Returning to the Iberian Peninsula, this chapter considers how colonial experiences influenced early modern views of horse breeding. King Philip II’s survey of horse breeding in Spain and his efforts to develop a new royal “race” (raza) of horses provide two valuable case studies of contemporary debates about improving horse breeds. Knowledge and expertise gained from active horse breeding often contradicted ideal values of lineage or blood purity. These cases acknowledge limits to the control implied in selectively breeding domesticated animals and demonstrate an early modern understanding of the contructedness of horse breeds. In a larger sense, these findings offer a nuanced reading of how raza and casta in animal husbandry relate to histories of racial terminology and classifications of difference in the Spanish empire.

Eighteenth-century Paris was the site of multiple sexual cultures ranging from permissive to conservative. All these sexual cultures operated within a set of prescriptive legal, religious, and moralistic discourses that prohibited sex outside of marriage while often supporting sexual pleasure within it. Many Parisians ignored these prescriptions, often with impunity. The police concerned themselves with public sex and intervened in private affairs only when asked to do so. Paris was home to a diverse permissive sexual culture. It was comprised of a portion of the financial, social, political, and intellectual elite, often identified as libertines, for whom sex outside marriage was both widespread and widely accepted. It also included men who had sex with each other as part of Paris’s extensive sodomitical subculture, though there is little evidence of a modern homosexual identity. Prostitution was endemic in Paris, encompassing numerous forms of transactional sex that translated into a sort of hierarchy, with women kept as mistresses by men of the elite at the top and those catering to marginal men at the bottom. We know least about the sex lives of other ordinary people, though evidence suggests many had sex outside of marriage and many cared deeply for their spouses.

Hungary was by far the largest constituent part of the Habsburg Monarchy, and a considerable European state in its own right. The relationship between the Habsburg ruler and Hungary’s assertive, noble-dominated estates was characterized by a traditional duality between “crown” and “country” which limited the monarch’s ability to raise taxes and mobilize resources. Maria Theresia (1740–1780) skillfully managed this system, while her radical son, Joseph II (1780–90) openly challenged it. He introduced a blizzard of reforms in pursuit of an efficient and unified Habsburg state. His uncompromising reform drive provoked resistance, verging on open revolt by the end of his reign. This chapter argues that effective resistance to Josephist absolutism originated in a group of disillusioned Hungarian officeholders and that these cannot simply be dismissed as dyed in the wool conservatives. Under the new ruler, Leopold II (1790–2) a compromise was reached: the traditional duality was restored and the bulk of the Josephist reform programme was jettisoned. Nonetheless, three key reforms were incorporated which helped to unify the Hungarian élite and made the country, and ultimately the Habsburg Monarchy, better able to face the challenge of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars.

The constitution of any state, whether written or unwritten, is the set of political, governmental and legal structures and shared values within which the business of everyday politics and governance operate. In fourteenth-century England there occurred the first two depositions in post-Conquest English history, which were precipitated by ‘unconstitutional’ behaviour by the monarchs in question and were effected by ‘unconstitutional’ legal devices on the part of the community of the realm. It was a century of cataclysmic demographic transformation brought about by the Black Death, of almost constant warfare with Scotland and France and of spectacular governmental growth and legal change. It is therefore ironic that, when English constitutional history was at its height, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the fourteenth century, parliamentary developments apart, was regarded as a sorry backwater. It was useful only to reflect on how a wrong turning had been taken. ‘We pass’, Bishop Stubbs lamented, ‘from an age of heroism to the age of chivalry, from a century ennobled by devotion and self-sacrifice to one in which the gloss of superficial refinement fails to hide the reality of heartless selfishness and moral degradation’.1

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the Russian elite used a plethora of languages, situated in a complex web of shifting social values. This chapter charts the development of this multilingualism. Looking closely at the nature of language hierarchies in imperial Russia through a close study of a variety of archival materials, it questions the oft-repeated narrative of a Russian high society speaking predominantly French, to the detriment of their Russian skills. The chapter also examines whether the Russian case is, as is often claimed, unique, and argues that multilingualism in Russia shared characteristics with elite multilingualism found in other places and times.

