South Carolina provides an intriguing case study of the significance of the relationship between party politics, Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism in the British Atlantic world. Party-inspired imperial appointments, religious controversies and the diffusion of party political conflicts shaped a variety of local political conflicts and religious debates. Consequently, both Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism, important elements of British political culture during the rage of party, were significant features of South Carolina's social and political culture in the early eighteenth century. Although there were no Jacobite-led or -inspired rebellions in the colony, there is sufficient evidence of Jacobite political culture to warrant further consideration and explanation. This in turn suggests the transatlantic scope of the rage of party. An examination of political and religious controversies in South Carolina therefore provides a fuller understanding of the development of Britain's transatlantic political culture.

South Carolina possessed a distinct history, society and practice of politics that differentiated it from the Mid-Atlantic colonies, New England, England, Scotland and Ireland. First, South Carolina was a proprietary colony: it was the private possession of a group of individuals. The crown therefore had little influence over political appointments, which were almost exclusively the preserve of the proprietors, most of whom were located in England. Thus the political inclinations of the proprietors had great impact on political life in the colony. South Carolina was also a plantation society, dominated by a handful of elites. Moreover, early in the eighteenth century it lacked the vibrant, local print culture which was coming to fruition in New England and the mid-Atlantic colonies. In some respects this encouraged a more insular development, and yet, despite its unique attributes and the absence of an indigenous print culture, the colony was assimilated into a larger transatlantic political culture dominated by party political disputes imbued with the rhetoric of Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism.

There are numerous examples of accusations of Jacobitism in early eighteenth- century South Carolina. Jacobitism, however, does not usually feature prominently in the historiography. The few mentions of Jacobitism and the colony together in historical works are usually with reference to the importation of Jacobite convicts at the request of, and purchased by, the lieutenant governor Robert Daniell in 1715–16 as a means of enlisting manpower in the Yamassee war of 1715.

During the late medieval and early modern periods dancing was ubiquitous throughout society, taking place in a variety of venues, from churchyards and village streets, and specially constructed dance halls, to the indoor spaces reserved for the elite. It is the latter—the dance performances at the courts of France, Italy and England—that are the principal subject of this essay. By ‘elite’ I am referring to the families at the top of the social pyramid who held political power, regardless of what political system was operating: that is, whether the state was a monarchy, a ducal court or a republic. Thus the elite included members of the nobility, gentry, knights and ambassadors, the families whom the fifteenth- century Italian Antonio Cornazano was addressing in his dance treatise when he said, ‘We come to these balli and bassadanze which are removed from the populace, and are composed for the noble halls, and are to be danced only by the most worthy ladies, and not by the common multitude of people.’

The dances of the elite did not, of course, remain solely within that restricted circle. The wealthy middle class, merchants and lawyers were just as interested in dance as those in the upper level of society and just as keen to learn the dances performed by the elite. Thus dances first choreographed for court balls were later learned and performed by members of the middle class, as in 1517 in Bologna when dances recorded fifty to sixty years earlier in the treatise of Guglielmo Ebreo were performed at balls for the urban merchant and university communities.

Even though documentary evidence has survived concerning the dance practices of the upper levels of society, the picture is incomplete, especially when considering actual dance performances. For this period much of the information we do have comes from a small number of treatises written by dance masters, the majority from Italy and France, with a very small number from England and Spain. One has to be aware, however, that what was written by the dance masters in their treatises on the nature and fundamental principles of their dance practices might not have been always carried over into performances. Examination of the relationships between performers and audiences for danced spectacles at court is one method by which we can understand more clearly what happened on the dance floor during these events.

EDITOR's INTRODUCTION

THIERRY FISCHER, the Swiss conductor, has to date programmed fourteen pieces by Simon Holt in various concerts over three continents. Of these fourteen, seven have also had their world premiere under his direction. Orchestras involved have been the Nagoya Philharmonic Orchestra (Japan), the Essen Philharmoniker and the Ensemble Modern (Germany), Utah Symphony Orchestra (USA), BBC National Orchestra of Wales, London Sinfonietta and the Royal Academy Symphony Orchestra. Fischer's earliest performances of Holt's orchestral music were in November 1998 when directing 3 for Icarus at the Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival, when Zoë Martlew played solo cello.

