Journal articles on the topic 'Dietrich von Bern'

Die Figur des Ostgotenkönigs und später rex Italiae Theoderich (um 453/455–526) erfährt bereits früh ein sehr großes Interesse in der Historiographie und Literatur. Noch ,,zu seinen Lebzeiten [erscheinen] meist in seinem got.-italischen Umfeld“1 Berichte zu seiner Person und kurz nach seinem Tod setzt eine breite Rezeption an: Zahlreiche Theoderich-Testimonien sind bis heute überliefert worden;2 unzählig sind Erwähnungen des Königs in Chroniken und Legendensammlungen.3 In Deutschland bildet sich auch schon zu Anfang eine Sage (die Dietrichsage) um die historische Figur Theoderichs, in der der Protagonist und Held Dietrich von Bern als literarisches Alter Ego Theoderichs fungiert. Bald unterscheidet man auch zwischen einer lateinisch-italienischen und einer deutschen Rezeptionsströmung: Während die römisch-kirchliche Tradition Theoderich als Usurpator Italiens und arianischen Kerker darstellt (und ihn deswegen zur Verdammnis verurteilt), wird die deutsche deutlich positiver beurteilt. Theoderich ,,vereinigt[] […] ,germanische‘ Tugenden, wie kriegerisches Wesen und hohe moralische Grundsätze, mit der Wertschätzung für die Leistungen der römischen Kultur“.4 Doch sollten sich im Allgemeinen von Beginn an und ,,bis ins 20. Jh. hinein […] positive und negative Sichtweisen abwechseln“:5 Auch wenn negative Beurteilungen seit dem Humanismus meist in den Hintergrund rücken,6 bleiben auch theoderichfeindliche Deutungen bestehen. Die Darstellung des Theoderich/Dietrich erlebt also im Laufe der Jahrhunderte viele Interpretationen und neue Akzentuierungen. Ziel des vorliegenden Beitrags ist es, einige dieser Umdeutungen am Beispiel vier ausgewählter Texte aus dem deutschen und italienischen Kulturraum zu ergründen, welche aus dem ausgehenden 19. bzw. aus dem 20. Jh. stammen.7 Dabei handelt es sich um folgende Texte: Giosuè Carduccis Gedicht La leggenda di Teodorico (1884/1885),8 Wilhelm Schäfers Roman Theoderich König des Abendlandes (1939),9 Wilhelm Bartschs Jugendbuch Heldenlärm10 (1998) sowie Dario Fos La vera storia di Ravenna (1999).11 Im Folgenden soll besonders den Fragen nachgegangen werden, welche Transformationen die Figur Theoderichs/Dietrichs im 19. und 20. Jh. in der deutschen und italienischen Literatur – in Hinblick auf das Kulturerbe – erfahren hat und aus welchem Grund diese neu interpretiert und umgewandelt worden ist.

This is the first publication of the Curriculum Vitae of Maria von Wedemeyer, fiancé of the famous theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer who has been executed by the Nazis just a few days before the end of World War II as a resistance fighter against Hitler. Maria wrote this CV in the year 1948 at the age of 23, when she applied for a scholarship at Bryn Mawr College near Philadelphia. In Germany, she had studied mathematics at the University of Göttingen, and she intended to pursue studies in physics and history in order to become a teacher. Here application was approved and she remained in the United States for good: She was twice married and divorced, raised two sons and embarked on a career in the emerging computer industry before she died on Boston at the age of 53 in with cancer. Whereas Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s popularity is still growing more than 75 years after his death, little is known about his family background. This is especially true for the women among his relatives – despite of their crucial importance for the resistance movement. Maria von Wedemeyer kept silent about her relationship with Dietrich for the most part of her life, trying to leave behind the terrible strokes of fate which she had experienced as a young woman: Her beloved father and brother were killed as soldiers at the Eastern Front in Russia, her family’s state in Brandenburg was destroyed by the Red Army and her fiancé was killed by the Gestapo. However, Maria relates how deeply she was shaped by the Christian faith of her parents and about the aspirations she has to educate a new generation for a better future.

Josef Seifert is Rector of the International Academy of Philosophy in Liechtenstein, and an internationally acclaimed philosopher. He is also a member of the Pontfical Academy for Life. Josef Seifert received his doctorate in Philosophy from the University of Salzburg in 1969 and, under Professor Robert Spaemann, his habilitation from the University of Munich (Privatdozent) in 1975. He studied mainly under Balduin Schwarz, the most distinguished German former student of Dietrich von Hildebrand, at the University of Salzburg, and under Gabriel Marcel in Paris. His closest teacher was Dietrich von Hildebrand. From 1973 to 1980 Seifert was Professor and Director of the doctoral program of Philosophy at the University of Dallas. In 1980 Seifert co-founded and became Director of the International Academy of Philosophy (IAP) in Irving, Texas; he has been Rector of the IAP in Liechtenstein since 1986, and of the IAP at the Pontifícia Universidad Católica de Chile en Santiago (IAP-PUC) since 2004. He is currently also Rector and full time Professor of Philosophy at the IAP, and Profesor titular asociado de la Facultad de Filosofía de la Pontifícia Universidad Católica de Chile en Santiago. This is the written text (much enlarged and completely revised by Josef Seifert) of an interview with Rodrigo Guerra, at the Cisav

By 1600 Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II was still unmarried and therefore without an heir apparent. Rudolf was pressured to name a successor, who could take over as long as there was no direct heir. The obvious choice would have been one of this brothers, Archduke Albert VII of Austria among them. Through the meddling of Wolf Dietrich von Raitenau, Archbishop of Salzburg, Tycho Brahe became a pawn in a power play between the brothers of Rudolf II. Two letters of Tycho Brahe to Albert reveal how deeply he was involved.

Between 2003 and 2020, Elisabeth Lienert and her collaborators at the University of Bremen have been publishing new editions of nearly the entire Middle High German Dietrich Cycle. Committed to the principle of strict adherence to transmitted texts, they carried out the long overdue departure from Lachmann's reconstructive philology for this group of texts. The contribution gives a critical appraisal. In den Jahren 2003 bis 2020 haben Elisabeth Lienert und ihre Mitarbeiterinnen an der Universität Bremen in rascher Folge Neuausgaben fast der gesamten mhd. Dietrichepik herausgebracht. Dem Prinzip strikter Überlieferungstreue verpflichtet, vollziehen sie für diese Textgruppe die längst fällige Abkehr von der Lachmannschen Rekonstruktionsphilologie. Der Beitrag gibt eine kritische Würdigung.

Abstract:In February 2013 Christos Tsirogiannis linked a fragmentary Athenian red-figured cup from the collection formed by Dietrich von Bothmer, former chairman of Greek and Roman Art at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, to a tondo in the Villa Giulia, Rome. The Rome fragment was attributed to the Euaion painter. Bothmer had acquired several fragments attributed to this same painter, and some had been donated to the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as to the J. Paul Getty Museum. Other fragments from this hand were acquired by the San Antonio Museum of Art and the Princeton University Art Museum. In January 2012 it was announced that some fragments from the Bothmer collection would be returned to Italy, because they fitted vases that had already been repatriated from North American collections. The Euaion painter fragments are considered against the phenomenon of collecting and donating fractured pots.

- Joan D. van Andel, H.E. Coomans, Building up the the future from the past; Studies on the architecture and historic monuments in the Dutch Caribbean, Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1990, 268 pp., M.A. Newton, M. Coomans-Eustatia (eds.) - Rene van den Berg, James N. Sneddon, Studies in Sulawesi linguistics, Part I, 1989. NUSA, Linguistic studies of Indonesian and other languages in Indonesia, volume 31. Jakarta: Badan Penyelenggara Seri Nusa, Universitas Katolik Indonesia Atma Jaya. - Thomas Crump, H. Beukers, Red-hair medicine: Dutch-Japanese medical relations. Amsterdam/Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, Publications for the Netherlands Association of Japanese studies No. 5, 1991., A.M. Luyendijk-Elshout, M.E. van Opstall (eds.) - M. Heins, Kees P. Epskamp, Theatre in search of social change; The relative significance of different theatrical approaches. Den Haag: CESO Paperback no. 7, 1989. - Rudy De Iongh, Rainer Carle, Opera Batak; Das Wandertheater der Toba-Batak in Nord Sumatra. Schauspiele zur Währung kultureller Identität im nationalen Indonesischen Kontext. Veröffentlichungen des Seminars fur Indonesische und Südseesprachen der Universität Hamburg, Band 15/1 & 15/2 (2 Volumes), Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 1990. - P.E. de Josselin de Jong, Birgit Rottger-Rossler, Rang und Ansehen bei den Makassar von Gowa (Süd-Sulawesi, Indonesien), Kölner Ethnologische Studien, Band 15. Dietrich Reimar Verlag, Berlin, 1989. 332 pp. text, notes, glossary, literature. - John Kleinen, Vo Nhan Tri, Vietnam’s economic policy since 1975. Singapore: ASEAN Economic research unit, Institute of Southeast Asian studies, 1990. xii + 295 pp. - H.M.J. Maier, David Banks, From class to culture; Social conscience in Malay novels since independence, Yale, 1987. - Th. C. van der Meij, Robyn Maxwell, Textiles of Southeast Asia; Tradition, trade and transformation. Melbourne/Oxford/Auckland/New York: Australian National Gallery/Oxford University Press. - A.E. Mills, Elinor Ochs, Culture and language development, Studies in the social and cultural foundations of language No. 6, Cambridge University Press, 227 + 10 pp. - Denis Monnerie, Frederick H. Damon, Death rituals and life in the societies of the Kula Ring, Dekalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1989. 280 pp., maps, figs., bibliogr., Roy Wagner (eds.) - Denis Monnerie, Frederick H. Damon, From Muyuw to the Trobriands; Transformations along the northern side of the Kula ring, Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1990. xvi + 285 pp., maps, figs., illus., apps., bibliogr., index. - David S. Moyer, Jeremy Boissevain, Dutch dilemmas; Anthropologists look at the Netherlands, Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1989, v + 186 pp., Jojada Verrips (eds.) - Gert Oostindie, B.H. Slicher van Bath, Indianen en Spanjaarden; Een ontmoeting tussen twee werelden, Latijns Amerika 1500-1800. Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 1989. 301 pp. - Parakitri, C.A.M. de Jong, Kompas 1965-1985; Een algemene krant met een katholieke achtergrond binnen het religieus pluralisme van Indonesie, Kampen: Kok, 1990. - C.A. van Peursen, J. van Baal, Mysterie als openbaring. Utrecht: ISOR, 1990. - Harry A. Poeze, R.A. Longmire, Soviet relations with South-East Asia; An historical survey. London-New York: Kegan Paul International, 1989, x + 176 pp. - Harry A. Poeze, Ann Swift, The road to Madiun; The Indonesian communist uprising of 1948. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project (Monograph series 69), 1989, xii + 116 pp. - Alex van Stipriaan, Cornelis Ch. Goslinga, The Dutch in the Caribbean and in Surinam 1791/5 - 1942, Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1990. xii + 812 pp. - A. Teeuw, Keith Foulcher, Social commitment in literature and the arts: The Indonesian ‘Institute of People’s culture’ 1950-1965, Clayton, Victoria: Southeast Asian studies, Monash University (Centre of Southeast Asian studies), 1986, vii + 234 pp. - Elly Touwen-Bouwsma, T. Friend, The blue-eyed enemy; Japan against the West in Java and Luzon, 1942-1945. New Jersey: Princeton University press, 1988, 325 pp.

