It is clear that, from their earliest incarnations, Austen's novels were read as family entertainment. Jane Austen's collection of opinions of Mansfield Park and Emma contains a number of comments which demonstrate that reading the books was a family activity. Austen records, for example, the views on Mansfield Park of ‘the families at Deane’ and ‘the Kintbury family’. These were communal opinions, arrived at after discussion. Austen's aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Leigh Perrot, similarly provided a joint opinion of Emma, as did Mrs Craven and her daughter, Austen's brother James and his wife, and ‘the family at Upton Gray’. As we have seen, the ‘morality’ and ‘good sense’ of Austen's work is commended in a number of these early responses, emphasizing the novels' suitability as books for families to read together. It is also noticeable how often the opinions of both Mansfield Park and Emma collected by Jane Austen focus on scenes of sociability and family life in those novels. Mrs Cage felt, on reading Emma, for example, that she was ‘at Highbury all day’, and could not ‘help feeling I have just got into a new set of acquaintance’. Admiration of Mansfield Park's ‘Portsmouth scene’ (in which, of course, Austen depicts the boisterous family life and sibling rivalries of the Price family) was recorded not only by the male readers already discussed in Chapter 5, but also by her niece, Anna Austen, sister-in-law Mrs James Austen, and friend Alethea Bigg, who found ‘the Price family at Portsmouth’ to be ‘delightful in their way’.

Early in Mnouchkine's film on Molière, in a harrowing scene, a group of doctors bleed the young boy's mother to death. They throw the blood out into the courtyard before returning to the house to gluttonously gnaw on dripping red meat for their lunch. The kindly grandfather gets Jean-Baptiste out of this house of death, taking him down the street to see a makeshift stage set up in a cobblestone square. On the stage is an old man, reminiscent of Pantalone in Commedia, doddering about with a long white beard, making important harrumphing sounds as he talks to himself and goes about his business. Also on stage is an actor dressed as a skeleton with a grinning skull mask. The old man does basic human things like squatting on a chamber pot, while the skeleton shrieks with laughter and jumps about the stage with joy. He points at the old man, and then at the public. The moral is clear: you may think you are a Very Important Person but Death will get you in the end! The scene gave ecstatic experience to the actor playing the skeleton and it amused the public. Pantalone was upset but he's an old man and so who cares. He's the straight man. And he is the obstacle to fun. So the “fourbe” will win – even if, in this case, the fourbe is not Scapin, but a hard-masked type called “Death.”

Entrances are of extreme importance in the structure of a performance. The actor and the director join together to search for the right note to begin the stage life of a character. The Greeks and Commedia employed masks that left no doubt – when combined with gestural body language – as to the immediate impression their entrances would make upon an audience. In later theater, the means employed are more subtle, more subliminal, more suggestive. The entrance is the first note in the polarity of the whole play that will be remembered, perhaps subconsciously, when the character's journey is completed at the end of the play.

Le Tartuffe; ou, L'Imposteur, Molière's first psychological thriller, offers the possibility of several brilliant entrances, and we submit three “case studies” to illuminate “how” these moments became coups de théâtre in three different productions: Molière's own, as reported by contemporaries; my production at the Los Angeles Theater Center, in which Ron Leibman created an unforgettable portrait of the quintessential hypocrite; and Ariane Mnouchkine's prescient political interpretation for the stage as experienced by the audience in which I participated.

Here is how Ramon Fernandez, in his La vie de Molière, describes the first entrance in 1664 of the lusting religious imposter, Tartuffe. In the play that bears his name, he entered the enormous space designed to accommodate the hordes of singers and dancers in the huge festival for the king called Les Plaisirs de l'Île Enchantée (The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island):

The critic is a part of every artist's life that cannot be ignored. Most actors memorize their best reviews; some memorize their worst reviews and will recite them with blood vessels swelling and much editorial comment. The desire to answer back is maddeningly strong. For Molière the nasty criticism grew louder and more personal as references to his marriage mounted and even charges of incest were openly discussed. Molière answered with fighting words in the most public way at his disposal: by writing the two short plays discussed in this chapter. His first attack is indirect.