The following texts are the result of email correspondence over twelve months. They have been re-ordered for publication so as to follow the chronological sequence of composition of the music discussed (seven pieces in all). This method of compilation permitted the involvement of others: thus, besides the editor (DC), Edward Venn (EV), Steph Power (SP) and David Beard (DB) offered the questions relative to those pieces about which they were writing in their respective chapters. Thierry Fischer's responses were later revised by him for publication.

QUESTIONS AND RESPONSES

DC: Is it possible to know an orchestra's opinion of the music they play, Simon's in particular?

TF: One particularity of Simon's music is that he writes, at the same time, very challenging and unbelievably simple music. This then immediately opens unexpected doors right from the first play-through. I remember that almost every time I conduct his music, I first perceive incredulity in the eyes of the musicians in front of me. One of the reasons is that the only thing Simon is listening to when he writes music is his deep urge to express beauty and/or pain, without looking at any method, trend, vogue, style or fashion. My experience is that players are often, at first, disturbed by Simon's music because he is bringing them to areas where the notion of beauty and simplicity isn't definable. After a few rehearsals, generally most of the musicians recognise they've gone through an experience they hadn't anticipated. Finally, I believe that the biggest strength of Simon's music is that musicians don't necessarily have an ‘opinion’ about his music. They have much more: a musical experience, creating possibilities in a world of impossibilities.

Religious controversies, the operation of imperial politics and the appointments system provided a mechanism for public and private expressions of both Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism. Moreover, these religious and governmental systems served as institutional networks of communication, connecting colonists to the religious controversies and party politics of mainland Britain. However, the communication of a political culture deeply imbued with Jacobitism was not limited to institutional links. Ideas, images, news and attitudes also circulated via extra-institutional means such as newspapers, material culture, personal letters and family networks. Jacobitism, therefore, was as much a cultural phenomenon as it was a political or religious movement, thus proving to be a significant and enduring aspect of a transatlantic political culture. Indeed, it permeated nearly every aspect of British culture, including print, religion, poetry, architecture, medicine and politics.

Cultural conflicts did not dissipate after emigrants left Britain's shores nor did they evolve beyond recognition. Informal personal networks and an increasingly vibrant print culture provided a means of transmitting and sustaining multi-faceted and contested elements of British culture throughout the British Atlantic. Contested religious and political beliefs circulated around the Atlantic. So too did the news, pamphlets and broadsides which triggered or inflamed the disputes. In the colonies, as well as in Britain, both Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism were important components of news and print culture primarily because they were deeply rooted elements of British society. Informational and cultural exchanges were communicated to and throughout the colonies via a migration of peoples and a lively print network, which together fed a shared extra-institutional Atlantic public sphere. This effectively knit together a transatlantic British public, thus creating a keen awareness among Whigs in the colonies of the perils posed by Jacobites, while simultaneously contributing to a transatlantic Jacobite subculture.

The British Atlantic was a dynamic world of cultural and information exchange. Ian Steele's unsurpassed study of communication and community in the English Atlantic demonstrates the extensive communication networks which connected the Atlantic world.2 Thousands of people from England, Scotland and Ireland crossed the Atlantic to settle in Britain's colonies. Thousands more connected the disparate regions together through an extensive and aggressive pursuit of trade and commerce. After their arrival in the colonies, colonists or merchants were kept apprised of British news by correspondence with friends and family or through interaction with the multitude of traders who dealt in both news and material goods.

On the basis of the artefactual finds and structures, and based on contemporary or later written sources, early trading centres are generally conceived of as meeting places and melting pots of people from different cultures. A highly vivid sketch of the multicultural network of communication formed by the trading centres of a ‘Northern Arc’ ranging from the North Sea region to the eastern end of the Baltic and into Russia is drawn by Stéphane Lebecq (2007). In his overview, he touches on the exchange of goods from the 7th century through to the 9th, the different forms of economic enterprises in that period, and the impact of Viking expansionism. The jigsaw pieces of his panoramic picture are taken from chronicles, the historical accounts of Ohthere's and Wulfstan's voyages, and from archaeological excavations at the most prominent of these trading centres, including Dorestad, Hamwic, Ribe, Hedeby and Birka.