Abstract: German colonization of lands and people in what is today known as Namibiawas consolidated by a war of conquest led by General Adrian Dietrich Lothar von Trotha. From 1904 to 1908, German forces and the indigenous population fought a war that ended in what has been dubbed the first German genocide of the twentieth century. This “forgotten” war and genocide left an estimated 80 % of the Herero and 50 % of the Nama population dead. Using the annual Red Flag Day commemorations as a case study, this account argues that Herero communities have developed distinct public performance practices to remember, commemorate, contest, and transmit the memory of this genocide. This account suggests that Red Flag Day can be read and understood as a cultural performance, which represents and shapes the memory of the past and the community’s relationship with the genocide.

Teilhard de Chardin has been criticized by both Roman Catholic (Etienne Gilson, Jacques Maritain, and Dietrich von Hildebrand) and Protestant (David Lane and Jurgen Moltmann) theologians for allegedly promulgating a heterodox, modernist version of Gnosticism that substitutes a naturalistic account of evolution for the supernatural Christian story of redemption in Christ, departs from scriptural and classical theological norms, gives primacy to scientific over theological reasoning, and articulates a vision of pure immanence. Teilhard’s theological integration of salvation and evolution in The Human Phenomenon and other works is, however, grounded in an implicitly figural interpretation of history that is both scriptural and classical in inspiration. Reading Teilhard’s early essay, ‘Cosmic Life,’ through the studies of Erich Auerbach, Leonard Goppelt, and Tibor Fabiny on figural interpretation demonstrates that Teilhard describes evolutionary history as a typological anticipation for the coming Christ, thus refuting misconstruals of his theology as gnostic, heterodox, naturalistic, and immanentalist.

Die Berliner Bergakademie und die mit ihr verbundene Sammlung des preußischen Berg- und Hütten-Departements, das Königliche Mineralienkabinett, sind die unmittelbaren institutionellen Vorläufer der geowissenschaftlichen Institute und Sammlungen, die sich heute im Museum für Naturkunde der Humboldt-Universität befinden. In der Zeit ihres Bestehens erlebten diese Einrichtungen eine beachtliche Entwicklung. Am Königlichen Mineralienkabinett waren als Leiter und Lehrer der Mineralogie und Bergbaukunde nacheinander drei Bergbeamten tätig, Carl Abraham Gerhard als ihr Gründer, danach für kurze Zeit Johann Jacob Ferber und ab 1789 Dietrich Ludwig Gustav Karsten. Gefördert durch den bedeutenden Bergwerks-Minister Friedrich Anton Frh. von Heinitz konnte die Einrichtung im Jahre 1801 einen museumsartigen Neubau, die sogenannte Neue Münze, beziehen, wodurch sie neben ihrer Einbindung in die Lehraufgaben der Bergakademie auch eine Wirksamkeit in der Allgemeinbildung erhielt. Ein Besucherbuch markiert mit seinen Eintragungen den Höhepunkt der Entwicklung. Der Niedergang Preußens durch den Einfall Napoleons 1806 und die danach folgende Besinnung auf innere Kräfte führten im Jahre 1810 zur Errichtung der Berliner Universität. Diese übernahm die Lehraufgaben der Bergakademie, und das Königliche Mineralienkabinett war von nun an das Mineralogisches Museum der Universität. <br><br> doi:<a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/mmng.1999.4860020101" target="_blank">10.1002/mmng.1999.4860020101</a>

Whereas one would usually not proceed with acquiring the booklet of a named public lecture, the present volume could be an exception, for it brings to the reader an excellent overview of the history and current state of the grossly overlooked Apollo sanctuary of Abae in Phocis. Wolf-Dietrich Niemeyer, director of the excavations at Abae since 2004, was invited to deliver the yearly Winckelmann lecture in Trier in 2013. His lecture includes a comprehensive overview of recent work done at the sanctuary, and presents some of the groundbreaking conclusions that can be drawn from it. None of the recent excavations have been fully published and even less is available in English, this despite the fact that Abae was one of the most important oracle sanctuaries of the ancient world.

- Timothy P. Barnard, Raja Ali Haji, Di dalam berkekalan persahabatan: ‘In everlasting friendship’; Letters from Raja Ali Haji, edited by Jan van der Putten and Al Azhar. Semaian 13. Leiden: Department of Languages and Cultures of Southeast Asia and Oceania, 1995, 292 + x pp., maps. - Robert Blust, L. Smits, Irian Jaya source materials, no. 5, series B-no. 2. The J.C. Anceaux collection of wordlists of Irian Jaya Languages. A: Austronesian languages (part II). Leiden/Jakarta, 1992, 288 pp., C.L. Voorhoeve (eds.) - Peter Boomgaard, Mason C. Hoadley, Towards a feudal mode of production; West Java, 1680-1800. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies [ in cooperation with the Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, Copenhagen], 1994, x + 241 pp. - Freek Colombijn, Muriel Charras, Spontaneous settlements in Indonesia; Agricultural pioneers in southern Sumatra. Migrations spontanées en Indonésie; La colonisation agricole de sud de Sumatra. Jakarta: Departemen Transmigrasi; Paris: ORSTOM-CNRS, 1993, 405 pp., Marc Pain (eds.) - Dick Douwes, Hussin Mutalib, Islam, Muslims and the modern state; Case-studies of Muslims in thirteen countries. London: MacMillan; New York: St. Martin Press, 1994, 374 pp., Taj ul-Islam Hashimi (eds.) - J. van Goor, H.W. van den Doel, De stille macht; Het Europse binnenlands bestuur op Java en Madoera, 1808-1942. Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 1994, 578 pp. - Stuart Kirsch, J.W. Schoorl, Culture and change among the Muyu. Translated by G.J. van Exel. Translation Series 23. Leiden: KITLV Press, 1993, xiv + 322 pp. - Bernd Nothofer, Ger P. Resink, Topics in descriptive Papuan linguistics. Leiden: Vakgroep Talen en Culturen van Zuidoost-Azië en Oceanië, Rijksuniversiteit te Leiden, 1994, viii + 154 pp. - Gerard Persoon, Robin Broad, Plundering paradise; The struggle for the environment in the Philippines. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993, xvi + 197 pp., John Cavanagh (eds.) - Gerard Persoon, Thomas N. Headland, The Tasaday controversy; Assessing the evidence. AAA 28 Special Publication. Washington: American Anthropological Association, 1992, xi + 255 pp. - Remco Raben, Peter Harmen van der Brug, Malaria en malaise; De VOC in Batavia in de achttiende eeuw. Amsterdam: De Bataafsche Leeuw, 1994, 256 pp. - Nico G. Schulte Nordholt, Marcel Bonneff, ‘L’Indonésie contemporaine; vue par ses intellectuels’. Un choix d’articles de la revue PRISMA (1971-1991). Cahier d’Archipel 21. L’Harmattan, 1994, 287 pp. - A. Teeuw, Henri Chambert-Loir, Littérature indonésienne, une introduction. Éditeur Henri Chambert-Loir. Cahier d’Archipel 22. Paris: Association Archipel, 1994, 237 pp. - A. Teeuw, Martina Heinschke, Angkatan 45. Literaturkonzeptionen im gesellschaftspolitischen Kontext; Zur Funktionsbestimmung von Literatur im postkolonialen Indonesien. Veröffentlichungen des Seminars für Indonesische und Südseesprachen der Universität Hamburg, Band 18. Berlin/Hamburg: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 1993, viii + 365 pp., - Wim van Zanten, Philip Yampolsky, Music of Indonesia, Volumes 1-6. Series of CDs/cassette tapes with documentation. Washington: Smithsonian/Folkways Recordings. Vol. 1: ‘Songs before dawn: Gandrung Banyuwangi’ (1991; SF40055); Vol. 2: ‘Indonesian popular music: Kroncong, Dangdut, and Langgam Jawa’ (1991; SF40056); Vol. 3: ‘Music from the outskirts of Jakarta: Gambang Kromong’ (1991; SF40057); Vol. 4: ‘Music of Nias and North Sumatra: Hoho, Gendang Karo, Gondang Toba’ (1992; SF40420); Vol. 5: ‘Betawi and Sundanese music of the north coast of Java: Topeng Betawi, Tanjidor, Ajeng’ (1994; SF40421); Vol. 6: ‘Night music of West Sumatra: Saluang, Rabab Pariaman, Dendang Pauah’(1994; SF 40422).

- Victoria J. Baker, Anthony Jackson, Anthropology at home, ASA monographs 25, London: Tavistock Publications, 1987, 221 pages. - Thomas Bargatzky, Martin A. van Bakel, Private politics; A multi-disciplinary approach to ‘Big-Man’ systems, Studies in Human Society, Vol. I, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1986. x, 220 pp., illustrations, maps, index., Renée R. Hagesteijn, Pieter van de Velde (eds.) - W.E.A. van Beek, Victor W. Turner, The anthropology of experience, (with an epilogue by Clifford Geertz). Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1986., Edward M. Bruner (eds.) - W. van den Broeke, H. Meyer, De Deli Spoorweg Maatschappij; Driekwart eeuw koloniaal spoor, Zutphen: Walburg Pers, met medewerking van F.A.J. Heckler. 1987; 152 blz. - R. Buijtenhuijs, S. Bernus et al., Le fils et le neveu: Jeux et enjeux de la parenté tourarègue, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge/Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Paris, 1986, XI, 343 pp. - R. Buijtenhuijs, Dominique Casajus, La tente dans la solitude: La société et les morts chez les Touaregs Kel Ferwan, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge/Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Paris, 1987, 390 pp. - H.J.M. Claessen, Christine Ward Gailey, Kinship to kingship; Gender hierarchy and state formation in the Tongan Islands. Austin: University of Texas Press (Texas Press Sourcebooks in Anthropology, No. 14.), 1987. 326 pp., figs., index, bibl. - Alfred E. Daniëls, Richard B. Davis, Muang metaphysics, Bangkok: Pandora Press,1984. - Alfred E. Daniëls, Gehan Wijeyewardene, Place and emotion in northern Thai ritual behaviour, Bangkok: Pandora Press, 1986. - P.M.H. Groen, Jacques van Doorn, The process of decolonization 1945-1975; The military experience in comparitive perspective, CASP publications no. 17, Erasmus Universiteit Rotterdam, 1987, 46 pp., Willem J. Hendrix (eds.) - Rosemarijn Hoefte, Luis H. Daal, Antilliaans verhaal. Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 1988, Ted Schouten (eds.) - W.L. Idema, Claudine Salmon, Literary migrations; Traditional Chinese fiction in Asia (17th-20th centuries), Beijing: International culture publishing corporation, 1987, 11 + vi + 661 pp. - P.E. de Josselin de Jong, Sharon A. Carstens, Cultural identity in Northern Peninsular Malaysia, Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Monographs in international studies, Southeast Asia series no. 63, 1986. 91 pp. - P.E. de Josselin de Jong, Robert Wessing, The soul of ambiguity: The tiger in Southeast Asia. Northern Illinois University, Center for Southeast Asian studies, Special report no. 24, 1986. 148 pp., glossary, bibliography. - G.W. Locher, Martine Segalen, Historical anthropology of the family, Cambridge University Press, 1986, 328 pp. - Bernd Nothofer, Hans Kähler, Enggano-Deutsches Wörterbuch. Aus dem Nachlass herausgegeben und mit einem Deutsch-Enggano-Wörterverzeichnis versehen von Hans Schmidt, Veröffentlichungen des Seminars für Indonesische und Südseesprachen der Universität Hamburg, Band 14, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 1987. XIII + 404 pp. - J.D.M. Platenkamp, Brigitte Renard-Clamagirand, Marobo; Une société ema de Timor. Langues et civillisations de l’Asie du sud-est et du monde insulindien no. 12, Paris: Selaf, 1983, 490 pp. - H.C.G. Schoenaker, Leo Frobenius, Ethnographische Notizen aus den Jahren 1905 und 1906; II: Kuba, Leele, Nord-Kete; III: Luluwa, Süd-Kete, Bena Mai, Pende, Cokwe. Bearb.u.hrsg. von Hildegard Klein. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1987; 1988. 223 S., 437 Zeichnungen, 11 fotos, 5 karten; 268 S., 500 Zeichnungen, 15 fotos, 12 karten. - M. Schoffeleers, I.M. Lewis, Religion in context: Cults and charisma, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986, X + 139 pp. - B. Schuch, Ingrid Liebig-Hundius, Thailands Lehrer zwischen ‘Tradition’ und `Fortschritt’; Eine empirische Untersuchung politisch-sozialer und pädagogischer Einstellungen thailändischer Lehrerstudenten des Jahres 1974. Beiträge zur Südasienforschung, Band 85, Weisbaden: Steiner Verlag, 1984, 342 pp. - Henke Schulte Nordholt, S.J. Tambiah, Thought and social action; An anthropological perspective, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard Univ. Press, 1985, 411 pp. - Nico G. Schulte Nordholt, Shamsul Amri Baharuddin, From British to Bumiputra rule: Local politics and rural development in Peninsular Malaysia, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian studies, 1986. 282 pp. - A. Teeuw, I. Syukri, History of the Malay kingdom of Patani - Sejarah Kerajaan Melayu Patani, by Ibrahim Syukri (pseudonym), translated by Conner Bailey and John N. Miksic. Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Center for International studies, monographs in international studies Southeast Asia series number 68, 1985. xx + 90 pp. - Truong Quang, Andrew Vickerman, The fate of the peasantry: Premature `transition to socialism’ in the democratic republic of Vietnam, Monograph No. 28, Yale University, Southeast Asia studies, 1986. 373 pp., incl. bibliography. - Adrian Vickers, H.I.R. Hinzler, Catalogue of Balinese manuscripts in the library of the University of Leiden and other collections in the Netherlands, vol. I: Reproductions of the drawings from the Van der Tuuk collection; vol. II: Descriptions of the Balinese drawings form the Van der Tuuk collection. Leiden: E.J. Brill/Leiden University Press, 1987.

