Martial identities and the subject of conquest in Derricke’s Image of
Whether captain, kern or knight, martial identities in Elizabethan England
and Ireland are as multiple, class-inflected, and contested as the military
contexts through which they are experienced and expressed. This chapter
argues that John Derricke’s (mis)representations of Gaelic Irish forces and
their English others is critical to our understanding of the work’s
political and polemical concerns. The woodcuts, in particular, have long
been mined for their accurate depiction of weaponry and dress, but the
extent to which the work as a whole seeks to obscure how far the Irish kerne
and his English counterpart were indistinguishable comrades in arms has gone
Discovering the formal and figurative texture of Derricke’s Image of
John Derricke’s Image of Irelande is regularly mined by historians and
critics interested in its ethnographic observations, propagandistic
pro-Sidney agenda and the informative detail of its woodcut illustrations.
Little has been written, however, about the formal, stylistic and rhetorical
aspects of the text itself, and of the confection of verse modes Derricke
brings together. This chapter addresses this situation by examining
Derricke’s employment of an elaborate vatic compositional fiction, multiple
metrical forms and narratorial standpoints, and a distinct set of rhetorical
devices (in particular analogy and antithesis). It poses questions about
Derricke’s fundamental decision to anatomise his subject using poetry rather
than prose, and about the place of allegory or figura in the text, and it
considers some of the different generic models he may have had in mind when
exploring the role and interplay of words, images and action in both the
maintenance and representation of order in Tudor Ireland.
Starting from ‘Black Tarn’, a novella published in All the Year Round, the conclusion briefly retraces the fortunes of Victorian tank keeping from a widespread craze to a half-forgotten pastime. The reasons for the temporary success of the marine aquarium, as well as those behind its demise a few years later, offer valuable insights into the complexity of Victorian culture, especially as they involved expectations concerning efficiency, control, and durability, or the capacity of humans to recreate, and then manage, miniaturised ecosystems. Moreover, Victorian discussion of the aquarium testify to an important moment in the development of what we would now call environmental awareness.
The concluding chapter connects the different threads in this book, links them up with the traditional historiography of the self and places them within larger temporal and geographical frameworks. It does so by confronting the people in the courts with the Prince de Ligne, an elite cosmopolitan figure who is often seen as an ‘incarnation’ of the period around 1800. The chapter highlights that the making of the modern self was not an elite affair, but affected people of all social layers, and common people and women sometimes even more than elite men. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries witnessed an increasing stress on depth, interiority and individuality and the criminal justice system was an important institution for the dissemination of the new models of the self. Its influence was not uncontested, but almost no-one could entirely ignore the new practices of an interior and stable self.
This chapter provides an overview of the book’s themes and focuses on the following question: why did a party that historically emphasised compromise and cooperation, rather than exclusion and confrontation, shift so dramatically and in a relatively short period of time to a strategy of exclusion? It provides an overview of Conservative statecraft towards the unions and the organised working class, explaining why the shift from accommodation took place when it did. In essence the party concluded in the 1970s that the demands of governance and governability had to take precedence over efforts to sustain the traditional strategy.
The Conclusion to this study returns to the initial question of the social and economic consequences of maintaining a light burning at all times in the church. It outlines the ways in which, as the costs were spread throughout society, the consequences grew. Society was not structured around the lighting, but providing for the lights did have an effect on social structure in certain circumstances, such as the rise of the censuales in Germany, or the organization of parishes around guilds. Comparison was made with other cultures, and it was observed, finally, that the lighting of candles to signify eternity was comforting, and common. The huge number of candles lit to mark the death of Diana, Princess of Wales make the point.
By 1964 the party leadership and membership seemed to be converging on a common diagnosis of ‘the union problem’. The failure of Conservative experiments in government with tripartism stimulated further the existing interest in legal reform. This was reinforced by the bitter conflicts over incomes policy and union reform that characterised the 1964–70 Labour Governments. Drawing on a trend in Conservative thinking that emerged in 1958, by 1968 the Conservative Party seemed committed to the extensive legal reform of unions and industrial relations as part of its determination to address ‘the British disease’. When the Conservatives entered government in 1970, this, and a seeming commitment to a more free-market approach, appeared to herald a radical departure from post-war governance. However, under the pressure of events the essentially pragmatic Heath Government speedily changed course in a number of key policy areas and also found itself in direct conflict with the trade unions, first over the Industrial Relations Act and then over incomes policy. This culminated in the ‘who governs’ election of February 1974 that precipitated the fall of the Heath Government.
This chapter shows how resources dedicated to the lights were institutionalised in the different parts of Europe. This was against a background of an increasing shortage of olive oil. Miracles which related to the shortage are analysed. Frankish charters of immunity receive close attention for they show how rulers invested the lights. The situation in France, Italy and Spain is compared in order to investigate what the social consequences were of making people contribute to the costs of the lights.
How can the maker and deviser of The Image of Irelande, containing six
designs which are described as ‘probably the finest woodcuts made in a
sixteenth-century English book’ be so little known? Where did this artistry
come from and where could one hone such woodcutting skills? What was the
influence of the publisher, John Day, England’s ‘most important publisher of
illustrated books in the second half of the sixteenth century’, and how did
the artist(s) become part of the entourage of Sir Henry Sidney coming to
Ireland and recording the events of his lord deputyship during the
mid-1570s? This chapter addresses these questions to argue for Derricke’s
connection to the creation of the woodcuts.
The Image of Irelande, with a Discoverie of Woodkarne was published by John
Derricke in 1581, following his time in Ireland in the employ of Sir Henry
Sidney, the then lord deputy of Ireland. The book defends Sidney’s record
and details the military victories he achieved over the native Irish.
Included in the publication were twelve double-page woodcuts which Derricke
stated were ‘Made and devised by him’. These depict various scenes of life
in late Tudor Ireland, some of which Derricke may have witnessed himself.
Two of these illustrate Sidney in Dublin, one a scene in which the lord
deputy emerges through the main gate of Dublin Castle in a procession of
horse-mounted troops. Notwithstanding certain licence on Derricke’s part,
this image of Dublin Castle and its environs still provides a valuable
commentary on the nature of the built environment in late sixteenth-century
Dublin, the nature of which is only partially understood from documentary
sources and archaeological remains. This chapter discusses the value of
Derricke’s Image for archaeologists and architectural historians in
reconstructing certain aspects of architecture in late Tudor Dublin.