Things now moved quickly. In November, the South German states of Bavaria, Württemberg, Baden, and Hesse were joined by treaty to the North German Confederation. In December, the Confederation was renamed the German Reich. On January 18, 1871, in an august ceremony held in the Hall of Mirrors of the Versailles Palace, King William I of Prussia accepted the title of German Emperor. Ten days later Paris capitulated, an armistice was signed, and hostilities ceased. On February 26, the armistice was solidified through the signing of the preliminary Treaty of Versailles, and on May 10, a formal peace treaty was concluded in Frankfurt. This called for substantial reparations to be paid, but its most controversial provision required France to cede to Germany most of Alsace and a smaller portion of Lorraine, regions on the west bank of the Rhine that had long been the subject of dispute. There was much for the liberals to like about the unification that their one-time nemesis Bismarck had brought about. The boundaries of the Reich were now firmly decided (at least until 1919). Germany had a constitution (largely taken over from that of the North German Confederation), with a parliament elected by universal male suffrage (although with a three-tier voting franchise in Prussia that gave disproportionate representation to large-estate owners and the wealthy) and a German chancellor (albeit one appointed by and answerable only to the emperor).

In one of the cross streets that lead from the Graben to the Josephsplatz and Augustiner Street stood the town residence of the counts of Petofy: a mansion built in the days of Prince Eugene, with a half-hipped roof, and two side wings extending forward. A main floor raised above the ground, in the old-fashioned manner, a central courtyard, and enclosing all this in the front, a somewhat dilapidated iron fence. If one walked directly along this fence on a dark day and looked at the graveled courtyard through its rusted bars, one would have the impression that everything here was long dead and deserted; but from the other side of the street, an abundance of small clues, not least the muted glow of light which in the evenings came through the not quite fully drawn curtains, suggested that the building was occupied—if not in its entirety, at least in the two projecting wings.

And so it was. The last two Petofys were Count Adam and his sister Judith, a long-widowed Countess von Gundolskirchen; they lived in the mansion, keeping separate households, and only shared the use of the opulent public rooms in the corps de logis.

The company that would assemble in these rooms varied greatly, depending on whether the invitations had come from the brother or the sister. Both siblings took satisfaction in the generous patronage they extended, but while the count's patronage was for the world of art, that of the countess was for the church.

Hustling movement, crowded thoroughfares, furtive exchanges: these are fleeting images that emerge as traffic collides with trafficking in the twelfth-century Ordo representaciones Ade, an astounding “Play of Adam” that trades in religion openly and under cover. Biblical encounters tucked into metaphors of traffic and trafficking carry along a variety of Jewish- Christian interactions with potential for positive and negative results. When polemical contestation between Old Law and New leads to figurative meetings between Jews and Christians, their dialogue and disputations make rival claims on who has the right of way – and the right way – to interpret sacred texts. This traffic in Paradise plays out across the Jeu d’Adam's three acts in which biblical and exegetical traditions, Jewish and Christian, masterfully intertwine. First, two dramatic re-enactments offer Adam and Eve's life in the Garden of Eden leading to their Fall (1–590), followed by Cain murdering Abel in a quick demonstration of original sin (591–744).

Identity, Originality and the Culture of Musical Practice in Quebec and Ireland

If God had intended Canada to have music’, the Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer acerbically remarked in 1984, ‘Mozart would have been born in Regina’. Easy to dismiss as a mere provocation, or at best as a challenge to the sonorous if benign tyranny of popular musical culture (and not only in Canada), Schafer's remark nevertheless belongs to a growing region of discourse centred upon the validity and transmission of European art music, much of which originates in North America. Anglo-American musicology of the present day, whatever its other preoccupations, is dominated by an anxiety of influence (to put it no more strongly than that) which revokes the hegemony of classical music to an extent which could scarcely have been envisaged even thirty years ago. The mere presence of classical music (or art music) as a category of experience is vestigial among most cultural historians, other than those professionally engaged with specialised repertories, and the general condition of once-prominent genres of European music in cultural theory is, at best, tenuous (and often negative). The very narrative of classical music becomes, instead, a history of privileged beginnings and inert or voided endings, a ‘triumph of music’ (in Tim Blanning's phrase) which culminates in a triumph for popular culture.