- J. Angerler, Jýrg Schneider, From upland to irrigated rice; The development of wet-rice agriculture in Rejang Musi, Southwest Sumatra. Berlin: Reimer, 1995, 214 pp. [Berner Sumatra-Forschungen.] - R.H. Barnes, Janet Hoskins, The play of time; Kodi perspectives on calendars, history, and exchange. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993, xx + 414 pp. - Karin Bras, Christel Lýbben, Internationaler Tourismus als Faktor der Regionalentwicklung in Indonesien; Untersucht am Beispiel der Insel Lombok. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1995, xiv + 178 pp. - Peter Boomgaard, Florentino Rodao, Espaýoles en Siam (1540-1939); Una aportaciýn al estudio de la presencia hispana en Asia Oriental. Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientýficas, 1997, xix + 206 pp. [Biblioteca de Historia 32.] - Hans Hýgerdal, Winarsih Partaningrat Arifin, Babad Sembar; Chroniques de lýest javanais. Paris: Presses de lýýcole Francaise dýExtrýme Orient, 1995, 149 pp. [EFEO monographie 177.] - Els M. Jacobs, Gerrit J. Knaap, Shallow waters, rising tide; Shipping and trade in Java around 1775. Leiden: KITLV Press, 1996. [Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 172.] - Roy E. Jordaan, John Miksic, Ancient history. Singapore: Archipelago Press/Editions Didier Millet, n.d., 148 pp. [The Indonesian Heritage Series 1.] - Victor T. King, Penelope Graham, Iban shamanism; An analysis of the ethnographic literature. Canberra: Department of Anthropology, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1987 (reprint 1994), x + 174 pp. [Occasional Paper.] - Rita Smith Kipp, Simon Rae, Breath becomes the wind; Old and new in Karo religion. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 1994, viii + 306 pp. - Niels Mulder, Raul Pertierra, Explorations in social theory and Philippine ethnography. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1997, xii + 262 pp. - Anthony Reid, Luc Nagtegaal, Riding the Dutch tiger; The Dutch East Indies Company and the northeast coast of Java, 1680-1743 (translated by Beverly Jackson). Leiden: KITLV Press, 1996, x + 250 pp. Index, maps, tables, graphs. - Cornelia M.I. van der Sluys, Signe Howell, For the sake of our future; Sacrificing in eastern Indonesia, Leiden: Centre for Non-Western Studies, 1996, xi + 398 pp. [CNWS Publication 42.] - Jaap Timmer, Bernard Juillerat, Children of the blood; Society, reproduction and cosmology in New Guinea (translated from the French by Nora Scott). Oxford: Berg, 1996, xxx + 601 pp., glossary, bibliography, index. [Explorations in Anthropology.]

The object once known as the Burney Relief, and now renamed The Queen of the Night (hereinafter referred to as the Queen) is a mould-made plaque of straw-tempered clay (Fig. 1). Integral with the rectangular background (49.5 × 37 cm) is a nude figure who wears the horned headdress of a Mesopotamian goddess, has lowered wings, dewclaws and bird's talons, holds the divine rod-and-ring symbol in each hand, stands on the backs of two addorsed lions, and is flanked by large owls. Traces of black, red and white paint survive. Since it was first published in the Illustrated London News on 13 June 1936, the plaque has been hailed as a masterpiece of ancient Mesopotamian art generally dated to the Old Babylonian period and, more specifically, to the age of Hammurabi (reigned 1792–1750 BC according to the Middle Chronology). After more than seven decades in private ownership, the plaque finally came into the public domain when, in 2003, the British Museum celebrated its 250th anniversary with the acquisition of this iconic work.One would expect such a unique piece to have its detractors, and in 1936–7 Dietrich Opitz published an article in which he raised doubts about its authenticity, although Van Buren, in her article appended to his (1936–7), came out in favour of the plaque. Then “a seminal article by Henri Frankfort (1937–9)… caused Opitz (1937–9) to change his mind” (Curtis and Collon 1996: 91–2), and other major scholars have agreed with Frankfort, including Thorkild Jacobsen (1987).In 1970, Pauline Albenda published a short article that focused on two features of the plaque's iconography, namely the “ring and rod” (normally referred to as rod-and-ring) symbols held by the goddess, and the overlapping lions on which she stood. These led her to “conclude that the Burney relief is not genuine”. In 2005, she revived the debate in an article in the Journal of the American Oriental Society. I shall consider in turn the various points she raises (giving the relevant page numbers in brackets) and seek to demonstrate why I think her arguments to be flawed and why I am convinced that the Queen of the Night is a genuine work of the age of Hammurabi of Babylon.

Although there has been a sizeable amount of work on the speech of gay men (e.g., Podesva 2007), there has been little to no research on gay or bisexual women, whether interspeaker or intraspeaker. This dearth is possibly due to the lack of a stereotypical gay speech style for women. Most people will recognize the gay man speech style exemplified by characters such as Kurt Hummel on Fox’s Glee , but there seems to be no female equivalent. While there may be visual stereotypes of sexuality such as “butch” lesbians sporting baseball caps and Doc Martens (or think of Old Hollywood bisexual Marlene Dietrich’s controversial love of tuxedos), this does not come with a particular speech style. Studies such as Podesva and van Hofwegen’s (2014) analysis of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) residents of Redding, California, have found differences in the realization of /s/ (as defined by spectral measurements such as center of gravity or the mean frequency over the spectrum) between straight and lesbian or bisexual (LB) women. This study examines American lesbian actress Jane Lynch’s realization of /s/ according to center of gravity measurements in two different interviews, with the aim of determining if her /s/ realization is affected by the sexuality of her interlocutor. Lynch’s speech was measured across two topic-controlled interviews, one with lesbian host Rachel Maddow and the other with two non-lesbian women hosts, Gayle King and Erica Hill. Results show that Lynch used lower /s/ realizations (i.e., a lower spectral mean) with the lesbian host than with the non-lesbian hosts. The analysis explores how she uses /s/ both responsively and actively to index a non-heteronormative identity and conceptually aligns herself with the lesbian host. This is mainly presented within the frameworks of Bell’s (1984) theory of audience design and indexicality. It is argued that /s/ may not be consciously salient, but it is perceptually salient on some level (e.g., Mack and Munson 2012). It may therefore, along with other possible features, contribute to an individualized group-marking style. In the absence of a well-known “lesbian accent”, it is argued that Lynch uses /s/ as a tool to create and control her self-presentation to a heteronormative society. Secondarily, some LGBT vs. non-LGBT topic effects within one of the interviews are discussed, with the finding that Lynch has a lower mean of /s/ while discussing LGBT topics, such as same-sex marriage, than unrelated topics, such as her acting career.

AbstractWhen Aert de Gelder's painting (fig. i) was purchased for the Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Bode wrote a note on it in the Amtliche Berichte aus den königlichen Kunstsammlungen 31 (1910) which, despite the brevity of the text, established the interpretation of the representation until now. Bode adopted the title by which the work is generally known, 'The Holy Family', without any reservations, but regarded the unconventional conception of the religious subject as genre-like and profane. He saw this incongruity as the consequence of De Gelder's extreme 'naturalism', which in his opinion was manifest in the types and costumes of Jews from the Orient, portrayed so faithfully that to Bode they resembled nothing so much as 'a family of Jewish immigrants from Poland' ... (refugees from the pogroms were evidently a common sight at that time). The characterisation of the figures is amazingly vivid, but struck Bode as almost comical. To him, oddly, De Gelder's drastic realism was coupled with a rendering based on Rembrandt's last, broad manner of painting but executed coquettishly ; too much an end in itself, it was this virtuoso method that divested the work of the serious mood appropriate to the subject. Bode's negative assessment of 1910 was surpassed by Plietzsch in 1960, but their repudiation of De Gelder's art has since been superseded by positive appraisals in publications of the past few decades. Unfortunately, though, their total misconception of the picture persists. It is still thought to be the profane conception of the religious subject, the conclusion being that the painter only chose his biblical scenes as an excuse to paint colourful pictures of orientals in stereotypical garments. Only in his old age is De Gelder credited with having painted biblical subjects - notably the Passion series - with inner conviction. This complex of speculations is built on the quicksand of carelessly observed figures: the putative Mary is an old woman with jewels in her ears, on her forehead and round her wrists; the alleged Joseph is very close to her, his hand on her shoulder - such intimacy is unthinkable for the Holy Family. The figure on the far right is taken for an unrecognizable subsidiary figure. What Bode confidently imputes to De Gelder as a profane interpretation is blatantly unhistorical fiction: every history painter always felt obliged to depict his subject recognizably and in keeping with the facts and circumstances, arbitrary personal departures from which would have branded him as ignorant and stupid. It is disconcerting and tragi-comical that a mistaken identification of the subject of one painting, resulting from downright carelessness in the observation of details, could go unnoticed and uncriticized for so long and, what is more, be the point of departure for purely speculative statements about De Gelder's alleged indifference to the biblical subjects he depicted. It goes without saying that this articulate figure composition of an aged couple with an infant, laughing for joy, presents familiar characters, and the account in the Old Testament (Genesis 17-21) corresponds with the elements of De Gelder's scene. The frequent mention of laughter - in seven passages- inspired the painter to depict Abraham and Sarah with their child Isaac, whose name means 'to laugh'. It is a scriptural representation, albeit not of a situation from an actual story. There was no precedent for this specific image - the fruit of personal familiarity and sympathy with the story in the Book of Genesis- which explains why it was unknown and hence hard to recognize. De Gelder's wholly personal interpretation of the story is also apparent in his invcntion : the contrast between the family's joy and the forlorn Ishmael at the far right. In fact, though, the supposedly profane work provides proof positive of the paintcr's personal religious persuasion, and it is not the only one of its kind in his oeuvre. Another picture of Sarah and Abraham (fig. 2), iconographically just as unique, dates from the same pcriod - according to Sumowski from the early 1680s. It shows the episode in which Sarah insists on the banishment of Ishmael and his mother as related in Genesis 21:10, but De Gelder depicts Sarah as a supplicant, pleading with Abraham, distressed by Ishmael's harsh behaviour towards little Isaac (not in Genesis, but in Paul's Epistle to the Galatians). Jan Victors' picture (fig. 3) 'The Feast in Celebration of Isaac's Weaning; Ishmael's Mockery of Isaac' (Genesis 21:8-9) shares three significant elements with De Gelder's Berlin painting. First the frequent laughter: Ishmael's is mocking, Isaac's triumphant and Hagar's barely concealed. Second, Isaac's important attribute, the fruit he is holding up. Third: here, too, Ishmael is dark-skinned ; as the son of an Egyptian this might be expected, but in the seventeenth century and in our part of the world only these two artists, to my knowledge, depicted him thus. The occurrence of these three unusual elements in both painters' works is evidence that De Gelder was familiar with Victors' picture. In Victors' (fig.4) and C.W.E. Dietrich's (fig.5) paintings 'The Banishment of Hagar and Ishmael' the apple(-like) fruit is seen again; these two artists and De Gelder evidently gave Isaac this attribute in order to distinguish him from Ishmael. In view of Rembrandt's etching B.33 (fig.6), we may assume that his aforementioned pupils learned this device from him. The argument that the father and son in Rembrandt's etching are Jacob and Benjamin, taken from a drawing of Jacob and his sons, offers no explanation for the somewhat provokingly triumphant expression with which the lad holds up the fruit; in connection with the paintings discussed here, the identification of this father and son as Abraham and Isaac would appear to be convincingly confirmed.

