Information Revolutions

Printing press in the collection of Thin Ice Press at the University of York. Image by Rachel Hammersley, 2023.

Our second semester started at the very end of January and this year we have embarked on a new early modern MA module 'The First Information Revolution? Print Culture and the Public Sphere in Early Modern Europe'. The title deliberately signals potential parallels with today, and it has felt like a particularly auspicious time to be discussing the impact of the invention of the printing press on life in the early modern period. The news this month has been full of issues relating to our current information revolution: should teenagers have access to their smart phones while in school? Should under sixteens be prevented from accessing social media? How is AI going to impact on our lives, and should we be moving cautiously or seizing the initiative? Looking around us we can see the impact that the digital revolution is having on all aspects of life and society, and we hear daily the worries and portents this generates. Perhaps this makes us better able to imagine how it felt for those who were alive in the immediate aftermath of Gutenberg's invention, and to understand their excitement at the new development, as well as their concerns about its potentially dangerous consequences.

In teaching the module I have been particularly struck by three parallels. First, the expansion of the opportunities for people to communicate with one another that both information revolutions delivered. Secondly the huge increase in the sheer amount of information circulating, which, in both cases, could lead to people feeling swamped or overwhelmed. Thirdly, the fact that changes to the form in which information is conveyed prompts questions about what counts as trustworthy information.

Richard Price depicted with his books behind him. By Thomas Holloway, after Benjamin West. National Portrait Gallery. NPG D5557. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Initially the invention of the printing press, and the explosion of print it brought in its wake, generated new possibilities for communication and engagement among those who were already literate, and in particular scholars and the members of the so-called republic of letters. The historian Ann Blair has observed that whereas medieval readers were generally shown reading a single text, early moderns were often presented consulting several at once, and we can think too of the wealth of images from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries depicting scholars surrounded by their books (Ann Blair, 'Reading Strategies for Coping with Information Overload', Journal of the History of Ideas 64:1 (2003): 15-16). Moreover, Elizabeth Eisenstein, whose book The Printing Revolution initiated the debate on this topic, made the point that the shift to a world in which there were multiple copies of the same work, each bearing the same pagination, facilitated scholarly discussion even over great distances. Scholars living and working in different parts of the world could refer to the same text and correspond about the ideas presented on the same page, confident that they were discussing the same thing (Elizabeth Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe, second edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012, p. 348)

Satirical print of John Wilkes by William Hogarth. Image from the author’s collection. Rachel Hammersley, 2025.

Of particular importance was that, as time went on, the print revolution also began to open opportunities to new individuals and groups. Eisenstein makes the point that whereas previously those wanting to exercise political influence had to be capable of eloquent speech, by the eighteenth century we see the rise of figures who were better with the pen than the tongue, including Thomas Paine, John Wilkes, Camille Desmoulins, and Jacques-Pierre Brissot (Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution, p. 331. By chance I also came across a modern parallel of this idea this month when I read John McMillian's article, on the role of print culture in the 1960s organisation Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), for a reading group with colleagues. McMillian emphasised the importance of the written word for this society and observed that the organisation's emphasis on print opened opportunities for participation to those who did not just 'talk the loudest at meetings' - including some of the female participants. This indicates that print could provide platforms for marginalised groups.

‘London Corresponding Society, alarm’d’ by James Gillray, published by Hannah Humphrey. National Portrait Gallery. NPG D12634. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence. Though satirical, this image gives a sense of the role of print for the LCS.

Print was crucial to the activities of the London Corresponding Society, which was established in 1792. While it was not the first reform society in Britain, it was distinctive in that its members were primarily un-enfranchised artisans and workers who campaigned directly for parliamentary reform. Improvements in literacy levels - especially in London - meant that print could be crucial to its activities. Information about meetings was conveyed via printed posters and leaflets, minutes of meetings were carefully taken, and members were encouraged to read and discuss key political texts

While the expansion of opportunities for communication and the opening up of the scholarly and political worlds to new groups as a result of print could bring positive benefits, the experience of information overload was a genuine phenomenon. The historian Paul M. Dover has demonstrated that the volume and variety of things that were written down in the early modern period was much greater than it had ever been before, and Eisenstein too commented on the marked shift from the scarcity of manuscripts to the abundance of printed material (Paul M. Dover, The Information Revolution in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021, p. 14; Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution, p. 342). As a result, early modern people had to grapple with far more information than their predecessors. Ann Blair argues, that they quickly developed strategies for doing so. They adjusted their reading methods depending on their purpose and what they were seeking to get from the material. They also developed new techniques and resources to help them to cope. Moreover, then, as now, the increasing reliance on shortcuts and reference tools was bemoaned by some. (Blair, 'Reading Strategies', p. 16).

