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Nicholas Bennett has long been a keen student of the activities of the clergy of the diocese of Lincoln, and continues to be engaged on the editing both of the massive episcopal register of Bishop Burghersh (1320–42) and of a biographical dictionary of the Lincolnshire clergy between the early-thirteenth and the late-twentieth centuries. He well knows that clerics sometimes came into significant conflict both with lay people and with each other, and that this could involve physical violence resulting in court action. Many of the legal disputes involving clergy were of a kind that were dealt with not by the church courts but by the royal courts of justice, the surviving records of which become increasingly voluminous in the second half of the thirteenth century. Lincolnshire was the second largest county in England, and one of the most prosperous and well populated, so it is not surprising that a very significant proportion of the pleas dealt with by the Bench, or Common Bench (later known as the Court of Common Pleas), and the Court Coram Rege (later known as King's Bench), arose within its boundaries. The King's Bench came into continuous existence during the reign of Henry III, in the later 1230s, and the two courts subsequently continued to work side by side, and also in competition with each other, for 600 years.
A Prater specialty in the best sense of the word is Mr E. Weber's “Csarda,” which dates back to the World Exhibition. Quickly reached from the Praterstern and yet located on a shady hill away from the noisy hustle and bustle of the Prater itself, it is an ideal meeting point for all those who want really tasty, good cooking, authentic wines, attentive service, and a pleasant place to rest a little from the day's worries. The Gypsy-band, which plays every evening at the Csarda, is no less a specialty than the establishment itself and is well suited to cheer up even the most melancholy Prater visitor with its electrifying tunes. Genuine Hungarian wine and genuine Gypsy music—who could resist that? There can therefore be no doubt that, of all the Prater restaurants, the Csarda looks forward to the brightest future and will soon be a favorite of Prater visitors.
—Morgen-Post, June 10, 1877, 4
The Weltausstellung, the “World Exhibition” of 1873, made Vienna the third European imperial capital to hold such a grand celebration of industry and the arts, following selfconsciously in the footsteps of London (1851 and 1862) and Paris (1855 and 1867). The gauntlet of imperial grandeur had thus been thrown down in no uncertain way, and in the year of Emperor Franz Joseph's twenty-fifth anniversary his capital city responded magnificently; the site chosen was five times larger than the one in Paris in 1867, and its centerpiece was the mighty Rotunda, a dedicated exhibition space conceived from the outset to be crowned with the largest dome that had ever been built to date.
Court festivities, such as they were reinvented in the context of the courts of the Quattrocento under the of impulse humanist thought, set a figurative and symbolic system into play which incorporated and took advantage of the innovations of the first codifiers of noble dance. Hired by these courts both to teach dance and to produce luxurious dance spectacles, the dance masters of the period found a framework ripe for experimentation while their noble patrons took advantage of the figurative possibilities provided by this dance. In this way, some of Domenico's balli reference in their titles the festive occasion they were composed for, e.g. the balli Leonzello vechio and novo, referencing the first and second weddings of Leonello d’Este, with Margherita Gonzaga in 1435 and Maria of Aragon, illegitimate daughter of Alfonso the Magnanimous, in 1444.
Some noteworthy examples of festivities which included the works of the maestri di ballo are the nuptials of Beatrice d’Este to Tristano Sforza in April of 1455, with the joint participation of Domenico da Piacenza and Guglielmo Ebreo, or the wedding celebrations of Battista Sforza to Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino, in Pesaro in 1460, with dances also choreographed by Guglielmo. Over time, during the last few decades of the century and specifically under the influence of Florentine festive culture, the maestri di ballo's choreographies were incorporated to increasingly complex and lavish spectacles which combined dance, music, poetry, and figurative arts.
During 1923–1927, Holst composed no band music, though he remained close to the medium. This doesn't mean that he had no interest writing for bands; circumstances simply pointed him in other directions.
First North American Visit
In the autumn of 1922, Holst received two offers from the University of Michigan School of Music at Ann Arbor: (1) guest-conducting at their annual May Festival in 1923 and (2) a professorship there. The first offer was probably instigated by Frederick A. Stock (1872–1942), conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, one of two orchestras that gave the American premiere of The Planets on December 31, 1920. The second offer, which he considered but ultimately rejected, was probably through Albert A. Stanley (1851–1932), an American organist and music educator who had recently acquired professor emeritus status at the university. Stanley had founded the university's May Festival in 1894, and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra had been the featured ensemble there since 1905. The initial offer for guestconducting was for $1,000, but Holst asked for an extra $600 so that Isobel could accompany him. The university actually did better than that. In a letter dated February 10, 1923, Charles Albert Sink (1879–1972), secretary and business manager of the School of Music, gave Holst the good news that the university decided to increase that amount to $2,000.
The good news did not reach Holst, however, until after the composer had suffered a cataclysmic fall. On February 11 (the day following Sink's correspondence), while conducting a rehearsal at University College in Reading, Holst fell from a makeshift podium and landed on his head.