I draw the historical background with the question of how the city has for centuries been communicating with visual signs with its so different external sovereigns. After general remarks, I focus on the ruler’s relationship with the city during the Teutonic Knights’ era, as the example serving the Teutonic castle in Gdansk, from the beginning of its construction to the story of its demolition. The Teutonic castle was built, according to the message of Wigand of Marburg, during the time of Grand Master Dietrich von Altenburg around 1340. Unlike the dating, its form disappears in the darkness of history. Archaeologists have proven the existence of a castle complex consisting of the main castle and two baileys on the site of the former castle of the Pomeranian dynasty of Samborids. The convent house: a square with sides of about 53 m, had four residential wings grouped around the courtyard, three towers at the corners, and a high guard tower. The article then deals with the castle as a kind of a protagonist of the drama in the war for symbols, developing in four scenes. The first took place after the Battle of Grunwald in 1410, when the town paid homage to Polish King Władysław Jagiello, but in the autumn of 1410 it returned to the rule of the Teutonic Order. In the following months, the city authorities reacted negatively to the attempt of the Grand Master Henry von Plauen to raise taxes. Mayors and members of the City Council: Konrad Letzkau, Arnold Hecht, and Bartholomew (Bartholomäus) Gross, were invited to the Teutonic Knights’ Castle in spring 1411 under the pretext of negotiations, and there they were murdered in unclear circumstances. The town responded by burying both mayors, and probably Gross as well, in the ambulatory of St Mary’s Church, (possibly) in St Hedwig’s Chapel belonging to the Letzkau family. The tombstone (nowadays destructed after the fire of 1734), which preserved anti–Teutonic sentiments, became an attraction for visitors, and was excluded from the normal burial practice of St Mary’s Church in the early modern times. Another part of our dispute occurred in 1453, when the Gdansk delegates complained at the Reich’s conciliatory assembly in Vienna about the Gdansk Commander forbidding to continue the construction of the tower of St John’s Church. On this basis, Olaf Asendorf constructed a theory on the general prohibition of building high towers in the Teutonic state, the so-called turmverbote. However, we have no proof that such a ban existed in any form, and apart from two other messages from Elbląg and Kaliningrad, former Königsberg, we cannot trace this kind of regulation in the written sources. On the other hand, none of the towers dominating the panorama of Gdansk was built before 1457. It was only after the transition to Polish sovereignty that the construction of the towers of St John’s Church, St Catherine’s Church, St Mary’s Church, and the Town Hall tower continued. The case from 1453 fits the hypothesis of fighting with the Order with the use of the city’s symbol, but this is rather a hysterical reaction of the economically and politically weakened corporation, which tries to enforce the city’s obedience by prohibiting the further construction of the tower of St John’s Church. The events of the Thirteen Years’ War (1454–1466): Gdansk was to throw off the yoke of the Teutonic Knights’ power and voluntarily surrender to the power of the Polish monarchy together with the guarantee of maximum privileges, are the backdrop to the next stage of our battle with the use of symbols. Most probably in February 1454, a decision was made to demolish the fortress, which could potentially become the seat of the new ruler, thus threatening the autonomy of the city. During the negotiations between the Gdansk envoys and Casimir IV Jagiello in February and March 1454 in Cracow, the delegates secretly sent the following letter to the City Council: ‘ Those of the seats [castles of the Teutonic knights] that were demolished are to remain destroyed, but we are not [allowed] to continue the demolition of these castles without consulting or informing the Lord King and the Estates. Hence, good friends, if you have not destroyed them, we advise you in all your power that you are to dismantle them the sooner the better, before we are back home, because the Lord King is “drooling” at the thought of Gdansk’. In the original hern conynge henget de lunge sere up Danczik is an idiomatic Lower German term, literally meaning King hangs his lung [to occupy the castle], so he cares a lot about it. This is what happened. Just like in Elbląg, Toruń and Bartoszyce and partly in Królewiec, the municipal authorities thoroughly demolished the Teutonic Castle. As early as in 1857, August Lobegott Randt noted, without mentioning the source, that when the star vaults over the main hall of the Artus Manor were unfastened in 1478–1481, pillars from the Teutonic Castle were used; this theory was taken up by almost all later literature. A whole range of other relics in various places in Gdansk made of sandstone or granite, together with the latest finding in St Mary’s Church from 2020, are now connected with the Castle. This theory fits perfectly with the considerations of political iconography. In the Artus Court, the first monumental building completed after the Grand Permit of 1457, architectural details from the former seat of the supreme authority are placed, since it is where the elites of the new republic meet. Together with the demolition of the Castle, the knowledge of its silhouette was lost. Only indirectly does the image give us a fascinating iconographic message, which for me is the fourth episode of the ‘battle with the use of images’. In the painting ‘The Ship of the Church’ from the Artus Manor, destroyed in 1945: a representation of a ship armed with cannons symbolizing the community of Gdansk, in one corner rather a small depiction of a castle can be seen. It shows the main tower, the evidence of which was proven by the 2002 archaeological researches. Its unusual spire evokes obvious associations with the Flemish–Brabantine belfry towers: free–standing towers or towers inscribed in town halls or cloth halls being symbols of urban self–government. What is the function of the representation of the Teutonic castle in the painting? Who was its author and fundator? According to Adam Labuda’s interpretation, it is the pendant to the painting ‘Siege of Malbork’, lost in 1945 – of almost identical dimensions, stylistically similar – and seems to be the work of the same painter. Together with the latter, it conveys the story of the battle for the gained independence of Gdansk, a powerful and rich city, united in religion and under the sceptre of the King. It is possible that the paintings were executed in connection with the would–be visit to the city of Jan Olbracht in 1501, or another entry of Alexander I in 1504. But what remains a puzzle is the function of a Teutonic castle with a Flemish helmet in the painting. Was it only related to the possible Dutch origin of the artist, or was it a political message, wishful thinking of the founders: an allusion to Gdansk as an independent city? The article on its first level interprets a non–existent building which has become the protagonist, the pretext, and the background of the multi–act drama of ‘the battle with the use of images’. More generally, it states the entanglement of Gdansk art and architecture in politics as a characteristic feature of this metropolis through all epochs. Yet above all, I would like to thank Małgorzata Omilanowska, the one to whom we dedicate this volume, because without her initiative I would never have started teaching in this fascinating city and thus researching its art history.

RESUMENEl culto a los muertos es una práctica documentada en el ser humano desde tiempos prehistóricos. Uno de los fenómenos funerarios que revisten mayor popularidad dentro de la Prehistoria Reciente es el megalitismo, desarrollado en amplios territorios de Europa desde mediados del v milenio cal BC, y caracterizado por la construcción de grandes tumbas colectivas cuyo imaginario permanece en el folclore popular hasta nuestros días. En este trabajo se ofrece una interpretación de las prácticas funerarias que engloban dicho fenómeno a partir del estudio regional del conjunto megalítico de la Lora burgalesa, en el noreste de la Submeseta Norte española. Tras décadas de estudio, que en los últimos años se ha focalizado en el análisis de las colecciones esqueléticas, ha sido posible profundizar en el conocimiento de las sociedades que enterraban a sus muertos en estas tumbas. Palabras clave: megalitismo, prácticas funerarias, enterramientos colectivosTopónimos: Lora burgalesa, Submeseta Norte españolaPeriodo: Neolítico Final, Calcolítico ABSTRACTThe cult of the death has been a well-documented human activity since prehistoric times. A popular funerary phenomenon of Neolithic period is megalithism, developed in large areas of Europe from the mid-5th millennium BC. It is characterised by the construction of large collective tombs that have remained in popular folklore to the present day. This paper offers an interpretative approach to the funerary practices involved in this phenomenon from the regional study of the megalithic complex of la Lora burgalesa, in the northeast of the Spanish North Plateau. Decades of study, which in recent years focus on the analysis of skeletal collections, have provided us with a better knowledge of the societies that buried their ancestors in these tombs. 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“The success of the film will depend on the naked thighs of Miss Dietrich”. This was the answer that Heinrich Mann gave to Emil Jannings, when he asked the novelist if he had liked his performance. Made in 1930 and directed by Josef von Sternberg, The Blue Angel will always be remembered in the history of cinema as the movie in which the myth of Marlene Dietrich was born. However, its merits go well beyond this fact. The Blue Angel is the prototype of a hybrid film, made in Germany by an Austrian settled in America since he was a young boy, having been influenced not only by the American studio production, but also by the German Expressionism, through Max Reinhardt. A director whose cinema Nöel Simsolo compares to tapestry, in which all the elements are always necessary and important, with the supremacy of the décor because everything that appears on the screen becomes it. More than a motion picture that marks the end of an era, that of the German silent cinema, or the German Expressionism, more than a ‘foreign’ production of Paramount, The Blue Angel is above all a film by Josef von Sternberg, a point of arrival and a point of departure for all the marvels to come.

SummaryIn 2022, an Athenian red‐figured cup attributed to Makron was returned to Italy by New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. The cup had been acquired in fragments, through purchase and gift, from multiple sources over several years, starting with two fragments from the restorer Fritz Bürki in 1978. A second cup, also attributed to Makron, was acquired in a parallel way. The sources for the fragments from both cups point to galleries collectors and donors – Summa Galleries, Frieda Tchachos, Elizabeth Hecht, and Dietrich von Bothmer – who have been associated with other material that has been repatriated to Italy in recent years. It is suggested that some of the incised ‘signatures’ by Hieron that are found on cups attributed to Makron may have been applied since antiquity.

German colonization of lands and people in what is today known as Namibia was consolidated by a war of conquest led by General Adrian Dietrich Lothar von Trotha. From 1904 to 1908, German forces and the indigenous population fought a war that ended in what has been dubbed the first German genocide of the twentieth century. This “forgotten” war and genocide left an estimated 80 % of the Herero and 50 % of the Nama population dead. Using the annual Red Flag Day commemorations as a case study, this account argues that Herero communities have developed distinct public performance practices to remember, commemorate, contest, and transmit the memory of this genocide. This account suggests that Red Flag Day can be read and understood as a cultural performance, which represents and shapes the memory of the past and the community’s relationship with the genocide.

