Sigismond Thalberg made triumphant tours round Europe between 1837 and 1848. For some musicians he was ‘the greatest pianist’, but for others Liszt was ‘the only pianist’. For the first concert on 12 April, his contributions were three of his own Fantasias on themes from Mozart's Don Giovanni, Donizetti's Anna Bolena, and Rossini's Mosè in Egitto. For the second , on 21 April, he played Fantasias on Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor and Rossini's Semiramide, and a ‘Grand Duo’ for two pianos on themes from Bellini's Norma.

After a three-year absence, Thalberg has returned both powerful and calm, as in the days of his earliest triumphs and, if possible, even happier. He in fact belongs to the small number of artists for whom everything succeeds, even success. It's not held against him that he has great talent, that he is favoured by glory and fortune; and were he to possess, together with Beethoven's genius, the name of Napoleon, and the wealth of the Banque de France, he would not be loved any the less. Does he take the trouble to become famous and rich? Not in the slightest. Before leaving for Paris, he writes to a friend (he has them) to announce his forthcoming arrival and a concert. The friend duly hires the Théâtre-Italien, orders a printer to put up notices: ‘Tuesday … April, first concert by M. Sigismond Thalberg’ and organises a wretched little orchestra, rickety, knock-kneed, peevish, made for playing overtures no one will listen to and accompanying singers who will hardly be heard. The day before the concert, the virtuoso arrives, puts together his programme in a few hours, looks in at the theatre for a few minutes to reassure himself that the beautiful ladies who dream of him will be there on his return, and next day, hey presto!, the house is full of them.

Chapter 5 examines how the Cappadocians utilise an array of protective measures against the devil. The sacrament of baptism is the first defence and the greatest protection against the devil’s attacks; at the same time, however, baptism heightens the likelihood of the devil’s advances. Amongst the numerous tactics that they employ to combat the ongoing threat of the devil, the Cappadocians appeal to the sign of the cross. They also teach on wearing the whole armour of God. These forms of protection emphasise the eschatological nature of the devil’s defeat, since they recall what Christ has done while also highlighting how spiritual warfare continues throughout the Christian life.

On Advent Sunday in December 1636 the eccentric aristocrat Lady Eleanor Davies, with female companions, arrived early for the communion service at Lichfield cathedral in south-east Staffordshire. Diocesan officials welcomed her to their recently redecorated church, with its ‘hangings of arras behind the altar, the communion table handsomely railed in, and the table itself set out in the best manner, and the bishop's seat fairly built’. The reverence of the occasion and the setting was shattered when Lady Eleanor approached the sanctuary with

News of this exploit went round the country, as the latest outrage by a disorderly visionary. The newswriter Edward Rossingham followed his New Year letter to Sir Thomas Puckering with an update a month later

The expansion of developer-funded archaeology in Britain since 1990 has generated a wealth of information about the rural settlement and landscape of Roman Britain. Using the rich dataset pulled together by the ‘Rural Settlement of Roman Britain’ project, this paper highlights several key elements of the distribution, type and morphology of the multitude of known settlements of this period, with reflections provided on the agricultural economy and the social identities of the people who lived in these places.

In 1646, when the London theatres were closed, James Shirley published a collection titled Poems &c. Shirley’s et cetera included “Prologues and Epilogues Written to severall Playes Presented in this Kingdom, and else-where.” While the paratexts in this volume are for plays that had already been performed, Shirley’s Poems offers the first or only known publication for some prologues, for instance, for Shirley’s The Doubtful Heir (first published in 1652; also included in Six New Plays, 1653). This chapter explores how the dramatic epitexts in Shirley’s Poems make meaning without the full text of their play. Shirley reveals himself to be Ben Jonson’s heir and a poet-playwright in the classical tradition. These paratexts no longer frame plays; rather, they act as a threshold that opens into Shirley’s dramatic oeuvre and makes it the centerpiece of, to use Richard Helgerson’s term, Shirley’s “self-crowned laureateship.”

The unwritten context of Ngugi’s writing, alternately called oral literature or oral traditions, is embedded in his creative works, particularly the seminal ones. In most of them, he exploits his native mythologies, history and belief systems to steer the narratives, but also communicate messages to his intended audience. He is conversing with his readers and therefore produces what may be called ‘taking narratives’ in which those readers are involved.