Perhaps not surprisingly the increase in information coupled with the change in the form in which it was conveyed, prompted questions to be raised regarding trustworthiness and reliability. Dover observes that in the Middle Ages information that was presented in written form was viewed as less reliable than oral accounts due to the fact that the source was not always immediately evident. Previously the veracity of the information being conveyed was partly dependent on the reputation of the person uttering it. Writing broke the direct connection back to the source, and so the reliability of the information was tainted as a result. Consequently, Dover notes, print sources were not immediately seen as trustworthy, and this was only heightened by the awareness of errors and irregularities in early print. Gradually, though, attitudes shifted, with print growing in trustworthiness on account of it being verifiable. By the late eighteenth century the Marquis de Condorcet was arguing that print shifted the balance between mere eloquence and solid reason - reducing the power of the former and increasing the role of the latter as the criterion by which information should be judged. Of course, we might observe that it is just as possible to deceive through eloquent writing as through eloquent speech.

Title page from Thomas Spence’s Pigs’ Meat (London, 1793-1795). One of the original early modern texts examined in our Library Workshop. Philip Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Special Collections: RB 331.04 PIG. Reproduced with kind permission.

Yet, I have been heartened by our students' response to the module and the issues it raises. While they are a self-selecting group, they were thoughtful about the issues discussed and well aware of the need to think about the sources and reliability of the information presented to them, both when working as historians and in their everyday lives. Moreover, despite being digital natives, their excitement at being able to handle original copies of early modern books at our library workshop was palpable and they were thoughtful and perceptive about what is gained by handling the physical book rather than simply reading it on a screen. As rumours circulate that we are not far from a time in which AI tools could be used to set, produce, and mark student assignments without any human involvement in the process at all, it has been reassuring to spend time with students who are keen to engage with early modern printed material, to analyse it carefully, and to offer their own views and interpretations of it. Perhaps there is hope that just as the invention of print did not bring about 'the downfall of civilisation' in the way that some feared, our own digital revolution need not do so either.

Trial by Jury

In early December the justice secretary, David Lammy, announced that in order to address the huge backlog in the criminal justice system, jury trials should only be used in the most serious cases in England and Wales. Though he subsequently back-tracked a little on the original proposal, the plan remains to significantly reduce the use of trial by jury in minor cases. Lammy's announcement prompted some commentators to note that trial by jury has been an important part of our legal system since Magna Carta. It led me to reflect on those political activists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries who both celebrated the idea of trial by jury in theory, and relied on it in practice when they found themselves on the wrong side of the law.

John Lilburne, unknown artist. National Portrait Gallery. NPG D28982. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

This famous image of the Leveller John Lilburne depicts him defending himself at the bar, alongside a medal that was designed to commemorate his acquittal by a jury in October 1649. Lilburne had been charged according to an act which declared it treason to claim either in writing or verbally that the Commonwealth Government (established after the execution of Charles I) was 'tyrannical, usurped, or unlawful'. While Lilburne was no fan of the monarchy he had distanced himself from the regicide and was highly critical of the Rump Parliament, insisting that it was illegitimate.

Lilburne was tried in front of a jury at the Guildhall in London in the autumn of 1649. He chose to defend himself and is depicted here with a copy of Sir Edward Coke's Institutes in his hand. He used Coke to argue that the English understanding of fundamental liberty (reflected in both Magna Carta and the 1628 Petition of Right) insisted that an Act of Parliament should be deemed invalid if it overrode principles of equity and morality or of common law. Of course, Coke also presented trial by jury as a fundamental English right and as crucial to the liberty that was understood to be enshrined in the English constitution. Lilburne spoke at length during the trial and at the end he gave a long speech directed at the jury in which he presented himself as a 'freeborn Englishman and a Christian' who was fighting for the rights of all 'freeborn Englishmen'. The speech was clearly rousing - at its end many of those present responded 'Amen' and the jury took just an hour to deliver its verdict 'Not Guilty', prompting onlookers to cheer and shout in celebration for more than half an hour (Andrew Sharp, 'Lilburne, John (1615?-1657)' Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, https://doi-org.libproxy.ncl.ac.uk/10.1093/ref:odnb/16654). Lilburne and his supporters were convinced that being tried by a jury had been crucial to the outcome. The commemorative medal lists the names of the jurors and declares:

John Lilborne saved by the power of the Lord and the integrity of his jury who are

juge of law as wel as fact October 26 1649.