Abuse, when committed by spiritual authority figures, can have far-reaching consequences for church communities well after perpetrators have been removed and held accountable. In attending to survivors, a host of issues may come to light, including but not limited to, organizational complicity in abuse, institutional marginalization of the vulnerable, and the revelation that worship spaces can be traumatically triggering. The work of scholars like Michelle Panchuk, Elaine Heath, and Katharina von Kellenbach all point to the challenging reality that ecclesial repentance­ may demand dramatic changes to restore a safe environment and righteous expressions of worship that honour God's intentions for all. Glen Kinoshita's ‘ministry of reconciliation’ and Dietrich Bonhoeffer's ‘preparing the way’ and ‘religionless Christianity’ are texts that on the surface address this type of process; however, it is not clear that either scholar fully reckons with the issue of a worshipping community or space that has been so marred by abuse as to become an impediment to a survivor's participation in liturgy. In this article, I modify Bonhoeffer's work to move beyond his claims and make recommendations for further steps towards repentance.

Zusammenfassung Ich habe nur noch den Wunsch, Scharfrichter oder Henker zu werden. Briefe an Justice Jackson zum Nürnberger Prozeß. Hrsg. von Henry Bernhard (Manfred Messerschmidt) Jerzy Kochanowski, In polnischer Gefangenschaft. Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in Polen 1945-1950 (Rüdiger Overmans) Andreas Kossert, Kalte Heimat. Die Geschichte der deutschen Vertriebenen nach 1945 (Konrad Fuchs) Vergangenheitspolitik und Erinnerungskulturen im Schatten des Zweiten Weltkriegs. Deutschland und Skandinavien seit 1945. Hrsg. von Robert Bohn, Christoph Cornelißen und Karl Christian Lammers (Susanne Maerz) Alternativen zur Wiederbewaffnung. Friedenskonzeptionen in Westdeutschland 1945-1955. Hrsg. von Detlef Bald und Wolfram Wette (Martin Kutz) Richard Dähler, Die japanischen und die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in der Sowjetunion 1945-1956 (Gerhard Krebs) Die Macht der Wahrheit. Reinhold Schneiders »Gedenkwort zum 20. Juli« in Reaktionen von Hinterbliebenen des Widerstandes. Hrsg. von Babette Stadie mit einer Einführung von Peter Steinbach (Winfried Heinemann) Hermann Wentker, Außenpolitik in engen Grenzen. Die DDR im internationalen System 1949 - 1989 (Rolf Steininger) Franz Uhle-Wettler, Rührt Euch! Weg, Leistung und Krise der Bundeswehr (Heiner Bröckermann) Tim Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten. Außenpolitischer Konflikt und innerparteilicher Machtkampf in der CDU/CSU 1958-1969 (Henning Türk) Documents Diplomatiques Français 1966. T. 1: 1er janvier 31 mai; T. 2: 1er juin 31 décembre. Ed. par Ministère des Affaires étrangères Documents Diplomatiques Français 1967. T. 1: 1er janvier 1er juillet. Ed. par Ministère des Affaires étrangères (Klaus-Jürgen Müller) Mai 68 vu de l´étranger. Les Événements dans les archives diplomatiques françaises. Sous la dir. de Maurice Vaïsse (Klaus-Jürgen Müller) Prager Frühling. Das internationale Krisenjahr 1968. Hrsg. von Stefan Karner [u.a.], Bd 1: Beiträge; Bd 2: Dokumente (Gerhard Wettig) ČSSR-Intervention 68. DDR dabei – NVA marschiert nicht. Zeitzeugenberichte. Hrsg. von Guntram König unter Mitarb. von Günter Heinemann und Wolfgang Wünsche (Rüdiger Wenzke) Dietrich E. Koelle, Peter Sacher und Herbert Grallert, Deutsche Raketenflugzeuge und Raumtransporter-Projekte (Bernd Lemke) Hagen Koch und Peter Joachim Lapp, Die Garde des Erich Mielke. Der militärisch-operative Arm des MfS. Das Berliner Wachregiment »Feliks Dzierzynski« (Jochen Maurer) Nils Abraham, Die politische Auslandsarbeit der DDR in Schweden. Zur Public Diplomacy der DDR gegenüber Schweden nach der diplomatischen Anerkennung (1972-1989) (Michael F. Scholz) Georg Herbstritt, Bundesbürger im Dienst der DDR-Spionage (Clemens Heitmann) Gunther Hauser, Die NATO – Transformation, Aufgaben, Ziele Johannes Varwick, Die NATO. Vom Verteidigungsbündnis zur Weltpolizei? (Carlo Masala) Innere Führung für das 21. Jahrhundert. Die Bundeswehr und das Erbe Baudissins. Hrsg. im Auftr. der Führungsakademie der Bundeswehr Uwe Hartmann, Innere Führung. Erfolge und Defizite der Führungsphilosophie für die Bundeswehr (Winfried Heinemann) Bedingt erinnerungsbereit. Soldatengedenken in der Bundesrepublik. Hrsg. von Manfred Hettling und Jörg Echternkamp (Martin Kutz)

Erik Petersen: Suscipere digneris. A find and some hypotheses on the Copenhagen Psalter Thott 143 2° and its history. The Copenhagen Psalter Thott 143 2º has often, and rightly, been praised as an outstanding example of the subtlety and artistic quality of Romanesque art in manuscripts. Its illumination, the saints of its calendar and litany place it in an English context. Two added elements, an obituary notice on the death in 1272 of Eric duke of Jutland, son of the Danish king Abel, and a prayer of an anonymous woman, link the codex to Medieval Denmark and Scandinavia as well. Addressing the Holy Trinity with the words Suscipere digneris the woman prays for herself, pro me misera peccatrice, and for the souls of her father and mother, of her brothers and sisters, of all members of her family, and for the souls of all brothers and sisters and familiares of her order. She also prays pro anima Byrgeri ducis. The occurrence of duke Birger, or Birger Jarl, in her prayer has given the book the name “Psalter of the Folkungar”, in particular in Scandinavian scholarship. The assumptions have been that the Psalter belonged to the Swedish aristocratic family of the Folkungar, that the duke Birger mentioned in the prayer was the older member of the family bearing that name (d. 1202), and that the book later passed to Mechtilde, the mother of duke Eric and widow of king Abel killed in 1252, who married the younger duke Birger in 1261. Duke Birger died in 1266, Mechtilde in 1288. The fate of the Psalter from the end of the 13th century until it entered the huge library of count Otto Thott (1703–1785) has been entirely unknown. There are, however, a couple of clues to its history, one in the codex itself and one external, which do cast some light on its whereabouts. The first is a small piece of paper with bibliographical notes from the 18th century inserted at the very end of the codex. The second is an elaborate copy of the calendar and the prayer that I became aware of while working on the German humanist and theologian Johann Albert Fabricius (1668–1736) and his manuscripts. It could be proved that the copy was made in Fabricius’ own hand between 1720 and 1736. Since I knew that Fabricius did not leave Hamburg at any time during these years, it could also be proved that the Copenhagen Psalter must have been present in the city at least for some time in the same period. The codex did not belong to Fabricius, and since he left no information about it apart from the copy itself, I was not able to determine how he had had access to it. The answer was to be found in a hitherto unnoticed treatise De Psalterio Manuscripto Capelliano ob singularem elegantiam commemorabili observatio, written by Johann Heinrich von Seelen (1687–1762) and published in the third volume of his Meditationes Exegeticae, quibus varia utriusque Testamenti loca expenduntur et illustrantur, Lübeck 1737. Von Seelen’s treatise is based on an autoptic study of the codex. He informs his readers that the codex once belonged to Rudolphus Capellus (1635–1684), professor of Greek and History at the Gymnasium Academicum in Hamburg. Von Seelen gives a detailed description of the codex, which leaves no doubt about its identity with the Psalter now in Copenhagen. He also states that the codex was sent to him for his use and information by his friend Michael Richey (1678–1761) in Hamburg. Michael Richey had been a colleague and close friend of Fabricius, who must have copied the codex while it was in Richey’s library. After Rudolphus Capellus’ death it passed on to his son Dietericus Matthias Capellus (1672–1720), who noted down the bibliographical notes on the sheet of paper attached to the codex. It was sold by auction as part of the bibliotheca Capelliana in Hamburg in 1721, and it will have been on that occasion that Michael Richey acquired it. It is not known where and how Rudolphus Capellus acquired the Psalter. Von Seelen called it Capellianum, because Capellus was the first owner known to him. In the present paper the old Benedictine nunnery in Buxtehude, Altkloster, is suggested as the likely previous home of the codex. The short distance from Hamburg to Buxtehude, Capellus’ limited radius of action, and the fact that Altkloster was dissolved as a catholic monastery exactly in the period when Capellus acquired the codex is adduced in support of the hypothesis. In addition, archival material in Stade confirms that there were still several medieval manuscripts in the monastery when it was dissolved as a consequence of the Peace of Westphalia. Only one of them has been identified – actually another manuscript that found its way into the Thott collection in Copenhagen. This manuscript, Thott 8 8º with a late medieval German translation of the New Testament, contains a note in the hand of its first modern owner, Dietrich von Stade (1637–1718), which attests the presence of medieval books in Altkloster even as late as in 1696. They had been taken over by the first Lutheran minister in the former monastery and were in the custody of his widow when Dietrich von Stade visited it. Capellus left his marks and scars on the manuscript. His hand, which I recognize from an autograph manuscript now in the Fabricius Collection, can be identified as the one that added numbers to the psalms. He also added the heading to the list of relics on top of f. 1r, and four lines of text on f. 199v. He added a note to the prayer on f. 16v, and even wrote down the Greek passages in the NT as parallels to the Latin canticles Magnificat and Nunc dimittis on f. 185r–185v. As to the medieval additions in the manuscript it is pointed out in the paper that the owner of the relics listed on the first page of the book was not the owner of the manuscript. The name was erased at an unknown date, but the letters dns (for dominus) before the erasure indicate that the owner was a man, not a woman or a church or a monastery. It is suggested that the list of relics is probably younger than usually assumed. The text that Capellus completed with the four lines and a final Amen at the very end of the codex is itself an addition to the original manuscript. Despite its length (f. 194v–199v) it has received little attention from scholars. It is actually a version of the so-called Oratio Sancti Brandani, copied in a late medieval hand that imitates the script of the Psalter proper. Palaeographically as well as textually it appears to be a foreign element in the context of the Psalter, but it is, of course, interesting for its history. The text ends abruptly, so Capellus’ addition may perhaps be seen as more justifiable here than elsewhere in the book. The only date explicitly noted down in the entire codex is found in the calendar. There are two medieval additions in it, one, little noticed, mentioning the 11.000 virgins in October, and the one noting the death of Eric duke of Jutland in year 1272, added to the line of the 27th day of the month of May. The present paper offers new suggestions as to how to understand the notices, and argues against the interpretation most often put forward, namely that Mechtilde was the direct or indirect authoress of the obituary-notice about duke Eric. It also argues against the identification of Mechtilde with the ego of the prayer on f. 16v. Based on palaeographical and other formal observations it is contended that the text should be dated to the end of the 13th Century and not its beginning, and that Byrgerus dux is likely to be the younger Birger Jarl, not the older. It is pointed out that he is not included in the prayer as a family member, but merely as Byrgerus dux. Following a structural analysis of the text, it is concluded that the anonymous voice of prayer is not that of Mechtilde; instead it is suggested that it could belong to an otherwise unknown daughter of Mechtilde and king Abel, and thus a sister of Eric duke of Jutland. Her place was a monastery, her present time the year 1288 or later. Prayers beginning with words Suscipere digneris are found in many variations in medieval manuscripts. In one source, MS 78 a 8 in the Kupferstichkabinet in Berlin, a Psalter, this prayer as well as other significant elements, display a striking similarity with the Copenhagen Psalter. The Berlin Psalter, which is younger than the Copenhagen Psalter, has added elements that relates to persons in Sweden and Norway. The Berlin Psalter was presented to the nuns in Buxtehude in 1362 by a miles who passed by from his hometown in the western part of Northern Germany. The relation between the Psalters now in Berlin and Copenhagen is complicated. In the present paper it is suggested that, with respect to the prayer, they may depend on a common source. It is concluded that the Berlin Psalter may have had closer links to the Folkungar in Sweden than the Copenhagen Psalter, whose history, in so far as we know it, points rather to its presence in Medieval Jutland, that is Southern Denmark and Northern Germany.