Although Václav Talich conducted the world premiere of the Sinfo¬nietta, that occasion was almost certainly his first and last performance of it. In spite of his advocacy of Janáček's operas and of Taras Bulba (which he later recorded), Talich never gave another concert performance of the Sinfonietta. However, there is a tantalising listing in Radio-Journal previewing a broadcast on 2 July 1938 as part of the Czech Radio pro¬grammes to celebrate the Tenth Sokol Rally. The programme for this ‘gala concert for the rally’ is given complete: Martinů's Rally Overture, Suk's Fantasia for violin and orchestra, Janáček's Sinfonietta and Dvořák's Eighth Symphony, with the Czech Philharmonic conducted by Talich. But this concert is not listed in the Czech Philharmonic's archives, nor in Milan Kuna's exhaustive list of Talich's performances, and it is very likely that Talich was listed in error.
Despite Talich not conducting it again, the Sinfonietta was regularly performed in Prague in the decade after Janáček's death and, later, during the years of Nazi occupation. On 20 October 1928, it was given by the Czech Philharmonic conducted by Franz Schalk (alongside Weber's Freischütz Overture and Bruckner's Eighth Symphony); and on 10 February 1937, the Czech Philharmonic played it with another distinguished visi¬tor, Erich Kleiber, whose conducting of Jenůfa in Berlin had so delighted Janáček in 1924.
Karel Boleslav Jirák (1891–1972) performed the Sinfonietta with the Czech Philharmonic on 14 October 1931 and again on 23 September 1938 in a broadcast billed as the ‘First Concert of the Janáček Festival’ which also included Taras Bulba.
Ejine Olga Nzeribe, Flora Nwapa: This Book Must be Written
Ibadan: Kraft Books, 2024, 207
ISBN: 978-9-7891-8 837-6
Flora Nwapa: This Book Must be Written is a comprehensive compilation of the life and times of Florence Nkeiruka Nwanzuruahu Nwapa, commonly referred to as Flora Nwapa, by her first daughter, Ejine Olga Nzeribe. Her story of Flora Nwapa is a narration about and a conflation of good life, exotic pedigree, sound and timely education, sophisticated socialization in the family, society and career, as well as a glamorous personal carriage. Nzeribe's book is segmented into eight chapters, which highlight specific aspects of Nwapa's life. Consistent with the subject of the narration, Nzeribe does not use the regular sub-titles and chapter titles that are common in biographies, such as “birth”, “parentage”, “education”, “challenges”, “career”, etc. Rather, the subtitles seem to be peculiar to this book; they include “The Important Things”, “Getting Things Done”, “Invincible Women”, “Service and Community”, “The Other Things”, “The Downsides”, “Memories”, and “She Lives On!” Interestingly, Nzeribe begins each chapter with a quotation that is related and significant to the chapter title. The title of this book, Flora Nwapa: This Book Must be Written, with the modal verb “must”, prefigures both the obligatory and audacious resolve to publicize the life story of Flora Nwapa. It essentially corresponds with Nzeribe's explanation that efforts were made in the past since the demise of Flora Nwapa to write her biography, but none succeeded. In 1995, two years after her passing, Nzeribe, along with her mother's close friends, Prof. Akachi Ezeigbo and Dr. Nina Mba, decided to write a book on Nwapa. They held meetings, and planned out the book's structure, and assigned roles accordingly.
The account of Robert Browne,2 draper, Richard Curson, Thomas Spencer3 & Alex[ander] … 4, taylor, Proctors5 of the Church of St James of Louth, all receipts and expenses on Sunday the Octave of Easter 1527 until the Octave of Easter 1528.
Item received of churchwardens year afore of money good & ill – 60s 11d.
Sum.
Item received 2nd Sunday after Easter – 4s 5d.
Item received 3rd Sunday after same – 4s 2d.
Item received 4th Sunday after same – 4s 3d.
Item received 5th Sunday after same – 3s 4d.
Item received Sunday after Ascension of our Lord – 3s 8d.
Item received Sunday Pentecost – 3s 10d.
Item received Trinity Sunday – 5s 5d.
Item received 1st Sunday after – 2s 1d.
Item received 2nd Sunday after – 3s 1d.
Item received 3rd Sunday after – 3s 7d.
Item received 4th Sunday after Relike Sunday3 – 4s 2d.
“To the concerts trooped all Jerusalem Society, English, Jewish and Arab and Jerusalem was often full of distinguished visitors.” Thus did the violinist Margery Bentwich describe the first seasons of the Jerusalem Music Society, which she founded in 1921 together with her sister Thelma, a cellist, based on the model of the South Place Institute concerts in London, where they regularly performed trios with the young Myra Hess in the years before their immigration to British Mandate Palestine in 1920. In their chamber music performances, the sisters, who had performed under Henry Wood at the 1918 Proms, were partnered by such international virtuosi such as Stefan Ashkenaze (a Tchaikovsky trio in 1924), Schnabel (Beethoven and Schubert 1934), and Huberman. The society's admirably multicultural accessibility, while attesting to the “universal” aspect of music, belied its Eurocentric orientation. Yet over a century later, one may appreciate a transformation in the repertoire of Israeli art and popular musics, responding to the challenge of balancing regional and global influences, in a multiethnic and multicultural synthesis that has evolved from the early encounters with the East.