Sites in Aragon lie on the first road described in the Pilgrim's Guide. The route starts in Arles, and after staging posts at Saint-Gilles-du-Gard, Montpellier, Toulouse and Borce, it crosses the Pyrenees by the Somport Pass. After the col, the Guide praises the hospice of Santa Cristina as a place of rest, comfort and salvation. On the Spanish side, there are five staging posts, including Jaca, before the road joins the other three routes at Puente la Reina.1 When the author recommends visits to specific shrines, he highlights the body of Saint-Trophime at Arles; ‘les Alyscamps’, the consecrated cemetery that is also celebrated in the Pseudo-Turpin; the reliquary at Saint-Gilles; and Saint-Sernin in Toulouse, the basilica of St Saturninus. It is then envisaged that anyone following this route would, like the other pilgrims, visit the few Spanish shrines that the author endorses: Santo Domingo de la Calzada; SS Facundus and Primitivus at Sahagun; San Isidoro at Leon; and, of course, St James at Compostela. Several aspects of this route are perplexing when they are viewed alongside documentary and visual evidence. The most significant decision is the omission of the Gascon cities of Auch and Oloron-Sainte-Marie, although they are often included in modern reconstructions of the route. They appear neither as staging posts nor as destinations in the itinerary of holy bodies, despite the presence in Auch of the body of St Orens and its sarcophagus.2 Their exclusion fits with the route's emphasis on eastern connections, although these were not what mattered to Aragon in the first decades of the twelfth century.

Not long ago I was listening to Bartok's Divertimento for String Orchestra played by the Sage City Symphony, a community orchestra that performs on the campus of Bennington College in Vermont, where I teach. It was a Sunday afternoon program on a beautiful early fall day when the leaves were just beginning to turn. When the mysterious, dark, and brooding slow movement began, music that plunges the listener into the deepest regions of the psyche within its first few notes and stays there, I was transported to a moment sixty years ago when I was thirteen years old, sitting between my parents at a concert at New York City's 92nd Street Y, listening to Bartok's Sixth String Quartet. That happens to be a quartet in which each of the four movements begins with a version of the same slow, doleful, folk-tinged melody. Like

Since the readmission of Jews into England during the 1650s, the Jewish religious communities have consistently expressed their loyalty to the English and British state. Prayers for the sovereign have been part of their regular services since the 1660s. From an early date, the communities appear to have joined in the occasions of special worship ordered by the crown for observance in the Church of England, beginning at their synagogues in London: at Bevis Marks for the Sephardi or Spanish and Portuguese Jews, and at Duke's Place, in the Great Synagogue for the Ashkenazi or German Jews. The earliest surviving forms of prayer for these occasions, for Bevis Marks and published in Portuguese or in Hebrew, date from the early eighteenth century. Particular synagogues – including from the 1840s those of separatist Reform and Liberal synagogues – have continued to publish their own forms for occasions of special services or prayers.

As the main communities grew and as they founded new synagogues, they began, in the same manner as the Church of England, to organize general acts of special worship, observed in numerous places of worship on the same day or for a specified period, and to issue and distribute special forms of prayer (or ‘orders of service’) for general use.

Again weeks had passed, and in place of the sunny days that had shone over Arpa Castle since early August, rainy days had set in. “This rain is like the Szekely assembly,” Franziska said, as a jest, and when the count asked what this meant, she recited Chamisso's poem of that name to his no little amusement.

“Just think, I have to learn about the Szekely assembly from a North German poem!” the count laughed, and whenever he encountered Franziska, he would point to the incessant downpour outside and repeat the refrain, “The rain is raining, raining still.”

When this weather began, they first tried to continue their walks, but after three days, the paths had become so muddy that they had to abandon them. They were reduced to strolling through the hothouses and the dutiful daily game of billiards, which Franziska, at least at first, made visible efforts to learn. But neither one nor the other gave her any real pleasure; in the hothouses the air was too warm and muggy, and playing billiards was vexing since she could not master it all at once. She wished for rapid results in all she did. Nonetheless they kept their spirits up and found ever-new ways of warding off the lurking threat of unease. There were immense fires blazing in all the fireplaces; the little priest, when he came for lessons, was prevailed on to stay for half the day; and Toldy's youngest daughter Marischka, barely three years old, saw her birthday celebrated as if she were a princess at the very least.