The private higher education system has been facing many challenges in the history of its development, which was harshly handled by the different points of view of political regimes. The system in the general higher education system in all over the world has slowly and weakly improved. Until the 80s of the 20th century, the system revived and obviously developed thanks to the increasing educating demand although many countries were facing financial difficulties to support it. In Vietnam, the private higher education system appeared by 1975 in the south, but this model and the its regulations had been forgotten until the beginning of the 90s of 20th century. This research is evaluating the present higher education system in different aspects that are the international definition of private higher education, brief history and the development of the system in Republic of France as an example, privatization forms and finance for the system, and suggestions to define policies for the system in Vietnam. Keywords Model, Private Higher Education, Privatization References [1] Altbach, Philip et T. Umakoshi (éd.) (2004), Asian Universities – Historical Perspectives and Contemporary Challenge s; John Hopkins Press. [2] Ball, J.S et Youdell,D. (2007), Higher privatisation in public education, Education International 5th World Congress July 2007. [3] Banque Mondiale (2009), Statistiques de la Banque Mondiale, consulté le 15 juillet 2009, http:// go.worldbank.org/RQBDCTUXW0. [4] Blöndal S., S. Field et N. Girouard (2002), Investment In Human Capital Through Post-Compulsory Education and Training: Selected Efficiency And Equity Aspects, Département des affaires économiques de l’OCDE, document de travail No 333. [5] Cave, M., M. Kogan et R. Smith (1990), Output and Performance Measurement in Government. The State of the Art (Jessica Kinsgley, Londres). [6] Geiger, R. (1986), Private Sectors in Higher Education, Ann Arbor, The University of Michigan Press. [7] OECD (2011), L’enseignement supérieur à l’horizon 2030- Volume 2: Mondalisation, La recherché et l’innovation dans l’enseignement, Éditon OCDE. [8] Hofstadter, R. (1996), Academic Freedom in the Age of College, Transaction Publishers, New Brunswick. [9] L. Benedetto (2008), Options et tandances dans le financement des uni versités en Europe, Critique internationale, 2008/2 (n039)- CAIRN.INFO. [10] Levy, D.C. (1986), Higher Education and the State in Latin America: Private Challenges to Public Dominance, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. [11] Levy, D.C. (2002), « Unanticipated Development: Perspectives on Private Higher Education’s Emerging Roles », PROPHE (Program for Research on Private Higher Education) Working Paper #1. [12] Levy, D.C. (1986), Higher Education and the State in Latin America: Private Challenges to Public Dominance, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. [13] Levy, D.C. (2006), « An Introductory Global Overview : The Private Fit to Salient Higher Education Tendencies », PROPHE Working Paper #7. [14] Middleton, Roger (1997), Government Versus the Market: The Growth of the Public Sector, Economic Management and British Economic Performance, Edward Elgar, Aldershot. [15] Neave, G. (2000), « Universities’ Responsibilities to Society: An Historical Exploration of an Enduring Issue », in Neave (éd.), The Universities’ Responsibilities to Society – International Perspectives, Pergamon/Elsevier, Londres, pp. 1-28. [16] Neave, G. (2000), « Universities’ Responsibilities to Society: An Historical Exploration of an Enduring Issue », in Neave (éd.), The Universities’ Responsibilities to Society – International Perspectives, Pergamon/Elsevier, Londres, pp. 1-28. [17] Neave, G. (2001), « The European Dimension in Higher Education: An Excursion into the Modern Use of Historical Analogues », in J. Huisman, P. Maassen et G. Neave (éd.) Higher Education and the Nation State; Oxford: Pergamon, pp. 13-73. [18] Neave, G. (2001), « The European Dimension in Higher Education: An Excursion into the Modern Use of Historical Analogues », in J. Huisman, P. Maassen et G. Neave (éd.) Higher Education and the Nation State; Oxford: Pergamon, pp. 13-73. [19] R. Fazal (2016), Privatisation de l’éducation: tendances et conséquences, UNESCO/Paris, octobre2016. [20] ROUSSEL Isabelle (2015), L’enseignement supérieur privé: propositions pour un nouveau mode de relations avec l’État, Rapport N05 2015-047, Juin 2015 - Ministère de l’Éducation nationale, de l’Enseignement supérieur et de la Recherche. [21] Savas (2000), Privatisation and Public – Private Partnerships, academia.edu [22] Shils, E. et Roberts, J. (2004), « The Diffusion of European Models Outside Europe », in W. Rüegg (éd.), A History of the University in Europe, Vol. III, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. [23] Thelin, J.R. (2004), A History of American Higher Education, Baltimore, John Hopkins University Press. [24] Teixeira, P., D. Dill, B. Jongbloed et A. Amaral (éd.) (2004), The Rising Strength of Markets in Higher Education, Kluwer, Dordrecht. [25] Teichler, U. (1988), Changing Patterns of the Higher Education System: The Experience of Three Decades, Jessica Kingsley Publishers, Londres. [26] Tilak, J.B.G.(2009), Higher education: a public good or a commodity for trade?, Springer International Publishing AG. Part of Springer Nature. [27] Van Vught, F. (éd) (1989), Governmental Strategies and Innovations in Higher Education, Jessica Kingsley, Londres. [28] UNESCO/OCDE (2006), Education Trends in Perspective – Analysis of the World Education Indicators, Institut de Statistique de l’UNESCO, OCDE, World Education Indicators Programme. [29] Wells, P.J., J. Sadlak et L. Vlăsceanu (éd) (2007), The Rising Role and Relevance of Private Higher Education in Europe; UNESCO – CEPES, Bucarest. [30] Wittrock, B. et W. Peter (1996), « Social Science and the Building of the Early Welfare State: Toward a Comparison of Statist and Non-Statist Western Societies », in Dietrich Rueschemeyer et Theda Skocpol (éd.) States, Social Knowledge and the Origins of Modern Social Policies, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey. [32] Wittrock, B. (1993), « The Modern University: the Three Transformations », in Rothblatt and Wittrock (éd.), The European and American University since 1800 – Historical and Sociological Essays, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 303-62.

