Data sets that illustrate the methods developed in the book are introduced in this chapter. These are the Florentine marriage networks, Zachary’s karate club network, protein–protein interaction data, collaboration networks, gene co-expression networks, Sampson’s monastery networks, Krackhardt’s manager friendship networks, trade networks, Adamic and Glance’s political blog network and the World Wide Web. Networks encountered in practice are usually derived from larger, more comprehensive collections of data and ways of constructing a network from such data are also discussed.

Queens were typically accompanied by many persons at public and private events. As this brief description from the coronation of Elizabeth Woodville shows, the queen's entourage often included her ladies and gentlewomen as well as various officials, well-wishers and probably hangers-on. The question here is who, of the many individuals who surrounded a queen, could reliably be counted as being members of her affinity.

The term ‘affinity’ has often been used for this body of people by late medievalists, but it defies easy description. Scholars have characterised this group slightly differently, sometimes even contradictorily, with the result being that what we call the affinity lacks concrete definition. Affinity has been used interchangeably with retinue and at least one scholar believes that it possesses the same basic features as a clientele. Then again, one may regard the affinity as being on the same footing as a network, whether kinship, social, cultural or even political. However, an affinity was not necessarily the same as a network, although there could be significant overlaps.

The argument I put forward in the preceding article will no doubt attract many to contradict it; I fear it will be very hard to demolish a generally held opinion, and all the more deeply so because it has been agreed without reflection or reasoning. Experience must be more powerful than anything I could say, and I write only to provoke it. While waiting until experience has given rise to conviction, quotations and examples could not be adduced too generously: it's vital, by every possible means, to shine a light on this question and destroy a prejudice that has, for many artists, been a cause of discouragement, and whose influence is still so damaging for the direction of musical studies in general, and for the taste of the public.

So I shall now add to what I have said about works whose power has survived the passage of time, choosing my examples only from the most familiar compositions: What is fresher or more beautiful in its calm majesty than Palestrina's madrigal Alla riva del Tebro? It's clearly a lasting piece, and thousands of years will in no way alter the purity of its form or the charm of its expression. People will say, ‘It's not tuneful enough, and its effect stems really just from the chordal sequences and the successive voice entries. No one is denying that its harmony will ensure its survival, it's just the melody that's the problem’. – Very well. In that case, proofs will not be lacking.

Peter Smart (1569–1652), rector of Boldon, Durham, and prebendary of Durham cathedral, might have remained obscure had he not reacted so vehemently against the liturgical innovations and excesses of his younger colleague John Cosin (1595–1672). Both careers were transformed, Cosin becoming a ceremonialist celebrity, and Smart a long-term prisoner. The dispute between them reflected deepening divisions with the Caroline church.

On Candlemas Day, the feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 2 February 1628, John Cosin lit the high altar and the east end of Durham cathedral choir and chancel with more candles, more flames of light, than seen there since the reformation. Cosin's Candlemas extravaganza was a reverencing of the holiest part of the church, an act of devotion for God and the Virgin Mary, but also an announcement, a provocation, and a material manifestation of the controversial ecclesiastical tendency later associated with Laudianism. Cambridge wits, in the circle of Samuel Ward, master of Sidney Sussex College, quickly shared news from Durham, that

Franziska's visits to the Petofy house continued for several weeks, but then broke off rather conspicuously, and even the count's visits to Salesiner Street, which had gone on for a time, stopped. It was said that he was off traveling, and this was indeed so. Finally, he sent word from Paris and apologized in the most obliging way for his abrupt departure. But as obliging as his words were, they were still cooler than usual, or at least more reserved.

Franziska could sense this, but had become too accustomed to such changes to give them any great weight.

It was different in the small circle that continued to gather in the countess's salon on every third evening. Here, a degree of importance was attached to Franziska's absence, and even more so to the count's departure, nor did they refrain from whispering the strangest things among themselves. The old count must be completely besotted with the young lady, or at least interested in her to the point of distraction; the entire trip to Paris must be nothing short of an escape. The countess, furthermore, knowing the count's stubbornness, had initially objected to the trip—with the intention, of course, of making him all the more determined to go. Others dismissed all of this, saying that the old count's jours de fête were over. This only earned them the mockery of the habitues of the club and the casino, who never grew tired of pointing to the seventy-year-old Goethe, or even King Sigurd Ring, who fell passionately in love at ninety and went a-wooing. The count was surely capable of more, full-blooded Hungarian that he was.

