IN MY FIRST BOOK I was primarily interested in what A. Leslie Willson called the “mythical image” of India in German Romantic thought. In the absence of material German interests in the region, how can we account for Romantic orientalist enthusiasm in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries? In that study, I came to the conclusion that their construction of the “mythical image” was part of the process of the Romantics’ construction of a mythical image of Germany. As India had once been the fountainhead of religious, philosophical, and literary traditions that flowered throughout the ancient world, so too would Germany become “the Orient of Europe”—the birthplace of a spiritual revolution that would usher in a new Golden Age.

The most persistent adversary of the Romantic mythical images of both India and Germany was G. W. F. Hegel, and one chapter in that study focuses on the place of India in Hegel's lectures on the philosophy of history, history of philosophy, and philosophy of religion. I was especially struck, as one cannot fail to be, by Hegel's description of the mysterious kind of beauty that “one” finds in the Orient. It is strange and otherworldly, and its seductive allure possesses the power to “dissolve” (auflösen) oppositional subjectivity into the flaccidity of a mere “state of emotion.” This beauty is a trap, and only a critical analytical consciousness can see beneath the lovely appearance of this “beauty of enervation” to recognize it for what it is—“the death of free self-reliant Spirit.”

What I could not quite account for at that time was the anxiety that is evident in this passage, as elsewhere in Hegel's writings on India. One possible source of Hegel's discomfort with Indian thought, which Bradley Herling has incisively shown, is its similarity to his own philosophical project. Hegel's narrative of the “Self” that comes to know itself in and through the absolute has striking similarities to Upanishadic Vedantism and Krishna's teaching regarding the relationship between Śankhya and Yoga and the nature of duty in the Bhagavad Gita. Hegel's antipathy toward these schools of Indian thought might very well have been due to the uncomfortable affinities he found between them—and the post- Kantian philosophical and literary projects of the Romantics—and his own efforts at systematic philosophy.

Almost from the moment that William of Orange landed on the Devon coast on 5 November 1688, Jacobitism – support for James ii&vii and his immediate heirs – captured the imagination of Britons including those located both within and beyond the shores of the British archipelago. Preachers in London and Boston condemned rebels or defended hereditary right while newspapers and pamphlets circulating throughout the English-speaking world kept nervous readers apprised of events. The flight of James ii&vii to France and the subsequent coronation of William and Mary created within the various political entities previously ruled by the Stuarts fault lines between Jacobites and their opponents that were to last for well over half a century. From 1688 to 1746 Jacobites sought to restore the Stuart dynasty through various means, including civil wars in Scotland and Ireland, conspiracies and rebellions in 1708, 1715, 1719 and 1745. Yet it is often forgotten that in the early eighteenth century residents in what were then the English (and later British) colonies on the east coast of North America were also primarily Britons. Thus, these events were profoundly important to those living in remote areas across the Atlantic. Nor was it interest alone that was geographically unconstrained. Political and religious divisions were replicated across the British Atlantic world, so much so that one contemporary considered them to be ‘an echo to that on the other side’.

The argument of this book is two-fold. First, that Jacobitism and anti- Jacobitism were integral facets of the cultural totality of Britain's Atlantic empire in the early eighteenth century and, as such, were significant elements in transatlantic political culture, religious controversies and the public sphere in the British Atlantic world from 1689 to 1727, that is from the accession of William and Mary to the demise of the first Hanoverian, George i. Second, that Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism played an important role in the anglicisation of the British Atlantic. In so doing, it illustrates a dynamic transatlantic political culture and sheds light on how Britain's budding empire came to encompass a cohesive and anglicised, yet still heterogeneous, transatlantic political and religious culture. This book is therefore a study of anglicisation writ large.

In my habilitation thesis (Waxenberger 2010) I considered, amongst other things, the earliest runic inscriptions in England, from the period c. ad 400–650. By comparing them to the later inscriptions I found that the English runic corpus can be divided into two sub-corpora: a small Pre-Old English (Pre-OE) corpus (Fig. 6.1) and a larger Old English (OE) one (Fig. 6.2).

At the inception of runic writing in England, the Pre-OE inscriptions were written in the pre-fuþorc, which was based closely on the original Common Germanic (CGmc) fuþark (= ‘older fuþark’) of 24 characters with some enlargement and modifications (which are discussed in the course of this paper) during the period c. ad 400–610/650; that is, down to the time of the Caistor-by-Norwich brooch (c. ad 610–50). This inscription is of the utmost importance because it shows the new runes with their new phonemic sound-values for the first time. I regard the period of c. ad 610/650 as the beginning of Old English because all the relevant sound-changes were completed by then (Waxenberger, forthcoming, ch. 3). It is crucial to note that the Pre-OE inscriptions reflect early sound-changes that had otherwise only been reconstructed on linguistic principles in handbooks that did not take runic inscriptions into account.

