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WAGNER SEEMS to have had, at best, an ambivalent attitude towards philosophy. His autobiography is not always a reliable source, and there are reasons to doubt his memory of his first encounter with Feuerbach, but it still provides an illuminating account of his early interest in the subject:
I had always had an inclination to fathom the depths of philosophy, just as I had been led by the mystic influence of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony to search the deepest recesses of music. My first efforts at satisfying this longing had failed. … I had procured Schelling's work, Transcendental Idealism, … but it was in vain that I racked my brains to try and make something out of the first pages, and I always returned to my Ninth Symphony.
During the latter part of my stay in Dresden I … chose Hegel's Philosophy of History. A good deal of this impressed me deeply, and it now seemed as if I should ultimately penetrate into the Holy of Holies along this path. The more incomprehensible many of his speculative conclusions appeared, the more I felt myself desirous of probing the question of the “Absolute” and everything connected therewith to the core. For I so admired Hegel's powerful mind that it seemed to me he was the very keystone of all philosophical thought.
The revolution intervened; the practical tendencies of a social reconstruction distracted my attention, [until] a German Catholic priest and political agitator … drew my attention to “the only real philosopher of modern times,” Ludwig Feuerbach. My new Zürich friend, the piano teacher, Wilhelm Baumgartner, made me a present of Feuerbach's book on Tod und Unsterblichkeit (“Death and Immortality”).
In his centenary year, 1978, Alfred Döblin was described on the dust jacket of a German academic publication—perfectly aptly—as “probably the least well-known” of the classic modernist authors. After returning to Germany at the end of the Second World War, Döblin had not regained the public prominence he enjoyed in the brief period between publishing his spectacularly innovative city novel Berlin Alexanderplatz in 1929 and fleeing from the Nazis early in 1933. For a combination of reasons, his publication history in the decade after 1945 was patchy, to say the least: works of his that did appear were divided between two West German publishers, broadly on the basis of their themes, while his last novel, Hamlet, written in 1945–46, did not appear until 1956, and then in East Berlin. From the 1970s onward, however, sustained scholarly teamwork created the annotated editions of Döblin's writings that were to provide the main basis for the systematic study of his works in the years that followed. While the most frequently quoted champion of Döblin in the German-speaking world remains Günter Grass, who spoke of him in a rousing lecture dating from 1967 as his “teacher,” a substantial number of other German novelists since the Second World War have similarly acknowledged that, without imitating him exactly, they had learned a great deal about the narrative craft and the range of its possibilities from Döblin's fiction.
As is to be expected, many Latin American crime novels have been adapted for the screen, though the process has rarely been a case of faithful page-to-screen transposition. Among other considerations, an account of how these adaptations occur needs to attend to: (1) the often febrile political, cultural, industrial, and economic backgrounds against which film adaptations are made; (2) the pervasive influence of Hollywood film noir and neo-noir conventions on crime fiction adaptation; (3) the ways in which noir modes can be argued to have developed endogenously in Latin America, sometimes in response to some of those same political and social conditions; and (4) the filtering and creativity inherent to the act of adaptation itself. All of these concerns are further worth framing with the aid of the rise of adaptation studies over the past two decades, during which time seminal works by Linda Hutcheon, Thomas Leitch and Robert Stam, among others, have served to significantly develop the field. Whereas cinematic adaptations might once have been evaluated primarily in terms of how much they adhered to or diverged from their literary source, recent work has challenged some of the assumptions built into this approach; Stam, for instance, posits adaptations as critical ‘translations’ or ‘readings’ engaged in a creative, two-way dialogic exchange with their sources. Stam's conceptualisation is arguably doubly relevant in the context of genre fiction which, in Latin America as elsewhere, has never really benefitted from the elevated status that traditional cultural hierarchies conferred upon literature over film.
George Wishart of Drymme was a sub-collector of the queen's rents and incomes working for the comptroller Sir John Wishart of Pittarrow. His surviving account covers a part of the years 1563 and 1564. There is a charge or income section followed by discharge or expenditure. The structure and content is summarised on p. 6. George Wishart passed most of the money to ofcers of the queen's household. These particular transactions are for the most part not recorded in Pittarrow's accounts of the Thirds of Benefces, or in other accounts made by the Scottish exchequer, although some similar payments or totals of recurring payments can be found. Payments found here for the Royal Guard, Captain Robert Anstruther, and the fortress island of Inchkeith, also appear in the accounts of the Thirds of Benefces. This account has not previously been published, but has occasionally been quoted by historians. Gordon Donaldson highlighted payments to household ofcers, including David Rizzio, who appears as ‘David Rischo, Italiane’, and to John Knox, as part of his stipend and as sums of money given to his servants, Margaret Fowlis and John Reid. Another payment for Knox was given to Robert Watson, a merchant in Edinburgh. The manuscript was consulted in the nineteenth century for similar purposes; Charles Rogers cited the account for Rizzio's salary from a copy in the papers of George Chalmers, while Chalmers seems to have used fgures from Wishart's account to illustrate courtiers’ salaries.