Lilburne and his supporters were adamant that trial by jury offered an important check on the government, ensuring that it could not simply silence opponents - or those who asked awkward questions - with impunity.

Thomas Hardy, unknown artist. National Portrait Gallery. NPG D3227. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Jury trials were still serving this function over one hundred years later during another period of intense political crisis. On 12th May 1794 the president of the London Corresponding Society (LCS), Thomas Hardy, was arrested on a charge of high treason. In the days that followed eleven other reformers, most of whom were members of either the LCS or the Society for Constitutional Information, were also arrested. Among their number was Thomas Spence. Their 'crime' was continuing to campaign for parliamentary reform at a time when Britain was at war with the revolutionary regime in France. The King sent a message to the House of Commons expressing his concern at the supposedly 'seditious practices' of corresponding societies. Only three leading figures (Hardy, John Thelwall and John Horne Tooke) were brought to trial. Tried by juries, in late October, all three were acquitted and following this the other LCS prisoners - including Spence - were also released.

Token commemorating the release from prison of Thomas Hardy in 1794. Unknown artist. National Portrait Gallery. NPG D7039. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

In the light of these acquittals, and against the background of the ongoing French Revolution and war with France, the authorities sought to further limit the actions of reformers. The 'Treason Act 1795' redefined treason to encompass simply 'imagining the King's death' through writing or speaking (36 Geo 3 c.7). While the 'Seditious Assemblies Act' made gatherings of 50 people or more illegal (36 Geo 3 c. 8). In addition the authorities seem to have got better at manipulating the jury system so as to avoid acquittals and ensure that verdicts went in their favour.

Having been released in 1794, Thomas Spence fell foul of these changes, being arrested again in 1801, this time for having 'composed and published a seditious libel' in the form of his pamphlet The Restorer of Society to its Natural State (The Important Trial of Thomas Spence. London, 1803). Spence defended himself but was immediately found guilty by the jury. He was subsequently brought before four judges who sentenced him to a year's imprisonment in Shrewsbury jail and a fine of £20.

Thomas Spence, from an image held among the Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with kind permission.

In his account of his trial, Spence complained of the unfairness and corruption of the legal system. He claimed that the Attorney General and journalists had misconstrued and misrepresented his ideas, saying that he was 'held up to the public as a fool or a madman' and was accused of seeking to overthrow all private property, whereas it was only landed property that he argued should be owned and maintained by local parishes. He also argued that, given the nature of the jury, the odds were stacked against him. It was unfair, he asserted, that he was being tried by men of property when his system explicitly called for a modification of landed property, which meant that his jurors had an interest in the outcome of his trial. It would have been fairer, he insisted, if at least half of the jury had been labourers without a vested interest (or at least with the opposite interest).

Like Lilburne, Spence went on to present himself as speaking not just on his own behalf but on behalf of the whole human race - especially the 'no-hopers'. The consequence of the verdict against him, he suggested, was that nobody should put forward any proposals for the public good, and in particular that labourers had no right to propose new laws. Laws it seemed were made by and for men of property. Rather than prosecuting people for proposing plans to improve human happiness, Spence argued, society ought to be prosecuting those who hold back such reforms despite their utility.

Of course, Lilburne and Spence were distinctive in being prosecuted for challenging the established regime, but that is also true of some who find themselves in the criminal justice system today. Will it be those people, I wonder, who will lose their right to trial by jury under the government's new proposals?

A Tale of Two Thomases: Part 2

Last month's blogpost focused on the dissemination of political texts - in various forms - by two seemingly very different eighteenth-century figures - Thomas Hollis and Thomas Spence. This month's post will show that the parallel between these two men ran even deeper. They both recognised that if the texts they disseminated were to have an impact, attention had to be paid to the linguistic skills of their audience - in particular the capacity to read proficiently and to speak and debate effectively.