Since the academic discussion on the question of whether or not there was ever an ‘Anglo-Frisian unity’ has been rekindled (see Nielsen 1994 for an overview), it seemed methodologically justified to build on the findings for the Pre-OE corpus and see to what extent the Frisian corpus shows congruence with it. Therefore I use the soundchanges of Pre-OE as a framework and examine how the Frisian runes and the soundvalues they represent fit into that frame. I also look at some of the rune-forms in order to shed more light on the characteristics of the Frisian corpus. It is stressed that this is work in progress. The difficulties of such an undertaking need to be made clear from the outset.

The periodization of Old Frisian compared to Old English

Compared to other Germanic languages such as English and German, the attestation of a historical stage of Frisian is relatively late.

The story of Frisia and the Frisians is one of a changing landscape, people, identity and name, as well as one of constant connections across the North Sea. For an understanding of the pre- and proto-historical Frisians and their archaeological traces, we first consider the changing landscape that they inhabited. We then look into the historical and archaeological sources that can tell us something about them, before turning to their connections across the North Sea.

The Frisian landscape and its use

In the course of recent millennia, the geomorphology of the Netherlands has seen major changes. An insight into the contemporary landscapes is indispensable to understanding the physical environment of the peoples who at different times considered themselves to be Frisians, or were so labelled by others, and what opportunities it offered. This was understood as early as the 16th century, when maps were drawn showing the Low Countries as they were believed to have been in the Roman Period. In recent decades an important research tradition has arisen in the Netherlands of compiling palaeogeographical maps, representing past landscapes on the basis of all available geological, paedological, archaeological and historical evidence. Such maps by definition are continually ‘work in progress’. Every new excavation revealing archaeological or geological evidence, as well as detailed studies of archaeological or historical data, prompts adjustments to them. But, broadly speaking, the current maps are well substantiated (Vos 2015).

Geographically, the coastal zone of historical Frisia in the Netherlands can be divided into two different parts: the Holland coast in the west, and the northern Netherlands (see also Dijsktra and de Koning, this vol.). In the west, the interior is protected by a sturdy belt of sand dunes. However, in the northern part of the west, most of the dune belt has been eroded away by the sea (Woltering et al. 1999; Dijkstra 2011). Initially, the mouth of the Rhine cut through the dunes at Katwijk, and further north a breach appeared at the Marsdiep, possibly in the 10th century ad. Although the Rhine mouth offered opportunities for controlling waterborne traffic, the great emporium of Dorestad evolved a considerable distance upstream (van Es 1990; van Es and Verwers 1980; 2009; 2015). The cores of what later became the islands of Texel and Wieringen consisted of Pleistocene boulder-clay outcrops.

Here is what we know.

It happened during the long holiday season that stretched from late November through to January. It took place in Hertford Castle, some twenty miles north of London. It featured a performance before an unnamed king, whom we can deduce was the young heir to the English throne, Henry VI. It took the form of a disguising of countrymen complaining about their wives and the wives’ response, followed by the king's decision. It was staged at the request of John Brice, the royal household's deputy controller, who would die in battle a few years later in France. It was devised by John Lydgate, monk of the great Benedictine monastery of Bury St Edmunds and England's most famous living poet.

So we know who was (partially) involved in it, what it was (sort of), when it occurred (more or less), where it took place, and why (as part of the tradition of holiday entertainments in the royal household) it took place.

But consider what we do not know. We do not know who else helped plan the disguising beyond Brice and Lydgate, who else in addition to the king was in the audience, or who played the roles of the countryfolk husbands and wives. We do not know what this disguising (if that is what it was) looked or sounded like, what costumes were used or what actions performed. We also do not know exactly when it took place, although 1427 seems the best guess. And we do not know why a performance on this specific subject matter was chosen for the amusement of the king, who, after all, was only six years old.

That is quite a lot that we do not know, and many of those unknowns fall under a category that I left out of my list of who, what, when, where, and why. The missing category is of course how the performance watched by the king was put on—how lines were spoken; how parts were assigned to actors; how those actors moved, spoke and gestured; how stage properties and costumes were designed; how sound and other effects were deployed; how music and dance were used; and how the audience reacted.