Most of what historians understand about medieval pilgrim souvenirs and similar devotional ephemeralia has been gleaned from a study of the surviving objects themselves. Many thousands of devotional badges, ampullae, and other trinkets in tin, lead, or pewter have been discovered in various archaeological contexts, for which contemporary documentary evidence is almost entirely lacking. Art historians and archaeologists have thus attempted to reconstruct the history of these items, what material culture studies would call the ‘object biography’, largely working backwards from the form and context in which they have been preserved. One notable debate about the object biography of pilgrim badges, for example, is why so many ended up in rivers: whether they were disposed of as trash or meaningfully placed as votive objects. The latter is an idea which Jennifer Lee has persuasively countered, although the idea of ritual deposition still has a strong attraction for many scholars. The wish to find, or at least to suggest, a certainty and strength of argument is often prominent in the analysis of these otherwise context-light objects.

Toward an Understanding of Recent Events

A century after Émile Jaques-Dalcroze's students first started spreading his ideas and methods in the United States, two historic developments marked a critical break with the past. In 2012, the Dalcroze Society of America (DSA) formed a committee to develop a consensus about Dalcroze teacher training. This Professional Development Committee (PDC) was led by the Americans who hold the Diplôme, expert Dalcroze practitioners who had earned the highest credentials from the Institut Jaques-Dalcroze (IJD) and, with it, the right to certify teachers. Soon after, in 2014, two former Presidents of the DSA, David Frego and Kathy Thomsen, declared their independence from the IJD by announcing their creation of an alternative model for teacher training. The American Eurhythmics Society (AES) would enable teachers lacking the Diplôme to confer credentials in eurhythmics. These events stirred strong reactions, both in the States and abroad.

In 2017, the AES formally launched its new teacher-training program and the PDC produced the first iteration of its teacher-training manual for the DSA, codifying its ongoing efforts to bring greater cohesion to Dalcroze education as practiced in the USA. This curriculum proved controversial; yet changes in the PDC's membership have not deterred the DSA from its commitment to building a professional community of practice.

How may we understand these developments? What were the key factors that led them to take shape as they did? To interpret them, we need to step back and see them in their historical context.

The Middle Ages are omnipresent in contemporary culture. People encounter it daily in the form of popular cultural products that refer to the real historical period, such as the film The Last Duel by Ridley Scott. Other points of contact are neomedieval fantasy products such as House of the Dragon, which draw on popular notions of the Middle Ages to enrich their fantastic secondary worlds. Feature films, series, documentaries, novels, YouTube videos take up existing knowledge about the Middle Ages, expand, contrast, popularise it, and make it part of everyday life. Video games are a relatively young medium and have become a global phenomenon, played every day. Among a wide range of games using the Middle Ages as their historical backdrop is the hugely successful and popular neomedieval fantasy video game The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt released in 2015, referred to in this chapter as The Witcher 3. This includes numerous references to ideas about the Middle Ages.

Even though some scholarship on the staging of the Middle Ages in video games and on The Witcher 3 exists, research into players’ response to these productions is sparse. This chapter therefore focuses precisely on the aspect of reception. More specifically it examines statements from interviews conducted with players of The Witcher 3. It draws attention to how and why the game's neomedieval fantasy world is perceived by players as a depiction of the Middle Ages. In a first step, the interview method and the sample are presented in more detail. This is followed by a short overview of the game The Witcher 3.

Introduction

The African rivers have a significance that goes beyond physical representation as a body of nature. They also embody the lifeblood of diverse African societies and cultures, which serve as a repository of cultural heritage and pivotal points of human interaction. From the sprawling Nile to the winding channels of the Congo Basin, these waterways have shaped not only the physical landscape but also the cultural identities of the communities spread across and along their banks. This chapter explores the complex relationship between African rivers and culture, looking deeply into their far-reaching influence on and by the societies that depend on them. The cyclic flooding of rivers like the Nile and Niger has nurtured fertile lands, enabling the rise of civilizations such as ancient Egypt and the Mali Empire.