John Wallis by David Loggan, 1678. National Portrait Gallery: NPG 639. Reproduced under a creative commons licence.

In late June 1760, Hollis first broached the idea with the printer and bookseller Andrew Millar of reprinting John Wallis's Grammatica linguae anglicane (1653), which offered an introduction to English grammar for those with knowledge of Latin. Hollis linked this proposal directly to his wider political project. The volume would be 'for the benefit of Foreigners, and the spreading of the principles of truth and Liberty'. (The Diary of Thomas Hollis, ed. W. H. Bond. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1996. p. 36. 28 June 1760). As discussed in last month's blogpost, Hollis sent various English political texts abroad with the aim of advancing liberty. If the recipients were to make good use of them, they would need an understanding of the English language. Hollis emphasised this point in a handwritten inscription that he added to the copy of another work, the Bibliotheca Literaria, which he sent to Harvard College in 1767. Having sent books on government, he explained, he then sent: 'Grammars, Dictionaries of Root and other Languages, with critical Authors; in hope of forming first rate Scholars, the NOBLEST of all Men!' (William H. Bond, "From the Great Desire of Promoting Learning": Thomas Hollis's Gifts to the Harvard College Library. Cambridge: Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 2010, p. 34). He also drew up a list of 'books favourable to Liberty, and ingenuous actions' to be placed at the end of the Wallis edition to further cement the connection between language and politics. (The Diary of Thomas Hollis, p. 220. 24 November 1764). Having commissioned the edition of Wallis's work, Hollis then distributed copies of it very widely, including sending a copy with the donations of political books that he sent to key institutions abroad. The larger donations that he made to Harvard and Bern also included other linguistic works such as John Wilkins, An essay towards a real character and a philosophical language (1668) and Robert Bellers, The Plan of a Dictionary of the English Language (1747).

Thomas Spence, The Grand Repository of the English Language (Newcastle, 1775) in which he set out his phonetic alphabet. Image by Rachel Hammersley from the copy held at Newcastle City Library. Reproduced with kind permission.

Spence, too, recognised the connection between language skills and political understanding. In the 1770s he designed a phonetic alphabet which he continued to promote even after his move to London - printing several of his own works in this distinctive format. Whereas Hollis's priority was providing linguistic texts so that foreigners could benefit from works printed in English, Spence's main concern was the labouring classes in England 'who generally cannot afford much time or expence in the educating of their children, and yet they would like to have them taught the necessary and useful art of reading and writing' (Thomas Spence, The Grand Repository of the English Language. Newcastle upon Tyne, 1775, Preface). For Spence, as for Hollis, the ultimate goal was the promotion of liberties and rights. Spence was explicit that his phonetic alphabet would allow 'the very poorest' to acquire 'such Notions of Justice, and Equity, and the Rights of Mankind, as rendered unsupportable every Species of Oppression' (Thomas Spence, The Real Reading-Made-Easy. Newcastle, 1782, pp. 41-2).

Bern, Universität Bibliothek, ‘Die Hollis-Sammlung 79(3) A List of the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce (London, 1759). Reproduced with kind permission. Image, Rachel Hammersley, 2025.

While both men clearly placed great emphasis on the written word, they also saw the benefits to be gained from people gathering together in societies to discuss ideas. Hollis was a committed member of several London-based societies, and he enthusiastically promoted them elsewhere. His decision to send books to the public library at Bern in Switzerland was partly motivated by the establishment there in 1759 of 'Die Oekonomische Gesellschaft' (The Economic Society) which was aimed at bringing about improvements to the canton and operating as a channel for the reception of new ideas from abroad. Hollis wrote to his local contact, Rodolphe Vautravers, the following year noting his delight that the society was flourishing (A. Thirouard Wyss, The Hollis Collection in Berne, p. 24). Among the parcels of books Hollis sent to Bern he included not only works on agriculture and husbandry, that spoke to the aims of the Bern society, but also works on societies themselves including Histoire de l'academie Royale des sciences, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, Thomas Birch's The History of the Royal Society and A copy of the royal character and statutes of the Society of Antiquaries of London. In 1765 members of the societies at Bern and Biel sent Hollis a report of their activities as thanks for his support. Rather than keeping the report, he sent it on to the American colonies in the hope of encouraging the establishment of similar societies there.