Interestingly, though, while drawing this picture, he never asks about the actual form of communication between the merchants and manufacturers coming from many different regions all over north-western Europe. This omission may be explained by the fact that, in most cases, neither the written sources which are drawn on to shed light on the political and religious history of these places nor the archaeological finds and structures provide any evidence of the languages and dialects spoken by the people living on these sites. The historical sources confine themselves to the most basic external information: thus Rimbert, describing the trading centre at Hedeby in his Vita Anskarii (ch. 24), only mentions ‘the great variety of people from all over the world’. Adam of Bremen offers more detail in his description of Birka (Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum, I.60). He explicitly mentions Danes, Northmen, Slavs and people from Samland (on the Baltic coast). Helmold of Bosau names not only Slavs as inhabitants of the Baltic trading centre of Jumne/Jomsburg but also a ‘mixed population of Greeks and barbarians’, together with – as he calls them – ‘Saxons’ (Chronica Slavorum, II.22).

These selective references show that the historical sources usually only give names of groups, tribes or peoples, or even stereotypical group-labels, such as ‘barbarians’ as opposed to Greeks.

BORN IN 1958, Simon Holt belongs to a group of British composers whose origins came after the war years and austerity. A preceding ‘1940s’ group would include Gavin Bryars, Brian Ferneyhough, Roger Smalley, John Tavener, Michael Nyman, David and Colin Matthews, Michael Finnissy and Denis Smalley. The ‘1950s’ group begins with James Dillon (b. 1950) and ends with Mark-Anthony Turnage and George Benjamin (both b. 1960). Near its beginning is a cluster consisting of Judith Bingham, Oliver Knussen, Robert Saxton and Judith Weir.

By any standards this musical field is large, its achievements still growing. If it is too soon to write a history of this generation's music, we (the listeners) can always hope to be better informed about individual composers’ work, with writings as well as recordings. Simon Holt's presence in contemporary music has been continuous since the early days of Kites and Syrensong. Suffice it to say that of 79 pieces listed, our catalogue documents about fifty pieces commissioned at home and abroad, including seven for the BBC Proms plus six other BBC commissions such as the violin concerto, witness to a snow miracle. In 2017 Surcos receives its premiere in Berlin under Sir Simon Rattle, then another hearing in the new Hamburg concert hall, the Elbphilharmonie.

Yet Holt's work has too often been missing from the record. The following pages survey the main outlines of his creative life, even as it continues. They cover all principal topics, although not all his pieces, by any means, have found mention. The reader will, however, gain a rounded impression of the composer's output and thought to date, not only from the viewpoint of the listener but also that of the performer and conductor. This is surely appropriate for a composer who demands unusual commitment from his interpreters, but for the purpose of making music which speaks with extraordinary power.

Our four chapters about vocal music and opera also respect the literary dimension. In six chapters about instrumental music our authors have fulfilled a prediction made in 2003: ‘In the new millenium it seems likely that the critical interpretation of musical compositions will need ever more sensitive ways of exploring interactions between formal and hermeneutic strategies’.

Susan Crane's observation regarding the importance of clothing to late medieval court life identifies how the choice of attire brought together symbols of status, household affiliation, and sub textual message to project the identity of the wearer as a type of ‘visual manifesto’. The rise of the importance of clothing in this period was due to a number of developments which meant that the fifteenth century onwards saw new modes of supply, production and distribution which affected clothing, along with the manufacturing of other products. Trading routes to the Far East which supplied silks were re-established during this time, and the flow of ideas on fashioning garments from raw cloth expanded as cultural exchange deepened through greater transmission with Europe, India, and Africa. As Rosenthal observes, clothing was greatly affected by this new trading and cultural exchange:

In this new market economy fabric and clothing were commoditised and were part of a fresh exchange of cultures and techniques. The court of Henry VIII, notorious for its love of fashion, displayed the European influences introduced by his wives. Katherine of Aragon brought the Spanish farthingale (a hooped petticoat) and from her time in France, Anne Boleyn initiated the drapery of the square-necked bodice, while Anne of Cleves transported the Flemish leg-of-mutton sleeves.

