INTRODUCTION

Margaret Watson was the last person to be formally accused of witchcraft in Shetland, and one of the last in Scotland as a whole. Her name came up several times in the Shetland presbytery minutes: in 1708, 1724 and 1725. She was first brought before the presbytery at the same time as the Ratter family in 1708 (the previous case edited in the present volume), but her case was not followed up. She was discussed by the presbytery again in 1724 and 1725, accused of cursing and being a deluder of the people.

Watson was a vagabond, living in the neighbouring parishes of Sandness and Walls. She apparently came into conflict with people and cursed them when she was refused lodgings or food. When brought before the presbytery in 1708, she was suspected of witchcraft and deluding the people, and accused of gross and continual cursing. She denied all accusations of witchcraft, and asked how she could be a witch and not know it. However, she admitted that she did curse and would continue to do so if wronged. Her case in 1708 ended with the presbytery asking the heads of the local families about Watson's life, and they all declared that she was a great curser.

In September 1724, the presbytery received a reference from Sandness about Watson. She was mentioned as an ‘alledg’d witch’ whose case should be laid before the civil magistrate (secular criminal court) by George Duncan, the minister of Sandness and Walls. Her case came up again four times at the presbytery in 1725. In March there was a complaint about her from Walls, and in May there were complaints from both Walls and Sandness.

“Our horses are facing Zimbabwe:” Katlehong Township, mid-July 2021

Katlehong is a sprawling township southeast of Johannesburg. Typical of South Africa's urban townships, it is a mixture of formal housing, backyard rooms, hostels, and informal shack settlements. It merges, to the east and the west with two neighbouring townships, Thokoza and Vosloorus. Collectively the fused townships are known as Kathorus. Not that anyone would say that they hail from Kathorus. Rather, with local identities salient, they will tell you which townships they live in and, likely, which section. The census of 2011 records 737,000 people in Kathorus, of which 98.7 per cent were African. This racial homogeneity, a defining characteristic of South Africa's townships, is an enduring historical legacy. Africans, coloureds, and Indians with rights to reside – permanently or temporarily – in urban areas could only do so in separate, racially designated townships.

It's a forty-five-minute drive from my home in the Johannesburg suburb of Westdene to Katlehong. As you enter the township passing Huntersfield Stadium there is a sign greeting visitors: “Welcome to Katlehong.” It could be welcoming you to another country, another world.

Late on Saturday afternoon, I drive with friends down Sontonga Road to Tsietsi Section at the southern tip of the township, a good 12 kilometres from Huntersfield. For the last week, Kwazulu-Natal and Gauteng provinces have been convulsed by looting. A political struggle within the ruling ANC morphed into an insurrection triggered by the imprisonment of former president Jacob Zuma. The insurrection then turned into an orgy of looting by the poor, and the not so poor, who stormed shopping malls and warehouses.

Navigating Landscapes of Dalcroze Practice investigates the music and movement teaching originated by the Swiss composer Émile Jaques-Dalcroze (1865–1950) as an embodied, diverse, interdisciplinary, transnational, and living practice. The fourteen chapters that follow provide new perspectives on the development, application, and adaptation of this work since its beginnings in early twentieth-century Geneva. Our book is the first collection of Dalcroze histories to focus on practice itself, showing how it has moved among – and been shaped by – people, disciplines, performance practices, and contexts from music education and music therapy to dance, theatre, and physical education. Dalcroze practice today involves participants from babies to seniors on six continents, stimulating research in neuroscience, somatics, and well-being as never before. The literature surrounding it is growing exponentially, with many qualitative and quantitative studies appearing in the last decade alone. We note that the explosion of scientific writing is happening in parallel with increased attention from historians.

The authors of this book reveal aspects of the global expansion of Dalcroze practice by successions of teachers, students, and supporters. However, rather than presenting the teaching as a unified and static method, the book demonstrates the heterogeneity of Dalcroze practice and the multiple identities of those engaged with it. While the role of well-established institutions and training centers is acknowledged throughout, the chapters also bring to light lesser-known people and paths through which the teaching has been channeled and adapted to meet specific artistic, pedagogical, and therapeutic needs.

