For about six decades, starting in high school band, the works of Gustav Holst have fascinated me—not as an obsession, perhaps as a passion, but definitely as an appreciation.

It was my original intent to revamp my first book, From Kneller Hall to Hammersmith: The Band Works of Gustav Holst, originally published in 1990 through IGEB (International Gesellschaft zur Erforshung und Förderung zu Blasmusik—International Society for the Research and Promotion of Wind Music) as part of their Alta Musica series for their membership by a publisher that no longer exists. My second book, A Comprehensive Biography of Composer Gustav Holst (2001; original title Gustav Holst: An American Perspective), largely sold to libraries. It unavoidably contained snippets of the same material, but its focus was quite different, being a biography of the composer by an author from the western side of the Atlantic.

Since the time of those publications, I continued my career as a college professor/conductor (and now professor emeritus), expanding my field of research to include articles and books about other composers (Beethoven, Vaughan Williams, Anton Rubinstein, etc.) as well as a book on a major critic (Philip Hale). Still, I never totally veered away from Holst, especially in practice. I would venture to guess that my “home” orchestra, the University of Massachusetts Boston Chamber Orchestra, performed more Holst than any other college orchestra in the country. Away from the university, I recorded many CDs with professional orchestras in Eastern Europe. Among the CDs was Gustav Holst: Composer as Arranger. I’ll never forget the look of astonishment on the producer's face as he heard the warm sounds of the heretofore unrecorded Greeting [H54].

As I have already noted, motherhood in romance is particularly brought into focus in liminal spaces: in the birthing room, poised between life and death; on the thresholds of castles; and in the forest, where mothers attempt to shelter their sons from the machinations of courtly life. This chapter focuses on another liminal space: the sea. Mothers at sea in romance are on the brink of annihilation: they have been cast from their homes and forced to create a new existence for themselves and their children when it is assumed by their persecutors that the ordeal will kill them. These characters are often categorised as calumniated queens, who are (falsely) accused of adultery or defiance against paternal wishes and cast out to the sea with their infants. The sea in Middle English romance is a space that allows female characters’ identities to form and, in some cases, thrive outside the perceived restrictions of courtly society. Moreover, motherhood at sea makes connections beyond families, between people, nations, and territories.

Like many other romance locations, the sea is a space in which the importance of motherhood to medieval social structures can be explored. We have seen romance's representations of motherhood in spaces that have been coded as feminine and private (birthing rooms) and masculine and public (the castle), showing that these binaries are, in fact, more nuanced and intricate than they appear.

Photography has specific advantages when used as testimonio. Georg Gugelberger outlines in The Real Thing: Testimonial Discourse and Latin America that important discussions within Latin American literature were taking place during the 1980s and the 1990s that focused on testimonio. While a significant amount of those intellectual exchanges centered around whether it was possible to represent marginal classes, what you could learn from their representation and the efforts to help them speak, and film as testimonio (Williams 225–53), photography was not central to the discussion. However, this does not mean that some intellectuals and scholars writing on testimonio did not consider photography, at least to a degree. For example, Margaret Randall included photography in her genre-defining article “¿Qué es y cómo se hace un testimonio?” [“What is and how do you create a testimonio?”]. In this piece, she confirmed with great clarity that photography can be testimonio “la fotografía también puede ser un testimonio/photography can also be testimonio” (41). That article is evidence that photography's suitability for inclusion in the testimonio genre was established years previously. Yet, at the time of writing, the subject of photography as testimonio has only received minimal critical consideration. Engagement up to this point has mostly been limited to photography being accepted within the definitions of testimonio. In that respect, it is useful to consider these definitions to see how interaction with photography has been envisaged. We will then consider a text that uses photography as a case study, focusing on how this medium is able to function as visual testimony.

In 1877, the Catholic educator and publicist Ludwig Auer commenced the publication of the first German periodical devoted to maidservants. Notburga appeared bi-weekly from 1877 until 1941. Quickly becoming the largest publication for maidservants in Germany, its subscribers grew from fifteen thousand in 1883 to ninety thousand in 1910. Each issue consisted of a serial novella and other short stories about maidservants, pastoral letters, prayer requests, poems, and reports about Catholic associations for women and maidservants. The magazine also reported on the Catholic Jungfrauenvereine and Marienvereine, which originated in the nineteenth century. The latter specifically served maidservants, as the Catholic Church was the first institution to show interest in their situation. Notburga also offered its readers some practical advice about housekeeping, health, and personal hygiene, but this was not a major concern. Rather, Notburga's singular focus was on the trope of the exemplary, pious maidservant.