It is a development which has paralleled the increasing centrality of world music since the 1980s and a climate of postmodernist experimentation with traditions and sounds from different cultures in new combinations distanced from the Eurocentric auto-exoticism of the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
There once was a matchmaker who arranged what turned out to be a very happy marriage. Sadly, the husband died all too early, leaving behind a distraught wife. At the burial ceremony, the deceased man's wife could be heard sobbing in the most heartrending way, and eventually she had to be restrained from throwing herself into the open grave. The matchmaker happened to be present and offered to carry out the ancient mourning ritual of rending the widow's garments. First, he tried to comfort the young wife, counseling her: “You have to accept the workings of providence.” Then he asked: “Tell me if I should rip your garments from the front or the back.” The woman wailed and cried: “Why should I care? What use is my life now? Cut wherever you like, it's all the same to me. The world has no more meaning for me.” “The thing is,” continued the matchmaker, “If I rip from the back, you won't be allowed to marry again.” “Marry?” the wife wailed without stopping, “Who could think of marrying? My happiness is gone. The world has no value any more for me … Still, I’d rather you cut from the front then.”1
This short story was one of many that journalist and ethnologist Binjamin Segel cited to explain “The Forms of Jewish Folk Humor” in an article from 1911. Perhaps readers are encouraged to wryly shake their heads at this widow's apparently insincere expression of grief.
The change in the second half of the nineteenth century to a ‘positivist’ view of nature in European society is not the end of organicist thinking, for one notes that organicism reasserts its influence in the advanced scientific notions of the twentieth century. In his chapter ‘The Cosmic Joy of the New Science’, science writer and historian Peter Marshall describes the turn in the twentieth century to a science that connects us once again to nature:
The old view of the universe as a machine made up of hard, separate atoms is now obsolete. Modern physics presents the universe as a constant flow of transforming energy. The traditional distinction between substance and form, energy and matter, no longer applies. The new model of reality is remarkably similar to that of the ancient Chinese and early Greek philosophers [and romantic scientists] who saw everything interconnected, living and changing…Nature is once again considered to be self-organizing and self-regulating. Creativity, spontaneity and freedom are central features of this new picture of the natural world.
Similar to what was experienced in the early nineteenth century when nature was viewed as an infinite source of becoming, the new modern science returns us to a view of nature that redefines separate areas of knowledge in an attempt to connect them all into one grand theory, a theory for everything (TOE). In both his special theory of relativity (1904) and general theory of relativity (1915), Einstein proclaimed that the so-called fixed laws of nature – e.g., those that govern gravity, velocity, space, mass, energy and time – are not universal or fixed but relative to one another through an observer. In a sense, the observer redefines the reality of the surrounding environment through an active integration of the world being observed – a perspective that is wonderfully defined in the thought experiment ‘Schrödinger's Cat’.
Ilse Aichinger's “Spiegelgeschichte” (Story in a Mirror), written in 1948–49 and published in 1953, is the very short story of a young woman who dies following an illegal abortion. The nameless woman, who lost her mother as a child and had to help raise her younger brothers, begins a relationship with a young man, and after giving in to his pressure to have sex, she becomes pregnant. Unable to deal with the situation, the young man merely utters the name of the street on which a known abortionist resides. The woman undergoes the abortion procedure alone and in unsanitary conditions; after developing sepsis, she dies slowly and painfully, again alone, in a hospital bed. The story can be—and has been—read as a sad tale of a poor girl who got herself in trouble and paid with her life. The narrator's concluding words, “Still! Las sie reden!” (74, “Quiet! Let them talk!” 70) has been understood by most as an appeal for the acceptance of fate. Conversely, I believe that the story's impact lies precisely in its angry refusal let the woman be a victim and a corpse. I argue that the temporal reversal and the angry tone within the secondperson narration, beyond condemning the circumstances that lead to the botched abortion, create an emancipatory trajectory for its protagonist that is tied to a critique of patriarchy and of realism, and our interpretation has to contend with both.
In a lengthy passage in the History of King Richard III, Thomas More described an interesting historical figure, a woman he calls Shore's Wife. More reflected on the London mercer's wife's journey from her city shop to King Edward IV's bed, the royal mistress's life at court, her good deeds, and her final disgrace during Richard III's reign. He dwelt on the character of Shore's Wife – she was witty, merry, and well-spoken, able to both read and write, intelligent and politically astute enough to become the king's special confidante – and he also noted her exceptionally good looks. At the end of this passage, however, More anticipated censure from prospective readers, who might think that the story of a mere woman of questionable morals would hardly fit alongside the dynastic battles, military heroics and political manoeuvrings that he was otherwise interested in:
I doubt not some shal think this woman to sleight a thing, to be written of & set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by that thei now see her. But me semeth the chaunce so much more the more worthy to be remembred, in how much she is now in the more beggerly condicion, unfrended & worne out of acquaintance, after good substance, after as gret favour with the prince, after as gret sute & seking to with al those that those days had busynes to spede, as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse, only by the infamy of their il dedes.