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In the medieval French Perlesvaus, its narrator characterises the eponymous hero as the best knight in the world, for example in the context of his fight with his uncle, the King of Castle Mortal:
Il doute molt sa force et son grant hardement; il l’a bien prouvé et essaié que c’est le mellor chevalier dou mont. (Perl, p. 180)
And he [the King of Castle Mortal] greatly feared his [Perlesvaus’] strength and courage; he [the King] had put him to the test and found that he [Perlesvaus] was the finest knight in the world. (Bryant, p. 110)
Chapter 6 outlined a transition in the first half of the ninth century from mostly opportunistic to more calculated Viking church-raiding: bigger campaigns, creation of bases at strategic locations, alliances between Vikings and Irish, and involvement of Viking ‘royals’. Chapter 7 studied closely the events of 848–853. The dynasty of Laithlinn, apparently from Norway, sought to impose itself in Ireland, in 848–850, but was attacked in 851–852 by ‘Black Foreigners’. These were seemingly Danes, primarily, whose intervention coincided with upheaval in Denmark, the impact of which was also felt in Francia and England. By contrast with them, ‘Fair Foreigners’ at this point denotes the regime originating in Laithlinn. The Viking order in Ireland survived this threat, however, and was secured in 853 by the arrival from Laithlinn of Amlaíb, who, with joint king Ímar, and for a period also Auisle, established an enduring regime at Dublin. The period up to the mid- 840s had seen strategic and political influences on Viking church-raiding emerge. The crisis of 848–853 and its outcome brought strategy and politics to centre stage, so that church-raiding thereafter, though apparently much reduced in volume and range, was more deliberately targeted. This and following chapters analyse the politico-military context of church-raiding.
Quantitative analysis of Viking engagement with native Irish polities revealed a rise in the 830s to a level that persisted to c. 875.
As long ago as 1944, the French theatre historian Max Fuchs wrote that the history of Francisque Moylin and his family was still far from fully known. From such information as he was able to gather for his Lexique des troupes de Comédiens au XVIIIe siècle, he felt able to affirm that the Moylins were an important and influential family in the theatre world of the French provinces and the Paris fairs, and that their extremely mobile companies were an example of wide-ranging and prosperous activity. In an earlier article Fuchs had declared that Francisque's troupe was ‘une des plus célèbres et des mieux organisées parmi les troupes circulantes, une de celles dont il serait le plus intéressant de pouvoir reconstituer l’histoire en détail’ [one of the most famous and wellorganised of the itinerant troupes, and one of those whose history it would be most interesting to reconstruct in detail]. Sadly, to this day, the detailed reconstruction for which Fuchs called has still not taken place. Francisque's name often appears in the theatre histories of the brothers Claude and François Parfaict – their Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire des spectacles de la foire par un acteur forain (1743), and their seven-volume Dictionnaire des théâtres de Paris (1767). A brief anonymous contemporary source – Nouveaux Mémoires sur les spectacles de la Foire – often corrects Parfaict in ways that have been confirmed by other documentary evidence. Later sources of information include Émile Campardon's Les Spectacles de la Foire (1877) and Émile Dacier's biography of Francisque's niece Marie Sallé, Une Danseuse de l’Opéra sous Louis XV (1909).
On the death of his father in 1788, Sir William Young, the second baronet, inherited along with his title an extensive estate of sugar plantations in Anti¬gua, St Vincent and Tobago. Like most substantial West Indian planters, Young was a man who lived out his life in two apparently separate worlds: that of the Caribbean islands, which were the source of his wealth, and that of London and the English countryside, where he spent that wealth.
William Young was a considerable figure in both of these worlds. In 1928 the American scholar Lowell J. Ragatz, to whom Eric Williams dedicated his Capitalism and Slavery, summed up Young's various roles in the world of the British West Indies as those of ‘Enlightened Caribbean Proprietor, Able Leader of the Colonial Interest in Parliament, Brilliant West Indian Administrator’. This fulsome verdict on his career as planter, politician and governor of Tobago will be considerably modified in the course of this book, but the significance of Young's role in British West Indian affairs at the end of the eighteenth century and beginning of the nineteenth is beyond doubt. Young also played a conspicuous role in English public and cultural life. He was an active justice of the peace in the county of Buckinghamshire, where he resided, and was a member of parliament for 23 years, particularly respected for his deep involvement in the relief of rural poverty. Describing himself as a ‘Christian philosopher’, he was widely recognised as a man of learning, prominent in the Royal Society and other learned bodies and author of a well-received history of Athens. He assumed the values and way of life of a cultivated English landed gentleman as well as taking pride in his West Indian origins and associations.
Grainger clearly understood his own compositions to reflect his bio-graphy, and each work considered in this book so far has to some greater or lesser extent incorporated Grainger's music into its fabric. Few of the projects, however, have attempted to represent Grainger's life through music itself. Yet, in many ways, opera – a staged drama that combines text, visual arts and, most essentially, music – is the perfect medium for convey¬ing a story exploring Grainger's ‘journey from Australia to the international stage and touching on his relationships, struggles, and creative processes’.
