Letteratura scientifica selezionata sul tema "Newburn, Battle of, 1640"

This article addresses two questions: “When did the King James Bible gain a foothold of popularity among the English people?” and “How did the Geneva Bible lose its popularity to the King James Bible?” By reviewing the post-1611 printing of these two versions of the Bible and examining the texts of the Paul’s Cross sermons and the parliamentary sermons between 1612 and 1643, I find that the King James Bible was already more popular than the Geneva Bible by 1620, and that the rising trend of the popularity of the King James Bible had become irreversible by 1630. By 1640, the battle of the two Bibles was long over. I also refute the assumption that the political authorities’ suppression of the Geneva Bible caused its defeat. Rather, I argue that the decrease in consumer demand for exegetical notes led to the demise of the Geneva Bible.

Rewriting and reinvention of previously told stories and recognizable themes build upon an established literary canon, creating new connections amongst texts, while creating increasingly hypertextual works. This article explores the nature of rewriting, the reinvention of previously existing themes within literature, and the dialectic between past, present, and future embodied within this process. The specific focus of this study is the Dalmatian author Giovanni Kreglianovich, who, with his tragedy Orazio (1797) rewrites and adapts the ancient Roman legend of the battle between the Curiatii and the Horatii to reflect the political, social, and literary changes of the late 1800s in Europe. Primary sources such as Livy’s Ab urbe condita, Aretino’s Orazia (1546), and Pierre Corneille’s Horace (1640) are compared to and contrasted with Kreglianovich’s Orazio in order to highlight the differences between these works and to bring to the fore how and why the source material was rewritten. Utilized as a vehicle to espouse contemporary concerns, Kreglianovich employed aspects of antiquity and transformed them into a means through which social and political issues pertinent to the time could be revealed. In reusing one of the most famous identity myths of ancient Rome, Kreglianovich was able to create a unique tragedy that partakes in the literary phenomenon of rewriting, while promoting patriotism, as well as a sense of identity and belonging in his fellow Dalmatian compatriots.

Among the most intriguing unresolved historical questions concerning the women soldiers of Dahomey are the journalist's basic when, how and why (the who and where are givens). We know the amazons' terminal date precisely: the fourth of November 1892, when they fought their last battle against the French at the gates of Cana. But assertions in the literature as to when they got started range all the way from the reign of Wegbaja (ca. 1640-ca. 1680-85) to that of Glele (1858-89).Neither Wegbaja nor Glele can seriously be considered as the originator of the amazons, though the former has a far better claim than the latter. The Wegbaja thesis rests on a tradition that he created the well-known corps of elephant huntresses, the gbeto, and on speculation that they became the first amazon unit. The gbeto may even predate Wegbaja: Palau Marti cites a tradition that he organized pre-existing huntresses into a special corps. Lombard offers the plausible explanation that since women provisioned the royal palace, it was only natural that some of them furnish game for the king's table. Dunglas seems to have been the first to write down the tradition tracing the gbeto to Wegbaja; he was inclined to accept it. P.K. Glèlè says Wegbaja began employing women as personal guards. Cornevin states, without giving his source, that it was the gbeto themselves who doubled as the king's bodyguards. None of this can be proved, and in any case no one has suggested that Wegbaja ever used women as real soldiers.

