As soon as newspapers, catering to England’s new urbane peoples, began describing common executions, the crowds attending them were seen as indifferent to their moral message. By the middle of the eighteenth century, execution rituals seemed equally problematic. Critics perceived hangings to be so frequent, so large-scale and so brutalizing to an even minimally refined sensibility as to defeat their deterrent purpose. In 1783, London officials sought to redress these problems by devising a new execution ritual, staged immediately outside the prison and courthouse. Within four decades, this quintessentially urban execution ritual had been adopted in almost all other English counties, even as cities on the continent pointedly moved executions outside urban centres. Yet still executions seemed ineffective. Following a particularly intense crisis in the 1780s, England’s traditional ruling elites sought to preserve the “Bloody Code” by reducing the scale of hangings to historically low levels.

Continental nations still used spectacular modes of execution – especially breaking on the wheel or decapitation by sword – upon common criminals during the eighteenth century. In England, bloody and prolonged executions were inflicted solely upon traitors. Moreover, the fullest horrors of the traitor’s death – disembowelment while still alive, and the long-term post-mortem display of the head and quarters – were largely dispensed with by the end of the seventeenth century. These changes had two major causes: a sense of the limits of what might be tolerated in a genteel and rapidly growing metropolis; and the desire of governments – especially constitutional monarchies after 1689 – not to discredit themselves by displaying an excessive thirst for blood in punishing enemies. These considerations, coupled with the occasional need to execute traitors after 1689, also precluded the use of aggravated execution rituals against the other two categories of traitor: coiners and petty traitors.

Whig and revisionist historians alike have argued that the efforts of Samuel Romilly and James Mackintosh to reform criminal law between 1808 and 1821 were easily thwarted by a resolute Tory ministry and an ambivalent public opinion. The cause of reform was in fact more powerful than either perspective allows. Urbane public opinion lamented England’s increasingly unique adherence to a wide-ranging death penalty and viewed its victims in more compassionate terms than ever before. Conservatives clung to William Paley’s arguments that a selectively enforced “Bloody Code” was both genuinely deterrent and preferable to either preventive policing or the wider use of secondary punishments. There were limits to the logic of the positions espoused by reformers and conservatives alike. By the 1820s, however, there was good reason to believe that the reform cause was already won in the House of Commons and that victory in the Lords was at least conceivable.

By 1660 the number of common criminals hanged in England had fallen dramatically: but England still executed far more people than other European states. That practice was sustained in part, in the minds of England’s urbane peoples, by a time-honoured perception of crime as a moral failing akin to others, albeit of far greater social consequence. By the third quarter of the eighteenth century, however, that vision was being eroded by two cultural transformations. First, a more worldly (secular) vision bred impatience with the idea that the most lasting and certain punishment of serious crime must be left to God’s Last Judgment rather than achieved in the here and now. Such views were reinforced, secondly, by a new culture of feeling, which inspired not only distaste for the physical and emotional sufferings inflicted upon serious criminals, but also (contrarily) greater anxiety about the threat of their crimes.

The Murder Act of 1752 required that criminals who were not dissected to be hung in chains on a gibbet. Yet just as many non-killers were hung in chains during the years 1752–1801 as in 1700–52. And. by the time use of the gibbet was confined strictly to murder, its use against any crime whatsoever had fallen into disfavour. That process was well under way in London no later than 1700 and was apparent in many other places soon after 1750. Urbane people frequently demanded that gibbets be removed to places more remote from respectable residences, and further back from roadsides to avoid offending travellers’ sensibilities. By the nineteenth century, the erection of a gibbet seemed more often an occasion for carnival than a plausible deterrent to crime. Until its abolition in 1834, however, England’s traditional elites clung to the option of the gibbet almost as determinedly as they did to execution for crimes against property.

Recent work on execution emphasizes broad similarities in the character and causes of changing practices across the western world, as well as the strength of resistance to reform in England before the 1830s. In fact, five features gave rise to a distinctive path of change in England following the Restoration of 1660. First, the variable scale of enforcement from one place to another contained the potential excesses of England’s “Bloody Code.” They were additionally contained, secondly, by the “early” advent of constitutional monarchy, which made parliament – and new urban elites – partners in making and enforcing the laws. England’s “urbane” peoples derived particular strength, thirdly and fourthly, from the unique extent of urbanization in England and the vigorous public sphere to which it gave rise. Finally, the experience of London, by 1750 the largest European city, compelled changing practices which gave those people ascendancy in public political culture by the 1830s.

The transition from one culture of governance to another explains the character and timing of changes in the nature, location and scale of English executions from 1660 to 1900. Traditional landed elites adhered both to a “Bloody Code,” whose enforcement against common criminals could be regularly adjusted through consultations between trial judges and themselves, and to the occasional use of prolongedly agonizing execution rituals against traitors. The men who dominated England’s uniquely extensive and steadily expanding urban realms, and embraced new cultures of desacralization, feeling and reason, increasingly viewed the purposes, numerical extent and staging of executions differently. As the numbers and power of urbane people grew, first the extent and finally the practices of execution were adjusted accordingly. The many paradoxes of “feeling”, however, ensured their continued commitment to execution for murder, and some measure of hypocrisy in their views of executions and the people who attended them.

Recent historians usually see Home Secretary Robert Peel as a committed opponent of real criminal law reforms, content to hang large numbers of people. He did indeed enter office determined to diffuse reform momentum in parliament and succeeded in doing so, but only for a time. In fact, in pursuing the two reforms that William Paley deemed crucial to relinquishing the “Bloody Code” – preventive policing and more deterrent secondary punishments – Peel behaved like someone who believed his concessions might not hold back the tide of urbane public opinion for long. This was also apparent in his alterations to sentencing practices at assizes and his increasingly careful attention to execution levels in London. Even his consolidation measures were of more genuinely humane consequence than is usually recognized. Indeed, so adaptable to urbane opinion did Peel seem to his older, more determinedly conservative colleagues that by 1830 he inspired their distrust.

The Murder Act of 1752 imposed post-mortem dissection as the primary punishment for all people convicted of that crime. Recent historians have viewed this statute as strikingly regressive. In fact, its purposes and effects were notably humane. It dramatically reduced the number of dissections imposed on criminal bodies in London. By almost entirely confining dissection to murder alone, it substantially ended riots at executions. And, in ensuring a legal supply of “subjects” to anatomists, it helped make surgery as swift as possible in an age before reliable anaesthesia. On the other hand, public anatomization of dead killers was so uncommon that it seems likely to have inspired fascination rather than deterrent horror. And, in failing to supply enough “subjects,” the Act inspired epidemical levels of grave robbery, finally coming undone when enterprising monsters resorted to murder itself in meeting the needs of anatomists, who now seemed complicit in such crimes.

Although the execution crowd is a common mind’s-eye image of Victorian England, we still have much to learn or to reconsider about nineteenth-century executions. The Whig governments of the 1830s are rightly seen as far more restrained in using the gallows than their Tory predecessors, but they in fact sustained a surprisingly vigorous, residual “Bloody Code” – centred on violent crimes against property – until 1837. The prevailing conviction amongst historians that the removal of executions within prison walls in 1868 averted a move towards the complete abolition of execution is not supported by the actual character of the attempts to achieve this in parliament. The change of 1868 really did stem from concerns about the execution crowd and the complicity of urbane elites in their extent. To an under-appreciated degree, however, journalists kept the work of the gallows before the public eye through the turn of the twentieth century.