I mean again to try to keep a journal. I have often thought of doing it, without carrying my resolution into execution and have just now been reminded of it by reading Sir C. Romilly's [sic]. One admires the man so much that one is glad to imitate him even in indifferent things. A good time to write it will generally be the quarter of an hour at night after Eliza is gone up to bed before I follow her. Nothing very particular to record this first day. Had a very nice talk with her in the morning. Went with her to chapel; Dr. Hutton gave a sermon upon the very important duty of the heads of families not neglecting to inculcate good principle into the minds of those dependent on them, showing how they too frequently were prevented from recommending some particular virtue by the consciousness of not exercising it themselves. Hope I may improve by the lesson. In the afternoon walked out to Sam's at Highbury, & back to tea. Rained on the way home, when I walked a mile holding my umbrella over a little girl that its father was carrying on his arm. Read a lecture of Dr. Channing's in the evening. A happy day.
11 May. …As there has been break of ten years in my journal I ought to a certain extent put down an outline of the things that would have been recorded in it: I was then living at my sister's in Ormond Street, & wrote this book I remember at my office in Pinner's Hall.
Pilsen, Bohemia's second largest city, has gained a global reputation for its exceptional beer and the impressive Škoda munition works. Nowadays, a charming park envelops the historic houses that boast the coveted “license to brew.” However, when Smetana first arrived in Pilsen, the city was only beginning to dismantle its old town ramparts. The mayor was determined to beautify the city, systematically tearing down the walls and gates that once protected this Catholic community from the Hussites in the fifteenth century and Wallenstein's soldiers during the Thirty Years’ War. In the 1840s, the town still retained much of its prosperity and prestige. The central square featured a Gothic cathedral and a Renaissance town hall. A testament to history, the house where Mikuláš Bakalář's printing press operated in 1504 still stood. This press, one of the oldest in Bohemia, delivered the first news to the Czechs about the discovery of America. On the town's outskirts, Czech villages preserved their traditional customs and vibrant costumes, much like those depicted in The Bartered Bride. Along the Berounka and Radbuza rivers, old castles dotted the landscape, likely serving as destinations for many youthful, romantic escapades. When Smetana arrived, Pilsen's population was around 12,000, consisting mainly of affluent individuals, mostly of Czech origin, though German was the preferred language of the upper class.
The college faculty was predominantly composed of Czech Premonstratensians, and the student body comprised Pilsen's privileged youth. During these three years, young Smetana immersed himself in the humanities, preparing for practical life under much more favorable circumstances than in Prague. This was largely because one of his teachers happened to be his cousin.
In 1732, the Archdeacon of Middlesex and ‘chaplain in ordinary to his Majesty’ Daniel Waterland (1683–1740) published Christianity Vindicated Against Infidelity, in which he complained how ordinary people debated ‘in shops and stalls’ about the ‘cavils of Spinosa and Hobbs’, the present canon of Scripture was ‘disputed’ and priests were ‘without distinction traduced as imposers on the credulity of mankind’. Waterland explicitly ascribed attacks on Scripture and the clergy to the increasing diffusion in England of ideas developed abroad:
I know not if these licentious principles were the proper produce of our own soil, or may not be rather said to have been transplanted hither from abroad, where it is certain they had taken root and spread, for a hundred years or more, before they met with any favourable reception […] in this grave and serious, and for the most part well-disposed Kingdom.
Seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English authors were conscious of the widespread diffusion and potentially destabilising impact of European texts and ideas on English culture and religion. Especially after the lapse in 1695 of the Licensing Act ‘for preventing the frequent abuses in printing seditious treasonable and unlicensed books and pamphlets’, the writings of modern French and Dutch philosophers and biblical scholars were advertised in almost every booklist and newspaper.
The Dumfries Midsteeple minute book records information about events and processes carried out by the committee appointed to oversee the construction of a new ‘Council house and steeple’ for the town. Initially intended as a complete replacement to the town's late ffteenth-century tolbooth, once complete, it only took on some of those functions. The name ‘Midsteeple’ by which the building is now known emerged in the mid-eighteenth century on completion of the town's ‘New Church’ on the site of the present-day Greyfriars Church at the northwest end of the High Street. This placed the ‘Midsteeple’ between the steeple of the new church and the steeple of the old church of St Michael's at the opposite end of the town.
In addition to the minute book, there is a complementary survival in Dumfries Archives, now held at the Ewart Library, of numerous individual documents consisting of letters, contracts, accounts, notes and bills that supplement the information in the volume. Indeed, many of these items detail specifcs of some of the actions and monetary amounts referred to in the minute book.