This chapter illuminates how Notburga encouraged and admonished its readers to emulate this ideal of the exemplary maidservant through the embrace of a particular feminine religiosity. In practice, this meant a significant emphasis on the fostering and suppression of specific emotions. This mission seemed so urgent because the reputation of maidservants in Imperial Germany was very poor and their moral improvement became the focus of an intense public debate in which Catholics and Catholic publications like Notburga were vocal participants. The servant question (Dienstbotenfrage), as this debate became known, focused on the twin issues of the acute shortage of maidservants and their purported low quality. In Imperial Germany, the number of job seekers did not keep pace with the rapid growth of middle-class households for whom at least one “maid of all work” (Mädchen für alles) became an indispensable necessity and key status symbol.

In a very fine analysis of the break-up of Welsh landed estates across the early–mid twentieth century, John Davies asserts that:

In England, farmers felt, on the whole, an identity of interest with their landlords which was largely absent in Wales. … The tenants of Wales and particularly Welsh-speaking Wales … rejected their landlords because the landlords had, over the generations, alienated themselves from the society in which they lived and from which they drew their rents.

This statement is echoed in Kenneth Morgan's influential conclusion that the divergence between landowners and tenants in nineteenthcentury Wales constituted a ‘clash of two societies’, which ‘divided every village and valley into two communities’.2 The evidence analysed across this book presents a very different view of Wales across the period c.1770–1920.

This is a study of gentry ‘coming of age’ celebrations in Wales across the late eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These celebrations were important events in local society, when the heir (or sometimes an heiress) to a landed estate attained their majority at the age of twenty-one. It was a life-cycle threshold and rite of passage for heirs, signifying their legal transition from adolescence to adulthood, with an expectation that they would henceforth assume a more active role in the life of their community and across the various spheres of influence which characterised landed society. The coming of age was celebrated as a dynastic milestone, recognising the likelihood that the now-adult and usually male heir would one day inherit the family estate and assume a position of leadership in society.

Apart from providing early evidence of Sir Tristrem's reception (or that of an analogous early Middle English romance) Robert Mannyng's Chronicle (c. 1338) makes for a good companion as we seek familiarity with the world in which Sir Tristrem was composed (c. 1290), recited or performed (we know not how many times), and copied (in the Auchinleck manuscript, our sole witness, c. 1330). As early practitioners of translation into Middle English, both the Tristrem-poet and Robert Mannyng show a consciousness of the exploratory, experimental nature of their work, and of their medium's unique possibilities. Te Tristrem-poet says nothing explicitly about his approach to translation, nor about the benefts, or even the function, of translating material into Middle English; he does not call his poem a translation, nor does he mention the French language (or the English one) at all. He leaves such questions to us. Mannyng, on the other hand, is discursive on the topic. Hence the great value (and relevance to Sir Tristrem) of the Prologue to his Chronicle, which is explicit on the function, and the great benefts, of translation into English.

It is instructive merely to remember that literary translation in Robert Mannyng's time was not an industry, nor even an activity of self-evident worth. Much of Mannyng's Prologue is in fact devoted to justifying his translation project, and directing, as best he can, his work's reception.

Reverend Sir

It is with all the appearance of Justice, that you may think, I ought to be asshamed to own the Reciept of your obliging Letter dated December the 1st 1712: after so long an omission of returning you a suitable answer, and must beg the ffavour of your accepting for my Excuse, an account of the Truth of the matter that caused the Delay. Sir, your Letter to me mentioning the Curiosa Americana; I apprehended, at first, that they were some Collections of natural Raritys of New-England designed for the Royal societys Repository; till our common friend Dr. Woodward informed me that the Curiosa Americana were several Observations you had made, and communicated in diverse letters you had bin pleased to write partly to him selfe and the Rest to me. The Manuscript of which I had not the Happyness of receiving from him till the 15th instant: when to my surprize I found my selfe obliged in so great a Debt; that at present I must own my selfe unable to make a tollerable satisfaction, and like other unhappy insolvents, desire time for Repayment: I have not since I recieved the MSs had time and leisure to read over all your Letters nor consider duly of all that curious collection of Discoverys and Observations you have therin communicated.

INTRODUCTION

This text is a linked pair of demonological essays by the royalist soldier Sir James Turner (c.1615–c.1689). Turner is best known today for his military career and his ‘Memoirs’ describing this. He was a graduate of the University of Glasgow; his father was a minister and hoped that his son would follow him in the ministry, but Sir James instead became a military officer. No precise date can be given for his essays, which were never published, but they are likely to have been written in the period between 1668 and 1681, when he was in retirement from military service and is known to have written several other works. The work for which he was best known in his lifetime, Pallas Armata, published in 1683, was stated on the title page to have been written in 1670 and 1671.