THIS CHAPTER IS CONCERNED with ways in which stance and texture produce physical and virtual space in Simon Holt's concertos composed or revised since 2000, and with how such processes shape listener perception of the music's subject position – by which I mean the idea, proposed by Naomi Cumming, that ‘[t]here is a “subjectivity” in the work itself, with which a listener may become actively engaged, not following his or her impulses, but guided by those of the work’. Motivated by a range of cultural-theoretical models, in particular the concept of stance developed by Harris M. Berger, Henri Lefebvre's work on the phenomenology of space, especially his notion of ‘counter-spaces’ of resistance, and Denis Smalley's theory of ‘space-form’, I will explore ways in which Holt's concertos adopt certain postures, and ask how these are constructed and made available to perception.

Holt's concertos naturally raise questions about the relationship between soloist, orchestra and listener. On the one hand, Holt moves wilfully in the Romantic direction of clearly foregrounded soloists with directly expressive, fiercely virtuosic parts. On the other, his ensembles generate sometimes dense, at other times finely calibrated concertante textures that are utterly contemporary. Holt's music from the 1980s and 1990s often evokes intense psychological states, such as rage (although, as will be seen, what matters more is Holt's attitude, or stance, towards that emotion).

IN JULY 1862 Emily Dickinson wrote to her recently acquired ‘preceptor’, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: ‘Perhaps you smile at me. I could not stop for that. My business is circumference.’ The remark is typical of her correspondence and of her poetry in being at once candid, concise and elliptical, with an inclination towards what has been described as ‘symbolically freighted words’. In domestic terms, Dickinson's ‘circumference’ was her increasingly reclusive existence ‘at home’ in Amherst, New England, where she was born, lived and died. But in societal terms, Dickinson's devotion to serious writing necessarily entailed her breaking those bounds and the accepted ‘circumference’ of a woman's role. Moreover, by the time she approached Higginson for advice and critical engagement, aged 32, Dickinson had already written over three hundred poems and found an artistic voice that transcended certain poetic conventions. Her ‘business’ amounted to an ongoing exploration of metaphysics through poetry and letters which interrogated the very notion of ‘circumference’, refracted through the lens of everyday personal experience, and related ‘slant-wise’ through strikingly suggestive, emotionally frank imagery.

Dickinson initially sent four poems to her literary counsellor; one of these would prove posthumously to be amongst her most celebrated, and was selected by Simon Holt over 140 years later for the second of his 5 settings of E.D. (2005). After the poet's death in 1886, Higginson confessed to never having lost the feeling of being ‘somewhat bewildered’ by Dickinson's ‘wholly new and original poetic genius’. Not until 1960 did Thomas H. Johnson publish The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, rectifying crucial errors in, and omissions from, the earlier edition published by her niece, Martha Dickinson Bianchi, in 1924. These belated publications seem to underline Dickinson's greater affinity with modern art than with that of her own time. Given the progressiveness of her language and form it seems extraordinary that (if we compare music) Debussy was not born until the year when the poet first contacted Higginson. Schoenberg and Charles Ives were born in 1874; Aaron Copland, born in 1900, would set twelve of Dickinson's poems in a cycle for medium voice and piano.

Copland's settings are indicative of certain early- to mid-twentieth-century trends in their neoclassical, tonally-based sparseness of expression.

The southern North Sea area of the 5th to 7th centuries ad can be seen as an important ‘cultural bridge’ linking two power blocks: the late Roman Empire and its Frankish successor kingdom to the south, and the Scandinavian kingdoms to the north. This paper discusses how such a bridge function is reflected in the material culture found along the southern North Sea coasts of the Netherlands, Germany and south-eastern England, and how this material culture relates to the rise of kingdoms and the expression of group identities. The discussion will focus on jewellery and other ornaments of gold and silver, which can be assigned to five ‘cultural phases’ (Nicolay 2014, 234–63). First, the cultural relations with surrounding areas, as reflected in the ornaments’ shape and decoration, will be examined for each phase. Second, an attempt will be made to link the geographical distribution of ornaments that were executed in a specific style to the expression of group identity at a regional or supra-regional level – as a reflection of the extent of specific elite networks, which are assumed to represent the territories of early-medieval kingdoms.

The premise for this analysis is the assumption that access to gold and silver in earlymedieval Europe was limited to a small group of people. It was regional or supra-regional kings who controlled the importation of these precious metals, which probably reached the North Sea world both as political gifts and through a more commercial form of longdistance exchange (for the latter, see Näsman 1991). Besides these ‘horizontal’ relations among leaders, networks of ‘vertical’ relations were established and consolidated by the distribution of valuable items as gifts between leaders (the patrons) and their followers (the clients) (Bazelmans 1999). As members of the royal and lower retinues would have their own groups of followers, this resulted in the well-known pyramidal structure of patron–client relations, in which a person's status was directly related to his or her ‘distance from the king’.