This chapter examines the two-act opera Percy, with words by Michael McNeill and music by John Matthews and Margery Smith. The opera's plot takes a broad chronological narrative, beginning with Grainger's first recital as a child prodigy and ending with his death, using an episodic structure to interrogate specific events, friendships, and relationships, as well as the inner turmoil of his compositional life. It has an expansive cast of twen¬ty-five individual roles, plus chorus, with each singer playing a different significant figure, from family members to fellow composers, performers, mentors, and collaborators. Both the libretto and score make extensive use of quotation and paraphrase, replicating passages from Grainger's writings and musical compositions, combining documentary theatre techniques in the libretto with pastiche in the score.
The major constraints on farmers’ decision-making have been identified as the natural environment and the human environment of institutions determining behaviour in rural societies. This book has attempted to gauge the effects of these two constraints for the reclaimed wetlands along the southern North Sea coast over the period from c. 900 to the end of the twentieth century. Humans attempted to control the waterlogged landscape by creating physical infrastructure, which in turn demanded the creation of institutional infrastructure – formal and informal rules and organisations – with which to organise maintenance of the waterworks. This institutional infrastructure was required because wetland reclamation and maintenance of infrastructure were collective efforts of farmers, lords and communities that needed to be coordinated. Over the millennium under study, humans were able to transform the landscape into productive farmland through creating physical and institutional infrastructure, but they also caused unintended changes in the landscape that forced them to adapt their infrastructure and institutions. Institutional arrangements were embedded in the continuously changing natural environment and as such were also required to be adjusted continuously.
The above certainly does not mean that this book aims to reintroduce environmental determinism into historiography. Throughout the areas that were transformed, physical infrastructure was uniform: dikes to protect the land from flooding; ditches, canals, culverts and sluices to drain excess water from the fields. The institutional arrangements for the organisation of maintenance showed a considerable variation, however. Divergent institutions could be applied successfully to the same environmental issue. This makes the North Sea Lowlands a fascinating laboratory within which to study the effects of different institutions on the development of agriculture.
It all happened, and there is nothing very remarkable in it – save for the wonderful though unconscious art which has made a plain tale of plain facts read like a subtle study in mysterious suggestion, a ghost story of the rarest kind. This is a great gift: to be able to tell the bare truth that it seems a magnificent lie. To many of us it is rather given to invent elaborate fictions which are plainer (and duller) than the plainest facts.
When Lewis Foreman abandoned his attempt to write a biography of John Ireland in 2011, he claimed that there were simply too many ‘gaps in the documentary record’ to sustain a full-length study. Years later, and more than half a century after Ireland's death, a biography of this composer remains non-existent. More than seventy years after his death, Arthur Machen remains likewise without a definitive biographical treatment. Meanwhile, studies of composers like J.S. Bach, Franz Schubert, and others whose evidential records are arguably much sparser continue to appear. This suggests that there are more elements frustrating Ireland's potential biographers than mere ‘gaps’ alone.
In his 2006 study of H.P. Lovecraft, the most celebrated exponent of the weird tale, Michel Houellebecq concluded that all attempts at ‘demystification’ of this author have failed, leaving Lovecraft's character suspended in ‘the aura of strange pathos’ typifying his stories; we cannot read Lovecraft in isolation from the Lovecraftian. Ireland, a composer whose style was rooted in literary sources characterized by the unfathomability of human experience and the inability of language to convey what is meant, echoes Houellebecq's representative summation of the weird artist and serves as an illuminating case study in the complexities of weird historiography. For Machen, biography is seen as a suggestive and exploratory process; it requires an oblique relation to the comprehensive or definitive.
The enemies have to be constantly kept at bay. Such demonic enemies are, therefore, permanently unwelcome guests; nonetheless, they are all the same guests. Demons are also guests in Pentecostal households, as Nigerian Pentecostals believe in what they call “household enemies” in the forms of the spouse, children, in-laws, and servants. They talk about demons attacking them in their dreams as sexual predators. Demons are guests in Pentecostal bedrooms. In deliverance sections, during deliverance prayers, the demons are invited to speak to reveal how they entered into a person, only to be expelled.
This chapter presents a historical overview of Yoruba Nigerian Pentecostalism. The following section addresses the Yoruba Initiated Church (YIC), which adopted practices from the Aladura (“the praying one”) churches into its liturgical traditions. I examine these liturgies to show how Yoruba Pentecostalism continues interacting with Yoruba traditional religious culture by carrying over these beliefs and practices. It discusses the interactions between witchcraft and the Bible. The final section addresses witchcraft beliefs among Yoruba Muslims.
Historical Overview of the Emergence and Growth of Pentecostalism in Nigeria
Christianity is generally seen as a religion the West introduced to Africa during the colonial era, but this is untrue. Christianity came to Africa via North Africa, as noted by the appearance of the Ethiopian Eunuch in chapter 8 of the Acts of the Apostles. Unlike northern Africa, colonial-era Christianity was brought to West Africa in the fifteenth century by Portuguese explorers.
