30 January 2015

Pages and Paper

Elbert Hubbard, The Note Book of Elbert Hubbard, (New York: W.H. Wise, 1927), p. 42:
[A]s an authority on books Erasmus can still be read. He it was who fixed the classic page margin  twice as wide at the top as on the inside; twice as wide at the outside as at the top; twice as wide at the bottom as the side. And any printer who varies from this displays his ignorance of proportion.
Elbert Hubbard, Selected Writings of Elbert Hubbard, Vol. 9 (New York: W. H. Wise, 1922), p. 255:
A book on cheap paper does not convince. It is not prized, it is like a wheezy doctor with pigtail tobacco breath, who needs a manicure. A book should not only be true, it must be beautiful in order to help you on your way to Elysium, where there are no scamps and where lives Erasmus, rent-free, because he supplies fun and instruction for the boarders.
Villanova University has digitized Hubbard's magazine The Fra.

29 January 2015

Doves Type

T. J. Cobden-Sanderson's Doves Type has been recovered from the bed of the Thames:

Image from www.typespec.co.uk
More here.

28 January 2015

A Tendency to Sloth

Friedrich Nietzsche, "Schopenhauer as Educator," Thoughts Out of Season, tr. Adrian Collins, The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche, ed. Oscar Levy, Vol. II, Part II (London: T.N. Foulis, 1910), pp. 103-104:
When the traveller, who had seen many countries and nations and continents, was asked what common attribute he had found everywhere existing among men, he answered, "They have a tendency to sloth." Many may think that the fuller truth would have  been, "They are all timid." They hide themselves behind "manners" and "opinions." At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvellously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time. He knows this, but hides it like an evil conscience; — and why? From fear of his neighbour, who looks for the latest conventionalities in him, and is wrapped up in them himself. But what is it that forces the man to fear his neighbour, to think and act with his herd, and not seek his own joy? Shyness perhaps, in a few rare cases, but in the majority it is idleness, the "taking things easily," in a word the "tendency to sloth," of which the traveller spoke. He was right; men are more slothful than timid, and their greatest fear is of the burdens that an uncompromising honesty and nakedness of speech and action would lay on them.
Friedrich Nietzsche, "Schopenhauer als Erzieher," Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, Nietzsche's Werke, Bd. I (Leipzig: C. G. Naumann, 1899), p. 387:
Jener Reisende, der viel Länder und Völker und mehrere Erdteile gesehen hatte und gefragt wurde, welche Eigenschaft der Menschen er überall wiedergefunden habe, sagte: sie haben einen Hang zur Faulheit. Manchen wird es dünken, er hätte richtiger und gültiger gesagt: sie sind alle furchtsam. Sie verstecken sich unter Sitten und Meinungen. Im Grunde weiß jeder Mensch recht wohl, daß er nur einmal, als ein Unikum, auf der Welt ist und daß kein noch so seltsamer Zufall zum zweitenmal ein so wunderlich buntes Mancherlei zum Einerlei, wie er es ist, zusammenschütteln wird: er weiß es, aber verbirgt es wie ein böses Gewissen – weshalb? Aus Furcht vor dem Nachbar, welcher die Konvention fordert und sich selbst mit ihr verhüllt. Aber was ist es, was den einzelnen zwingt, den Nachbar zu fürchten, herdenmäßig zu denken und zu handeln und seiner selbst nicht froh zu sein? Schamhaftigkeit vielleicht bei einigen und seltnen. Bei den allermeisten ist es Bequemlichkeit, Trägheit, kurz jener Hang zur Faulheit, von dem der Reisende sprach. Er hat Recht: die Menschen sind noch fauler als furchtsam und fürchten gerade am meisten die Beschwerden, welche ihnen eine unbedingte Ehrlichkeit und Nacktheit aufbürden würde.

26 January 2015

Sign for an Office Cubicle

George Haven Putnam, Books and Their Makers During the Middle Ages, Vol. I (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1896), pp. 153-154:
Isidore, Bishop of Seville (c. 560-636), possessed probably the largest collection of books at that time in Europe. It was contained in fourteen presses or armaria, each of which was ornamented with a bust and inscribed with verses. The series of verses concludes with the following notice addressed ad interventorem, a term which may be interpreted a talkative intruder:
Non patitur quemquam coram se scriba loquentem; 
Non est hic quod agas, garrule, perge foras. 

(The scribe allows no one to speak in his presence; there is nothing for you to do here, chatterbox, you had better go outside.)

23 January 2015

Justice Is the Moon

Arnold Bennett, The Human Machine (New York: George.H. Doran, 1911), pp. 46-47:
You remark sagely to your child: 'No, my child, you cannot have that moon, and you will accomplish nothing by crying for it. Now, here is this beautiful box of bricks, by means of which you may amuse yourself while learning many wonderful matters and improving your mind. You must try to be content with what you have, and to make the best of it. If you had the moon you wouldn't be any happier.' Then you lie awake half the night repining because the last post has brought a letter to the effect that 'the Board cannot entertain your application for,' etc. You say the two cases are not alike. They are not. Your child has never heard of Epictetus. On the other hand, justice is the moon. At your age you surely know that. 'But the Directors ought to have granted my application,' you insist. Exactly! I agree. But we are not in a universe of oughts. You have a special apparatus within you for dealing with a universe where oughts are flagrantly disregarded. And you are not using it. You are lying awake, keeping your wife awake, injuring your health, injuring hers, losing your dignity and your cheerfulness. Why? Because you think that these antics and performances will influence the Board? Because you think that they will put you into a better condition for dealing with your environment to-morrow? Not a bit. Simply because the [mental] machine is at fault.