The only known surviving copy of Spence’s original lecture at the Newcastle Philosophical Society in 1775. From the Anthony Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with permission.

Spence too both participated in and organised gatherings to discuss ideas from an early age. Moreover he continued to do so even after his less than positive early experiences. Spence was expelled from the Newcastle Philosophical Society in November 1775 having delivered a lecture entitled 'Property in Land Every One's Right', which he then had printed for circulation. Around the same time, he formed a debating society of his own, which met at the school he taught at on Broad Garth, Newcastle. One evening they debated his ideas about property in land but the other young men at the society - including Spence's friend Thomas Bewick - were not convinced, and the debate went against Spence. Afterwards Spence accused Bewick of betraying him and challenged him to a fight. After moving to London, Spence joined the London Corresponding Society (LCS). In the spring of 1793 his shop was named as a venue where an LCS petition in support of parliamentary reform could be signed (Mary Thale, Selections from the Papers of the London Corresponding Society, 1792-1799. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983, pp. 57 and 60-61.) Again, his involvement in the Society got Spence into trouble; he was arrested alongside other members of the LCS on 20 May 1794 and was imprisoned until December. Yet Spence remained undeterred. In March 1801 a meeting was held at which 'Citizen Spence's theory of Society' was endorsed, and it was resolved that supporters of the system would meet in small numbers 'after a free and easy manner' to discuss those ideas (British Library: Add. MS. 27 808, 201 and 203). An advert in a collection of Spence's songs also promoted Spence's ‘free and easy’ gatherings, which were held at the Fleece on Little Windmill Street on a Monday or Tuesday evening at 8pm

Both Hollis and Spence, then, seem to have been committed not just to spreading political ideas in print, but also to facilitating the exchange and discussion of ideas in person in dedicated societies. This meant that they were concerned not only with the development of reading and writing skills, but also with those associated with speaking and listening.

It would be easy to downplay these aspects of their projects - and even to dismiss them as further evidence of the eccentricities of these two men. Yet their concern with language skills - and their sense that improving those skills was crucial to the preservation of liberty and challenging inequalities - speaks to current concerns and connects to another of my activities.

In 2018 an All-Party Parliamentary Group (APPG) for Oracy was established in Parliament, with the aim of 'helping every child [to] be a confident communicator and find their voice' (https://www.marjon.ac.uk/research/knowledge-exchange/Oracy_APPG_InterimReport_Dec20.pdf) The APPG defined Oracy as: 'the ability to speak eloquently, to articulate ideas and thoughts, to influence through talking, to collaborate with peers and to express views confidently and appropriately'. It also recognised the importance of Oracy for improving attainment in schools, preparing students for future study and careers, and for citizenship and empowerment. Finally, the group noted marked differences in Oracy skills arising from social background, and observed that the language gap had widened as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic.

These findings chime with my own experience as a university lecturer. While the university students are some of the brightest, there is generally still a marked difference in Oracy skills depending on education and social background. Seminar teaching is a crucial component of university education - especially in the Humanities and Social Sciences. Successful seminars require students to express their own opinions and interpretations of the material they have read. They need to be able to speak fluently, to listen carefully, and to debate sensitively and constructively. Yet, over the years, students have seemed less and less willing to participate in seminars. Some simply do not turn up at all, and others attend but do not contribute to the discussion. Recent focus-groups conducted as part of an Oracy project at Newcastle University found that, while the majority of the students questioned were confident when sharing their ideas in small groups with people they already know well, they were much less confident when speaking in front of the whole class - or even in small groups with people they did not already know. Those of us involved in the project (which includes academics from several different disciplines, school teachers and the educational outreach team from the University Library with support from the charity Voice 21) will be testing strategies for improving the Oracy skills of our students and sharing our findings with each other. I would like to think that Hollis and Spence would approve.

Algernon Sidney's Discourses Concerning Government: The Journey of a Text from Manuscript to Translation

Covid-19 has disrupted everything, including academic conferences, workshops and seminars. In the light of the necessary postponement of this year’s Translating Cultures workshop in Wolfenbüttel, Germany, I have chosen to suspend my series on Myths Concerning Republican Government for one month more in order to offer a brief account of the paper I would have given at that workshop, which reflects the new project that I am currently in the process of developing.