A brief excursus after the 1820s reveals that the legacies of the Klangsymbolik and the reliance on vocalic theories continued to exert a pervasive influence during the nineteenth century. In 1880, the Rezitator Emil Palleske (1823–80), who counted among the most influential pedagogues of declamation of his time, considered that ‘as the faithful image of the spirit, [the word] must bring [the image] to expression in a pure and unfalsified manner’. As late as 1934, echoes of these vocalic Stimmungen remained still perceptible in Ernst Junger's short text Lob der Vokale (Praise of the vowel). Recalling in 1926 how ‘the Romantics celebrated true orgies of mystical interpretation of vowels’ and mentioning Jakob Grimm, Kerndorffer, W. Schlegel, Diesterweg (Schocher remains absent), Erich Drach could not totally shake off the belief in the inherent expressive quality of the vowels. Since vocalic pitches can be ordered along a pitch scale (in ascending order u-o-a-e-i), this justified for him the undeniable existence of ‘certain connections to the emotional directions of excitement and inhibition’, an argument still consistent with the gradation of emotions (Bestaffelung der Gefühle) that Bielfeld had exposed in 1812.

In the end, what was left from these early vocalic theories was an ossified remnant: vowels had Stimmungen, each of them the acoustic materialisation of a specific emotional state of the soul; but much less clear were the definitions of these Stimmungen. For instance, Jacob Grimm identified a series of affects in the vowels u, o, a, e, i, ü, ö, ä and the diphthongs ei, eu, au, even if these affects remained more vaguely defined than the Stimmungen following Schocher's theory.

The aptly titled poem on the preceding page by one of Africa's founding fathers, the late Agostinho Neto, raises pertinent issues that the continent continues to struggle with today, and with which this book contends. Both the continent's populations and the land itself suffer grief from the colonial past. That past continues to cause pain and suffering from unfulfilled dreams, dreams that died across the continent with the failure to realise the promise of liberation from colonialism. Yet the sun is still shining; the poem also alludes to hope and optimism amidst that grief. This book enquires into why this ‘grief’, as well as the glimmer of hope, persist at least in a portion of the continent, by focusing on its forested landscapes.

Africa's forests and tree-based landscapes contribute to a large proportion of global biodiversity preservation, nearly a fifth or 17 per cent (IPBES, 2018; Bollig, 2022). Such forests and natural landscapes provide 62 per cent of goods and services for Africa's populations besides being sacred to many cultures (IPBES, 2018; Mansourian & Berrahmouni, 2021). Yet the forested landscapes are highly contested by local people, many of whom were forcefully displaced to create them. In many such forested landscapes around the world, local people who have been dispossessed of their forested land and resource rights under colonialism and other jurisdictions have contested such preservation programmes (Shiva, 1988; Guha, 1989; Peluso, 1992). Along with many others (Siviramakrishnan, 1999; Peluso, 1992; Watts & Peluso, 2001; Igoe, 2004; Bosek, 2006; Brockington et al., 2008; Büscher, 2013; Mavhunga, 2014; Maguranyanga, 2009;

Hoon, 2004; Kwashirai, 2007; Kijazi, 2007; Chomba, 2015; Kepe, 2003; Murombedzi, 1994; Ramutsindela, 2004), I have studied the intricacies of such dispossessions and their impacts on local populations.

Count Petöfy, published in 1884, is a relatively early work by Theodor Fontane, Germany's pre-eminent Realist novelist. It was well enough received in Germany when it came out but was subsequently overshadowed by the success of his classic novels of the 1890s. It is nonetheless a significant and many-faceted novel. A consideration of its place in the writer's oeuvre and of striking connections to his other works will shed light on the ways in which character configurations and literary devices feature in subtly changing ways to create the expressive texture of Fontane's fictional world.

Prompted by a real-life case, Fontane takes the marriage of a seventy-year-old Viennese/Hungarian aristocrat to a twenty-four-year-old North German actress and examines the enduring questions of life choices and how they are made, of missteps and the limits of self-realization, questions of age and youth, of intergenerational negotiation, of status and social and economic pressures, of the choice between observing life and participating in it, of the conflict between the needs of the mind and of the body, of identity and autonomy, of gender and social convention. It explores the extent to which free will can be exercised and personal fulfillment achieved. In the wake of the Covid pandemic, the chapters dealing with isolation through illness will resonate anew.

INTRODUCTION

This Appendix should be used in conjunction with pages 3 to 646 in volume 1 of this edition. It is in three parts. The first part contains additional material for England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland which has been found since the publication of that volume in 2013. This material arises chiefly from the identification of seventy further occasions of special worship: processions, prayers, services, fast days and thanksgiving days. For forty-seven occasions already recorded in volume 1, further orders, forms of prayer, descriptions or information are provided. English translations are given for Latin texts of documents, including two which were not translated in volume 1. The material is arranged chronologically and presented in the same style as that used in the main parts of the edition, including the use of codes to identify each occasion. New codes are given for the additional occasions, which sometimes require interpolations in the existing system, by use of a, b, c, etc.