AbstractThe title from Rembrandt's inventory (Note 2), which was first linked with this problematical painting (Fig. I, Note I) by Smith, has hitherto never been questioned, but, broadly speaking, two different interpretations have been suggested for it. Schmidt-Degener connected it with the glorification of the illustrious past of Amsterdam in uniting with other towns to fight for the country's rights and prosperity (Note 4), an idea later amplified by Hellinga on the basis of Carel van Mander and Cesare Ripa (Note 5). The historian Cornelissen, on the other hand, saw it as a reflection of the tensions between Amsterdam and the Stadholder's court around 1640 and an illustration of the significance of Union, Religion, the Militia and Justice for the concord of the state (Note 6). Schmidt-Degener regarded the work as a sketch for a large painting, possibly a militia piece, but others have seen it as a design for a print (Notes 7 -9), on the analogy of some other oil sketches by Rembrandt which are models for etchings. A completely different suggestion made recently is that the painting is at the dead-coloured stage and thus unfinished (Note II). Since the last figure of the date is almost illegible, various dates in the 1640's have been put forward, most scholars opting for Schmidt-Degener's suggestion of 1641. Examinations in connection with the recent restoration of the painting have revealed a number of things which are presented briefly here as a new guide to possible lines of research. The restoration was necessitated by the fact that the varnish had become opaque in places and the excessive retouching had darkened (Figs. 2-4). The cradling on the back had also distorted the panel, which had been planed down to only about 3 mm. The cradling has now been removed and replaced by a lighter system of small oak blocks, which hook on to an aluminium grid (Fig. 5, Note 14). Investigation of the panel showed that the strip about 6 cm wide at the bottom, which Schmidt-Degener thought to have been added during painting, was an integral part of the original panel, with small blocks of wood let in by later hands to prevent the join from opening (Fig. 6) . A dendrochronological examination of the panel showed it to have come from the same oak tree as those of Rembrandt's River Valley with Ruins at Cassel (Br.454) and the Portrait of a Man in Polish Costume dated 1637 in Washington (Br.211). The latest date for the felling of the tree in question is 1634 ±5, so that our painting could have originated earlier than is indicated by the date under the signature. The edges of the painting appear to have been pared of when the panel was planed down, so that the last figure is probably missing altogether (there is no trace of it on the infra-red photograph, Figs. 14 and 15). A further discovery on the panel are the notches at regular intervals round the edges for securing it with pins and nails in a frame, a phenomenon known from other 17th-century panels (Note 18), although not previously encountered in any by Rembrandt. Investigation of the painting technique, produced a surprise in respect of the most recent theories on Rembrandt's technique (Note 19), viz. that alongside and underneath the highlights containing lead white there proved to exist an earlier stage in which the highlights were applied in a thin paint composed of a watery binding medium (animal glue) with chalk. These light touches, scarcely visible in the X-ray photograph (Fig. 7), are clearly part of the first laying-in of the composition, to which lightly sketched brushstrokes in a darker tone may also belong. Thus this largely monochrome painting also has a monochrome sketch underneath, which implies that what we now have is a finished picture. The meticulous detailing and local, use of colour support this theory, as does the extensive use of scratching in the wet paint to create modelling. The sketchy syle was evidently considered sufficientfor the picture's purpose. A further notable phenomenon is that a thin layer of varnish is found between some of the paint layers in those areas which Rembrandt repainted at a later stage, which could indicate that the picture was already regarded as finished before those changes were made. As the restoration proceeded, it became ever clearer that the picture was painted in various states. Strips about 6 cm wide at top and bottom proved to have been left unpainted originally (Fig. 9), for reasons that can only be guessed at. The two main stages comprised first the laying-in of the composition on a brown to pink ground in a light watery paint, with draughtsmanlike lines of brown to black and scratching in various places. The greenish-black shadows, very thick white highlights and the major part of the sky to the left of the tree also belong to this stage. At the second stage Rembrandt returned to the picture, possibly after a considerable period, and worked it up again with broad strokes of a heavier paint. This relates to the strips at top and bottom, the shadows under the battle and above the chain and the area to the right of the tree above the cavalry procession. Repentirs are found in both stages, notably the elimination of a row of escutcheons continuing the series now visible (see Figs. II and 7), while the light cloth to the left of the arms of Amsterdam and the text Soli Deo Gloria appear to be relatively late additions during the first stage. As to the date of the painting, the style alone indicates the earliest possible date in the 1640's, while the first stage could well date from before 1640. Stylistic links between it and the Landscape with the Good Samaritan of 1638 in Cracow (Br.442, Note 27) suggest that clues to the interpretation must be looked for earlier than 1640 and raise the question of a possible connection with a historical event like the entry of Maria de Medici in 1638 (Note 28). As a result of the restoration numerous details in the picture have now become more clearly legible, while the prominence of the arms of Amsterdam is even more apparent, suggesting that Schmidt-Degener's interpretation is the most likely. If the composition is regarded as an allegory on Concord, the battle in the background could be seen as Discord, so that the Concord here might be Ripa's Unione Civile (Note 29), in this case that of Amsterdam, rather than a united campaign against a historical enemy. This does not explain problematical details, such as Justice on the far left, but it might be a fruitful line to follow. While it cannot be ruled out that the picture is a study for a print, its large size, the fact that it is not on paper, like most of the sketches Rembrandt made for etchings, and its relatively rich palette point in another direction. It still seems closest to the type of modello made by Rubens, Lievens and Bol for large decorative projects (Note 30).