Moreover, they have acted as vital arteries for trade and commerce. An overview of the economic history of Africa shows a pattern of settlements along river bodies. Rivers facilitated intra-trade among African societies as riverine products were exchanged for other commodities.1 This, in turn, has enabled the exchange of ideas and goods. Beyond their practical functions, African rivers hold deep cultural significance and are revered as sacred entities in indigenous belief systems. Rituals and ceremonies paying homage to these waterways reflect a deep reverence for nature and the interconnectedness of all living beings. From ceremonial offerings to communal gatherings, these cultural expressions underscore the intrinsic bond between human societies and their natural environment.

This Middle Ages is expanding and all-consuming. It devours the Renaissance/ Early Modern, the Baroque, and the Classical – all periods which do not speak to the popular imaginary. One day it may well be The Past, the only historical past aside from the Bible and the American Revolution, in that imaginary.

William Calin penned these lines a few years ago relating to what he saw as an unwelcome trend in (predominantly) US popular culture. Calin's critique first and foremost targeted media such as film, television, and literature, and not so much – if at all – digital games. Yet it may seem, even at a cursory glance, that his verdict is all the truer of video games that use history as their subject matter. The medievalist imaginary features prominently in such games, so prominently that it prompts the question whether this leaves any space for the depiction of other historical periods. So, in this chapter, I ask this question specifically about Early Modernity: is it devoured by the Middle Ages within digital games?

To pursue this enquiry, I employ a reception-centred approach focusing on the perceptions of these games by their audiences – players, reviewers and travellers within the paratextual ecosystem surrounding digital games – and not primarily on the character and content of the games themselves. In this respect it is not crucial whether the game in question utilises historical entities in sufficient depth and coherence to be labelled a historical game according to a more production-side centred approach, so I do not consider the matter here.

During the late Middle Ages in France, like the rest of Europe, the prosecution of war grew dramatically in scale and complexity. Nowhere is this more regularly evident in the historical record than in the various municipal registers that towns kept to manage and account for their own defense and to support their lord's passing armies. Much important work on urban fortifications and finances has been done to help us better gauge the shift to bastioned enceintes during the age of gunpowder weapons and the growth of public authority that made them possible. Yet as a subject of historical investigation, municipal account registers remain little studied in terms of their genesis, purposes and use as instruments of negotiation and control. They proved decisive during the initial decades of the Hundred Years’ War, where towns suddenly assumed more responsibilities over local military affairs, above all their enceintes, along with the financial means to fulfil them. This shift reflected a new stage of development for the bonnes villes as they scrambled after the 1340s to provide for common defense and other needs. The accounting practices they used enabled them to enhance the warmaking roles of towns. As towns undertook more ambitious goals, rudimentary bookkeeping practices gave way to more sustained and sophisticated forms of managerial accounting; while not planned, these changes led to the development of a culture of planning and a permanent, professional municipal administration. The monarchy and territorial lords created oversight authorities but tended for practical reasons to concede a good amount of fiscal autonomy to their towns. Common accountancy standards developed organically and then intentionally with the establishment of Chambres des comptes in the fourteenth century.

INTRODUCTION

This case is from the regality court of Broughton, like that of the ‘Leith Witches’ of 1579 edited above. As with that case, here we have the minutes of the court, summarising the accused's offence and the court's deliberations, but no full dittay.

The case illustrates the overlap found occasionally between witchcraft and beneficial magic. William Murray's crime is categorically stated to have been ‘witchecraft and sorcerie’, but he was treated basically as a magical practitioner. His first offence was the use of magic to heal John Hutson's child, and there was also mention of the healing of the son of the goodwife of Wariston ( Jean Livingston, a member of the elite who later became notorious). Murray was not said to have committed malefice, nor was there any mention of a demonic pact. Nevertheless, this was a criminal court, not a kirk session, and he received a criminal sentence rather than being made to do penance.

The interrogators were John Brand, minister of the Canongate, and Robert Pont, minister of St Cuthbert’s, both veteran ministers who had taken leading roles in the church. Pont was also a noted intellectual with an interest in quasi-magical topics.2 Brand's role is natural, as the court was attached to the burgh of the Canongate, but the reason for Pont's involvement does not appear. It would be interesting to know whether it was Brand and Pont who employed the words ‘witchecraft and sorcerie’ to describe Murray's offence, but this cannot be ascertained for certain from the record as we have it.

Murray's healing rituals, involving the blood of a cat, a bannock with special ingredients, and a Gaelic incantation, are of interest.