The second part presents a number of general orders for the observance of fasts and thanksgivings. These consist of ordinances issued by the English parliament as it sought to obtain better observance of the monthly fast days ordered for England and Wales in January 1642, which continued until April 1649, and the sub-directories for fasts and thanksgivings contained in the Directory for Public Worship of 1645, which was intended for use throughout England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland. The third part provides a revised summary list of all the known occasions of special worship from 1533 to 1660, in order to show how the additional occasions and the further texts or information relate to the occasions presented in the first volume.

Rossini's Le Siège de Corinthe, a revision of Maometto II, was first given at the Paris Opéra on 9 October 1826. The revival took place on 22 October 1838. Although, as noted above, Berlioz was no lover of ‘dilettanti’, his initially low opinion of Rossini had been revised upwards, especially after getting to know Guillaume Tell; Rossini could not be held responsible for the works of his many imitators. This extract translates the first six paragraphs of Berlioz's review.

This was the first Rossini opera to have been staged at our Académie royale de musique. At its first appearance it unleashed a storm against the Opéra's director: he was bitterly reproached for putting on the stage of the French Opéra, a stage essentially devoted to the dramatic and the serious, the work of an Italian who had made an opera of Le Barbier de Séville.

There were only two things the defenders of the national, dramatic genre forgot. The first is that the main works that had for thirty years underpinned the repertoire of our great theatre, and that created its character of grandeur and lyricism, were composed by Italians and one German: Piccinni, Sacchini, Spontini, and Gluck are not Frenchmen. The second point which should not be forgotten is that Il barbiere di Siviglia, given the supreme skill with which each of its characters is drawn and developed, was the best guarantee any composer could have given of his understanding of staging and the finesse of his feeling for drama. What's more, this same Barbier had been furiously whistled at by the Romans, which must be considered a fairly good recommendation of its composer.

THE FISH SCRIBE

The Fish Scribe is in many ways a typical early fifteen-century scribe. He is atypical because we know where he worked and for whom he worked. More important, fifteen of his manuscripts have been preserved, twelve at Peterhouse, three at Pembroke College, Cambridge. Te Fish Scribe was William Dyngley's principal scribe, active in Cambridge during the first third of the fifteen century. He was the sole scribe of eight manuscripts and the primary textwriter in seven others (Table 4.1). He has not been unnoticed. Parkes observed that Dyngley's books were ‘copied in a superior grade of handwriting’, and both cataloguers of the Peterhouse manuscripts spoke well of his hand. For James his work was ‘fairly written’. Tomson cited the ‘proficient anglicana formata’ in MS 110 and a script ‘close to bookhand’ in MS 154, citing the ‘fish scribe’ by name in MSS 193 and 203. The Rouses were the first to so identify him because of his ‘readily noticeable’ catchwords enclosed in a fish. The fish drawn in text ink was later overdrawn in red or yellow, the colour shift identifying diferent stints of finishing work (Fig. 4.1a). The Rouses suggested that the fish was a pike, presumably because of the elongated shape.

Stein’s method for distributional approximation was originally developed in the context of normal approximation. It is appropriate for use with network statistics, such as subgraph counts, when the typical counts are large; (compound) Poisson approximation is most useful in sparse networks, normal approximation when networks are denser. In this chapter, Stein’s method for estimating the error in normal approximation, measured with respect to the bounded Wasserstein distance, is outlined. A Stein equation, a first-order ordinary differential equation is derived, and some properties of its solutions are established. Direct application of these results leads to a general bound on the approximation error, which is then applied in the classical context of sums of independent random variables. Then, both local and size bias coupling approaches are developed. The local approach, which uses a double decomposition, is illustrated by application to the number of triangles in the Bernoulli random graph; the calculations are typically more involved than for Poisson approximation. The coupling approach is applied to the distribution of the sample mean in simple random sampling.

January 15, 1943

German Listeners!

A somber anniversary needs to be marked: ten years of National Socialism. What have they brought the German people? There is only one answer that tells it all: the war, this war, the way it stands today and the way it will end for the German people. Hitler's war, in which your sons bleed to death by the millions, and which will leave the continent— including Germany—a wasteland. When you are asked what was accomplished during this decade, you can trace everything back to the war. From the start, everything pointed toward this war, everything steered toward its realization. Everything else, whatever lying name it was given, beginning with the lying name of the movement itself, all of it was nothing but a rehearsal and systematic restructuring toward the ineludible and ruinous misadventure of this war, which your Führer, of course, had imagined very differently than how it looks now. A desperate struggle, in which Germany feels compelled to heap one unpardonable atrocity onto another, and the physical and moral fallout of which it will have to bear for who knows how long.

All of the so-called benefits that the regime is supposed to have reaped for Germany show their true face in the light of this accomplishment. Their absurdity is thereby revealed even to those who, in their utter wretchedness, ever saw anything else in them but deceit, madness, and infamy. One hears that Hitler liberated Germany from joblessness. Yes—by building up the military. National Socialism—that means solving social questions with war.