Scholarship on translation inevitably focuses on words. How are specific terms translated? How accurately does a translation convey the meaning and sentiment of a work? But what about the form in which those words are presented: what role does the genre that is used or the physical appearance of a text play in conveying meaning, indicating audience, and determining purpose; and what happens when a translation appears in a different form from the original? These are questions I had begun to ponder during previous Wolfenbüttel workshops.

Algernon Sidney, after Justus van Egmont, based on a work of 1663. National Portrait Gallery NPG 568. Reproduced thanks to a Creative Commons license.

For my contribution to our postponed third workshop I plan to explore these issues using Algernon Sidney's Discourses Concerning Government as a case study. Though an important seventeenth-century work with a long afterlife in England and abroad, the original 'text' was simply a collection of manuscript sheets found on Sidney's desk when he was arrested, in May 1683, for his alleged involvement in the Rye House Plot. In its journey from Sidney's desk to the French Revolution, where it generated particular interest, Discourses Concerning Government was transformed multiple times through the interventions of various collaborators.

The first stage of this was its publication as a physical book in 1698 by the editor John Toland and printer John Darby. In 1762, Thomas Hollis published a new edition in his 'Library of Liberty' and, a further thirty years on, Daniel Eaton followed suit with his own edition. Over the same period The Discourses established a French presence. Toland's edition was reviewed in the Huguenot periodical Nouvelles de la République des Lettres in 1699. Soon after, a French translation was produced by a Huguenot refugee Pierre-August Samson. It too was reviewed in Huguenot periodicals as well as being reprinted in 1755 and 1794. In 1789 Sidney's ideas were drawn to the attention of a wider French audience via Lettre de félicitation de milord Sidney aux Parisiens et à la nation françoise. Exploring the different stages of this text's journey, and changes in its form that occurred in the process, reveals interesting evidence about the relationship between the form and content of texts and translations.

The frontispiece to Toland and Darby’s 1698 edition of Sidney’s text. I am grateful to Gaby Mahlberg for providing me with this image.

First, the physical form of a text - its size, the quality of the paper, the sophistication of the frontispiece - offers indications as to its audience, purpose, and significance. Here there is a marked contrast between the different versions of The Discourses. The Toland and Hollis editions are large lavish volumes intended for the private libraries of the rich (Toland) or major university and public libraries (Hollis). Hollis went so far as to bind the works in his Library of Liberty in red leather and to emboss them with symbols of liberty such as the bonnet rouge. By contrast Daniel Eaton's edition was more modest, being part of a scheme by the London Corresponding Society to make available cheap versions of key political texts. In fact, Eaton not only published Sidney's text in full, but also included excerpts in his weekly periodical Politics for the People. The French translations too were generally smaller than Toland's original, perhaps reflecting the humble and transient lifestyle of Huguenots at the time.

Secondly, it is interesting to observe the connections these editors and translators saw between texts. Toland was largely responsible for the creation of a canon of English republican works and he deliberately associated Sidney's Discourses (written in the 1680s) with works produced during the English Revolution, emphasising their common themes. His 1704 reprint of the Discourses explicitly alerted readers to the fact that John Milton's, Edmund Ludlow's and James Harrington's works could also be found in Derby's shop. Similarly, Hollis's Library of Liberty set Sidney's text alongside works by Milton, Ludlow, Andrew Marvell and Marchamont Nedham; and the common binding used physical resemblance to reinforce the ideological connection. In sending collections of works to particular institutions Hollis was also able, as Mark Somos demonstrated to us last year, to use marginalia to create a trail of republican writings and to influence how they were read.

Pierre-August Samson’s 1702 French translation of Sidney’s Discourses. With thanks to Gaby Mahlberg for providing the image.

Thirdly there is the question of genre. Knowledge of Sidney in France came initially via the reviews in periodicals. Here, then, The Discourses was associated with Huguenot concerns - in particular Protestantism and resistance to absolute monarchy. How did this affect French readings of Sidney's text? And what about Lettre de félicitation de milord Sidney. This was not a translation, but a short work pretending that Sidney had returned from the dead to counsel the French. Presenting Sidney's ideas in the form of a letter addressed to the revolutionaries allowed those ideas to be targeted at their concerns. Content and form, then, are inextricably bound together. To fully understand the one - we must also pay close attention to the other.