During the period at issue in this paper–the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, when trial juries were first employed in English felony cases–felonious homicide was a catch-all category, with no formal distinction drawn between murder and manslaughter. Nevertheless, juries did distinguish among different types of homicide as they sorted the guilty from the innocent, and the irremediably guilty from those worthy of pardon. Anger was one of the factors that informed this sorting process. This paper builds upon an earlier analysis of the meaning of felony, which posited that the medieval paradigm of felony was an act that involved deliberation and forethought, an exercise of a person's reasoning capacity and volition in the absence of necessity, and moral blameworthiness. Anger complicates this scenario. On the one hand, anger was seen to be a product of an ill-formed conscience. This potentially placed anger within the felonious area of moral blameworthiness. On the other hand, anger in its more extreme manifestations was seen to inhibit a person's ability to reason and to inspire behavior resembling insanity, thereby possibly pointing toward a partial excuse. This paper takes a fresh methodological approach for the study of emotion in the common law, placing legal texts within a broader cultural context in order to illuminate the concerns and priorities of jurors.

In 1885 and 1886, two trials helped to precipitate a vigorous debate about when criminal proceedings should be closed to the public and when press reports on such cases should be restricted or banned altogether. First, the trial of the artist Gustav Graef for perjury and inappropriate relations with underage models featured sensationalized press reports that provoked a firestorm of public criticism. Soon afterward, press coverage of the trial of a Danish spy, Christian von Sarauw, revealed compromising details about German military planning and outraged government officials. The result was the proposal of a new law to limit public and press access to trials which posed a potential danger either to public decency or national security. Despite vigorous government efforts, this new legislation repeatedly stalled in the German Reichstag, in part because of concerns about protecting legal transparency and freedom of the press. The debates surrounding this law demonstrate the extent (and limits) to which liberal ideals such as legal transparency and freedom of the press had become embedded in Imperial German society and also the substantial power of the German Reichstag to obstruct the will of the government–even in making new laws deemed vital for national security.

Sixteen-year-old Acre resident Mustafa Naif, suspected of having sex with another man, stated before the police investigator on June 30, 1943, “I know Mustafa Zaharan and is my friend and mate, I used to love him and he used to love me, and that this man had a sexual intercourse with me twice with my consent and free will, because he loves me and I love him.”1 By the time of his trial, approximately a month later, Mustafa Naif must have realized this was the “wrong” story to tell. He recanted his statement and denied knowing Mustafa Zaharan or having anything to do with him. His denial might have been another manifestation of love, as an admission of guilt would have led to his friend's conviction on a sex offense. For his lover's sake, then, Mustafa Naif might have renounced his original romantic version. Indeed, his friend was acquitted as a result of the contradictory statements; however, Mustafa Naif was charged with perjury and was convicted after pleading guilty.