A wealth of primary sources documents Vasari’s meticulous planning for his posthumous commemoration, his death, and his heirs’ execution of his final wishes. This final chapter explores Vasari’s death and the fate of his earthly remains, as well as the unique place his high altar for the Pieve occupies within the tradition of funerary monuments and chapels made by and for early modern Italian artists and architects. As the largest and principal altar of one of Arezzo’s most prestigious churches and the site of Vasari’s burial, it is nothing less than the most personal work of his long and prolific artistic career. Its alienation in the nineteenth century from the church for which it was made and nearly all of the other works with which Vasari intended it to be seen, however, has long obscured its significance.

Between the years 1450 and 1509, England endured a tremendous amount of upheaval and unrest springing from the civil wars we know today as the Wars of the Roses. The feuds, revolts and other related violence that occurred during this conflict resulted in a startlingly large number of monarchic changes. In this relatively short amount of time, there were five different kings of England – Henry VI (r.1422–61, 1470–71), Edward IV (r.1461–83), Edward V (r.1483), Richard III (r.1483–85) and Henry VII (r.1485–1509). Except for the twelve-year-old Edward V, each of these kings was married. Consequently, there were four different queens consort – Margaret of Anjou (c.1430–82; r.1445–61, 1470–71), Elizabeth Woodville (c.1437–92; r.1464–83), Anne Neville (c.1456–85; r.1483–85), and Elizabeth of York (c.1466–1503; r.1486–1503). In a father–son monarchic changeover, the queen consort's successor would typically have been her daughter-in-law, the wife of the new king. None of these queens was related to each other in this manner.

Margaret of Anjou, a niece of the French king, Charles VII (r.1422–61), was married to the Lancastrian king of England, Henry VI, in 1445 as part of diplomatic efforts by England to resolve the long-standing war with France. Henry, however, lost the throne to the Yorkists in battle in 1461. Although he regained his crown (and Margaret her title as queen consort) in October 1470 with the help of Richard Neville, earl of Warwick – who had famously changed sides from the Yorkists to the Lancastrians – he lost it again after only six months. This short period is known as Henry VI's Readeption.

From the beginning of the patristic project to the end, William Dyngley was in control of his manuscripts. He acquired exemplars, hired the scribes, paid for parchment and decoration, and provided the guard pages. Dyngley's first patristic manuscript, MS 169, was a training ground for the skills he used to create his own patristic library. As we saw in Chapter Three, Dyngley did not just copy Tabula super custodiarum and Registrum Anglie: he shortened incipits, deleted words he deemed unnecessary, and rearranged material. As the Rouses demonstrated, his was a ‘deliberate policy of alteration’. He similarly reconstructed Robert Kilwardby's tabulae, alphabetising, deleting and rearranging details for thirty-five individual works by Augustine (Table 3.2). He also created his own tabulae for Augustine's letters (MS 88) and three opuscula in his patristic anthology (MS 203). For the patristic anthology he also indexed the entire volume.

Early in 1523, around March, Las Casas was formally initiated as a Dominican novitiate in Santo Domingo. These vows constituted a radical change of direction for the worldly “protector” of the Indians. He accepted the discipline of the order that “is a trial period of his new vocation. It is an apprenticeship in the obedient life, renouncing one's own will, with little communication with the outside world from inside the cell of the Dominican monastery.”

A test to this commitment soon appeared in the form of letters from Cardinal Adrian and some of the Flemish gentlemen at the court. They wanted Las Casas to return to the court where he had found so much favor.

We don't know who opened the letters. Las Casas himself says that “the Dominicans in the monastery [he was still in Santo Domingo] did not wish to show him the letters so as not to disturb him.” One of his biographers, Huerga, wrote that “at the least they told him what was in the letters.” But, for the time being, Las Casas renounced the world and went into a metaphorical “sleep,” as he himself described it.

But “sleep” to one man is quite different to another. From 1523 to about 1526 he devoted himself to the discipline demanded by his Dominican brothers in Santo Domingo – study and prayer. Indeed, much of Las Casas's erudition displayed in the next forty years originated during these years as he dug into the books of the great church fathers, read the ancient pagan philosophers, and immersed himself in Scripture. He may have been quiet and superficially contemplative, but his voracious appetite for knowledge and wisdom drove him on.

