The Introduction mentioned that the Greek categories of god, hero, and human do not map exactly onto Old Norse categories. Scandinavian sources, as they are known today, do not prominently feature an intermediate group between humans and gods comparable to that of the Greek heroes. Scholarly writings on Old Norse literature in English frequently employ the term ‘hero’ to refer to (male) characters such as Helgi Hundingsbani, Sigurðr Fáfnisbani, Gunnarr and Hǫgni, Hamðir and Sǫrli, or the other memorable personalities of Old Norse (heroic) poetry and related texts. The term hero is also used more broadly to refer to protagonists of narratives. These characters are often largerthan- life, and the divine or numinous, mostly in the form of Óðinn or Valkyries, may irrupt into their lives at crucial points in their careers, but they are still firmly rooted in the human experience. The Greek heroes, on the other hand, are usually semidivine beings who are venerated after their deaths. While the Greek heroes fight monsters and various other supernatural creatures, the heroes of Norse heroic poetry chiefly confront human opponents. The obvious exception is Sigurðr Fáfnisbani, whose epithet refers to the dragon Fáfnir he killed in his youth. The Norse tales of these heroes, the heroic Eddic poems in particular, are also overwhelmingly tragic in tone and emphasize the disastrous events resulting from uncontrollable surges of emotions such as anger and pride. The certain outcome of this heroic emotional exuberance is death, and while the fame or orðstírr of the heroes does live on after their demise, temples are not erected in their honor, and they are paid no worship as they are unable to influence human affairs after their deaths.

THESE ARE DANGEROUS ideas, and not always in a good way. Karol Berger sees them pointing towards a terrifying post-political future, arguing that “[i]t is the central paradox of Götterdämmerung, and hence of the Ring, that it demonstrates the hopelessly utopian nature of the anarchist ideal that it promotes.” He assumes the primacy of “naturally isolated and egoistic individuals” and insists that Wagner's ideal is a community of sovereign individuals “held together by spontaneous sympathy, without any … mediation” provided by a social contract or law. This, like Marx's early communism, must entail despotism: “the abolishing of legal limits on individual freedom cannot but lead to the domination of the strong over the weak.”

Berger takes it for granted that we are “naturally isolated and egoistic individuals,” and he dismisses the possibility that this construction of experience could be a “contingent product of recent historical development.” From a global perspective, however, that is exactly what it is, and it is what Fichte, especially, had sought to deconstruct. To take it as something selfevidently true, as Berger does, is to limit the range of thinkable social and political possibilities, and that is a genuine problem. Whatever the merits of his solutions, if he is really proposing any, Wagner's philosophy and drama raise issues which cannot be so easily dismissed.

Theory aside, the man who created the character of Alberich knew how easily the unfettered will of the strong could overpower the needs of the weak.

The situation that the Isle of Man was in from 1736 to 1830 was one of great enterprise and repercussion. The story is one of considerable intrigue, and its threads are linked with money and power. Both these factors dominated the situation and feature as continuing themes throughout the period.

For many years the Island had been in a unique position, ideally situated in all respects to provide an opportunity for making a profit through smuggling at the expense of its neighbouring countries. Its physical position gave easy access to Britain and Ireland, and its political status allowed the lords of Man and Tynwald to set laws without any interference by Britain. The financial losses to Britain as a direct result of smuggling were extensive, so it was inevitable that it would eventually do something to protect its own revenue. The lengthy spell of questionable Manx maritime trading was radically placed in check through the Revestment and Mischief Acts of 1765. As a result of these acts, the regalities and customs rights of the lords of Man ended, and the sovereignty of the Island was revested solely in the British Crown. The Crown consequently appropriated the Manx customs revenue which was then used to help offset its costs in regaining the sovereign rights and to secure a continuing incomeproducing asset for the British exchequer, little of which was intended ever to come back to the Island. John Murray, the determined fourth duke of Atholl, was resolute in his fight to gain more and more compensation for his family's losses as a consequence of revestment. Before and after his appointment as governor-in-chief and captain general in 1793 his relationships with many of the self-elected members of the House of Keys and a large number of officials were at times unhappy ones.

British Library Add MS 12488

Volume II of A Journal Kept during a Tour in England, France and Italy, in Danish, commencing 21 July 1669 at Dover

[2r] Anno 1669 The 21st July. Dover is the key to England on this side, even more so, if the harbour were better. There, ships of 500 tonnes may enter. The magazine lies in the middle of the town with water all around it. The harbour was brought into the state it now is, by King Henry IV of England, and then by Queen Elizabeth. There lies a castle on a hill, and across on another hill a Pharos or lighthouse was standing for those at sea.

Travelled by horse on the road to London, with a part of the suite: Moth remained behind with the rest of the suite and the luggage, to follow on by wagon.

On the way, at Canterbury, visited the great cathedral, is very extensive in [terms of its] length, but not in its breadth nor height. It is divided into 3 parts. The first is the lower part, without any ornament, outside there is a baptistery on the left hand side [2v] between two pillars. The other part is raised, in which there is to be found a separate choir, where Service of le College de la SS Trinite is held three times a day, with singing and reading from the Bible. The tombs of the old Archbishops etc are placed at intervals also around this part. The third part is higher still, there, the royal tombs are situated. Viewed the sepulchre of Henry IV, of Prince Edward, the son of Edward III. Examined also the sepulchre of Cardinal Polus etc. Is notable that beside all of the bishops’ tombs there is an official notice with a description of their lives. Prince Edward lies above his tomb in copper, in armour.

Any material book is a thing written and a thing made. The argument of The Making and Meaning of a Medieval Manuscript has proceeded, throughout, from an examination of making to an examination of writing in critical analysis of the medieval book. In Chapter 1, I described my procedure in its material aspect as analytical codicology and in its critical aspect as recomposition. These two terms, analytical codicology and recomposition, form two sides of the same methodological coin. Analytical codicology describes processes of observation and inquiry necessary to answer the ostensibly straightforward book-historical question: “How did this book come to be?” Recomposition describes processes of analysis and interpretation necessary to answer a separate hermeneutic question: “How does this book come to mean?” Between these two terms lies the simple fact that material composition and lexical composition are non-identical, and so, in turn, that any recovery of meaning from a manufactured book, and not solely some authorial or scribal text, depends upon the close examination of non-identical forms of evidence. When we ask, “how do you read a medieval book?” the answer must account for material things and material words together, in inextricable relation to one another, without collapsing the features of codices and the features of texts into a single indistinct evidentiary category. The fundamental contribution of The Making and Meaning of a Medieval Manuscript to literary study is a flexible method for moving between categorically distinct types of evidence in consideration of the significance of manuscript books.