In July–August 1570 the younger sons of the earl of Derby, operating from his principal residence at Lathom, began a conspiracy with Sir Tomas Gerard to liberate the queen of Scots from captivity at Chatsworth and stage an attempt to place her on the English throne. Tere is no existing study of the Stanley–Gerard conspiracy. Sir Tomas Gerard of Bryn (Wigan) was the father of John Gerard, the Jesuit priest celebrated for his extraordinary escape from the Tower of London in 1597. On the frst page of his autobiography John Gerard recalled that at the age of fve he and his brother had been removed from their home and lodged in ‘a strange house among heretics’ because his father and ‘two other gentlemen’ were ‘imprisoned in the Tower of London because they had plotted to rescue Mary Queen of Scots and restore her to the throne’.
Political and Ideological Context
The precise context of the conspiracy was the threat of Franco-Spanish intervention in the Catholic cause and the fever-pitch invasion scare outlined in the last chapter. French ultimata had driven Elizabeth into re-locating Mary from close confnement at Tutbury to freer access at Chatsworth and ordering serious negotiations on her return to Scotland and rights to the English succession. By early July, Sussex and Maitland were negotiating the disarmament of the opposed Scottish parties on the basis of four articles agreed between Elizabeth and Mary's chief negotiator, John Leslie, Bishop of Ross.
Your excellent Essay towards the Natural History of the Earth, ha's obliged and even commanded, the true Friends of Religion, and Philosophy, to serve you with as many Communications as they can, that may be subservient unto your Noble Intention. But the Letters wherewith you have honoured me, have laid me under your more particular Commands, to supply you with such Subterraneous Curiosities, as may have been in these Parts of America mett withal. I do with much Alacrity apply myself immediately to obey your Commands, in one Remarkable Instance, wherein I apprehend myself best able to do it; reserving for another Opportunity (if perhaps, I find myself a Master of) any further Treasures, worthy to be laid before a Person of so clear a Judgment, & so reaching a Sagacity. And that I go cheerfully about this Point of my Obedience, you will conclude it, when you see me begin with assuming the Air of telling you, That you must look upon all the American Curiosities which are sent you, as being in some sort Subterraneous; inasmuch as you know, who have understood the Inhabitants of America, by, The Things under the Earth, which the Sacred Oracles tell us, are to bow in the Name of our Glorious JESUS. But indeed one must be as ungeographical as the Dayes of Lactantius, to admitt the Interpretation; and therefore I shall endeavour a nearer Approach unto your Satisfaction.
In the winter of 1890 to 1891 the city of Braunschweig experienced a precipitous decline in the quality of its drinking water. The cause: beet sugar factories in the surrounding area were releasing such high quantities of hydrogen sulfide—the major byproduct of beet sugar production—into the Oker River watershed that it exceeded the capacity of the leach fields on which the city then relied to purify its water. Wilhelm Raabe described the results in a letter to his daughter Margarethe dated January 17, 1891: “Sei Du froh, daß Du nicht in Braunschweig bist. Der reine Schweinestall! Wir waschen uns nicht mehr, wir putzen uns nicht mehr die Zähne, selbst durch das gekochte Essen schmeckt man das durch zwölf Zuckerfabriken versaute Okerwasser: Pfisters Mühle in fürchterlichster Vollendung!” (Be glad that you are not in Braunschweig. The absolute pigsty! We no longer bathe, we no longer brush our teeth, even in our cooked food one can taste the water from the Oker, spoiled by twelve sugar factories: Pfister's Mill in its most terrible completion!). The letter describes the intrusion of a byproduct of modern industry into a city that in a short essay from 1866 Raabe had praised for embodying the “uralte Pracht und Schönheit der niedersächsischen Bürgerherrlichkeit” (ancient magnificence and beauty of lower Saxon bourgeois splendor). Environmental crisis is here also an aesthetic crisis: quotidian habits of hygiene and consumption are suddenly disrupted as the ugly signs of modern industry move from the duchy's peripheral industrial settlements into the beautiful, pre-industrial urban core.
When Frederick II (king of Germany from 1212, emperor 1220–50) was deposed by Innocent IV at the Council of Lyon in 1245, Matthew Paris describes him as displaying the following emotions: ‘As soon as Frederick heard about this, scarcely restraining himself from indignation, he burst into a most violent rage’. Likewise, when Henry III (king of England, 1216–72) was challenged by the barons in parliament in 1252, having asked them for aid, he is depicted as reacting similarly: ‘As though he was infected by fury, unable to restrain his anger, he raised his voice in an uproar, and ran furiously away from all who were in his chamber’.
At first sight, the similarity of these reactions may be easily explained since both descriptions come from the pen of the English chronicler, Matthew Paris. We might therefore assume that a comparison between the two descriptions would support one strand of research in the ‘history of emotions’: that the emotions we find in historiographical sources are portrayed there by chroniclers who aim to present a certain image of a king, be such an image tyrannical or ideal. In short, chroniclers used emotions as rhetorical devices to frame their narratives. Karl Schnith, for instance, notes that the depictions of the king by Roger of Wendover and Matthew Paris depend on the idea of the tyrannus as opposed to the rex iustus.