Chapter 4 analyses Hegel’s reasons for choosing the bicameral system at a time when it was anything but widespread and in fact hotly contested. It reconstructs the arguments advanced then, both in favour of a two-chamber system and in opposition to it, and argues that Hegel’s acceptance of bicameralism must be understood as taking a deliberate stance in the constitutional debate of post-Napoleonic Germany. Essentially, he advances two arguments for the institution of two chambers. First, the division of the Estates Assembly into two chambers will lead to improved decision-making and second, there will be less direct opposition between the Estates and the government. The contextualisation of these two arguments reveals that Hegel distils only the main arguments of one side in a heated controversy while excluding counter-arguments and ideas of alternative mechanisms in circulation at the time. In the process, this chapter especially explores arguments about the role and composition of the first chamber, which corresponds to what is nowadays conventionally called the second chamber and often dubbed a ‘house of review’. Important questions about the social implications of the bicameral system are also raised in this context.

This chapter argues that the growth of litigation after 1550 is not an indicator of a decline of enmity among the social elite. In fact, the opposite is the case: social change generated new enmities which were fought using legal writs. The late sixteenth-century explosion of violence was not an indicator of ‘backwardness’ but a consequence of status anxiety as Renaissance ideas about merit and worth challenged traditional ideas about hierarchy and virtue. In the sixteenth century a great deal of conflict was generated by anxiety over reputation and the requirement to prove one’s status and place in the social order. The literature on the culture of enmity in Germany is arguably the richest in any European language. This is largely because south-west Germany and the Rhineland were the epicentres of the European witch craze. The ubiquitous recourse to magic was not just to snare a lover or restore health but also to take revenge. The records generated by witch hunts shed light on village disputes and the politics of enmity more widely. This chapter sets out to establish the parameters of the culture of enmity, to discuss some of its rituals and practices, and to show the ways in which the social elite attempted to distinguish itself from ordinary folk by adopting new forms of dispute resolution.

Aldama, Quintero, and Blanco must have felt a deep and unbearable contradiction whenever they reflected on their lives. From birth, each could claim many of the essential traits of honorable men. In theory, all three murderers possessed the ideal masculine qualities of their era. All of them enjoyed the honorific title “don,” as did members of their families. Even for poverty-stricken Spaniards, the titles don and doña suggested status above the plebeian mob. But in 1789, in contrast to their inherited status, each of these men lived as a poor and dishonorable criminal. The escalating daily tension that they experienced between their privileged birth as white male Spaniards and their experience as outcasts ramped up in the summer and fall of that year as they struggled to find money and to defend themselves from the repercussions of their previous crimes. Finally this painful internal conflict motivated them to kill. From their point of view, only a windfall of cash could end their struggle between who they believed themselves to be and their actual existence as rogues.

Anne Lounsbery illuminates the dauntingly complex system of estates and ranks that stratified Russian life, and the emergence of the “splintered middle” that was Chekhov’s principal focus.

Birth (1689) Childhood of Montesquieu at La Brède; his education by the Oratorians in Juilly, when he went by the name of La Brède or Labrède; and what the documents show about his life there through 1705, his developing interests and literary inclinations.

Chapter 5 is structured according to the uses for which noble clients commissioned magic. The range of uses is broader than the five identified for other social classes and they have therefore been grouped under three wider ambitions: political or social advancement; money; and practicalities. By structuring the discussion in this way we are able to interrogate the motivations behind the upper classes’ use of magic, and investigate the role it played in elite culture. The conclusion of this discussion is that the few aristocratic magic cases that survive are indicative of a wider culture of use

This chapter focuses on how and when elite persons employed magicians; what sort of relationship was enjoyed between employer and employee; and how such relationships were allowed to continue in a courtly context. Through the course of this discussion we see that the culture of magic use among the elite was substantially different to that of society more broadly. For example, whereas generally the lower classes had a ‘pay per use’ arrangement with service magicians, upper classes were more in the habit of keeping magicians as part of their household, normally requesting the services from a cleric on retainer. The implications of this, and other habits peculiar to the elite, are explored in some detail.

This chapter situates Lev Tolstoy’s life and work in relation to the social and political context of the estates (meaning, soslovie) system in imperial Russia. Although the Russian nobility was a social estate distinguished by a high degree of heterogeneity when it came to such matters as scope of property (including income and debt), modes of sociability, access to power, relationship to the provinces, and connection to the cultural and political centers (e.g., Moscow, St. Petersburg), the nobility remained a corporate body of subject-citizens united through a necessarily uneven but reciprocal relationship with the autocratic state, a relationship that was articulated as a set of privileges and obligations. In addition to offering a brief historical survey of the noble estate in Russia, this chapter explores a selection of moments in Tolstoy’s life and career in relation to the meanings that accrued to noble status as a demographic designation, a political experience, and a social performance. At times, I turn (briefly) to Tolstoy’s major works of fiction (notably, War and Peace and Anna Karenina) to illustrate how the period’s definitions of nobility found expression in the novelist’s artistic imagination.