AbstractPhilips Wouwerman(s) was undoubtedly the most accomplished and successful Dutch painter of equestrian scenes in the 17th century. Even so, neither a critical study of his work nor a documented biography has been published. The present essay not only presents the results of archive research but also outlines his artistic development. Besides the seven dated pictures by the artist known by Hofstede de Groot, several others have been discovered. Wouwerman was born in Haarlem, the eldest son of the painter Pouwels Joosten and his fourth wife, Susanna van den Bogert. Two other sons, Pieter and Johannes Wouwerman, were also to become painters. Wouwerman's grandfather originally came from Brussels. Philips probably received his first painting lessons from his father, none of whose work has been identified however, making it impossible to determine the extent of his influence on the son's work. According to Cornelis de Bie, Wouwerman was next apprenticed to Frans Hals. He is subsequently reputed to have spent several weeks in 1638 or 1639 working in Hamburg in the studio of the German history painter Evert Decker. In Hamburg he married Annetje Pietersz van Broeckhof. On 4 September 1640 Wouwerman became a member of the Haarlem painters' guild, in which he held the office of vinder in 1646. In the following years his presence in Haarlem is mentioned repeatedly. In view of the many southern elements in his landscapes it has frequently been suggested that Wouwerman travelled to France or Italy. However, there is no documentary evidence of his having left Haarlem for any length of time. Wouwerman died on 19 May 1668 and was buried on 23 May 1668 in the Nieuwe Kerk in Haarlem. He evidently attained a certain degree of prosperity, going by the relatively large sums of money each of his seven children inherited on his widow's death in 1670 and by the various houses he owned. No confirmation can be found of Arnold Houbraken's often quoted remark that Wouwerman's daughter Ludovica brought a dowry of 20,000 guilders with her in 1672 when she married the painter Hendrik de Fromantiou (1633/34 - after 1694). Wouwerman's oeuvre consists mainly of small cabinet pieces with horses, such as battle and hunting scenes, army camps, smithies and interiors of stables. He also painted sensitively executed silvery-grey landscapes, genre pieces and a few original representations of religious and mythological scenes. Wouwerman was also exceptionally prolific. Although he only lived to the age of 48, more than a thousand paintings bear his name. Even when one bears in mind that a number of these paintings should actually be attributed to his brothers Pieter and Jan, Philips left an extraordinarily large oeuvre. Only a small number of drawings by his hand are known. His pupils include Nicolaes Ficke, Jacob Warnars, Emanuel Murant and his brothers Pieter (1623-1682) and Jan Wouwerman (1629-1666). He had many followers and his paintings were much sought after in the i8th and early 19th centuries, especially in France. Important collections created during that period, including those which form the nuclei of the museums in St Petersburg, Dresden and The Hague, all contain a large number of his works. Establishing a chronology with respect to Philips Wouwerman's work is extremely problematic. His extensive oeuvre notwithstanding, only a comparatively small number of paintings are dated. The style of the signature enables us to date pictures only within wide margins: the monogram composed of P, H, and W was only used before 1646; thenceforth he used a monogram composed of PHILS and W. Wouwerman's earliest dated work, of 1639 (sale London, Christie's, October 10, 1972), is of minor quality. However, during the 1640s his talents improved rapidly. During that period he was strongly