The pseudonym ‘Calixtus’ appears throughout the Codex Calixtinus, although he is not the only author mentioned in the manuscript. The liturgical section features the “prescription of Pope Calixtus on the matins of Santiago”. He is also the named author of elements in the second book that recounts the miracles of St James, and again as the author of a prologue to the first account of the translation of St James. The opening of the Pilgrim's Guide is presented as the argumentum of Pope Calixtus. Even Book 4, the Pseudo-Turpin, assigns its last chapters to ‘Pope Calixtus’, after the death of ‘Turpin’. At the end of the manuscript a false bull of Innocent II reiterates the fiction. The author portrait on fol. 1r of the Codex Calixtinus shows ‘Calixtus’ seated on an arcaded stool and writing his name on the recto of an open codex (see Figure 1). The decision to set the figure within the bowl of a dragon initial ‘C’, with one dragon head hovering above his head and a second under his feet, may also signal the satiric nature of this pseudonym.

Berlioz's general unwillingness to accept the status quo in any field is manifest in this review, emphasising the useful improvements orchestral instrument makers were introducing to their products. While we today may marvel at the expertise he displayed in his Grand Traité d’instrumentation et d’orchestration modernes (1843), his surprise was that so many composers should be so ignorant of the tools of their trade.

Among instruments of the orchestra, the only ones to have called for and received technical improvements recently are the woodwind. The flute, the clarinet, and especially the bassoon had long suffered from serious faults of intonation and tone which the skill of virtuosos had only managed to disguise up to a point. Boehm's invention for the flute, consisting of a new way of boring the holes for the player's fingers but which unfortunately alters the conventional fingering, has led to important improvements for bassoons and clarinets. We’ve already had an opportunity to mention this excellent development, thanks to which these instruments, whose sound was the most unsatisfactory, will soon boast one that's perfectly in tune and absolutely equal through all registers. As for the violins and lower strings, there's nothing left to say: you don't find Stradivariuses round every corner. Only the piano continues to make progress, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another. Érard has got them to produce a volume of sound which means that, at least in Liszt's hands, they can compete with a standard orchestra. Pape has produced them in various shapes to suit amateur tastes, so that this instrument, which is growing in popularity the world over, from London and Paris as far as the Philippines and the Indies, can cater simultaneously both to every musical need and to the dictates of fashion and luxury.

The editor of the RGM wrote the following preface to Berlioz's text: ‘Since the excellent Philharmonic Society are to perform extracts from Gluck's Alceste next Tuesday, we think we shall be doing a real service to our readers to quote the fine pages written by Berlioz on these same extracts’. The ‘extracts’ are actually continuous from act 1, scene 3 to the end of the act in the French version of the opera (1776), and not much changed, bar the language, from the Italian original of 1767. The text translated below quotes two passages from reviews previously published in 1835 (they appear in quotation marks in the article). Since Gluck's operas constitute such an idée fixe in Berlioz's writings, it's only right that these final words should celebrate Alceste.

The third scene opens in Apollo's temple. Enter the high priest, the priest who will conduct the sacrifice together with the censors and other necessary instruments, and finally Alceste leading her children, the courtiers and members of the public. Here Gluck applies an extreme of local colour; it's ancient Greece he reveals to us in all its majestic, beautiful simplicity. Listen to the instrumental movement (aria di pantomimo) to which the cortege enters; listen to this gentle, veiled, calm, resigned melody, this pure harmony, this almost inaudible rhythm of the contrabasses, whose undulating patterns steal beneath the orchestra like the priestesses’ feet beneath their white tunics; lend your ear to the strange timbre of low flutes, to the intertwining of the two violin lines sharing the melody, and say whether there's any music more beautiful, in the ancient sense of the word, than this religious march.

Papal delegation functioned as the override mechanism of the visitation system. In each of the three documents examined in the chapter, the papacy intervenes in place of the routine system of visitation: in the first case, that of the Franciscan order; in the second, that of the Cistercians; and in the third, that of exempt religious houses of any order. Even exempt houses had been integrated into a system of inspection by the 1215 Lateran council, and the Cistercians and Franciscans, not to mention the Dominicans, long regarded as a model of rational organization, possessed highly developed systems of their own. Yet even the most rational systems break down. The documents show these mechanisms being overridden, following such breakdowns, by papal delegation. They serve as a synecdoche – part for whole – of the later medieval and post-medieval Latin church, in that papal delegation supplemented formal structures that at times failed to manage the complexity of life on the ground.

Soon after this, her toilette was complete, and while Hannah busied herself with other tasks in the room, Franziska took a random book from the shelf and sat down in the window recess to read. But she was distracted, and her mind was elsewhere, and so she put the book aside again and said:

“It's no use, Hannah. I’d rather take a look at something—the park or the garden. Tell me, what's the large room next to us for? Right now, probably to its surprise, it just seems like an antechamber to my room.”