INTRODUCTION

The documents transcribed below comprise the pre-trial interrogations and trial records of four women and one man from the presbytery of Dalkeith, to the south and east of Edinburgh. This area suffered from severe witch-hunts in 1649–50 and in 1661–2. These five witches all received death sentences on the same day, 29 July 1661. They were Janet Daill in the parish of Inveresk, and David Johnstone, Agnes Loch, Janet Lyle and Margaret Ramage, all in the parish of Newton. Early interrogations were carried out at Woolmet and Edmonstone in Newton parish, but after a while the suspects were imprisoned in the tolbooth of Musselburgh, where they were all eventually tried together.

The judges included not only the veteran Alexander Colville, but also George Mackenzie, beginning a legal career that would lead him in 1678 to the post of lord advocate and a role in discouraging witchcraft prosecutions in Scotland. Mackenzie may well have learned his scepticism about harsh legal procedures from these trials. In the witchcraft chapter of his book Laws and Customs of Scotland in Matters Criminal (1678), Mackenzie wrote of having interviewed a condemned witch who told him that she had confessed, not because she was guilty, but because the prosecution had destroyed her reputation and livelihood, so that she wished to be out of the world. Anna Cordey, who has conducted a detailed study of the Dalkeith prosecutions, has argued that this woman was Janet Daill.

The five accused witches in this group formed only a small part of the panic as a whole.

Knighted by Charles I in 1640, and active on the king's behalf in the ensuing troubles, Sir Nicholas Crispe (1599–1666) wanted posterity to remember him as ‘a loyal sharer in the sufferings of his late and present majesty’, who ‘first discovered and settled the trade of gold in Africa and built there the castle of Cormantine, by which he lost out of purse above £100,000 above all returns from thence’. Mourners at his funeral in 1666 could read a paper to that effect, and a more permanent version was inscribed on his marble monument at Hammersmith, surmounted by a bust of Charles I. He was confident, Crispe wrote in his will, that ‘my nation, when I am dead, will make compensation or amends to my family for so great a service done to my country at my so great loss, which will be better understood in the future’. There was much more to Crispe than bluster, but he would face eternity as a royalist, a slaver, and an unrewarded benefactor to his nation. His career stands out among the speculators and investors who dominated London's African and Atlantic trade in the age of Charles I.

Concerned for his legacy, and eager for posthumous recognition, Crispe instructed his executors ‘to collect my papers together of my doing and proceeding in that business in Africa, and deliver them to my cousin Andrew Crispe, who at his convenience I desire to draw such a narrative as he and my executors shall think fit to be put in print and published’. Alas, no such history materialized. Cousin Andrew, a fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, failed to deliver, died in 1669, and Crispe's papers disappeared.

INTRODUCTION

Alexander Drummond was an elderly man, aged eighty-one, living in the parish of Auchterarder in Perthshire. He was a healer with a large number of clients, including gentlemen and even ministers, and had a reputation for having practised healing for about fifty years. He charged money for healing, and was respected for his knowledge. He was transported to Edinburgh for investigation and trial. Numerous clients, in various localities throughout east-central Scotland, were questioned about his practices; the dossier edited here includes some correspondence about how ministers organised this investigation. The full minutes of Drummond's trial do not survive, but there is a list of assize members, and a summons to the assize. He was evidently tried and executed in 1629.

Most of the documents preserved in the dossier are records of this process of pre-trial interrogation. From 28 September 1628 until 8 July 1629, Drummond was questioned about his performance of healing and about his clients. He cured both physical and mental illness, and adults as well as children. He recited two charms that he used for healing, and the scribe carefully wrote down the words, placing the records in a middle position between written and oral. He also knew some words that he would not repeat during interrogation.

Otherwise, the clerk departed from Drummond's own way of describing his practice. The written record stated that he had long been suspected of witchcraft; he was suspected and challenged for sorcery and witchcraft; suspected of unlawful and supernatural healing, and devilish practice, and abusing his majesty's lieges; ‘ane witch and sorcerer’; ‘crymis of sorcerie witchcraft and divilish chearmingis’; ‘curing be diabolical and unlawful meanis’. The depositions are marked ‘Alexander Drummond Warlock’. The word ‘witchcraft’ was frequently used by the interrogators to describe how an unexpected illness came to afflict a person.

