The ‘Collier Controversy’ has conventionally been defined as a pamphlet war between Collier and the defenders of the stage, especially playwrights. From 1698 to 1708, Collier initiated the controversy over the morality of the theatre with A Short View, engaged pro-stage writers with three Defences, and associated the great storm of November 1703 with his Dissuasive from the Play-House. These five pamphlets established Collier's reputation as the most prominent figure in this controversy. All participants, whether they agreed or disagreed with him, had to engage with his arguments. Rather than challenging the conventional definition as the initial step of this book, this chapter focuses on Collier's anti-stage pamphlets and seeks to understand what actually happened in this pamphlet war. I will first reflect on modern preconceptions about the interaction between Collier and the playwrights before reconsidering the nature of Collier's writing on the stage and, in the next three sections, discussing its structure and features.

Whose Stage Controversy?

The relationship between the Stage Controversy and its researchers deserves as much attention as the relationships among its participants. The history of the study of the Stage Controversy can be traced back to Dr Samuel Johnson (1709–84), whose description of the Stage Controversy – published in 1781 in the life of the playwright Congreve in the Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets – as a ‘long-continued controversy between Collier and the poets’ set the tone for the scholarship of the next two centuries.

1. Archiv der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Wien, Brahms- Nachlass, Briefe Sophie v. Sell an Johannes Brahms 314, 1.

Berlin, 5. Februar 1895

Hochverehrter Herr Doktor.

Bevor ich nach Schwerin zurückkehre, muß ich Ihnen als Vereinsvorstand das Diplom—wie bestellt “auf großem Bogen”—übersenden. Wenn Sie nur hätten sehen können, wie viel Freude es meiner Freundin und mir gemacht hat es anzufertigen! Und wie schön wird es sein, wenn wir unserm verehrten Fürsten Bismarck zum 80. Geburtstag gratulieren und auch den Zweigverein Wien mit aufführen können! Nehmen Sie noch herzlichen Gruß und Dank. Ich habe mir's stets gewünscht, Ihnen einmal persönlich danken zu dürfen für all’ die schönen Stunden, die mir ihre Musik bereitet hat und immer auf's Neue bereitet. Sei es, indem ich sie höre; sei es, indem ich mich selbst mit Ihren herrlichen Liedern beschäftige. Und neulich habe ich Ihnen von alledem kein Wort zu sagen vermocht! So geht es mir immer. Sie zeigten aber über den Bismarckverein ein so wunderbares Wissen,— vielleicht haben sie auch ein wenig von dem gemerkt, was ich auszusprechen nicht den Mut fand! Und seien Sie nicht böse, dass ich es schriftlich versuche. Ein Versuch bleibt es freilich. Vielleicht kann man nur Gott, der den Menschen die Macht gegeben Anderen so hohe Freuden zu bereiten, in rechter Weise für dieselben danken.

The island where the boat had run aground was only a short distance from the eastern shore of the lake, so that an hour later, when the storm died down, Egon was able to send a message to the old count. A twelve-year-old boy who knew the lake as well as his Our Father was ready to take the message, crossed the lake safely, and arrived at the castle at two in the morning. He found everyone still awake, and gave Count Adam a note that Egon had written. It read: “Saved. Franziska weak and exhausted. At daybreak we take the ferry to Szent Gorgey, and will expect a carriage there. Egon.”

After reading this, the count gave the note to Judith. She was in a state of extreme anxiety, and saw in all this nothing less than a miracle and an answer to prayer. She promised to make a benefaction to the church, while her brother gave the credit for the miraculous escape to the two boatmen, and resolved to make sure they profited by it.

“And,” he concluded, “now that we know that Egon and Franziska are safely resting, we should do the same. A bit of sleep is always a good thing; otherwise we won't have the strength to celebrate their rescue. For joy with weary eyes is only half a joy. And so, good night.”

The next morning, nothing stirred in the castle till fairly late, and it was long past ten o’clock when they finally gathered at breakfast; first there were warm greetings, then questions and a recounting of what had happened.

A Brief Historical Survey of the Violin and Its Principal Makers

The origin of the violin is shrouded in mystery. “When or where the fourstringed Violin, tuned in fifths, first appeared in Italy,” remarked George Hart in 1844, “is a question, the answer to which must ever remain buried in the past.” Matters have not improved much since Hart. A convincing account of the prehistory of the violin—that is, its process of development—has yet to be published. Although the violin has not ceased to grow in importance since it first surfaced in northern Italy almost five hundred years ago, most historical accounts of its beginnings are either baffling or entirely speculative.