Gold and silver were exchanged not only as gifts, but probably also as a form of currency between members of the elite and their followers – as indicated by the frequent occurrence of gold coins not transformed into jewellery.

To celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the First International Symposium on Frisian Runes and Neighbouring Traditions, which met in January 1994 at the Fries Museum (Museum of Friesland) in Leeuwarden (The Netherlands), a second international conference devoted to the early-medieval Frisians and their neighbours was organized with a wider remit: to combine and integrate discussions of archaeology, history, historical linguistics, legal history and palaeogeography, as well as runology. The conference Across the North Sea: North Sea Connections from ad 400 into the Viking Age was held in the new premises of the Fries Museum in Leeuwarden from 5 to 8 June 2014.

Over the course of the twenty years from 1994 to 2014 many new insights had been gained that merited discussion in an international and multidisciplinary context, with a new generation of scholars able to contribute substantially. Although again held at the Fries Museum, the conference took place in the entirely new museum building that had been opened in the heart of Leeuwarden, the capital of Friesland, a province of the modern Netherlands, in 2013.

Both the new museum and this early major conference provided the opportunity to take stock of the status quo in research concerning the enigmatic Frisians, and related peoples and areas, in various disciplines. It also provided an opportunity for the collective exploration of possibilities, problems, lacunas and pressing issues for future scholarship, with the express purpose of stimulating and launching a new and effective round of research into Early Medieval Frisia. The multidisciplinary, international character and diachronic scope of the conference sought to promote a fully cross-disciplinary approach to enable understanding of the field to break free of over-specialized and constrained perspectives.

This publication is just part of the harvest of this event, and is intended to advance the appreciation of the long-distance and maritime contacts that were fundamental to the flourishing of the Frisian identity and culture throughout this period. By publishing a selection of papers that reflect the topics and current developments in them in English, making some discussions and data available to an international readership for the first time, we aim to stimulate the international study of the topics.

IN 1957 LEONARD KRIEGER published his landmark The German Idea of Freedom. In this “history of a political tradition” Krieger traces the development of a uniquely German idea of freedom that can be distinguished from the Anglo-American tradition in certain fundamental respects, most notably (and disconcertingly) in its definition of freedom as obedience. For Krieger, Kant and Hegel played pivotal roles in the articulation of an ideal of moral freedom that found its fullest expression in “a substantive definition of freedom [that] explicitly associated liberty with authoritarianism not only as a fact but as an ideal.”

This ideal of freedom is predicated on the Kantian Critical distinction between the world of appearances, and the self that is subject to its influences, on the one hand, and the noumenal world that exists independently from it, on the other hand. This distinction between the noumenal and phenomenal “selves” accounts for the possibility of autonomy as humans rise above, out of, and over nature through the free determination of their own wills. This definition of subjectivity in opposition to the determination of the external world is also, however, the source of great problems for Kant and his successors. It is especially problematic, as Reiner Schürmann has shown, because nature is a force that affects the subject not merely from outside but from within, as well. Throughout his work on moral philosophy from the 1760s on, Kant expresses concern that it is often difficult to distinguish between the kinds of external forces that affect the subject pathologically and the internal motivations that serve as bases for the determination of the will. In the “Remarks” to the Observations he ruminates on the similarities between moral feeling and the sexual instinct; in the Groundwork he attempts to distinguish between motivations and incentives, only to do away with that distinction in the second Critique; even as late as The Metaphysics of Morals he has to give allowance for certain “moral endowments” that are “presupposed on the part of feeling by the mind's receptivity.”

If this moral receptivity is endowed by nature herself, how is it that man comes to transcend that very nature? How do such endowments differ from the natural instincts that animals possess? It can only be because nature (or occasionally Providence) bestowed, alongside these gifts, the incomparable gift of reason.

I FIRST CAME ACROSS Simon Holt's early Piano Piece (revised twenty years later as Black Lanterns) as a young and enthusiastic pianist, looking out scores and eager to explore the music of my own time. It was apparent from the facsimile score that here was the arrival of an exceptional and original voice. Even the notation delivered something fresh – where were the flats?! The music had attractive qualities. It spoke an unsentimental, modernist language. The jump-cuts of its montage-like form gave it a dramatic and visceral immediacy. Furthermore the pianist in me recognised the composer's feel for the sonority of the instrument and his sense of confidence in the writing for it. At times, virtuosic gestures seem to have been written to leap across the full range of the keyboard with something of the exhilarating aplomb which the young Boulez had brought to the piano in the first movement of his Sonata nº 1. But it was the compelling nature of the music that chimed deeply with me. The work seemed to have the same quality as found by Thomas Adès in the music of Janáček: ‘the sap of feeling is there in the music from the very beginning, and that is what drives it’. A performance of such music would require of the performer a rare combination of bravura with poetry, something which I found an irresistible challenge.