influenced by the Haarlem painter Pieter van Laer (1599 - after 1642) with respect to both style and subject matter. This tallies with Houbraken's remark that Wouwerman laid his hands on sketches and studies by Van Laer after that artist's death. Van Laer's influence is evident in Attack on a Coach, dated 1644, in the collection of the Prince of Liechtenstein, Vaduz. Several figures and details are quotations from works by Van Laer. Most of Wouwerman's compositions of the mid-1640os are dominated by a diagonally placed hill or dune covering most of the horizon, a tree - often dead - as a repoussoir and a few rather large figures, usually with horses. Landscape with Peasants Merrymaking in front of a Cottage in the City Art Gallery, Manchester, Battle Scene in the National Gallery, London and Landscape with a Resting Horseman in the Museum der Bildcnden Künste, Leipzig, all dated 1646, are proof that Wouwerman gradually developed his own style; nonetheless, Van Laer continued to be an important source of inspiration. As demonstrated by the four known dated paintings of 1649, the artist had replaced his sombre palette for a more colourful one by that time, and had also adopted a predominantly more horizontal scheme for his compositions. During that same period Wouwerman' pictures came to reflect a growing interest in landscape, and in the first half of the 1650s he produced a number of paintings which bear witness to his mastery of the landscape idiom. In a Landscape with Horsemen, of 1652, in a private British collection, painted in silvery tones, the figures and horses are reduced to a fairly insignificant staffage. Genre elements continued to play an important role in most of his paintings, though. One of his most successful works of that period is the Festive Peasants before a Panorama, dated 1653, in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Perhaps nowhere else in his oeuvre did the artist succeed in producing such a happy synthesis of genre and landscape elements. In the second half of the 1650s Wouwerman painted many of the fanciful hunting scenes - often with a vaguely Italian setting and brighter local colours - which were particularly sought after in the 18th and early 19th centuries. Only a few dated works from the last decade of his life have been preserved, but they do show a tendency towards more sombre colours and suggest a slight decline in his artistic skills. Van Laer's stylistic influence on Wouwerman had almost disappeared by then, although it continued to play a major role in terms of subject matter. After the middle of the 19th century Wouwerman's popularity waned, but more recently his work has met with increasing acclaim.

Aphra Behn (1640–1689)—the first woman to write professionally in English—is remembered today primarily for her novel Oroonoko, or the Royal Slave: A True History (1688), which addresses both the abuses of slaves in Surinam and the psychological complexity of enslavement. This essay uses Behn’s portrayal of slavery to examine complementary processes that hold individuation at bay and thus propel the events toward tragedy: men’s shadow projection manifests as brutality, especially against Oroonoko; and present women are objects of anima projection, while absent women symbolize the lack of men’s anima integration. In addition, the narrator’s frequent stress on female characters’ tempering influence on men, which anticipates Jung’s essentialism (his attribution of gender to biological sex), is cultural accretion rather than psychological truth. The novel’s essentialist position, however, deconstructs itself because of Imoinda’s prowess in battle and the narrator’s own unrealized complicity in slavery. Ultimately, by providing a compensatory voice, the novel critiques the culture of slavery that it reflects.