IN HIS LECTURES on the philosophy of history Hegel traces the progressive unfolding and self-realization of Spirit chronologically and geographically from East to West. The real narrative begins in China (after he dismisses sub-Saharan Africa as beyond and before history), where Spirit first awakens to the dullest inkling of self-awareness, and then progresses to India. Here we encounter one of the most Romantic effusions to be found in the lectures, but one that concludes with a definitive pronouncement about the place of Indian culture in world history:

Even today, the waterways of the seas and rivers provide important signposts to the infrastructure of world-wide trade, transport and communication. Likewise in the 1st millennium ad, the maritime routes along the coasts, together with the rivers and streams and the almost undefined land routes (Bischop 2000, 27) that marked the landscapes of northern Europe through bogs and wet valley bottoms provided the practical foundations for regional and trans-regional communication and the transportation of goods (Jöns 2009, 390–1; Nørgaard Jørgensen 2003, 195; for an overview, Siegmüller 2011; Siegmüller and Jöns 2012, 575–6; 2011, 98). Together with the land routes and the inland waters that connected these to areas lying further inland, they formed a regular network of communication routes (Ellmers 2005, 74–5; 1999, 597; Jöns 2009, 389).

Archaeologically, the importance of the waterways in goods exchange can be demonstrated through the distribution of foreign goods (cf. Brather 1996, 46). For the first half of the 1st millennium ad this can be seen particularly through objects of provincial Roman origin in the areas located north of the limes (e.g. Eggers 1951; Lund Hansen 1987; Erdrich 2001; 2002). The mapping of these objects reveals the greatest concentrations in the vicinity of major watercourses and by the coasts (most recently Siegmüller and Jöns 2011, 98; Jöns 2009, 389–91).

Research into the archaeologically tangible basic structure of regional and transregional communication, which has been pursued particularly vigorously around the Baltic area during the past twenty years, has been able to show that, during the whole of the 1st millennium, control of the land routes and waterways can be seen to have had great social significance. In this light, attention has been paid in many places to the establishment of landing places (Ulriksen 1998; 2004), trans-shipment sites and beach markets (Thomsen et al. 1993), which served as portals between long-distance and internal transport. The significance of the communication and transport routes and of control of these links can also be recognized in the relatively frequently discovered construction of ramparts, canals, sea-barriers and blockades in rivers and lakes in southern Scandinavia (see Nørgaard Jørgensen 2001; 2003).

A major issue in mid-19th-century European politics was the ‘Schleswig-Holstein question’, of which the later British Prime Minister and former Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston is famously alleged to have said:

The disputed matters in fact involved the succession to the dukedoms of Schleswig and Holstein, and the conflicting interests of the Danish crown and Prussian/German nationalists. The anecdote of Palmerston's quip is, alas, probably apocryphal: it emerged in the earlier twentieth century, when, not least in the shadow of the Great War, it was intellectually fashionable to caricature the Victorian statesman as a laconic patrician (Grant Robertson 1918, 156; Strachey 1921, 308; cf. Lorne 1892, 210 and 221–2). The Anglo-Frisian question may not be as arcane as the Schleswig-Holstein question, nor as amenable to exploitation for either political or satirical ambitions of this scale. Nonetheless the analogy is more than merely playful, in that clarifying what exactly the problem is, is indeed the key issue.

Of course, there cannot be just one question, or one answer. On the contrary, even the most superficial idea of what might be meant by the Anglo-Frisian question is likely to involve recognition of the fact that close similarities between England and Frisia, two areas only around a hundred sea-miles apart across the North Sea, exist in quite diverse features of the populations and their cultures: their language; aspects of their material culture; their early laws; and more. An initial proposal for how to formulate the question could therefore be whether there is any deeper explanation for these similarities other than proximity. Is there, very simply, anything special in the relationship, either in terms of its origins or in terms of its role? After all, both England and Frisia have long been equally close neighbours to the French people and state, and to the Francophone Continent, yet with clear contrasts in most of the cultural characteristics which can be claimed to show some degree of ‘Anglo-Frisian’ relationship.