This chapter addresses the question of why prominent nobles were so interested in being church advocates by examining the legitimate financial benefits that came with the position. Using sources from the period 1050 to 1250, it argues that advocates typically received one-third of the fines when they held court on ecclesiastical estates, and also received food and lodging in return for fulfilling their role as judge. It also demonstrates that many advocates received separate income for their responsibilities in providing protection. While all of these payments were initially in kind, by the thirteenth century it was increasingly common for advocates to receive a single lump-sum money payment for fulfilling all their advocatial responsibilities, which is evidence of the increasing commodification of local positions of authority in this period. This chapter also investigates the numismatic evidence for church advocates as additional source material for the economic dimensions of the role.

This chapter focuses on the evidence for both continuity and change in the role of the advocate during the tenth century. Under the Ottonian rulers of the East Frankish Kingdom, the position of advocate acquired new prestige, as high-ranking nobles and even the rulers themselves claimed to be the advocates for individual monasteries and churches. As part of this trend, sources increasingly emphasized the advocate’s role as protector of ecclesiastical properties. At the same time, local evidence continues to show advocates closely overseeing the property interests of monasteries and churches in ways that have clear parallels with eighth- and ninth-century sources from the Carolingian empire. This chapter further argues that the position of advocate was developing organically in this period and that scholarly attempts to create different categories of advocates are misguided. It is precisely because the role of advocate was open to interpretation that advocates were increasingly able to abuse their positions for their own profit.

Molière is generally viewed as a comic author who mocks all aspects of society – aristocratic, bourgeois and peasant. However, he was himself part of this tripartite society and adopted points of view that, when we examine them, we see to be those of his caste – one of the people who dined at the King’s table. He was, in fact, at the intersection of two worlds, the court and the town (Paris), and in his works we meet individuals from different milieus, in the plays themselves but also making up the audiences that came to see them. He makes his characters ridiculous through exaggeration, thereby rendering less credible whatever they represent. When presenting different comic situations, Molière never comes down on one side or another. Instead, he offers suggestions, and leaves their appreciation up to the members of the public. They, according to their status or the circumstances in which they see the plays, receive them in one way or another, but always refuse to recognise themselves in any particular character. The focus of this article is, therefore, to determine whether Molière, whose criticism was so acerbic, really was this transgressive and subversive bourgeois author.

This chapter focuses on the period between roughly 1050 and 1150, when calls to reform the Church and religious life swept across Europe. The new religious orders that emerged in this period, including the Cistercians, Premonstratensians and Augustinian canons, all sought to limit the influence of secular authorities over their communities. Nevertheless, this chapter argues that – especially in the German-speaking lands – church advocacy was already too entrenched a feature of society for these new orders to ignore it or effectively control it. Someone needed to provide protection and exercise justice over the numerous estates these new foundations were receiving, and nobles had already come to rely on the position of advocate as an effective means of asserting their influence over monasteries and churches. As a result, while Church reformers increasingly sought in this period to regulate and place limits on advocates’ responsibilities, they were unable to prevent high-ranking nobles from accumulating large numbers of church advocacies in their own hands.

This chapter offers a case study of a single dispute over a church advocacy. In 1225, members of the entourage of Count Frederick of Isenberg attacked and killed Archbishop Engelbert of Cologne. Sources written at the time all agree that the reason for this assassination was a dispute between the count and the archbishop over the advocacy for the convent of Essen. Count Frederick had inherited the advocacy and considered it an important source of income and prestige, but Archbishop Engelbert – in whose archdiocese Essen was located – also sought control of the advocacy. The conflict between them ties together many of the themes of the preceding four chapters, including the issues of advocatial violence, forgery, royal and papal intervention in disputes and the importance of the profits accrued from holding an advocacy.

Continuing the volume’s third thematic strand (Individuals and Institutions), this chapter studies the nobility and aristocracy in the age of William the Conqueror. The discussion begins by pointing out the importance of hierarchy and status before drawing attention to the subjects of ancestry, culture, and education amongst the elites of the cross-Channel Anglo-Norman world and their neighbours on the Continent. Following investigations of aristocratic splendour and largesse, as well as of violence and competition, it closes by taking stock of the situation on the eve of William’s conquest of England.