This article is concerned with dance as an embodied form of collective remembering in the Andean department of Ayacucho in Peru. Andean dance and fiesta are inextricably linked with notions of identity, cultural heritage and history. Rather than being simply aesthetic —steps to music or a series of movements — dance is readable as being a deeper embodiment of the broader struggles and concerns of a people. As anthropologist Zoila Mendoza writes, in post-colonial countries such as those in Africa and Latin America, dance is and was a means “through which people contested, domesticated and reworked signs of domination in their society” (39). Andean dance has long been a space of contestation and resistance (Abercrombie; Bigenho; Isbell; Mendoza; Stern). It also functions as a repository, a dynamic archive which holds and tells the collective narrative of a cultural time and space. As Jane Cowan observes “dance is much more than knowing the steps; it involves both social knowledge and social power” (xii). In cultures where the written word has not played a central role in the construction and transmission of knowledge, dance is a particularly rich resource for understanding. “Embodied practice, along with and bound up with other cultural practices, offers a way of knowing” (Taylor 3). This is certainly true in the Andes of Peru where dance, music and fiesta are central to social, cultural, economic and political life. This article combines the areas of cultural memory with aspects of dance anthropology in a bid to reveal what is often unspoken and discover new ways of accessing and understanding non-verbal forms of memory through the embodied medium of dance. In societies where dance is integral to daily life the dance becomes an important resource for a deeper understanding of social and cultural memory. However, this characteristic of the dance has been largely overlooked in the field of memory studies. Paul Connerton writes, “… that there is an aspect of social memory which has been greatly ignored but is absolutely essential: bodily social memory” (382). I am interested in the role of dance as a site memory because as a dancer I am acutely aware of embodied memory and of the importance of dance as a narrative mode, not only for the dancer but also for the spectator. This article explores the case study of rural carnival performed in the city of Huamanga, in the Andean department of Ayacucho and includes interviews I conducted with rural campesinos (this literally translates as people from the country, however, it is a complex term imbedded with notions of class and race) between June 2009 and March 2010. Through examining the transformative effect of what I call the chorography of place, I argue that rural campesinos embody the memory of place, dancing that place into being in the urban setting as a means of remembering and maintaining connection to their homeland and salvaging cultural heritage.The department of Ayacucho is located in the South-Central Andes of Peru. The majority of the population are Quechua-speaking campesinos many of whom live in extreme poverty. Nestled in a cradle of mountains at 2,700 meters above sea level is the capital city of the same name. However, residents prefer the pre-revolutionary name of Huamanga. This is largely due to the fact that the word Ayacucho is a combination of two Quechua words Aya and Kucho which translate as Corner of the Dead. Given the recent history of the department it is not surprising that residents refer to their city as Huamanga instead of Ayacucho. Since 1980 the department of Ayacucho has become known as the birthplace of Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and the ensuing 20 years of political violence between Sendero and counter insurgency forces. In 2000, the interim government convened the Peruvian Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC – CVR Spanish). In 2003, the TRC released its report which found that over 69,000 people were killed or disappeared during the conflict and hundreds of thousands more were forced to leave their homes (CVR). Those most affected by the violence and human rights abuses were predominantly from the rural population of the central-southern Andes (CVR). Following the release of the TRC Report the department of Ayacucho has become a centre for memory studies investigations and commemorative ceremonies. Whilst there are many traditional arts and creative expressions which commemorate or depict some aspect of the violence, dance is not used it this way. Rather, I contend that the dance is being salvaged as a means of remembering and connecting to place. Migration Brings ChangeAs a direct result of the political violence, the city of Huamanga experienced a large influx of people from the surrounding rural areas, who moved to the city in search of relative safety. Rapid forced migration from the country to the city made integration very difficult due to the sheer volume of displaced populations (Coronel 2). As a result of the internal conflict approximately 450 rural communities in the southern-central Andes were either abandoned or destroyed; 300 of these were in the