This chapter explores the constitutional ramifications of the French Revolution’s transformation of the old regime of property. It reinterprets the abolition of feudalism as part of the revolutionaries’ larger attempt to draw a conceptual and legal line of demarcation between property and power. Their double aim was to make property truly private by stripping from it all attributes of public authority and to make power truly public by eliminating its former patrimonial characteristics. The attempt to implement this demarcation in practice was still underway decades after the Revolution had formally ended feudalism. Over time, it largely succeeded. From this distinction between property and power flowed some of the key conceptual binaries – the political and social, state and society, public and private, sovereignty and property – through which we still apprehend the world. The abolition of feudalism was thus much more than simply the eradication of an archaic form of property. Rather, it played an essential role in shaping the conceptual building blocks from which modernity was built.

This chapter analyses the Laudian attitude to Sunday sports, in a discussion designed to include the meaning of the altar and the sacrament in the constitution of the Christian community. Allowing Sunday sports re-inscribed the line between the secular and the spiritual as defined by the Laudian notions of holy places and holy times. It allowed affirmations of two different versions of the social body to be made on the same day, the one reinforcing the other, and it also prevented the day being dominated, and the social body being divided, by the essentially private, household-based, religious observances of the puritans. Here was affirmation of a broad-based Laudian version of the Christian community being enabled and maintained by the rites and observances of the national church against the divisive practices and beliefs of the puritans.

Political intelligence was vital to the Company’s subsidiary alliance system; to enforce it, Residents needed to be able to identify when its conditions were being breached. Yet, the Residents’ papers indicate that the problem was not so much collecting intelligence as determining how to use it. Fraud, or the possibility of fraud, was an important consideration; Residents devised elaborate strategies for identifying forgeries as well as for managing the composition and transmission of letters at court. News passed by word of mouth proved even more ungovernable. Residents were prone to distrust rumour, viewing it as either idle gossip or as insidious disinformation propagated by enemies. Still, they sometimes had no choice but to engage with rumour, particularly when allegations of Company brutality circulated in the streets. Mistrust might have been a common feature at royal capitals, but it also permeated the Residents’ relationship with his superiors in the Company. Residents sometimes misrepresented their activities as a means of shoring up their authority, but they also relied on keeping lines of communication open; frequently, it was Calcutta that remained frustratingly silent. In sum, though gathering and disseminating intelligence was one of the Residencies’ primary functions, fulfilling this responsibility was never simple.

Chapter 5 examines how considerations of coherence manifest in the use of analogical reasoning by investor-state tribunals. In particular, it demonstrates through concrete examples and case studies that the persuasiveness and correctness of an arbitral award based on analogical reasoning depends on the degree of its internal coherence. It is argued that coherence in an analogical inference manifests in two ways. Firstly, in a methodological sense, coherence manifests itself in the way the adjudicator frames the legal question at issue and in the degree to which the analogy, as drawn, satisfies the elements of similarity, structural parallels, and purposiveness. Secondly, in a substantive sense, coherence manifests itself in the normative contextualisation of the legal question and in the moral appeal of the proposed interpretation derived from the analogy.

This chapter provides an overview of cloud computing technology. The explanation includes an overview of the differences between traditional outsourcing and cloud computing and how server virtualization makes cloud computing possible. The chapter also identifies the major players in the provision of cloud computing services and the primary cloud computing service and deployment models. The chapter evaluates central security concerns and risks including loss of availability and risks to data portability.

In this chapter I extend insights about the channels of professional continuity discerned in Chapter 4 to focus on the institutions that socialized the next generation of Soviet citizens. I first present Russia-wide data on resilience in education as related to the estates and follow this data analysis with a qualitative account of imperial schooling. Statistical analysis is strongly suggestive of the interconnected human-capital and estate drivers of spatial variations in educational attainment and institutions during the communist period and in the present. To unpack the causal mechanisms behind the statistical patterns, I adapted concepts of institutional drift and conversion to Russia’s post-revolutionary context. Insights from comparative historical analysis into institutional path-dependencies help dissect how the eclectic tapestry of schools catering to Samara’s educated society found its phoenix-like reincarnation in Soviet pedagogy, even when punctuated with closures and reforms. An exercise in historical forensics concerning the Samara Jewish School allows me to dissect some ways in which lower-status pedagogic old-timers capitalized on their new status as Soviet school headmasters. Finally, similar to patterns observed in Samara City, I dissect heterogeneity in demand for and supply of schooling within rural areas.

This chapter considers the ‘expanding the state model’ which limits the obligations flowing from fundamental rights to the state and only imposes obligations on non-state actors if they are, in some sense, state-like. This model fundamentally raises the question of what constitutes part of the state and, in so doing, provides an understanding of the determinants for having obligations. I argue the model focuses on the wrong issue: which agents are part of the state rather than the factors that are relevant to determining obligations. The chapter also examines the model as it is expressed through the case law of three jurisdictions – the United States, Germany and South Africa. In doing so, I explore the factors the courts employ to determine whether an entity or function is state-like and their implications for obligations. Those factors overlap with those identified in the other models – which, in turn suggests, the artificiality of confining the application of rights only to state actors.

This chapter takes stock of Heaney's role as a public figure across his career. It begins with a recolletion of Heaney in the National Museum of Ireland in 2013, speaking as a public figure who wished not to be part of 'Irish heritage', not to be 'inherited' as an asset but to be 'handed down' with the sensation of human contact. In a close reading of an early poem, ‘The Last Mummer’, the chapter examines the tension in Heaney’s work between the public need for a response to the political crisis and the private need to be true to his poetic impulse.