Jaume Roig was born in Valencia toward the beginning of the fifteenth century and died there in 1478. Like his father, he worked as a physician and served as the medical examiner of physicians, surgeons, and veterinarians for the city on different occasions between 1434 and 1477. The position of medical examiner contributed to the ideology and legal strategy of the professionalization of medicine, an initiative that was supported by municipal and royal authorities in different municipalities throughout the Iberian peninsula to dignify the male physician and elevate the discipline of medicine as the ideal approach for treating people's health and well-being. One of the consequences of the professionalization of medicine were the royal and municipal efforts to marginalize and disempower traditional women and Jewish and Muslim men healers who had dominated healing practices until the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Roig served as physician to fifteenth-century royals and practiced medicine at various hospitals in Valencia until his death. He was active among Valencia's powerful elites, including the Catalan-Aragonese crown, municipal authorities, and the city's most important religious institutions.

Roig composed only two literary works during his life, the caustic and misogynist Espill and a praise poem to the Virgin, which was included in a collection that might have been the first literary book printed on the Iberian peninsula.

Fieldwork is a collection of fourteen essays on the relations between Irish music and cultural history. Although I have been writing about this topic for forty years, this book is anything but retrospective in its preoccupations. Instead, it seeks to prepare the ground for a monograph, now in progress, on how representations of Ireland and Irish experience have been imagined musically through the agency of individual artworks, compositions and practices. Fieldwork is a vital prelude to this enterprise.

It is also (I trust) a coherent ingathering of my recent research on Irish music and music in Ireland. Of the seven previously published essays in this book (all of which postdate the appearance of The Encyclopaedia of Music in Ireland, which I edited with Barra Boydell in 2013), four have been substantially revised and enlarged. Seven essays appear here for the first time. The selection of these pieces, admittedly from a much larger crop of publications, addresses and conference presentations, was determined by the extent to which they could contribute to the three prevailing themes considered in this collection, namely, musicology in Ireland (Part One), the relationship between music and literature in Ireland (Part Two) and the contextual domains in which Irish music has been received, transmitted and sometimes ignored (Part Three).

Part One of this book (‘Irish Musicology and its Affordances’) contains five essays. The first of these, ‘Remembering Grattan Flood’, originated as a plenary address delivered at a conference on musical historiography and identity that took place in October 2011 at the Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts in Zagreb; it was subsequently published in the edited proceedings of that conference in 2013.

Bristol Archives

• • CC/2/7. The Maire of Bristow Is Kalendar [Ricart's Kalendar]. 1479–1899

• • P.AS/B/12. Augustine, De trinitate, etc. 1465

• • P.AS/B/11. William Peraldus, Sermones, etc. 15 ½

• • P.AS/B/10. Gerard Zerbolt, De spiritualibus ascensionibus, etc. 15 1/2, the

• main portion pre-1432

• • P.St T/PM/1. The St. Thomas Bible. c. 1420

Bristol Central Library

• • MS 1. Bible. The Corporation Bible. 13 ½

• • MS 2. Missal. 15 4/4 or 16 ¼

• • MS 3. Anthology of Isidore and Augustine. Pre-1242

• • MS 4. Peter Lombard, Libri sententiarum quattuor. c. 1200

• • MS 5. Jacob Voragine, Sermones quadragesimales. 15 2/2

• • MS 6. Devotional Compilation. 1502

• • MS 7. Hugutio, Derivationes. 13 2/2

• • MS 8. John Lydgate, Troy Book. 15 2/4

• • MS 9. John Trevisa, Proprietatibus rerum. 15 4/4

• • MS 10. Medical Compendium. 15 2/4

• • MS 11. Book of Hours. 1479

• • MS 12. Psalter. 12 ¾

• • MS 13. Missal. 15 ¾

• • MS 14. Book of Hours (The Ruddok-Clyve Hours). 14 4/4 with additions

• 15 1/4 and 1/2

• • MS 15. Bible. 13 2/2

• • MS DM 268. Innocent III, De miseria humanae conditionis. c. 1350

• • MS DM 832. Cobden Book of Hours. 15 ¾

• • MS DM 2196, Franciscan Office of the Dead and Antiphonal. 15 2/2

• • MS DM 2226. Homiliary with Lections. 15 2/2