Early Life and Times

Rather than starting with Spain, let's start in the Americas, bringing the Indigenous peoples front and center to set the stage, as it were, for Las Casas's impact. The two, Christopher Columbus and Bartolomé de las Casas, were, dare we say it, both iconic figures of the age of exploration and conquest. Their deeds are seen heroic, on the one hand, and sometimes judged as tyrannical and thoughtless. On the other hand, neither was without his flaws. But their transit across the oceans and lands of both the Old World and the New World set the stage for one of the greatest moments in history, the bringing together of two worlds and cultures unknown to each other.

Let's be clear here. Before 1492 Europeans knew little or nothing of the existence of what we call the Western Hemisphere or the Americas. And the inhabitants of the Americas knew nothing of the European world nor, in fact, of Africa or Asia for that matter.

There actually may have been contacts between voyagers of both Asian and European/African origins, but they tended not to leave long-lasting impacts. The most famous of the modern ones was made by the Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl across both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans in the middle of the twentieth century, testing his theories of contact between Polynesia and South America, and Europe/Africa and the Americas in the Atlantic and Caribbean worlds. Look up the voyages of Kon-Tiki for some great adventure reads spanning the Pacific worlds and the Ra II expedition which took him from the west coast of Africa to Barbados in the West Indies.

Introduction

In the decade following independence in West Africa, the challenges of nation-building spurred a new wave of nationalism, ethno-nationalism, economic competition, and political instability that increasingly undermined the historical legacy of Pan-Africanism. This chapter's central focus is the expulsion of Yoruba migrants, along with other foreign nationals, from Ghana in November/December 1969, which significantly redefined notions of citizenship.

The 1969 Alien Compliance Order aimed to enforce the Deportation Act of 1957, granting authority to the Governor General, Prime Minister, or Head of State to expel individuals whose presence in Ghana was perceived as detrimental to the public good. Although the Act was initially applicable to non-Ghanaians only, it was later extended to include citizens who were considered political opponents. Many African migrants, including Yoruba, Syrians, and Lebanese, resided in Ghana without the required residence permits mandated by the law. According to the Ghana Nationality and Citizenship Act, Act 1 of 1957, a person could not be a citizen by birth unless one of their parents or grandparents was born in Ghana.

Citizenship Rights and Denial in a Post-Colonial Context

Due to their long-standing migration and settlement, some Yoruba families were eligible for Ghanaian citizenship. However, a significant number of Yoruba, along with other African small-scale traders, artisans, and farmers, resided in Ghana based on the advantages of trans-border mobility and sociocultural and historical relations that dated back to the pre-colonial era.

Berlioz wrote two articles about this occasion in the form of letters to the editor, rather than halfway down p. 1, the usual position for feuilletons. The first (22 August) told something of the project's history, the build-up to the unveiling, and the concert. This is the second article, sent from Königswinter. It concerns the event itself, in which not everything went as planned. Much of the funding came from Liszt and when, with four weeks to go, it was realized that there was no concert hall large enough to hold all those invited, he paid for one to be built. It was completed with two days to spare. Berlioz included a slightly altered version of this article in Les Soirées de l’orchestre (Second Epilogue); but I hope readers will understand my wish to include such a characteristic piece of writing.

To the editor of the Journal des débats [Armand Bertin]

Dear Sir

I come rather late to tell you again about the festival to inaugurate Beethoven's statue. But please allow me to return to the matter, after everything that's already been said in its favour, in order to mention Liszt's cantata which merits a more extended review on its own than I can offer today. I must also mention the many distinguished artists who are known in Paris only by name, and whom we should be so happy to see there.

I’m in a village whose calm and peace contrast strangely with the tumult that was still raging a few days ago in the cities round about. Koenigswinter is on the opposite bank of the Rhine to Bonn. Its peasantry is very proud of the glory that has redounded to it. Several old men claim to have known Beethoven in his youth.

According to an anonymous hagiographer, Cuthman (b. 681 C.E.), a littleknown saint of Sussex, worked as a shepherd in his youth and cared for his mother after his father died, ‘bustling about in the care and duty of ministering’ to her needs (satagebat denique in cura et officio ministrandi). Cuthman became father, brother, and servant as well as son to her, his hagiographer says, commending Cuthman's ‘loyalty to his mother’ (in matrem pietas). In time, poverty overtook them, and Cuthman's mother became paralyzed, requiring constant care. With their possessions gone and no other family to help, Cuthman went on the road, ‘[making] a wooden bed on which he placed his enfeebled mother’ (profecto ligneum lectum composuit in quo languidam collocauit), attaching ‘a wheel at the front’ (rote preambule adminiculo), and taking her with him as he traveled around looking for work. Supporting them by ‘transporting goods’ (opera subuectionis), Cuthman eventually stopped with his mother at Steyning, built a small home, and erected a church there, working on the construction while simultaneously caring for her.