Studying puritan literature requires a sense of the erratic paths that seventeenth-century New England writing take in the world as well as the material contexts that give rise to more or less stable texts gathered up in anthologies and modern editions. The aim of this chapter is to elaborate the ways that the logic of manuscript culture informs puritan literary culture across material genres, using the poet Anne Bradstreet’s unusual case to elucidate typical means of manuscript practice, production, and circulation. A bit of knowledge of manuscript culture, its generic and practical conventions, and its role in the larger world of “colonial mediascapes” can go a long way in enabling new insights and more nuanced readings of puritan texts derived from various original sources.

Having defined the field, Chapter 3 critically analyses the surrounding contemporary formal legal framework for indigenous peoples’ land rights that speak to development projects. This chapter examines jurisprudential strands and structural gaps such as poor accountability of private actors and the fragmented due diligence in this field. Emerging from this analysis are identifiable themes that matter for rights in development project contexts. The point is to assess the existing coping strategies of formal law in this setting, to give hard law context to the private mechanisms explored and to appreciate judicial and non-judicial mechanisms as part of an ecosystem of remedies in this field. The chapter asks why, despite the array of indigenous rights cases and legal declarations, international and domestic norms rarely pierce the highly regulated veil of private mechanisms that secure a transnational development project – failing to work as a legal threat. Whilst later chapters illustrate other reasons such as power and short-term behaviour that contribute to law’s overshadowing, my aim here is to show how the law endogenously contributes to insecurity for indigenous communities in development contexts.

The chapter defines TV’s immediacy effects. Television started out as a live medium. Although shows were soon pre-produced and recorded, an aesthetic of liveness, retained by shooting sitcoms and talk shows in front of studio audiences, has remained integral to TV culture. It sets TV apart from earlier visual media, particularly film, and is pivotal for the medium’s reality effects. Although “television” means to “see at a distance,” the initial promise of TV was that it would erase the distance between the viewers and the depicted events. Because event, transmission, and reception occur simultaneously during a live broadcast, it possesses not only temporal immediacy but also evokes a sense of spatial proximity and actuality. TV live coverage seems to bring the world home or to transport the viewers to the site of action. By presenting on- and off-screen worlds as directly connected, live TV blurs the boundary between public and private spheres, between fiction and fact, and creates the impression that the viewers participate in the broadcasted events. Since American TV is a commercial medium, the cultural dominance of TV results in a pervasive commodification of experience.

The interplay of the personal and the social is discussed with regard to McEwan’s output as a whole, but with particular reference to some of its more marginal texts, such as Amsterdam. Much of McEwan’s writing has rightly been seen as focused on public issues. For example, Amsterdam is a social satire; the oratorio text Or Shall We Die? aims to influence public debate about nuclear weapons. However, McEwan is also a chronicler of the personal and physical. For example, The Ploughman’s Lunch is about personal corruption as well as national mendacity. Indeed, throughout McEwan’s work, the personal and the public interweave. Interpersonal relations are also central to McEwan’s work. A typology of such relations is suggested based on closeness and disjunction, concealment and intrusion. Examples are drawn from a wide range of McEwan’s work. The motif of transvestism is given prominence.

During his lifetime, Brahms accumulated a sizeable fortune. Although the early days were not without difficulties, his finances then accumulated steadily and virtually uninterruptedly. When he died in 1897, he left behind not only manuscripts of his own works, but also an extensive collection of other composers’ autograph manuscripts (including of Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, etc.) as well as bonds worth over 181,000 Gulden.The size of the sum is evident when one compares the rent that he paid his landlady Coelestine Truxa between 1887 and 1897 for his three-room apartment in Vienna’s Karlsgasse, which amounted half-yearly to 347 Gulden and 25 Kreuzer.

Brahms grew up in the Hamburg‘Gängeviertel’, an area of workers, small-scale artisans and tradesmen in modest circumstances [see Ch. 1 ‘Childhood in Hamburg’]. Later on, when he could determine his own lifestyle, luxury still held no appeal.

Typically for many musicians of his day, Brahms was artistically active in multiple ways, not only as a composer but also as a performer, mainly as a pianist and conductor, piano teacher and director of musical societies. He never perceived himself as primarily a pianist; however, playing the piano – in private and public – was inseparable from his artistic and compositional identity. Schumann remarked on this as early as 9 November 1853 in a letter to the Leipzig publishers Breitkopf & Härtel, to whom he had recommended the young man: ‘his playing is truly a part of his music; I cannot recall hearing such unique sound effects’. Brahms received his initial piano training in Hamburg from Otto Friedrich Willibald Cossel and then from Cossel’s teacher Eduard Marxsen, who had trained in Vienna and who also advised Brahms in composition (Brahms never attended a conservatory) [see Ch. 1 ‘Childhood in Hamburg’].

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of private musical activity as a testing ground, a compositional setting and, indeed, as a pleasurable activity for Brahms. ‘Private music-making’ deserves a word of explanation first, since private spaces were not always in the home, performers were not always amateurs and repertoire was not strictly divided according to public or private consumption. While Brahms was clearly often concerned to write music suitable for amateur performers, such repertoire was not automatically excluded from the concert platform as a result. Indeed, since the public lied recital was an innovation during his lifetime, some of the pieces which had previously found readier advocates in the domestic space were pushed further into the limelight thanks to pioneering programmers such as Gustav Walter and Amalie Joachim [see Ch. 19 ‘Singers’].