After the production of L'École des Femmes, which may have been the greatest success of the seventeenth century, controversies over the play swirled around the city and the court. After the run of performances in theaters and in the homes of the aristocracy during the winter season, Molière decided to bring back the play accompanied with a one-act called La Critique de l'École des Femmes (The Critique of the School for Wives), which was performed following the five-act play starting in June of 1663.

For this piece he wrote his first role for Armande. She played the supporting role of Élise opposite Mlle Béjart and Mlle Du Parc. As a shrewd producer, Molière kept his star, Catherine de Brie, in the role of Agnès.

In the spring of 1660, following the winter opening of Les Précieuses Ridicules of 1659, Chapelle – one of Molière's closest friends who had been a fellow student with him at the Collège de Clermont – sent Molière the following verse which we need to read remembering Molière's place as the powerful head of the leading theater company in France. Obviously the tone of these verses indicates that his role as a surrogate father was being transformed into a different kind of love. Chapelle's little poem reads:

In the next few years Molière fell deeper and deeper under the spell of his teenaged ward. It was during this time he wrote and acted in three plays: Sganarelle; ou, le Cocu Imaginaire (Sganarelle; or, The Imaginary Cuckold), Dom Garcie de Navarre, and L'École des Maris (The School for Husbands). The primary emotion in all three is sexual jealousy. Gone is the free-for-all romp of sexual joy. New directions emerge in both his writing and his acting.

In Sganarelle, he introduced the terror of cuckoldry – even when it is imaginary. Sganarelle is designed to function, like Les Précieuses Ridicules, as an afterpiece to longer plays in the company’s repertory. Moliére again played the Commedia-inspired Sganarelle – now his signature role much like Charlie Chaplin’s tramp – but the role underwent a major transformation and the play exhibited some significant new ideas for his life on stage. Scenically, Moliére had already thought of removing the footlights in an effort to come closer to his audience by removing a barrier between the actors and the public, but now more radically, he put aside the traditional hard leather mask of the farceur in favor of the virtual mask of real-life character.

Alceste did not leave the stage triumphant like Mascarille; he lost the capricious love of Célimène and the steadfast loyal devotion of Éliante as he marched off into the silence of the empty desert life that awaited him. It is generally accepted that it was about this time he and Armande chose to live apart. Almost as if he had visited the temple of Aesculapius – the god of healing located in sanctuaries near most Greek theaters – the actor, to ease the pain of his mounting personal and business problems, seemed to pay the cock to Aesculapius and go back to the basic lecheries that had nothing at stake for the man behind the mask of comedy. He found nourishment in the pure, simple joy of being on stage and getting the thunderous laugh at the same moment in time from everyone in the audience. The ironic smile is gone. The belly laugh is heard in the land.

It's not difficult to imagine that following the gasping needs of Arnolphe, the lecheries of Tartuffe, the power trips of Don Juan, the passions of Alceste, as well as all the poisonous reactions to these four masterpieces about deadly serious issues – plus all that time on milk – Molière might have felt pressured not only to recover his own health but also to develop a healthier box-office. Maybe laughter became more attractive to him than dramatic ambiguities.

Introduction

In this chapter we will be exploring how symbolic and pragmatic aspects of the perception of the European integration process are related in the opinion of Hungarian elites. We are interested in the intensity of Hungarian elites' supranational attachment as a symbolic form of identification. We will explore how the EU level of redistribution is perceived as a pragmatic measure of identification with the European Union. We will also describe how elites perceive the delegation of certain policy areas to the EU level and whether Hungary's EU membership is perceived as advantageous or not. Taking into account some of the theoretical approaches of the field, we will verify how identity, the positive perception of EU membership and policy preferences are interconnected.