Bracketed by a quotation from famed 1950s West German soccer coach S. Herberger and the word "Ende", the running length of the 1998 film Run Lola Run, directed by Tom Tykwer, is 9 minutes short of the official duration of a soccer match. Berlin has often been represented, in visual art and in cinematic imagery, as the modern metropolis: the Expressionist and Dadaist painters, Walter Ruttmann, Fritz Lang and Rainer Werner Fassbinder all depicted it as the modernising city. Since the '60s artists have staged artworks and performances in the public space of the city which critiqued the cold war order of that space, its institutions, and the hysterical attempt by the German government to erase a divided past after 1990. Run Lola Run depicts its setting, Berlin, as a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with interactive video and computer games. The eerie emptiness of the Berlin of Run Lola Run -- a fantasy projected onto a city which has been called the single biggest construction site in Europe -- is necessary to keep the protagonist Lola moving at high speed from the West to the East part of town and back again -- another fantasy which is only possible when the city is recast as a virtual environment. In Run Lola Run Berlin is represented as an idealised space of bodily and psychic mobility where the instantaneous technology of cyberspace is physically realised as a utopia of speed. The setting of Run Lola Run is not a playing field but a playing level, to use the parlance of video game technology. Underscored by other filmic devices and technologies, Run Lola Run emulates the kinetics and structures of a virtual, quasi-interactive environment: the Berlin setting of the film is paradoxically rendered as an indeterminate, but also site specific, entertainment complex which hinges upon the high-speed functioning of multiple networks of auto-mobility. Urban mobility as circuitry is performed by the film's super-athletic Lola. Lola is a cyber character; she recalls the 'cyberbabe' Lara Croft, heroine of the Sega Tomb Raider video game series. In Tomb Raider the Croft figure is controlled and manipulated by the interactive player to go through as many levels of play, or virtual environments, as possible. In order for the cyber figure to get to the next level of play she must successfully negotiate as many trap and puzzle mechanisms as possible. Speed in this interactive virtual game results from the skill of an experienced player who has practiced coordinating keyboard commands with figure movements and who is familiar with the obstacles the various environments can present. As is the case with Lara Croft, the figure of Lola in Run Lola Run reverses the traditional gender relations of the action/adventure game and of 'damsel in distress' narratives. Run Lola Run focusses on Lola's race to save her boyfriend from a certain death by obtaining DM 100,000 and delivering it across town in twenty minutes. The film adds the element of the race to the game, a variable not included in Tomb Raider. Tykwer repeats Lola's trajectory from home to the location of her boyfriend Manni thrice in the film, each time ending her quest with a different outcome. As in a video game, Lola can therefore be killed as the game unwinds during one turn of play, and on the next attempt she, and also we as viewers or would-be interactive players, would have learned from her previous 'mistakes' and adjust her actions accordingly. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film, which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. This quick rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. These events mark the end of one turn of 'play' and the restart of Lola's route. Tykwer visually contrasts Lola's linear mobility and her physical and mental capacity for speed with her boyfriend Manni's centripetal fixity, a marker of his helplessness, throughout the film. Manni, a bagman-in-training for a local mafioso, has to make his desperate phone calls from a single phone booth in the borough of Charlottenburg after he bungles a hand-off of payment money by forgetting it on the U-Bahn (the subway). In a black and white flashback sequence, viewers learn about Manni's ill-fated trip to the Polish border with a shipment of stolen cars. In contrast to his earlier mobility, Manni becomes entrapped in the phone booth as a result of his ineptitude. A spiral store sign close to the phone booth symbolizes Manni's entrapment. Tykwer contrasts this circular form with the lines and grids Lola transverses throughout the film. Where at first Lola is also immobilised after her moped is stolen by an 'unbelieveably fast' thief, her quasi-cybernetic thought process soon restores her movement. Tykwer visualizes Lola's frantic thinking in a series of photographic portraits which indicates her consideration of who she can contact to supply a large sum of money. Lola not only moves but thinks with the fast, even pace of a computer working through a database. Tykwer then repeats overhead shots of gridded pavement which Lola follows as she runs through the filmic frame. The grid, emblem of modernity and structure of the metropolis, the semiconductor, and the puzzles of a virtual environment, is necessary for mobility and speed, and is performed by the figure of Lola. The grid is also apparent in the trajectories of traffic of speeding bikes, subway trains,and airplanes passing overhead, which all parallel Lola's movements in the film. The city/virtual environment is thus an idealised nexus of local, national and global lines of mobility and communication.: -- OR -- Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. At no point does the film make explicit that the space of action is Berlin; in fact the setting of the film is far less significant than the filmic self-reflexivity Tykwer explores in Run Lola Run. Berlin becomes a postmodernist filmic text in which earlier films by Lang, Schlöndorff, von Sternberg and Wenders are cited in intertextual fashion. It is not by chance that the protagonist of Run Lola Run shares the name of Marlene Dietrich's legendary character in von Sternberg's The Blue Angel. The running, late-20th-century Lola reconnects with and gains power from the originary Lola Lola as ur-Star of German cinema. The high overhead shots of Run Lola Run technologically exceed those used by Lang in M in 1931 but still quote his filmic text; the spiral form, placed in a shop window in M, becomes a central image of Run Lola Run in marking the immobile spot that Manni occupies. Repeated several times in the film, Lola's scream bends events, characters and chance to her will and slows the relentless pace of the narrative. This vocal punctuation recalls the equally willful vocalisations of Oskar Matzerath in Schlöndorff's Tin Drum (1979). Tykwer's radical expansions and compressions of time in Run Lola Run rely on the temporal exploitation of the filmic medium. The film stretches 20 minutes of 'real time' in the lives of its two protagonists into the 84 minutes of the film. Tykwer also distills the lives of the film's incidental or secondary characters into a few still images and a few seconds of filmic time in the 'und dann...' [and then...] sequences of all three episodes. For example, Lola's momentary encounter with an employee of her father's bank spins off into two completely different life stories for this woman, both of which are told through four or five staged 'snapshots' which are edited together into a rapid sequence. The higher-speed photography of the snapshot keeps up the frenetic pace of Run Lola Run and causes the narrative to move forward even faster, if only for a few seconds. Tykwer also celebrates the technology of 35 mm film in juxtaposing it to the fuzzy imprecision of video in Run Lola Run. The viewer not only notes how scenes shot on video are less visually beautiful than the 35 mm scenes which feature Lola or Manni, but also that they seem to move at a snail's pace. For example, the video-shot scene in Lola's banker-father's office also represents the boredom of his well-paid but stagnant life; another video sequence visually parallels the slow, shuffling movement of the homeless man Norbert as he discovers Manni's forgotten moneybag on the U-Bahn. Comically, he breaks into a run when he realises what he's found. Where Wim Wenders's Wings of Desire made beautiful cinematographic use of Berlin landmarks like the Siegessäule in black and white 35 mm, Tykwer relegates black and white to flashback sequences within the narrative and rejects the relatively meandering contemplation of Wenders's film in favour of the linear dynamism of urban space in Run Lola Run. -- OR -- Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. Nevertheless he establishes the united Berlin as the specific setting of the film. While Run Lola Run does not explicitly indicate that the space of action is Berlin, viewers are clear of the setting: a repeated establishing shot of the Friedrichstrasse U-Bahn stop, a central commuting street near the Brandenburg Gate in the former East Berlin which has undergone extensive reconstruction since 1990, begins each episode of the film. The play between the locality of Berlin and its role as the universal modernist metropolis is a trope of German cinema famously deployed by Fritz Lang in M, where the setting is also never explicitly revealed but implied by means of the use of the Berlin dialect in the dialogue of the film1. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. Techno is also closely identified with the city of Berlin through its annual Techno Festival, which seems to grow larger with each passing year. Quick techno rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. Berlin is also made explicit as Tykwer often stages scenes at clearly-marked street intersections which identify particular locations or boroughs thoughout east and west Berlin. The viewer notes that Lola escapes her father's bank during one episode and faces Unter den Linden; several scenes unfold on the banks of the river Spree; Lola sprints between the Altes Museum and the Berlin Cathedral. Manni's participation in a car-theft ring points to the Berlin-focussed activity of actual Eastern European and Russian crime syndicates; the film features an interlude at the Polish border where Manni delivers a shipment of stolen Mercedes to underworld buyers, which has to do with the actual geographic proximity of Berlin to Eastern European countries. Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. Nevertheless he establishes the united Berlin as the specific setting of the film. While Run Lola Run does not explicitly indicate that the space of action is Berlin, viewers are clear of the setting: a repeated establishing shot of the Friedrichstrasse U-Bahn stop, a central commuting street near the Brandenburg Gate in the former East Berlin which has undergone extensive reconstruction since 1990, begins each episode of the film. The play between the locality of Berlin and its role as the universal modernist metropolis is a trope of German cinema famously deployed by Fritz Lang in M, where the setting is also never explicitly revealed but implied by means of the use of the Berlin dialect in the dialogue of the film1. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. Techno is also closely identified with the city of Berlin through its annual Techno Festival, which seems to grow larger with each passing year. Quick techno rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. Berlin is also made explicit as Tykwer often stages scenes at clearly-marked street intersections which identify particular locations or boroughs thoughout east and west Berlin. The viewer notes that Lola escapes her father's bank during one episode and faces Unter den Linden; several scenes unfold on the banks of the river Spree; Lola sprints between the Altes Museum and the Berlin Cathedral. Manni's participation in a car-theft ring points to the Berlin-focussed activity of actual Eastern European and Russian crime syndicates; the film features an interlude at the Polish border where Manni delivers a shipment of stolen Mercedes to underworld buyers, which has to do with the actual geographic proximity of Berlin to Eastern European countries. Yet the speed of purposeful mobility is demanded in the contemporary united and globalised Berlin; lines of action or direction must be chosen and followed and chance encounters become traps or interruptions. Chance must therefore be minimised in the pursuit of urban speed, mobility, and commications access. In the globalised Berlin, Tykwer compresses chance encounters into individual snapshots of visual data which are viewed in quick succession by the viewer. Where artists such Christo and Sophie Calle had investigated the initial chaos of German reunification in Berlin, Run Lola Run rejects the hyper-contemplative and past-obsessed mood demanded by Christo's wrapping of the Reichstag, or Calle's documentation of the artistic destructions of unification3. Run Lola Run recasts Berlin as a network of fast connections, lines of uninterrupted movement, and productive output. It is therefore perhaps not surprising that Tykwer's idealised and embodied representation of Berlin as Lola has been politically appropriated as a convenient icon by the city's status quo: an icon of the successful reconstruction and rewiring of a united Berlin into a fast global broadband digital telecommunications network4. Footnotes See Edward Dimendberg's excellent discussion of filmic representations of the metropolis in "From Berlin to Bunker Hill: Urban Space, Late Modernity, and Film Noir in Fritz Lang's and Joseph Losey's M." Wide Angle 19.4 (1997): 62-93. This is despite the fact that the temporal parameters of the plot of Run Lola Run forbid the aimlessness central to spazieren (strolling). See Walter Benjamin, "A Berlin Chronicle", in Reflections. Ed. Peter Demetz. Trans. Edmund Jephcott. New York: Schocken, 1986. 3-60. See Sophie Calle, The Detachment. London: G+B Arts International and Arndt & Partner Gallery, n.d. The huge success of Tykwer's film in Germany spawned many red-hair-coiffed Lola imitators in the Berlin populace. The mayor of Berlin sported Lola-esque red hair in a poster which imitated the one for the film, but legal intercession put an end to this trendy political statement. Brian Pendreigh. "The Lolaness of the Long-Distance Runner." The Guardian 15 Oct. 1999. I've relied on William J. Mitchell's cultural history of the late 20th century 'rebuilding' of major cities into connection points in the global telecommunications network, City of Bits: Space, Place, and the Infobahn. Cambridge: MIT P, 1995. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Claudia Mesch. "Racing Berlin: The Games of Run Lola Run." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.3 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php>. Chicago style: Claudia Mesch, "Racing Berlin: The Games of Run Lola Run," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Claudia Mesch. (2000) Racing Berlin: the games of Run Lola run. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(3). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> ([your date of access]).