department of Ayacucho. As a result, Huamanga experienced an enormous influx of rural migrants. In fact, according to the United Nations International Human Rights Instruments, 30 per cent of all people displaced by the violence moved to Ayacucho (par. 39). As campesinos moved to the city in search of safety they formed new neighbourhoods on the outskirts of the city. Although many are now settled in Huamanga, holding professional positions, working in restaurants, running stalls, or owning shops, most maintain strong links to their community of origin. The ways in which individuals sustain connection to their homelands are many and varied. However, dance and fiesta play a central role in maintaining connection.During the years of violence, Sendero Luminoso actively prohibited the celebration of traditional ceremonies and festivals which they considered to be “archaic superstition” (Garcia 40). Reprisals for defying Sendero Luminoso directives were brutal; as a result many rural inhabitants restricted their ritual practices for fear of the tuta puriqkuna or literally, night walkers (Ritter 27). This caused a sharp decline in ritual custom during the conflict (27).As a result, many Ayacuchano campesinos feel they have been robbed of their cultural heritage and identity. There is now a conscious effort to rescatar y recorder or to salvage and remember what was been taken from them, or, in the words of Ruben Romani, a dance teacher from Huanta, “to salvage what was killed during the difficult years.”Los Carnavales Ayacuchanos Whilst carnival is celebrated in many parts of the world, the mention of carnival often evokes images of scantily clad Brazilians dancing to the samba rhythms in the streets of Rio de Janeiro, or visions of elaborate floats and extravagant costumes. None of these are to be found in Huamanga. Rather, the carnival dances celebrated by campesinos in Huamanga are not celebrations of ‘the now’ or for the benefit of tourists, but rather they are embodiments of the memory of a lost place. During carnival, that lost or left homeland is danced into being in the urban setting as a means of maintaining a connection to the homeland and of salvaging cultural heritage.In the Andes, carnival coincides with the first harvest and is associated with fertility and giving thanks. It is considered a time of joy and to be a great leveller. In Huamanga carnival is one of the most anticipated fiestas of the year. As I was told many times “carnival is for everyone” and “we all participate.” From the old to the very young, the rich and poor, men and women all participate in carnival."We all participate." Carnavales Rurales (rural carnival) is celebrated each Sunday during the three weeks leading up to the official time of carnival before Lent. Campesinos from the same rural communities, join together to form comparsas, or groups. Those who participate identify as campesinos; even though many participants have lived in the city for more than 20 years. Some of the younger participants were born in the city. Whilst some campesinos, displaced by the violence, are now returning to their communities, many more have chosen to remain in Huamanga. One such person is Rómulo Canales Bautista. Rómulo dances with the comparsa Claveles de Vinchos.Rómulo Bautista dancing the carnival of VinchosOriginally from Vinchos, Rómulo moved to Huamanga in search of safety when he was a boy after his father was killed. Like many who participate in rural carnival, Rómulo has lived in Huamanga for a many years and for the most part he lives a very urban existence. He completed his studies at the university and works as a professional with no plans to return permanently to Vinchos. However, Rómulo considers himself to be campesino, stating “I am campesino. I identify myself as I am.” Rómulo laughed as he explained “I was not born dancing.” Since moving to Huamanga, Rómulo learned the carnival dance of Vinchos as a means of feeling a connection to his place of origin. He now participates in rural carnival each year and is the captain of his comparsa. For Rómulo, carnival is his cultural inheritance and that which connects him to his homeland. Living and working in the urban setting whilst maintaining strong links to their homelands through the embodied expressions of fiesta, migrants like Rómulo negotiate and move between an urbanised mestizo identity and a rural campesino identity. However, for rural migrants living in Huamanga, it is campesino identity which holds greater importance during carnival. This is because carnival allows participants to feel a visceral connection to both land and ancestry. As Gerardo Muñoz, a sixty-seven year old migrant from Chilcas explained “We want to make our culture live again, it is our patrimony, it is what our grandfathers have left us of their wisdom and how it used to be. This is what we cultivate through our carnival.”The Plaza TransformedComparsa from Huanta enter the PlazaEach Sunday during the three weeks leading up to the official time of carnival the central Plaza is transformed by the dance, music and song of up to seventy comparsas participating in Carnavales Rurales. Rural Carnival