The most obvious reason is that research has generally centered on surviving sixteenth-century instruments, but the few extant specimens from this period are likely to have undergone extensive alterations over the intervening centuries. Virtually all violin-family instruments have been modernized in response to changing musical demands, and a disturbing number of the examples on which theories of the evolution were based have turned out to be composites or fakes.

One thing is certain, we cannot rely on the term violino as a firm basis for locating the time and place of the violin's invention. David Boyden notes that where the violin is concerned, “terminology is a treacherous quicksand.” W. E. Hill & Sons realized this as early as 1892, having discovered that the term violino was already in use long before any evidence of the instrument's material existence.

Had Harry White not become such a gifted and pioneering musicologist, he might have been a skilled archaeologist, such is his talent for deep excavation and evaluation. These essays lay bare the manifold layers he has spent decades working through with adroitness and flair. Curiosity, provocativeness, imagination and literature are threaded through his intellectual journeys and probing of how the Irish experience has been imagined musically.

Three themes predominate here: musicology in Ireland, the relationship between music and literature, and the way Irish music has been received, transmitted and sometimes ignored. The book is a clarion call for a textured understanding of these strands. The difficulties of sustaining an interest in European art music in Ireland over the last century prompt much reflection on its ‘invisible and inaudible condition’. His explorations incorporate assessments of individual composers and their legacies, the role of gender and ‘the silent reception and subsequent recovery of Irish women composers’, and the literary imagination. His determination to revise and expand the framework of the cultural history of music in Ireland, or what he terms ‘the formative intimacies between music and letters in Irish cultural history’, is captured in his reflections on James Joyce's conflation of music and language. For Joyce, ‘music exerted a foundational claim’ on his imagination, amounting on occasion, as seen in Ulysses, to a ‘mesmeric enchantment’.

Introduction

This book explores the agency of those residing in South African townships within the context of the country's failing attempt at social and economic transformation. This transformation was to replace apartheid with democracy, social justice, and a human-rights infused rule of law. The country's constitution, the supreme law of the land, was to, inter alia, “Improve the quality of life of all citizens and free the potential of each person …”. These hopes are fast fading.

Agency creates social order as much as social order determines agency. A key argument developed in this book is that two forms of order exist in contemporary South Africa. With township and suburb juxtaposed, the argument is that the law operating in each are different: the lex lokasi in the township and the lex constitutional in the suburb. In theory, the lex constitutional, the constitutionally defined legal system, is the law of the land and therefore of both suburb and township. The analytical point of departure is to challenge this assertion by contrasting the de facto social orders of township and suburb and behaviour within them.

Shortly, I describe the socio-geographic binary of township and suburb and their respective socio-legal orders: the lex lokasi and lex constitutional. This is a bold contrast. South Africa's actual social geography is far more complex than this binary division allows. Even if we accept this two-fold division as usefully illustrating a divided country, aligning divisions of race and class, we must account for how, within the country, the line of division is shifting.

South Korean German woman film director Cho Sung-hyung's documentary Endstation der Sehnsüchte (Last Station of Desire, released in English as Home from Home, in Korean as 그리움의 종착역 or 독일 마 을, 2009) opens with black-and-white archival footage documenting a historical moment at Frankfurt Airport in the early 1960s. A group of South Korean women, all dressed in traditional gowns (hanbok), disembark from an airplane, smiling and waving to onlookers below. The camera captures—through close-ups of the women's beaming faces—their excitement and pride in being part of a privileged group able to travel and work internationally at a time when few South Koreans could. As we soon learn from the intertitles, between 1963 and 1976, approximately ten thousand women from South Korea (Republic of Korea, ROK) worked as nurses in West Germany (Federal Republic of Germany, FRG) through a Gastarbeiter (guest worker) program.

This opening sequence of Endstation der Sehnsüchte shows the intertwined history of West Germany and South Korea, which is also embedded in individual memories. Born in Busan in 1966, director Cho Sung-hyung briefly visited West Germany as a child when her mother worked there as a nurse. Cho later returned to Seoul and earned her Bachelor's degree from Yonsei University. After pursuing graduate education in art history, media studies, and philosophy from the University of Marburg in the early 1990s, she settled permanently in reunified Germany and became a naturalized German citizen in 2015.