“That's the dining room from the days of the Turks or Prince Eugene, when they’d just completed the new part of the castle. Toldy even showed me the very spot where Prince Eugene himself sat.”

“Oh, now, that's interesting. Prince Eugene! Come along, I want to see it. You have to take me through the whole castle and tell me everything you know. Then I’ll have something to talk about, when I make conversation with the count. He's fond of that. So far, I only know my own three rooms.”

As she was saying this, Franziska, followed by Hannah, had gone into the grand hall. It ran through the entire depth of the castle building; thus it had two balconies, one with a view of the lake and the distant countryside beyond, and another which had to content itself with overlooking the castle courtyard. Tall glass doors led to each balcony.

There are many topics that are not covered in the book. First, networks may be weighted, directed or signed. Then networks may exhibit structures other than those considered in the book, such as hierarchical structures, or have edges of different types, and collections of networks may arise as snapshots of a network process evolving in time. Each of these settings requires different methods of analysis. Then relationships may be expressed in more intricate ways; `edges’ may link more than just two objects, as in a hypergraph, and abstract simplicial complexes can be thought of as higher dimensional analogues of geometric graphs. These, and other topics, are sketched in this chapter. The material in this book forms a general basis that can be used in coming to grips with these more advanced settings.

Since the day of their arrival, some time had passed—more than three weeks—and Egon had long since returned from the great hunt at Pejevics's estate. It was now mid-October, and there was already talk of departing for the season; however, the splendid weather, as if to compensate for the earlier rain, meant that the date kept being postponed. And the talk of moving on was much less serious than it appeared, at least on the part of Egon, who never wearied of declaring “life inside an ellipse, or, what comes to the same thing, life with two centers—two aunts,” to be a new and highest form of existence.

Indeed, he was now on teasing terms with Franziska and assured her that, from the very first moment, she had disappointed him in her new quality of “Magyar.” It had started right away, at the boat. He had expected to see her on a thoroughbred, in equestrian clothes, with a flowing veil and an English riding crop; instead she had arrived escorted in a carriage, just like little Protestant countesses being driven into town for Sunday school or a children's ball. Yes, that was the start, and what he had experienced since had only increased his surprise and consternation; more and more, he had been forced to acknowledge how wrong a path she had chosen.

This chapter continues the discussion of how English came to function as the language of African self-expression in the twentieth century and was ultimately liberated from its colonial legacies. The chapter starts by exploring the so-called language question, a long-running debate on the status and function of the English language in the making of African letters, which has perhaps been the most divisive issue among African writers in the second half of the twentieth century. The debate was not simply a feud on language use but the expression of a deep anxiety about what it has meant to produce a literature of decolonization in the language of the former colonizer. The second part of the chapter provides an account of the evolution and transformation of English in Africa among different social groups including the slave traders of Calabar, Creole elites in West Africa, and the elites produced by the colonial schools and university colleges that produced the first generation of African writers.

Matthias (Hun: Mátyás) Hunyadi (r.1458–90) was elected king of Hungary in January 1458. The first ruler of Hungary to have come from a non-royal family, his accession to the throne of St István (St Stephen) was due to the European reputation of his father, János Hunyadi (d.1456), as a champion of the war against the Ottomans, his popularity amongst the nobility, and the support of the papacy which hoped that the son of the great Hunyadi would continue the fight against the infidel. Matthias was fifteen years old when the diet (congregatio generalis) at Pest elected him king. At that time, he was not residing in his new kingdom: he had been taken as a hostage to Vienna by King Ladislaus V (r.1440–57) in June 1457, whence he was escorted to Prague in November that same year. It was Ladislaus V himself who ordered Matthias to be taken to the Czech capital; he wanted to marry the young Hunyadi to the daughter of Jíří z Poděbrad (George of Poděbrady), former governor of Bohemia. Within days, the seventeen-year-old Ladislaus V was dead. Matthias Hunyadi left Prague at the beginning of February 1458 as the elected king of Hungary, followed later by his new bride, Kateřina z Poděbrad. In March, her father was elected king of Bohemia and soon he was crowned by two Hungarian prelates delegated by Matthias. Everything seemed to presage that the two ‘national’ kings, Jíří of Bohemia and his son-in-law, Matthias of Hungary, would co-operate harmoniously, assisting each other in the consolidation of their newly won royal authority.