has a transformative effect not only on participants but also on the wider urban population. At this time campesinos, who are generally marginalised, discounted or actively discriminated against, briefly hold a place of power and respect. For a few hours each Sunday they are treated as masters of an ancient art. It is no easy task to conjure the dynamic sensory world of dance in words. As Deidre Sklar questions, “how is the ineffable to be made available in words? How shall I draw out the effects of dancing? Imperfectly, and slowly, bit by bit, building fragments of sensation and association so that its pieces lock in with your sensory memories like a jigsaw puzzle” (17).Recalling the DanceAs comparsas arrive in the Plaza there is creative chaos and the atmosphere hums with excitement as more and more comparsas gather for the pasecalle or parade. At the corner of the plaza, the deafening crack of fire works, accompanied by the sounds of music and the blasting of whistles announce the impending arrival of another comparsa. They are Los Hijos de Chilcas from Chilcas in La Mar in the north-east of the department. They proudly dance and sing their way into the Plaza – bodies strong, their movements powerful yet fluid. Their heads are lifted to greet the crowd, their chests wide and open, eyes bright with pride. Led by the capitán, the dancers form two long lines in pairs the men at the front, followed by the women. All the men carry warakas, long whips of plaited leather which they crack in the air as they dance. These are ancient weapons which are later used in a ritual battle. They dance in a swinging stepping motion that swerves and snakes, winds and weaves along the road. At various intervals the two lines open out, doubling back on themselves creating two semicircles. The men wear frontales, pieces of material which hang down the front of the legs, attached with long brightly coloured ribbons. The dancers make high stepping motions, kicking the frontales up in the air as they go; as if moving through high grasses. The ribbons swish and fly around the men and they are clouded in a blur of colour and movement. The women follow carrying warakitas, which are shorter and much finer. They hold their whips in two hands, stretched wide in front of their bodies or sweeping from side to side above their heads. They wear large brightly coloured skirts known as polleras made from heavy material which swish and swoosh as they dance from side to side – step, touch together, bounce; step, touch together, bounce. The women follow the serpent pattern of the men. Behind the women are the musicians playing guitars, quenas and tinyas. The musicians are followed by five older men dressed in pants and suit coats carrying ponchos draped over the right shoulder. They represent the traditional community authorities known as Varayuq and karguyuq. The oldest of the men is carrying the symbols of leadership – the staff and the whip.The Choreography of PlaceFor the members of Los Hijos de Chilcas the dance represents the topography of their homeland. The steps and choreography are created and informed by the dancers’ relationship to the land from which they come. La Mar is a very mountainous region where, as one dancer explained, it is impossible to walk a straight line up or down the terrain. One must therefore weave a winding path so as not to slip and fall. As the dancers snake and weave, curl and wind they literally dance their “place” of origin into being. With each swaying movement of their body, with each turn and with every footfall on the earth, dancers lay the mountainous terrain of La Mar along the paved roads of the Plaza. The flying ribbons of the frontales evoke the long grasses of the hillsides. “The steps are danced in the form of a zigzag which represents the changeable and curvilinear paths that join the towns, as well as creating the figure eight which represents the eight anexos of the district” (Carnaval Tradicional). Los Hijos de ChilcasThe weaving patterns and the figure eights of the dance create a choreography of place, which reflects and evoke the land. This choreography of place is built upon with each step of the dance many of which emulate the native fauna. One of the dancers explained whilst demonstrating a hopping step “this is the step of a little bird” common to La Mar. With his body bent forward from the waist, left hand behind his back and elbow out to the side like a wing, stepping forward on the left leg and sweeping the right leg in half circle motion, he indeed resembled a little bird hopping along the ground. Other animals such as the luwichu or deer are also represented through movement and costume.Katrina Teaiwa notes that the peoples of the South Pacific dance to embody “not space but place”. This is true also for campesinos from Chilcas living in the urban setting, who invoke their place of origin and the time of the ancestors as they dance their carnival. The notion of place is not merely terrain. It includes the nature elements, the ancestors and those who also those who have passed away. The province of La Mar was one of the most severely affected areas during the