Part I: Introduction

WHILE ERNEST HEMINGWAY has long had a popular reputation as an ultramasculine scribe of war, bullfighting, big-game hunting, and fishing, whose women characters could be typified as “Mothers, Nurses, Bitches, Girls, and Devils,” as the title of one well-known essay asserts, more recent criticism tends to argue for a much more nuanced reading of Hemingway and gender. This chapter, partly inspired by new feminist analyses of Hemingway's work, examines the relationship between war and gender expectations in three of the writer's best-known novels, The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, and For Whom the Bell Tolls. In each of these works, Hemingway's male soldiers repeatedly try to create safe, domestic spaces for themselves while at war or while suffering the repercussions of war. Jake Barnes longs for a relationship with Brett Ashley in The Sun Also Rises, a traditional home and family denied him following his injury in the war. Frederic Henry in A Farewell to Arms, in an attempt to forge a “separate peace” from the war, deserts the Italian army and flees to Switzerland with Catherine Barkley, where they set up a makeshift home. And Robert Jordan in For Whom the Bell Tolls pretends the Spanish rebel Maria is his wife and imagines the home they will create together, all the while living in a cave and planning anti-Fascist attacks with a small band of Republican guerrillas during the Spanish Civil War. Moreover, the central women in these novels are damaged and suffering as well. Catherine and Maria, in fact, start the novels as more war damaged than either Frederic Henry or Robert Jordan. Like Tim O'Brien's frightened Vietnam War soldiers later in the century, these women frequently long to heal their trauma by uniting wholly with an Other, often aspiring to an androgynous appearance to symbolize a merging of selves with a male partner. But all three of the novels finally offer a tragic vision in which such unity is impossible, in which the trauma of war destroys the possibility of home. Old gender roles, upon which the traditional home were based, no longer make sense. In this new world, war does not make men heroic nor does domesticity make true women.

In 1710 Robert Hunter sailed for New York City to take up the post of governor of the British colonies of New York and New Jersey. Hunter had hopes of an easy time, pursuing the interests of Queen Anne, but vicious transatlantic party rivalries were alive and well in the colonies and not isolated to Westminster and Grub Street. The early years of Hunter's tenure (1710–19) were a time of increasing dynastic uncertainty and witnessed a series of seismic political changes including the death of Queen Anne, the Hanoverian succession and the Jacobite rebellion of 1715. That Hunter successfully survived the political morass of the two colonies, each with its own unique political issues made all the more uncertain by the vagaries of an adolescent imperial structure influenced by the rage of party, is a tribute to his political acumen. An examination of the period surrounding Hunter's government, however, provides more than a biographical tribute to a single man; it captures elements of Whig and Tory British party conflicts, religious controversies and the integration of an Atlantic public sphere. Hunter's period in office is a fascinating example of the increasingly transatlantic nature of party politics, communications and the currency of Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism in the British Atlantic World in the contentious final years of Queen Anne.

Accusations of Jacobitism featured prominently in the political and religious controversies engulfing the mid-Atlantic in the early eighteenth century. A thorough examination of Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism provide compelling evidence that the transatlantic nature of Britain's rage of party contributed to the anglicisation of the mid-Atlantic. Accusations of loyalty to the Stuarts, nonjuring or outright Jacobitism were an integral part of transatlantic political, religious and print debate. Such accusations reflect more than petty expressions of local antipathy. Accusations and expressions of Jacobitism in the mid-Atlantic not only point towards the significance and currency of Jacobitism and anti-Jacobitism in the British Atlantic, they also demonstrate the integration of the colonial region into a British Atlantic political culture.

Religious controversies facilitated the extension of Britain's rage of party into the mid-Atlantic colonies. Governor Hunter's troubled relationship with High Church Tories in New York and New Jersey provides a perfect illustration of the complexity of imperial politics and the prevalence of shared ideologies.