Turner's essays cover a variety of topics, most of which relate to public, political life more closely than his essays on magic. In the manuscript, he listed the titles of his collected essays as being of ‘Dueties of soveraigns and subjects’, ‘The supreme pouer in all republicks’, ‘Monarchie’, ‘Aristocracie’, ‘Democracie’, ‘Orators, and preachors’, ‘Magick’, ‘The Jews Cabale’, ‘Friendship’, ‘Externall evills, and misfortunes’, ‘Imprisonment’, ‘Anger’, ‘Revenge’, ‘Duells’ and ‘Crueltie’ (fo. 34v.). His work has some similarities to academic dissertations, but such dissertations would normally cover a narrower field. He belongs rather to the genre of essayists following Michel de Montaigne and Sir Francis Bacon. Within this genre, Turner is closer to the public-minded Bacon than the introspective Montaigne.

The dominant classes adopted photography quickly. Early portraits of Latin American presidents show that they were quick to take advantage of this technology (Morales Carrillo 408). While official painted portraits exhibit leaders in full regalia, as you can observe in José Gil de Castro's portrait of Simón Bolívar (“Retrato de Simón Bolívar”), photography offers another vision of power. For example, contrast the portrait José Gil de Castro made of José San Martín (“Retrato de San Martín”) in 1818 with his daguerreotype taken in Paris thirty years later (Figures 4.1a and 4.1b). This type of representation in early daguerreotype photography shows conformity to the democratic style and pose of those caught by the camera's lens (Braive 75–82). The painter's influence, which imbues the portrait with a certain air of grandeur and military pomp, evaporates when faced with the technical conventions of the daguerreotype. The portrait of San Martín made by the painter is, like others of the type, is highly complementary, amplifying the sitter's positive qualities and helping to support his almost mythical status in Latin American history. However, San Martín's sitting for a daguerreotype in Paris, one of the photography capitals of the world at that time, produced an extraordinary portrait of one of the founding fathers of Latin America – extraordinary because it was extraordinarily democratic. Aside from looking into the eyes of one of Latin America's most prominent historical figures, you can observe that this specific capturing of power and authority followed specific technical conventions that directed the canon of the time, reminding us of the limits of the technology in that day and age (Flusser 33–4). Exposure times dictated pose and facial expression.

Defining the Problem

On April 11, 2023, in Mbiama Community, Ahoada West LGA, Rivers State, Marvellous (exact age undisclosed) purportedly admitted publicly at the Mbiama town hall to practicing witchcraft and claimed responsibility for the deaths of numerous individuals. There were reports of Marvellous being observed flying in the early hours of the morning. A visual examination of the individual in a Facebook post reveals apparent signs of severe malnourishment. Marvellous appears troubled, distressed, and apprehensive in demeanor. The current circumstances of Marvellous remain undisclosed.

On March 8, 2023, in the Lagos High Court, Ikeja, a Pentecostal prophet named Olushola Akinsipe from the Power of the Home Deliverance Ministry stood trial for sexual offenses against a visually impaired thirteen-year-old girl. The father of the victim brought her to the accused for spiritual deliverance, during which the girl was misled to believe that she was responsible for her mother's demise, her father's financial challenges, and her disability. Under the guise of conducting a deliverance to rid her of purported witchcraft, Akinsipe engaged in nonconsensual sexual acts with her on multiple occasions.

One of the tragic incidents in Nigeria involves the case of Testimony, a fouryear- old child who succumbed to fatal injuries inflicted by her parents in an effort to expel what they believed to be an evil spirit. The Cherubim and Seraphim Church, attended by Testimony's parents, targeted her as a victim of witchcraft. Prior to her death, certain church members conducted aggressive deliverance rituals for Testimony, yet her parents persisted in physically assaulting her at home until her untimely passing.

Changing Perspectives on the Thirteenth-Century Economy

In his pioneering book Agrarkrisen und Agrarkonjunktur, first published in 1935, Wilhelm Abel set out to explore what light was shed by ‘prices, wages, rents, agricultural production, population movements [and] the living standards of broad strata of the people’ upon the capacity of ‘the rural economy of western and central Europe to solve the problem of satisfying demand’ (emphasis added). This issue, and Abel's data-based approach to it, was central to M.M. Postan's influential 1966 analysis of the medieval English agrarian economy. Although focused on England, for which the documentary evidence is exceptionally good, Postan's account was informed by knowledge of contemporary conditions and developments elsewhere in Europe and was intended as a contribution to the revised second edition of the Cambridge Economic History of Europe, of which Postan himself was the editor. To him, in England as in Europe, the thirteenth century was a pivotal century, for it was over its course that the challenge of matching the supply of food and agricultural raw materials to the expanding demand for them became ever more pressing. As Edward Miller put it in his 1964 survey of the thirteenth-century English economy, ‘people increased more rapidly than capacity to produce’.