Our analysis is based on the 2007 wave of the IntUne elite survey in Hungary where 80 members of parliament and 42 top business leaders were interviewed.

Theoretical Background

Several models for explaining support for the European integration process have been elaborated since the 1970s. Studies in this field often conceive the EU as an economic entity – according to this utilitarist logic the support for the EU is based on a rational cost-benefit calculation. Benefits of the EU and the ability to profit from these benefits can either appear at the individual or at the country level (Gabel 1998).

Volk is an ambiguous word in German, torn between the social and the national. The fact that the term could be an ideological keyword both for Nazism – with its Volksgenosse, Volksgemeinschaft, Volksgerichtshof, Volkssturm – and shortly afterwards for the East German communist state – Volkspolizei, Volkskammer, Volksarmee, Volkseigentum – points to the word's flexibility – but also to its power in German as a signal of that with which one should identify. In the parlance of the ideologically hazier modern Federal Republic, ‘Volk’ still appears in key political compounds: the leading parties call themselves ‘Volksparteien’ – indicating simultaneously their non-regionality and the breadth of their social appeal; Germany's biggest daily newspaper consistently terms itself a ‘Volkszeitung’; referendum votes are Volksabstimmungen or Volksentscheide; the census is a Volkszählung.

Other languages, it is true, are not entirely without such ambiguities. ‘People’, ‘peuple’ also have semantic uncertainties; but they are weaker words, standardly supplemented with adjectival or other glosses (the common people, ordinary people, the British people) or supplanted by more specific synonyms (folk, popular, proletarian, mass) which delimit meaning. German ‘Volk’, on its own or in compounds, can encompass all these connotations – and betray the tensions between them.

Volk in either of its nineteenth-century senses, social or national, is a Platonic idea, an imagined ideal entity which reality in its complexity may aspire to become. Who is the Volk? All of us except the aristocracy, says the poet and novella-author Theodor Storm in the early 1860s.

The first English folk-song revival is usually dated from the late 1870s to the end of the 1920s, key markers being the publication of Harriet Mason's Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs in 1878 and Maud Karpeles's second collecting trip to Newfoundland in 1930. The names most associated with the revival in the public mind are probably those of Cecil Sharp, Ralph Vaughan Williams and Percy Grainger, although, of course, there were many other collectors and scholars who made substantial contributions to the movement. Sharp, Vaughan Williams and Grainger were the most prominent figures in the Edwardian phase of the revival during the decade before World War I. The late-Victorian phase is less well known, but three different figures stand out as the pioneers and leaders of the movement in those earlier decades: Sabine Baring-Gould, Frank Kidson and Lucy Broadwood. Although a certain changing of the guard took place within the movement at the end of the Victorian era, Kidson and Broadwood in fact remained key players in the Edwardian years, so there was more continuity than might at first glance appear. Nevertheless, the history of the movement does fall into three distinct periods, late-Victorian, Edwardian and post-1914. Moreover, the Victorian phase also divides into two parts: an initial period when a small number of pioneer collectors were working in isolation, and a later period when they came together to exchange information and to found the Folk-Song Society.

Introduction

Sociological and comparative studies on Latin America produced in Western European and North American academic centers explain the sociopolitical contexts of peripheral regions and create explanatory models that are very often arbitrary. Since World War II, the modernization theory tried to interpret the underdevelopment of the region by relating it in a perverse manner to the cultural and institutional legacy of the colonial period. Catch-all culturalist typologies, which related the region's “historical handicap” to its heritage of Latin traditions and Iberian culture, were standard in explaining the causes of backwardness and stunted social, political and economic development. Modernization theory suggested that it would suffice to remove the elements of cultural heritage – which had created the inadequate cultural values – to clear the way for capitalist and democratic development. Autonomous thought on modernization in Latin America, best represented by dependency theory and the works produced by members of the Comisión Económica para América Latina (CEPAL) referring to the perverse consequences of capitalist development (as for example the widening of social and global inequality), did not take roots in mainstream academic centers of the core countries and were overthrown by globalization theories in the 1990s with the triumph of neoliberalism.

