The Crystal Palace held a key position in London concert life during the 1860s and 70s as one of the few public venues to host high quality orchestral music. Importantly, audience members were able to buy single tickets on the day, as opposed to the prevailing practice of paying for a whole-season subscription, making the Saturday Concerts accessible to a much greater range of people. To cater to this newly-broadened audience, the programme booklets featured lengthy programme notes, a form of writing that was still in its infancy (the earliest examples date from the 1840s). These notes were a crucial part of the institutional context for performances of new or unfamiliar music in the nineteenth century, helping create the idea of ‘classic’ works and composers at the key moment of first impressions.

The Saturday Concerts were especially important for Schubert reception in Britain. The promotional efforts of August Manns, the conductor, and George Grove, then Secretary of the Crystal Palace Company, led to important performances of several early symphonies and the incidental music for Rosamunde. Grove's programme notes were especially influential on an audience that had never heard this music before. A close examination Grove's texts shows how they made ‘classics’ of Schubert and his music, referring to financial status, gender, religion, classical history, and imperial identity. This strategy was common to all composers that Grove and Manns wished to promote, though Schubert required special handling on certain key issues. However, these texts also suggest that ‘classic’ did not necessarily equate to ‘canonic’. After all, the ideological promotion of Schubert often failed to secure his works a permanent place the repertoire of the Saturday Concerts. Overall these programme notes suggest some complexity to the emergence of ‘the classics’, and provide valuable insights many areas of Victorian thinking around music.

This study examines the political communication strategies of the Italian Marxist-Leninist and neo-Stalinist party, Sovereign and Popular Democracy (DSP), through a qualitative thematic analysis of its online discourse. The analysis identifies the core elements of the party’s agenda and assesses their potential alignment with the red-brownist movement, often linked to the pro-Russian far right. The research investigates the historical and political intersections between the Stalinist communist sphere and the postfascist Eurasianist and red-brownist factions. Particular attention is given to their shared anti-Western stance and historical connections to ‘left-wing fascism’ in the post-Second World War era. Italy provides a crucial case study, given its postwar role as a hub for radical movements on both the left and the right. The analysis also considers the ideological trajectory of the Italian far-right, particularly the Jeune Europe movement, to situate DSP’s discourse within broader historical and ideological frameworks.

This article uses the hitherto partially unpublished diary of Virginia Minoletti Quarello and her husband Bruno Minoletti to shed a light on the Resistance and on the transformation of Italian politics after the war from an original angle. Virgina and Bruno, members of the Italian Liberal Party, played a central role in the Resistance and in consolidating the network of the Liberal partisans led by Edgardo Sogno, first in Genova, where their house hosted the local National Liberation Committee, and then in Milan. Their diary offers new perspectives on events and processes that preceded and followed 25 April 1945: from the arrival of the Allies in Milan to the killing of Mussolini and the display of his body in Piazza Loreto; from the struggle and division within the antifascist front to the marginalisation of the Liberals; from internal conflicts in the Liberal Party on the institutional question to the value of the Resistance.

In December 1959, several episodes of antisemitism occurred in West Germany. These events spread rapidly to other countries and were dubbed by newspapers the ‘swastika epidemic’. In Italy, the episodes sparked intense debate among the main political forces of the time, framing the interpretation of antisemitic episodes within a context that considered the comparison between the two countries, while also being influenced by the political transition of centrist governments shifting to the left and the transition of religious opinion on Jewish-Christian relations. The general and unanimous condemnation of antisemitism was accompanied by various interpretations of the racism of Fascist Italy and the historical responsibilities of the Catholic world. The result was an extremely fragmented picture, but with significant political and cultural implications in a year that would see the explosion of political violence.

In Morality by Degrees, Alastair Norcross defends a view he calls “scalar consequentialism.” I argue, first, that Norcross does not use the term consistently, since in most passages this seems to refer to a version of consequentialism that rejects all claims about rightness altogether, yet in other passages Norcross claims that scalar consequentialists should nonetheless embrace his favored “contextualist” account of rightness. I also argue, second, that the particular arguments offered by Norcross as to why consequentialists should forgo more traditional consequentialist accounts of rightness (such as maximizing or satisficing) are unpersuasive.

Two characteristics that defined Bob Morris were his empathy and his humanity. As a person, not just as a teacher and scholar, these elements infused his approach to people no matter their age or status. This short appreciation considers his contributions to urban and social history, his capacity for synthesis and analysis and his sensitivity in exploring places and spaces using text, data and images. Bob Morris’ humility was the hallmark of an exceptional historian, colleague and friend.

Musical sources from the nineteenth century in Argentina are very scarce. The first challenge, therefore, is to locate these materials across multiple repositories. In the last 15 years, certain state policies have been introduced to unify access to information in digital and non-digital archives. However, the country's economic instability, successive changes of government and the discontinuity of public policies in reference to cultural and educational programmes continue to impede a consistent systematization of collections and catalogues of these repositories. Additionally, it is also necessary to consult other repositories – both public collections, managed by provinces rather than the national government, and private ones that may offer online resources such as catalogues, transcriptions or digitized materials. Much of the musical production in the first half of the nineteenth century occurred within religious contexts, which means that a large part of these sources is located in ecclesiastical repositories that are very difficult to access. Many lack websites, the extent of their holdings remains unknown, and in cases where catalogues do exist, they are often not digitized.

This piece troubleshoots an array of epistemological, political, and practical difficulties involved in public studies of colonial atrocities. It explores the deficiencies of the Commission on Colonialism backed by the Belgian parliament between 2020–22, and suggests pathways for facilitating a fuller accounting of colonial wrongs. The argument leverages the author’s experiences in investigating and publicizing the colonial massacre of Mozambican civilians in Wiriyamu in 1972, which culminated in a public apology from Portugal’s prime minister in 2022.

I argue that navigating Lingala represented a central part of many Zairians’ experiences of Mobutu’s regime (1965–97), causing linguistic change, shaping their relationships to state power, and influencing their experiences of the regime’s everyday authoritarianism. Mobutu’s regime imposed Lingala through informal language practices including political rallies, songs, and slogans, interactions with state agents, and Mobutu’s own practice of addressing audiences nation-wide in Lingala. Zairians navigated the regime’s imposition of Lingala in different, and often divergent ways along a spectrum from rejection and opposition to acquisition and embrace. Where some Zairians, especially Kiswahili speakers in the East, rejected Lingala and criticized the language — critiquing Mobutu’s authoritarian rule in the process — other Zairians, particularly people in the Kikongo and Ciluba national language zones adapted to Mobutu’s new linguistic dispensation by learning to speak and understand Lingala, improving their relationship with the state and facilitating life under Mobutu’s rule.

Having conquered a vast multi-lingual domain, the Mongols needed to devise a means of communication with the population. In earlier Chinese dynasties, individuals had translated Buddhist texts, treaties, and commercial agreements, but the Mongols in China founded government agencies and recruited Chinese and non-Chinese interpreters and translators to provide these services. Attempting to unify his lands, Khubilai Khan, who founded the Yuan dynasty, commissioned ‘Phags-pa, a Tibetan Buddhist monk, to develop a written script that could be used for many languages. Despite repeated injunctions from the Yuan court, the script was used almost solely for such government issuances as paper money, seals, and paiza, objects which were markers of status or permission for a variety of activities or to ensure safe passage through the Mongol domains. Linguistic unity, via the ‘Phags-pa script or a lingua franca eluded the Mongols, although Persian and Turkic were employed for specific purposes. The succeeding Ming dynasty learned from the Mongols of the need for translators and interpreters and established colleges of translators and interpreters.