Sir Thomas Smith, in this late sixteenth-century quotation, revealed what he considered the household to be based on. The central figures were a husband, his wife, and their children; they were joined by several others, including animals, possessions and servants, all of them under a single roof. Smith's definition provides a helpful portrait of the premodern household, although there was a great deal of variety as might be expected. While elite households were also focused on similar figures, they were often much larger than the average household. Royal households in particular could be quite fluid and typically included a wide variety of persons who were related to or served the head of the household. For this study's purposes, I regard the queen's household as having encompassed all who served the queen in relation to her domestic needs whether they physically resided under the same roof as she did or permanently lived elsewhere. It also included those of the queen's immediate family and relations who lived at least semi-permanently in her household and were supported financially by her. The heir to the throne typically had his own household, as in the cases of Margaret and Henry's son, Edward, Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville's heir, the future Edward V, and Arthur, the son of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York. Royal children other than the heir could reside in the queen's household, as did Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville's daughters, Elizabeth and Mary, for whose upkeep the queen received an additional grant of £400 a year.

At the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, Thomas Mann (1875–1955) was the most famous living German author, having been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1929, largely on the strength of his novels Buddenbrooks (1901) and to a lesser degree The Magic Mountain (1924). Long before 1939, Mann's political views had changed sharply. During the First World War, he defended the German monarchy and rejected democracy, arguing that it was a form of government unsuited to the pursuit of “Kultur”—culture with a capital C. He poured all his fiercely anti-Western views and biases into a massive essay of 600 pages, tellingly titled Reflections of a Nonpolitical Man (1918). After Germany's defeat and the creation of a democratic republic in 1919, Mann came to embrace the political culture of the West and to support the fledgling Weimar Republic when parties on both the left and right of the political spectrum rejected and tried to undermine democratic rule. He voiced his new-found political beliefs in his essay “On the German Republic” (1922). With the rise of Adolf Hitler (1889–1945) to power in 1933, Thomas Mann and his family went into exile, first in Switzerland, and from 1938 in the United States. By that time, he had become an ever-more-vocal critic of National Socialism. Beginning in October 1940, one year after the outbreak of the war, and continuing beyond Germany's capitulation in May 1945 until December of that year, Mann wrote and delivered a series of monthly radio addresses to the German people that were broadcast to Germany and German-occupied Europe by the British Broadcasting Corporation.

This chapter and the following explore aspects of the making of the Anglo- Saxon Chronicle common stock, that is those annals substantially shared by all versions up to c.892. Many elements of the earliest stage of the writing and compilation of the annals remain obscure. The authors and their location(s) are unknown, and their sources only partially defined. The common stock ends c.892 and probably entered into circulation at about this time or soon after. These vernacular annals align in various ways with the Alfredian cultural and political project of the 880s and 890s, and some annals of these decades suggest court connections. Plummer believed in King Alfred's hands-on involvement in the creation of the Chronicle: ‘the idea was carried out under his direction and supervision, this I do most firmly believe’. There is, however, no evidence for Alfred's direct or even indirect involvement. Plummer's belief was challenged by Sir Frank Stenton, and most critics now employ caution concerning the connection between Alfred and the making of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. The creators of the common stock annals were as much compilers as they were authors, drawing on a range of sources for historically remote events, as well as authoring new annals for more recent times. This chapter surveys the evidence available from the Chronicle itself for the common stock annals’ authorship, the sources used and the decision to shape the Chronicle as a continuously numbered sequence or years from AD 1.

Introduction: the transformer on Phiri Street

When thick black smoke billowed out from the electricity sub-station in Phiri Street every house was plunged into darkness. It was early evening in a July cold snap with temperatures set to dip below zero. Victor called a meeting. Standing in the street, the residents didn't need to discuss what had happened; too many houses and backyard tenants cooking and heating had overloaded the transformer. They quickly concluded that somebody needed to phone Eskom, the national generator and supplier of electricity. The next step was more difficult. Who was going to make the call? Those at the meeting melted away. Whoever rang would be asked their meter number. Their purchase of pre-paid electricity would be checked. This complication capsized the meeting. People went home to cold rooms and mute televisions. Victor couldn't ring, being in the same situation as those who had melted away. But not a man to give up he found a neighbour who had a legit receipt. He gave the call centre operator his neighbour's meter number the following morning. The operator came back with the observation that he was a “low payer.” The neighbour, it seemed, only bought the occasional coupon. Eskom would not dispatch anyone.

Fortunately, somebody knew somebody who worked for Eskom. Victor organised a collection and an Eskom team came out to replace the transformer. The electricians told those who stood around watching what everybody knew; the transformer was being overloaded.