The naming of gods is a difficult matter. As exemplified by Tacitus's explanation that the gods of the Nahanarvali are Castor and Pollux by Roman reckoning, one of the main Classical strategies for describing a wide range of both local and multinational deities was to link them by name to other deities. Throughout the corpus of medieval Irish Classical adaptations, we also find examples of Classical interpretatio in which one Classical mythological character is named in reference to another. While for medieval Irish Christian authors, syncretization of Classical figures with one another does not reflect any combined cultic belief, it was still a useful tool for purposes of clarification, interpretation, or to enhance thematic elements of a work.

Such thematic enhancement appears in the treatment of Gaulish gods in In Cath Catharda. Lucan's Bellum Civile names three gods to whom the Gauls resume sacrificing human victims after the Roman armies under Caesar leave:

Et quibus immitis placatur sanguine diro Teutates, horrensque feris altaribus Hesus, Et Taranis Scythicae non mitior ara Dianae.

And those who with dreadful blood placate merciless Teutates, and Hesus whose wild altars make one's hair stand on end, and Taranis whose altars are no milder than those of Scythian Diana.

As C. M. C. Green has argued, Lucan intentionally parallels the Gaulish god Taranis with the Greco-Roman goddess Diana, who most notably demands the sacrifice of Iphigenia as well as other victims whom Iphigenia later sacrifices after Diana rescues her from death and makes her into her priestess. This undermines distinctions between Roman civilization and foreign barbarians, implying that engaging in civil war makes the poem's Romans equally, if not more, barbarous than foreigners who practice human sacrifice.

Measure for Measure is a play about knowledge: what people know, what people think they know, and what people do not know. Perhaps all of Shakespeare's comedies are about knowledge to a certain extent, given the mistaken identities and misunderstandings typically corrected in their conclusions. But I will argue that in Measure for Measure Shakespeare fully and carefully explores human knowledge, particularly its limits and failures, as exemplified in Mariana's striking description of Angelo as one “Who thinks he knows that he ne’er knew my body, / But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabels” (5.1.207–8). The play repeatedly stages assertions or assumptions of knowledge that are then undermined or revealed to be false. In so doing, it offers a critique of King James's claims about the secret and quasi-divine knowledge of the monarch. And by dramatizing the limits of human knowledge, the play calls into question the human ability to make judgments and render justice.

Measure for Measure, performed before the new King James I in December of 1604, was probably written earlier that year or in late 1603. Its composition dates from the early days of James's reign; thus, the play has often been analyzed in terms of its engagement with the new king's style and ideology of rule. An older critical approach reads Measure as specifically designed to flatter the new king, an approach critic Richard Levin mocks as the “King James Version” of the play.

It should come as no surprise to even the most casual reader of romance that the wedding of Amis, one half of the pair of friends in the late thirteenth- century Middle English Amis and Amiloun, is a lavish affair:

The wedding of Amis and Belisaunt represents considerable success, for it is the product of a complex and even suspect negotiation. It follows a series of deceptions: Belisaunt blackmails Amis into sleeping with her, and in turn Amiloun takes Amis's place in combat with the steward who betrays them to her father to prove his innocence. Meanwhile, Amis poses as Amiloun, sharing a bed with his friend's wife. After this precariousness the wedding comes as something of a relief, providing a brief moment of respite before the punishment Amiloun and reader know to expect: just as the angel had warned before he fought the steward, Amiloun is struck with leprosy ‘within tho yeres thre’ (1548) for assuming Amis's identity.

The real turning point in the narrative uses of the Civil War, Victory, violence, and necropolitics in Spain came with the first exhumations of mass graves of the defeated in the summer of 2000. From that point on, the public presence of the ‘idea of Franco’ and of Spain as ‘Francoland’ became increasingly ubiquitous. And this was not merely a matter of public opinion. The contentious debate surrounding the removal of Franco's remains from the Valley of the Fallen has been one of the most intense controversies of recent years in Spain in terms of symbolism and identity. This final chapter looks at debates about public memories in a time of ‘historical memory’.

Continuity, rupture, change… and what to do about Franco? This chapter examines the public role that the image of the dictator played during the democratisation process in Spain by analysing the necropolitics surrounding his corpse. It directly addresses issues related to the Valley of the Fallen, which symbolises Franco's decreasing presence in Spaniards’ lives and symbolic imaginary. But this is not the only topic covered in this chapter. As has been stated in the introduction, this book also aims to reflect on Franco after Franco – what remains of his figure and his dwindling presence in present-day political debates. It is important to bear in mind that there are many factors behind why Franco is present in some areas and absent in others in Spain today. Some of these factors are directly tied to how the memory of the dictator has been dealt with since his death on 20 November 1975 – what might be termed the ‘necropolitics’ surrounding the Generalísimo.