years of internal armed conflict especially during 1983-1984. More than 1,400 deaths and disappearances were reported to the TRC for this period alone (CVR). Hundreds of people were forced to leave their homes and in many communities it became impossible to celebrate fiestas. Through the choreography of place dancers transform the urban streets and dance the very land of their origin into being, claiming the urban streets as their own. The importance of this act can not be overstated for campesinos who have lost family members and were forced to leave their communities during the years of violence. As Deborah Poole has noted dance is “…the active Andean voice …” (99). As comparsa members teach their children the carnival dance of their parents and grandparents they maintain ancestral connections and pass on the stories and embodied memories of their homes. Much of the literature on carnival views it as a release valve which allows a temporary freedom but which ultimately functions to reinforce established structures. This is no longer the case in Huamanga. The transformative effect of rural carnival goes beyond the moment of the dance. Through dancing the choreography of place campesinos salvage and restore that which was taken from them; the effects of which are felt by both the dancer and spectator.ConclusionThe closer examination of dance as embodied memory reveals those memory practices which may not necessarily voice the violence directly, but which are enacted, funded and embodied and thus, important to the people most affected by the years of conflict and violence. In conclusion, the dance of rural carnival functions as embodied memory which is danced into being through collective participation; through many bodies working together. Dancers who participate in rural carnival have absorbed the land sensorially and embodied it. Through dancing the land they give it form and bring embodied memory into being, imbuing the paved roads of the plaza with the mountainous terrain of their home land. For those born in the city, they come to know their ancestral land through the Andean voice of dance. The dance of carnival functions in a unique way making it possible for participants recall their homelands through a physical memory and to dance their place into being wherever they are. This corporeal memory goes beyond the normal understanding of memory as being of the mind for as Connerton notes “images of the past are remembered by way of ritual performances that are ‘stored’ in a bodily memory” (89). 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Abstract The precise date of Milton’s return from continental Europe remains uncertain. He himself, writing in 1654, recalls, ‘I returned home after a year and three months, more or less, at almost the same time as Charles [I] broke the peace and renewed the war with the Scots, which is known as the second Bishops’ War.’ The skirmish at Newburn-on-Tyne to which he alludes took place on 28 August 1640. If the usual assumption, that he left England about May 1638, is correct, and if he has remembered the length of his absence, the date of his return would have been about August 1639.

Abstract It was clear by the end of the 1644 campaigning season that if the parliament was to win the war it must concentrate its resources and reorganize its armies. Yet if the need was obvious, the obstacles to fulfilling it were formidable. For a start there was the problem of military leadership. Essex would take some shifting; his standing in parliament was not as badly damaged by his recent defeat as might have been expected, he still had powerful friends and allies, and he remained popular with all who hoped as he did for a negotiated peace. Waller had once seemed a plausible alternative commander, for he had shown an altogether stronger fighting spirit. But Cropredy Bridge and the second battle of Newbury had exposed serious limitations in his generalship, and by his own later admission he had become ‘so perfectly tired with the drudgery’ of military command that he was ready to lay it down.1 As for Manchester, whose Eastern Association army had once been the white hope of the war party, he had become so reluctant to engage it in action that a running quarrel had developed between him and Cromwell, his Lieutenant- General.

This chapter describes the system of signs, miracles, and images that existed in Portugal in the run-up to the revolt. Portuguese political providentialism is explained as a central component of the ideological framework of the Portuguese Restoration. A vital current that contributed to the events of 1640 was Sebastianism, the anticipated return of the last Avis king who allegedly had “disappeared” in the Battle of Alcácer Quibir in Morocco. Linked to this belief was the movement of Bandarrism, which had its origins in a collection of verses composed by Gonçalo Anes Bandarra that were thought to have already pointed to the person of the Duke of Braganza as the new Portuguese king. The chapter discusses a sculpture in Alcobaça, a trove of ancient coins in Évora, as well as objects and images that might have served as conspirators’ “senhas.”