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.

This volume focuses on American popular culture’s historical and cultural power as a transformative agent shaping national and world histories, values, and societies. Popular culture is broadly construed herein as “commercialized leisure,” a definition derived from social theories about work/leisure and the nature of industrialized societies. Not to be confused with folklore, it makes several supportive assumptions: popular culture is driven by mechanization, it defines audiences as consumers, it is a conduit for group identities, it is transnational, and it is always actively interpreted by its varied audiences. American popular culture is dependent on technological developments, from the 1820s print revolution to the 1869 completion of the transcontinental railroad to the domination of mass-media technologies ending with the rise of the Internet. The book is organized into three sections: nineteenth century, twentieth and twenty-first centuries, and case studies where popular culture has been weaponized for sociopolitical domination or resistance.

This chapter interrogates two misconceptions about Ngũgĩs early life and shows how his early years informed Ngũgĩ’s early writing. Ngũgĩ’s parents were not ahoi (tenants-at-will), as he once claimed. Drawing upon his recent memoirs and the ‘autobiographical moments’ in his later essay collections, I foreground Ngũgĩs birth ‘in a large peasant family’ and parse their diminishing property rights, from peasants with reasonably large land-holding to land-poor peasants who hired out their labour. I parse the family dynamics that inform Ngũgĩ’s investment in equity and communitarian values, and his emerging interest in oral storytelling and performance, coupled with a motivation to escape the trap of poverty through Western education. While Kamĩrĩĩthũ defined much of Ngũgĩ’s later work, it was not his birthplace. The dislocation to Kamĩrĩĩthũ during the Emergency (1955–9) anchored him in the primal scene of postcolonial Gĩkũyũ identity, but also nurtured an interest in theatre as a tool for community-building and carceral institutions more generally. Both the colonial school and the Emergency village became major settings for his early works. Ironically the recursive image of the train station at Limuru in A Grain of Wheat occurred to Ngũgĩ while on a train ride from Leeds to Scotland, uniting two planes of coloniality.

This chapter discusses a number of generalizations of the Bernoulli random graph. The first is to Erdős–Rényi mixture models, in which each vertex belongs to one of a small number of distinct types, and the probability of an edge between two vertices being present depends on the types of the two vertices. Much as for the Bernoulli random graph, the neighbourhood structure is approximated by a multitype branching process. A threshold theorem for the existence of a giant component is derived, and the asymptotic proportions of the vertices in the giant component that belong to the different types is determined. Finally, the distribution of the length of the shortest path between two vertices of given types is approximated. The properties of some special network models of this kind, vertex weighted random graphs and bipartite networks, are examined. Another set of models considered is that of directed Bernoulli random graphs, in which there may be edges in either (or both) directions between any pair of vertices. Finally, Poissonized Erdős–Rényi mixture models for multigraphs are introduced, in which edges may be present between any pair of vertices, and the number of such edges has a Poisson distribution, with mean depending on the types of the vertices, the numbers being chosen independently. The extent to which these models differ from the standard Erdős–Rényi mixture models in the sparse regime is discussed.

This chapter considers reprints as new editions and insists that they offer the clearest indication of an author or play’s popularity. I explore the accessibility of Shakespeare’s plays between 1660 and the turn of the century, place quarto playbook publication in the context of late seventeenth-century politics, and highlight how traditional periodization, folio-centric scholarship and attitudes toward abbreviated and altered playtexts have distorted our view of the print history of Renaissance drama. I argue that Shakespeare’s unaltered plays were not recognised as marketable print commodities until c. 1681, a development reflected in publishers’ willingness in the 1680s and 1690s to not just publish his plays but also risk facing the consequences associated with pirate printing ventures. The chapter intervenes in long-standing debates about the causes and measurability of Shakespeare’s popularity and his relationship to authorship, genre, and the canon in the late seventeenth-century book trade.

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).

This chapter considers settings in which networks are used in statistical inference. First, there is often dependence between measurements taken at vertices of a network, with vertices at small graph distance more highly dependent. Methods for accommodating such dependence, including network effects and network disturbance models, are discussed. In such cases, the network is treated as a nuisance parameter. In contrast, the network itself may be the object of primary interest. Fitting a model to the network may make possible inference, for instance about the presence or absence of a particular edge, or of characteristics of vertices; this is valuable if knowledge of the network is not perfect. If more than one network is available, it may also be possible to compare the properties of different, but related networks, using the fitted models, and to use the comparisons to uncover scientifically interesting features. It can also be of interest to find ways of comparing whole networks with one another, when they may have very different vertex sets, but are conjectured to be related; methods discussed include the graphlet correlation distance, Netdis and NetEMD. For instance, the similarities between the protein–protein interaction networks of different species can be used as a basis for constructing phylogenies.

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