It is widely acknowledged among film scholars that Lynch’s 2001 neo-noir Mulholland Drive is richly infused with intertextual references and homages — most notably to Charles Vidor’s Gilda (1946), Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950), Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), and Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966). What is less recognised is the extent to which J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1872 Gothic novella Carmilla has also influenced Mulholland Drive. This article focuses on the dynamics of the relationship between Carmilla and Mulholland Drive, particularly the formation of femme fatale Camilla Rhodes (played by Laura Elena Harring), with the aim of establishing how the Gothic shapes the viewing experience of the film. I argue that not only are there striking narrative similarities between the texts, but lying at the heart of both Carmilla and Mulholland Drive is the uncanny. By drawing on this elusive and eerie feeling, Lynch successfully introduces an archetypal quality both to Camilla and Mulholland Drive as a whole, which in turn contributes to powerful sensations of desire, dread, nostalgia, and “noirness” that are aroused by the film. As such Mulholland Drive emerges not only as a compelling work of art, but also a deeply evocative cinematic experience. I begin by providing a brief overview of Le Fanu’s Gothic tale and establish its formative influence on later cinematic texts. I then present a synopsis of Mulholland Drive before exploring the rich interrelationship the film has with Carmilla. Carmilla and the Lesbian Vampire Carmilla is narrated from the perspective of a sheltered nineteen-year-old girl called Laura, who lives in an isolated Styrian castle with her father. After a bizarre event involving a carriage accident, a young woman named Carmilla is left in the care of Laura’s father. Carmilla is beautiful and charming, but she is an enigma; her origins and even her surname remain a mystery. Though Laura identifies a number of peculiarities about her new friend’s behaviour (such as her strange, intense moods, languid body movements, and other irregular habits), the two women are captivated with each other, quickly falling in love. However, despite Carmilla’s harmless and fragile appearance, she is not what she seems. She is a one hundred and fifty year old vampire called Mircalla, Countess Karnstein (also known as Millarca — both anagrams of Carmilla), who preys on adolescent women, seducing them while feeding off their blood as they sleep. In spite of the deep affection she claims to have for Laura, Carmilla is compelled to slowly bleed her dry. This takes its physical toll on Laura who becomes progressively pallid and lethargic, before Carmilla’s true identity is revealed and she is slain. Le Fanu’s Carmilla is monumental, not only for popularising the female vampire, but for producing a sexually alluring creature that actively seeks out and seduces other women. Cinematically, the myth of the lesbian vampire has been drawn on extensively by film makers. One of the earliest female centred vampire movies to contain connotations of same-sex desire is Lambert Hilyer’s Dracula’s Daughter (1936). However, it was in the 1960s and 1970s that the spectre of the lesbian vampire exploded on screen. In part a response to the abolishment of Motion Picture Code strictures (Baker 554) and fuelled by latent anxieties about second wave feminist activism (Zimmerman 23–4), films of this cycle blended horror with erotica, reworking the lesbian vampire as a “male pornographic fantasy” (Weiss 87). These productions draw on Carmilla in varying degrees. In most, the resemblance is purely thematic; others draw on Le Fanu’s novella slightly more directly. In Roger Vadim’s Et Mourir de Plaisir (1960) an aristocratic woman called Carmilla becomes possessed by her vampire ancestor Millarca von Karnstein. In Roy Ward Baker’s The Vampire Lovers (1970) Carmilla kills Laura before seducing a girl named Emma whom she encounters after a mysterious carriage breakdown. However, the undead Gothic lady has not only made a transition from literature to screen. The figure also transcends the realm of horror, venturing into other cinematic styles and genres as a mortal vampire whose sexuality is a source of malevolence (Weiss 96–7). A well-known early example is Frank Powell’s A Fool There Was (1915), starring Theda Barra as “The Vampire,” an alluring seductress who targets wealthy men, draining them of both their money and dignity (as opposed to their blood), reducing them to madness, alcoholism, and suicide. Other famous “vamps,” as these deadly women came to be known, include the characters played by Marlene Dietrich such as Concha Pérez in Joseph von Sternberg’s The Devil is a Woman (1935). With the emergence of film noir in the early 1940s, the vamp metamorphosed into the femme fatale, who like her predecessors, takes the form of a human vampire who uses her sexuality to seduce her unwitting victims before destroying them. The deadly woman of this era functions as a prototype for neo-noir incarnations of the sexually alluring fatale figure, whose popularity resurged in the early 1980s with productions such as Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat (1981), a film commonly regarded as a remake of Billy Wilder’s 1944 classic noir Double Indemnity (Bould et al. 4; Tasker 118). Like the lesbian vampires of 1960s–1970s horror, the neo-noir femme fatale is commonly aligned with themes of same-sex desire, as she is in Mulholland Drive. Mulholland Drive Like Sunset Boulevard before it, Mulholland Drive tells the tragic tale of Hollywood dreams turned to dust, jealousy, madness, escapist fantasy, and murder (Andrews 26). The narrative is played out from the perspective of failed aspiring actress Diane Selwyn (Naomi Watts) and centres on her bitter sexual obsession with former lover Camilla. The film is divided into three sections, described by Lynch as: “Part one: She found herself inside a perfect mystery. Part two: A sad illusion. Part three: Love” (Rodley 54). The first and second segments of the movie are Diane’s wishful dream, which functions as an escape from the unbearable reality that, after being humiliated and spurned by Camilla, Diane hires a hit man to have her murdered. Part three reveals the events that have led up to Diane’s fateful action. In Diane’s dream she is sweet, naïve, Betty who arrives at her wealthy aunt’s Hollywood home to find a beautiful woman in the bathroom. Earlier we witness a scene where the woman survives a violent car crash and, suffering a head injury, stumbles unnoticed into the apartment. Initially the woman introduces herself as Rita (after seeing a Gilda poster on the wall), but later confesses that she doesn’t know who she is. Undeterred by the strange circumstances surrounding Rita’s presence, Betty takes the frightened, vulnerable woman (actually Camilla) under her wing, enthusiastically assuming the role of detective in trying to discover her real identity. As Rita, Camilla is passive, dependent, and grateful. Importantly, she also fondly reciprocates the love Betty feels for her. But in reality, from Diane’s perspective at least, Camilla is a narcissistic, manipulative femme fatale (like the character portrayed by the famous star whose name she adopts in Diane’s dream) who takes sadistic delight in toying with the emotions of others. Just as Rita is Diane’s ideal lover in her fantasy, pretty Betty is Diane’s ego ideal. She is vibrant, wholesome, and has a glowing future ahead of her. This is a far cry from reality where Diane is sullen, pathetic, and haggard with no prospects. Bitterly, she blames Camilla for her failings as an actress (Camilla wins a lead role that Diane badly wanted by sleeping with the director). Ultimately, Diane also blames Camilla for her own suicide. This is implied in the dream sequence when the two women disguise Rita’s appearance after the discovery of a bloated corpse in Diane Selwyn’s apartment. The parallels between Mulholland Drive and Carmilla are numerous to the extent that it could be argued that Lynch’s film is a contemporary noir infused re-telling of Le Fanu’s novella. Both stories take the point-of-view of the blonde haired, blue eyed “victim.” Both include a vehicle accident followed by the mysterious arrival of an elusive dark haired stranger, who appears vulnerable and helpless, but whose beauty masks the fact that she is really a monster. Both narratives hinge on same-sex desire and involve the gradual emotional and physical destruction of the quarry, as she suffers at the hands of her newly found love interest. Whereas Carmilla literally sucks her victims dry before moving on to another target, Camilla metaphorically drains the life out of Diane, callously taunting her with her other lovers before dumping her. While Camilla is not a vampire per se, she is framed in a distinctly vampirish manner, her pale skin contrasted by lavish red lipstick and fingernails, and though she is not literally the living dead, the latter part of the film indicates that the only place Camilla remains alive is in Diane’s fantasy. But in the Lynchian universe, where conventional forms of narrative coherence, with their demand for logic and legibility are of little interest (Rodley ix), intertextual alignment with Carmilla extends beyond plot structure to capture the “mood,” or “feel” of the novella that is best described in terms of the uncanny — something that also lies at the very core of Lynch’s work (Rodley xi). The Gothic and the Uncanny Though Gothic literature is grounded in horror, the type of fear elicited in the works of writers that form part of this movement, such as Le Fanu (along with Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe, Mary Shelly, and Bram Stoker to name a few), aligns more with the uncanny than with outright terror. The uncanny is an elusive quality that is difficult to pinpoint yet distinct. First and foremost it is a sense, or emotion that is related to dread and horror, but it is more complex than simply a reaction to fear. Rather, feelings of trepidation are accompanied by a peculiar, dream-like quality of something fleetingly recognisable in what is evidently unknown, conjuring up a mysterious impression of déjà vu. The uncanny has to do with uncertainty, particularly in relation to names (including one’s own name), places and what is being experienced; that things are not as they have come to appear through habit and familiarity. Though it can be frightening, at the same time it can involve a sensation that is compelling and beautiful (Royle 1–2; Punter 131). The inventory of motifs, fantasies, and phenomena that have been attributed to the uncanny are extensive. These can extend from the sight of dead bodies, skeletons, severed heads, dismembered limbs, and female sex organs, to the thought of being buried alive; from conditions such as epilepsy and madness, to haunted houses/castles and ghostly apparitions. Themes of doubling, anthropomorphism, doubt over whether an apparently living object is really animate and conversely if a lifeless object, such as a doll or machinery, is in fact alive also fall under the broad range of what constitutes the uncanny (see Jentsch 221–7; Freud 232–45; Royle 1–2). Socio-culturally, the uncanny can be traced back to the historical epoch of Enlightenment. It is the transformations of this eighteenth century “age of reason,” with its rejection of transcendental explanations, valorisation of reason over superstition, aggressively rationalist imperatives, and compulsive quests for knowledge that are argued to have first caused human experiences associated with the uncanny (Castle 8–10). In this sense, as literary scholar Terry Castle argues, the eighteenth century “invented the uncanny” (8). In relation to the psychological underpinnings of this disquieting emotion, psychiatrist Ernst Jentsch was the first to explore the subject in his 1906 document “On the Psychology of the Uncanny,” though Sigmund Freud and his 1919 paper “The Uncanny” is most popularly associated with the term. According to Jentsch, the uncanny, or the unheimlich in German (meaning “unhomely”), emerges when the “new/foreign/hostile” corresponds to the psychical association of “old/known/familiar.” The unheimlich, which sits in direct opposition to the heimlich (homely) equates to a situation where someone feels not quite “at home” or “at ease” (217–9). Jentsch attributes sensations of the unheimlich to psychical resistances that emerge in relation to the mistrust of the innovative and unusual — “to the intellectual mystery of a new thing” (218) — such as technological revolution for example. Freud builds on the concept of the unheimlich by focusing on the heimlich, arguing that the term incorporates two sets of ideas. It can refer to what is familiar and agreeable, or it can mean “what is concealed and kept out of sight” (234–5). In the context of the latter notion, the unheimlich connotes “that which ought to have remained secret or hidden but has come to light” (Freud 225). Hence for Freud, who was primarily concerned with the latent content of the psyche, feelings of uncanniness emerge when dark, disturbing truths that have been repressed and relegated to the realm of the unconscious resurface, making their way abstractly into the consciousness, creating an odd impression of the known in the unknown. Though it is the works of E.T.A. Hoffman that are most commonly associated with the unheimlich, Freud describing the author as the “unrivalled master of the uncanny in literature” (233), Carmilla is equally bound up in dialectics between the known and the unknown; the homely and the unhomely. Themes centring on doubles, the undead, haunted gardens, conflicting emotions fuelled by desire and disgust — of “adoration and also of abhorrence” (Le Fanu 264), and dream-like nocturnal encounters with sinister, shape-shifting creatures predominate. With Carmilla’s arrival the boundaries between the heimlich and the unheimlich become blurred. Though Carmilla is a stranger, her presence triggers buried childhood memories for Laura of a frightening and surreal experience where Carmilla appears in Laura’s nursery during the night, climbing into bed with her before seemingly vanishing into thin air. In this sense, Laura’s remote castle home has never been homely. Disturbing truths have always lurked in its dark recesses, the return of the dead bringing them to light. The Uncanny in Mulholland Drive The elusive qualities of the uncanny also weave their way extensively through Mulholland Drive, permeating all facets of the cinematic experience — cinematography, sound score, mise en scène, and narrative structure. As film maker and writer Chris Rodley argues, Lynch mobilises every aspect of the motion picture making process in seeking to express a sense of uncanniness in his productions: “His sensitivity to textures of sound and image, to the rhythms of speech and movement, to space, colour, and the intrinsic power of music mark him as unique in this respect.” (Rodley ix–xi). From the opening scenes of Mulholland Drive, the audience is plunged into the surreal, unheimlich realm of Diane’s dream world. The use of rich saturated colours, soft focus lenses, unconventional camera movements, stilted dialogue, and a hauntingly beautiful sound score composed by Angelo Badalamenti, generates a cumulative effect of heightened artifice. This in turn produces an impression of hyper-realism — a Baudrillardean simulacrum where the real is beyond real, taking on a form of its own that has an artificial relation to actuality (Baudrillard 6–7). Distorting the “real” in this manner produces an effect of defamiliarisation — a term first employed by critic Viktor Shklovsky (2–3) to describe the artistic process involved in making familiar objects seem strange and unfamiliar (or unheimlich). These techniques are something Lynch employs in other works. Film and literary scholar Greg Hainge (137) discusses the way colour intensification and slow motion camera tracking are used in the opening scene of Blue Velvet (1984) to destabilise the aesthetic realm of the homely, revealing it to be artifice concealing sinister truths that have so far been hidden, but that are about to come to light. Similar themes are central to Mulholland Drive; the simulacra of Diane’s fantasy creating a synthetic form of real that conceals the dark and terrible veracities of her waking life. However, the artificial dream place of Diane’s disturbed mind is disjointed and fractured, therefore, just as the uncanny gives rise to an elusive sense of mystery and uncertainty, offering a fleeting glimpse of the tangible in something otherwise inexplicable, so too is the full intelligibility of Mulholland Drive kept at an obscure distance. Though the film offers a succession of clues to meaning, the key to any form of complete understanding lingers just beyond the grasp of certainty. Names, places, and identities are infused with doubt. Not only in relation to Betty/Diane and Rita/Camilla, but regarding a succession of other strange, inexplicable characters and events, one example being the recurrent presence of a terrifying looking vagrant (Bonnie Aarons). Figures such as this are clearly poignant to the narrative, but they are also impossibly enigmatic, inviting the audience to play detective in deciphering what they signify. Themes of doubling and mirroring are also used extensively. While these motifs serve to denote the split between waking and dream states, they also destabilise the narrative in relation to what is familiar and what is unfamiliar, further grounding Mulholland Drive in the uncanny. Since its publication in 1872, Carmilla has had a significant formative influence on the construct of the seductive yet deadly woman in her various manifestations. However, rarely has the novella been paid homage to as intricately as it is in Mulholland Drive. Lynch draws on Le Fanu’s archetypal Gothic horror story, combining it with the aesthetic conventions of film noir, in order to create what is ostensibly a contemporary, poststructuralist critique of the Hollywood dream-factory. Narratively and thematically, the similarities between the two texts are numerous. However, intertextual configuration is considerably more complex, extending beyond the plot and character structure to capture the essence of the Gothic, which is grounded in the uncanny — an evocative emotion involving feelings of dread, accompanied by a dream-like impression of familiar and unfamiliar commingling. Carmilla and Mulholland Drive bypass the heimlich, delving directly into the unheimlich, where boundaries between waking and dream states are destabilised, any sense of certainty about what is real is undermined, and feelings of desire are paradoxically conjoined with loathing. Moreover, Lynch mobilises all fundamental elements of cinema in order to capture and express the elusive qualities of the Unheimlich. In this sense, the uncanny lies at the very heart of the film. What emerges as a result is an enigmatic work of art that is as profoundly alluring as it is disconcerting. References Andrews, David. “An Oneiric Fugue: The Various Logics of Mulholland Drive.” Journal of Film and Video 56 (2004): 25–40. Baker, David. “Seduced and Abandoned: Lesbian Vampires on Screen 1968–74.” Continuum 26 (2012): 553–63. Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Michigan: U Michigan P, 1994. Bould, Mark, Kathrina Glitre, and Greg Tuck. Neo-Noir. New York: Wallflower, 2009. Castle, Terry. 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