Neither the modernization theories nor the globalization theories permit to comprehend satisfactorily the production of inequalities and the ways to overcome them, which nonetheless remains the main challenge in the so-called modern semi-peripheral countries, such as Brazil.

Introduction

Reflecting on development in the course of one of the most major crises ever faced in the modern world allows us to put things in perspective. Perhaps neoliberalism is finally going under – along with global economic prosperity and growth – regardless of the relative strength of the emerging East. In any case, while it is doubtful whether deeper changes will alter neoliberal economics and social policy as well as the widening inequality they entailed, a financeled model of accumulation has proved untenable and will have to be changed in order to unburden the “real economy” processes wherein technological change and capital accumulation have proceeded apace in the last two decades. This is, in a more oblique way, the object of the present discussion which concerns the policies adopted thus far as well as the alternatives in respect to development in the contemporary world, with particular attention to the issue in the periphery and the semi-periphery.

This chapter will proceed through the following steps: first, I will briefly define the field of development and some basic issues to be investigated. Next, I will take up such issues in relation to Latin America. Economic development, underdevelopment and dependency, along with social conditions and social policy, will be outlined and discussed in both general and specific terms. Backwardness in technological terms as well as a dependent insertion in the world economy (increasingly via the export of primary products, but also to some extent due to a turn towards development sustained by increasing internal demand and targeted social policies with some improvement of overall social conditions) will be encountered.

On 14 August 1842, the London novelist Charles Dickens wrote to his friend the Cork artist Daniel Maclise from his summer retreat at Broadstairs in Kent, mock-pleading with him to come to the seaside. He reminded him of the bracing nature of the sea air, and the more particular attractions of a bather whom Dickens and his male friends called ‘the Screamer’:

The Screamer has been identified by Dickens's editors as either a Miss Collins or a Miss Strivens. According to Fintan Cullen, Maclise admitted in a letter to Dickens's biographer John Forster that she was the model for The Origin of the Harp, a painting exhibited earlier in 1842 in the Royal Academy and later at the great Manchester Art Treasures exhibition of 1857. It is currently in the collection of Manchester City Art Gallery (see Figure 1).

The painting is a pictorial representation of Thomas Moore's song ‘The Origin of the Harp’, first published in the third number of his Irish Melodies in 1810. In this lyric, the harp is described as metamorphosed out of the body and hair of a siren who has been abandoned by her lover. Viewers of the picture in 1842 would know that the harp was the Irish national instrument, indeed the symbol of the nation – even if the picture itself is less than explicit on that national subject.

In Chapter 4 of this book, Sarah Dunnigan quotes the English philosopher of history R. G. Collingwood on the enchantments of fairy- and folk-lore: ‘our national fairy tales are actual surviving fragments of our national youth and by steeping ourselves in them we live that youth over and over again’. Fairy tales and the lore of the folk express wholeness and unity, and are thus representative of the continuity of the self into adulthood and the re-enactment of childhood. The ‘steeping’ of self and society in the national tale enables the reliving of ‘national youth’, and is a vital part of how societies conceive of themselves in history as well as poetry, psychic reminders of survival and continuity.

Collingwood was writing in the 1930s about the Grimms' Kinder- und Hausmärchen, and more generally on what we in our introduction to this book have called the ‘Germano-British’ basis of European folk revivals after Macpherson and Herder. He was also writing in a decade which brought to crisis the attempts of various European nationalisms to authenticate ideologies of national origins in the singularities of the differing lore of their differing folk. For Collingwood these were among the ideas which animated the ‘new barbarians’. His editor, Philip Smallwood, then asks why a respected archaeologist, classicist and aesthetician would write about folklore in this decade; but by the beginning of the 1940s one answer was clear.