In what follows, an overview of Holt's piano writing is followed by notes specific to various pieces.

Holt's earliest extant work is for piano, composed while he was still a student at the Royal Northern College of Music. Written to fit on a postcard, a postcard piece (1979) was sent to his future teacher, Anthony Gilbert, to greet him on return from Australia (see Introduction). Holt has since produced a sizeable amount of work for solo piano, considerably more than can fit on a single CD. His ensemble works are centrally important, and those which include piano sometimes privilege it over the other instruments in ways which have structural outcomes as well as alluring colouristic ones. eco-pavan (H 29, 1998), whose sonorous interactions are extraordinary, is such a work, and the only one marked explicitly as being for piano solo and ensemble in the score.

SIMON HOLT'S ONE-ACT OPERA The Nightingale's to Blame was written between 1996 and 1998 and given its first performance at the Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival the same year. For this first excursion into the realm of theatre Holt returned to the work of Federico García Lorca. He used David Johnston's translation of the source play, preserving its basic structure: a Prologue and three scenes.

Holt's attraction to the dark, sensuous imagery of Lorca's poetry had resulted, over the previous fourteen years, in four works using words or images from the poems. The opera's title makes direct reference to the bird which the poet used as a symbol for illusion. Lorca's original title for the play was (in translation) The Love of Don Perlimplín for Belisa in the Garden. As a musician himself, he built numerous musical allusions into the play, which has proved attractive to various composers as an opera subject, perhaps most notably Bruno Maderna, whose radiophonic work dates from 1962. Assassinated in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War, Lorca did not live to see any of the operatic adaptions of his text. The work occupied him between 1926 and 1929, but fell foul of Spanish censors prior to its planned first performance in 1929,

ostensibly because the theatre company had failed to observe mourning for the recently deceased Queen Mother, [but] in all likelihood it was because the role of a cuckold was to be acted by a retired army officer, which could have damaged the dignity of the military.

It was finally given in 1933 during the period of the Second Republic.

BACKGROUND TO THE OPERA

The play's main character is Don Perlimplín, an ‘aging bachelor’. In the Prologue, his maid Marcolfa, no younger than he, berates him for having passed his fiftieth year and being still unmarried. She draws his attention to the beautiful Belisa, a sensuous woman easily half his age, highly eligible, who lives next door: we hear her singing. Under Marcolfa's prompting Perlimplín calls out loudly; Belisa appears on her balcony, almost unclothed (b. 355). Perlimplín next pays court to Belisa's mother, who agrees to the match: he is wealthy, after all. As Belisa ‘throws open the shutters on her balcony’ (b. 499), the scene changes.

This paper aims to compare the injury tariff found in the Law of King Æthelberht of Kent (the Kentish Law or Ab) dated c. ad 600 with the injury tariffs in the Frisian legal tradition. This tradition comprises both the injury tariffs in the Lex Frisionum, written mainly in Latin towards the end of the 8th century, and the tariffs written down in Old Frisian law manuscripts dating from the 13th to 15th centuries. Close cultural and linguistic connections have been observed between Anglo-Saxon England and Frisia. Furthermore, a sometimes exclusive relation between Kent and Frisia has been suggested. In this paper I scrutinize these connections with regard to injury tariffs. In addition, I look into the status of research and where the possibilities for future research lie. It will become clear that trying to find exclusive Anglo-Frisian parallels or even reconstruct an Anglo- Frisian proto-tariff is useful but also tantalizing: the goal seems within our reach but we never quite get there.

Honour and revenge

Injury tariffs are texts in which various types of possible injuries and harms that can be inflicted on a person are listed, accompanied by an amount of money which was due to the victim. Their nature and origins are discussed in more detail in the following section. Before discussing them, and why the Kentish and Frisian traditions deserve to be compared, however, the rationale behind injury tariffs needs to be addressed. Essentially, the goal of these texts was to make it possible to buy off revenge. They are a product of the institution of blood money (wergild: ‘man price’ in Germanic), allowing a killer to pay a certain amount in goods (money, valuables, land, cattle, houses) to the next of kin of the victim of a homicide. Paying blood money can obviate a blood feud in which many lives would be lost and which could disrupt a society for years (Netterström and Poulsen eds 2007). Combined with ritual acts and taking a certain amount of time (Miller 2006, 108), sometimes even as much as a year, the institution of wergild effectively makes it possible to restore peace between two families. Blood money is in use by various cultures all over the globe.