As a caretaker, Cuthman is unusual in that he was male and actually received credit for his work. Such recognition, even in the present day, is rarely granted to people who struggle to support their households while also caring for children and/or elderly and disabled family members.

The Early Years

With the call for certainty in a market pervaded by ambiguity, authenticity became the central value-defining quality and the connoisseur—the one individual capable of identifying a master's hand—became the central value-determining actor in the cultural field. Charles Reade recognized this inevitable development early on, but it was William Ebsworth Hill and his sons (the Hills) who leveraged the acknowledged authority of connoisseurs to such great effect. They gained access to the highest reaches of London musical society—concert halls, conservatories, publishing houses, exhibition venues, and auction houses—and their expertise brought them into direct contact with the principal actors overseeing these institutions, with whom they transacted business, served on committees, and attended concerts. The Hills had inherited an unusual set of circumstances: a monolithic classical music landscape in which the violin was firmly embedded, a buoyant market for musical instruments, an expanding and influential musical press, a thriving exhibition culture, a contemporary instrument- making scene dominated by emulation, an emerging sense of historical awareness, and with it a nostalgic craving for authenticity—which they parlayed into a prosperous business built on the violin as an objet d’art.

INTRODUCTION

The initial prosecution of Helen Clark, the wife of a fisherman from Newhaven, occurred during years of intense witch-hunting in Scotland. A witchcraft panic took place during 1643 and 1644, in which 162 women and eleven men were accused. Clark's prosecution stalled in 1643, but was resumed in 1645. Her case contains many details of neighbourhood interactions and problems in a fishing community.

The documents related to Clark's case come from the court of justiciary in Edinburgh. The first one is a pre-trial document produced in the locality. The other documents were produced centrally once a decision to hold a trial had been made – though, as we shall see, there is no evidence that the trial was pursued to a conclusion. The presentation of the documents below follows a chronological line. Some undated documents have been placed in their most likely order.

On 16 October 1643, Clark was brought before the burgh of Newhaven and the kirk session of North Leith, combined local secular and religious authorities, suspected of witchcraft. She was said to have consulted with a woman called ‘Elspeth the spae wife’ twenty years previously, who had since been convicted for witchcraft and burned. Various neighbours, male and female, also told stories of quarrels and misfortune. There had been at least three attempts at reconciliation rituals. One of these, involving an ‘enchanted mackerel’, had been successful at the time. Another reconciliation, involving the sickness of James Bissett, was supported by neighbours, who collected a financial ‘contributione’ for him and sent Clark herself to deliver it – though Bissett died in the end.

The portion of the manuscript (Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, MS Brogyntyn ii.1) that I discuss in this chapter, its first quire, differs from the rest of the codex in a number of important ways. With the exception of Scribe I's work at its very end, the quire's contents were contributed by a set of scribes absent from the rest of the manuscript, suggesting that it was produced outside the compiler's direct oversight and added as a distinct unit. This likelihood is supported by other codicological evidence. Quire 1 is the only quire in the manuscript originally comprised of ten folios, rather than eight, and it was written on larger sheets of parchment than its fellows; its margins are generally smaller or, in some cases, nonexistent, where trimming was necessary in order to make its dimensions match those of the rest of the codex. The quire also contains all of the manuscript's works that are wholly in Latin, and all of its tables and diagrams. Margaret Connolly observes that those particular textual and visual forms (including numerical tables, circular eclipse diagrams, and columnar explanatory rubrics) required scribes to write in a wider range of scripts than they might have otherwise, resulting in a visible diversity of handwriting that led Auvo Kurvinen, in 1953, to identify Quire 1 as the work of eight distinct scribes whose hands do not appear elsewhere in the miscellany. Connolly's reduction of those eight to only three (A, D, and H) still leaves us with a quire containing more variation in handwriting than other quires in the manuscript.