world as it was in the age of Elizabeth I and Shakespeare.

Tudor England abounded with traitors great and small, whose ill-timed, self-defeating and irrational antics guaranteed their failure. Yet from the inept and calamitous intrigues of 'Sweet-Lips' Gregory Botolf in 1540 and Lord Admiral Thomas Seymour during the reign of Edward VI, to the bungling efforts at a palace coup by Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex, during the final years of Elizabeth's reign, treason didn't prosper. Modern historians tend to dismiss the wave of political disasters as the works of men of unsound mind. Here, Lacey Baldwin Smith re-evaluates this mania for conspiracy in the light of psychological and social impulses peculiar to the age. Tudor England accepted unquestioningly the conspiracy theory of history; it assumed the existence of evil; and it instinctively believed that a greater and usually malicious reality lay behind outward appearance. Sensible men were for ever on guard against their Iago, dedicated to evil for its own sake, who lurked under the guise of a trusted friend or servant. Father's advised their sons, 'Love no man: trust no man'; contemporary literature and drama reflected and reinforced this belief, as did the essentials of Tudor education which taught students how to dissemble convincingly upon a public stage. By looking at the behaviour of the flamboyant Robert Devereux (who bore all the hallmarks of paranoia) as a case study in political hysteria, Lacey Baldwin Smith examines the ways in which insecurity in the midst of political and religious revolution was obsessive and self-perpetuating, and produced throughout the kingdom a state of hysteria that was unique to the sixteenth century.

Chapters cover food and society in the sixteenth century, kitchens and cooking, what people drank, food and health (including Tudor ideas on healthy eating), setting the table and table manners, feasting and banquets. Alison Sim shows that dining habits in the sixteenth century were not the same as those of the Middle Ages and that Tudor dining, at least for the wealthier section of the population, was much more sophisticated than it is generally given credit for.

Readers in the sixteenth century read (that is, interpreted) texts quite differently from the way contemporary readers do; they were trained to notice different aspects of a text and to process them differently. Using educational works of Erasmus, Ascham, and others, commentaries on literary works, various kinds of religious guides and homilies, and self-improvement books, Kintgen has found specific evidence of these differences and makes imaginative use of it to draw fascinating and convincing conclusions about the art and practice of reading. Kintgen ends by situating the book within literary theory, cognitive science, and literary studies. Among the writers covered are Gabriel Harvey, E. K. (the commentator on The Shepheardes Calendar), Sir John Harrington, George Gascoigne, George Puttenham, Thomas Blundeville, and Angel Day.

Women Letter-Writers in Tudor England represents one of the most comprehensive study of women's letters and letter-writing during the early modern period to be undertaken, and acts as an important corrective to traditional ways of reading and discussing letters as private, elite, male, and non-political. Based on over 3,000 manuscript letters, it shows that letter-writing was a larger and more socially diversified area of female activity than has been hitherto assumed. In that letters constitute the largest body of extant sixteenth-century women's writing, the book initiates a reassessment of women's education and literacy in the period. As indicators of literacy, letters yield physical evidence of rudimentary writing activity and abilities, document 'higher' forms of female literacy, and highlight women's mastery of formal rhetorical and epistolary conventions. Women Letter-Writers in Tudor England also stresses that letters are unparalleled as intimate and immediate records of family relationships, and as media for personal and self-reflective forms of female expression. Read as documents that inscribe social and gender relations, letters shed light on the complex range of women's personal relationships, as female power and authority fluctuated, negotiated on an individual basis. Furthermore, correspondence highlights the important political roles played by early modern women. Female letter-writers were integral in cultivating and maintaining patronage and kinship networks; they were active as suitors for crown favour, and operated as political intermediaries and patrons in their own right, using letters to elicit influence. Letters thus help to locate differing forms of female power within the family, locality and occasionally on the wider political stage, and offer invaluable primary evidence from which to reconstruct the lives of early modern women.

People concerned with the history of education and the history of labor rights bring two premises to the table. First, that the history of education unfolds separately from the history of working class movements, and, second, that an historical period 400 years old is securely confined by the past. Surely the time known as Tudor England, most readers would say, rests in peace as a bygone era? Surely an educational system devised by scholars differs from an economic system operated by large landholders and manorial lords? This book challenges both premises. The Tudor educational system regarded their select class of boys as human capital to be endowed with royalist values, germane to the ruling elite. The notion of students as co-partners in curriculum-making was unthinkable. Mirroring this educational system was a labor system that regarded commoners as dependent economic actors, virtual pawns in capitalist strategy. Tudor laborers were granted the right to work, but had no say in formulating economic policies that affected the core of their working lives. Describing the mirroring relation of two marginalized and voiceless groups, this book confronts the regrettable historical conditions of students, teachers, and workers in a celebrated cultural past: Tudor England. This marginalization of working class and student labor is not a relic from the Tudor past. The political and socioeconomic structures that kept students, teachers and workers from negotiating their own destiny are still active in the 21st century. This text explores the struggle of students, teachers and workers with the Tudor legacies of education and labor. After tracing these transhistorical connections, each essay calls for activism, resistance or reform. Democracy—as Benjamin Franklin explained in the allegory of two wolves and a lamb deciding what to have for lunch—has always called for organized resistance from below. Pursuing that hopeful goal, this book outlines new forms of education and labor strategies. If these are put into practice, the needs, voices, and beliefs of students, teachers, and workers may be recognized and honored by elite leadership.

Love, Hate, and the Law in Tudor England reconstructs the life of Ralph Rishton, a member of the sixteenth-century Lancashire gentry who was a child bridegroom and a serial wife-discarder, who bribed church officials to obtain a forged annulment, defrauded a kinsman out of his inheritance, and adroitly manipulated his own and other people's land. The dozens of lawsuits in which the Rishtons were involved, in many different courts, elucidate one family's engagement with law in Tudor England: how they used and misused law, how it shaped their perceptions of rights and mutual obligations, and how it framed litigants' and witnesses' language. Drawing upon trial and estate records, the core of this study is the central narrative of Ralph Rishton's three wives, of litigiousness and violence, marriage and property, and the pursuit of equitable resolutions to disputes, along with countless smaller narratives that vividly capture a culture in its time and place. Alongside that central narrative, L. R. Poos uses the Rishton stories as a starting-point to analyse child marriage, the construction of memory, and the development of local historical identity through antiquarians and the Victorian and Edwardian local press, demonstrating how - from the time of the Rishtons into the twentieth century - historical narratives were continually reshaped and repurposed.