21 January 2015

Frustrated Desire and Disappointment

Edwyn Bevan, Stoics and Sceptics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), p. 70:
The Stoics, I think, saw with perfect truth that if you were going to allow any least entrance of love and pity into the breast, you admitted something whose measure you could not control, and might just as well give up the idea of inner tranquillity at once. Where love is, action cannot be without desire; the action of love has eminently regard to fruit, in the sense of some result beyond itself — the one thing that seems to matter is whether the loved person really is helped by your action. Of course you run the risk of frustrated desire and disappointment. The Stoic sage was never frustrated and never disappointed.

20 January 2015

Decrepitude

Fredegarius Scholasticus, c. 600, quoted in George Haven Putnam, Books and Their Makers During the Middle Ages, Vol. I (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1896), p. 128:
The world is in its decrepitude. Intellectual activity is dead, and the ancient writers have no successors.

19 January 2015

Blessed Richard of Arnsberg

George Haven Putnam, Books and Their Makers During the Middle Ages, Vol. I (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1896), p. 11:
It was in the monasteries that were preserved such fragments of the classic literature as had escaped the general devastation of Italy; and it was to the labours of the monks of the West, and particularly to the labours of the monks of S. Benedict, that was due the preservation for the Middle Ages and for succeeding generations of the remembrance and the influence of the literature of classic times. For a period of more than six centuries, the safety of the literary heritage of Europe, one may say of the world, depended upon the scribes of a few dozen scattered monasteries. 
Ibid., p. 65:
In the monastery of Wedinghausen, near Arnsberg in Westphalia, there was a skilled and zealous scribe named Richard, an Englishman, who spent many years in adding to the library of the institution. Twenty years after his death [in 1190], when the rest of his body had crumbled into dust, the right hand, with which this holy work had been accomplished, was found intact, and has since been preserved under the altar as a holy relic.
From the Kloster Wedinghausen web site:

Richard of Arnsberg's right hand
Related posts:

15 January 2015

Exceptions to the Rule

Henri-Frédéric Amiel, Journal Intime, tr. Mrs. Humphry Ward (New York: A. L. Burt, c. 1895), pp. 338-339:
Life rushes on — so much the worse for the weak and the stragglers. As soon as a man's tendo Achillis gives way he finds himself trampled under foot by the young, the eager, the voracious. "Vae victis, vae debilibus!" yells the crowd, which in its turn is storming the goods of this world. Every man is always in some other man's way, since, however small he may make himself, he still occupies some space, and however little he may envy or possess, he is still sure to be envied and his goods coveted by some one else. Mean world! — peopled by a mean race! To console ourselves we must think of the exceptions — of the noble and generous souls. There are such. What do the rest matter!

13 January 2015

Never Suffered

Paul Léautaud, first conversation with Robert Mallet, Entretiens avec Rober Mallet (Paris: Mercure de France, 1951), pp. 27-28 (my translation):
RM: When you came to Paris, how much were you living on, exactly?

PL: I lived on 50 francs a month.

RM: That was very little.

PL: I never noticed, I do not know what poverty is. I do know know what it is! The word poverty itself has never come to my mind for me to use it.

RM: You do not...

PL: Poverty, I do not think about it, I have never suffered from it. I have never suffered from it!

RM: But still, one must have a minimum on which to live.

PL: For eight years I lived on a sort of cheese they call Bondon, I don't know if you are familiar with it.

RM: Yes, it's the cheese from Neufchâtel-en-Bray.

PL: This cheese cost four sous. Well, for eight years, I lunched and dined on four-sous cheese, a piece of bread, a glass of water, a little coffee, and I never suffered from it!

12 January 2015

A Standard of Speech

Nicholas Murray Butler, The Meaning of Education (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915), pp. 138-139:
As one goes about in crowded places, a very common expression to meet the ear is this: "I says to him, says I." This is an expression that no human being would ever use if his ears really heard it. It is only because the speaker does not really hear it, does not know when he is using it, that he departs so entirely from the ordinary standards observed in our daily speech. A great many persons seem to think that correctness of speech is a matter of individual temperament, and that it is apt to accompany certain lackadaisical characteristics of manner. The truth is quite the contrary to this. Few things so completely reveal the kind of person one is as the sort of speech he uses. One need not use the speech of the formal lecturer; one need not use the long, involved words and phrases which sometimes mark the writing even of reputable authors; but any one who listens and who understands what he says and hears, who thinks and speaks with simple correctness and dignity, without affectation, without straining for effect, and especially without imitating the newspapers — that person is applying a standard of speech which indicates an advanced stage of civilization.

9 January 2015

With This Melancholy Charm

John Foster, "On a Man's Writing Memoirs of Himself," Essays in a Series of Letters (London: Holdsworth and Ball, 1833), pp. 15-16:
Some persons can recollect certain particular sentences or conversations which made so deep an impression, perhaps in some instances they can scarcely tell why, that they have been thousands of times recalled, while innumerable others have been forgotten; or they can revert to some striking incident, coming in aid of instruction, or being of itself a forcible instruction, which they seem even now to see as plainly as when it happened, and of which they will retain a perfect idea to the end of life. The most remarkable circumstances of this kind deserve to be recorded in the supposed memoirs. In some instances, to recollect the instructions of a former period will be to recollect too the excellence, the affection, and the death, of the persons who gave them. Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance, it will be a consolation that they are not entirely lost to us. Wise monitions, when they return on us with this melancholy charm, have more pathetic cogency than when they were first uttered by the voice of a living friend. It will be an interesting occupation of the pensive hour, to recount the advantages which we have received from the beings who have left the world, and to reinforce our virtues from the dust of those who first taught them.

8 January 2015

Dancing Apes

Lucian of Samosata, "The Fisher," The Works of Lucian, tr. H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, Vol. I (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1905), p. 222:
These men are excellent friends so long as there is no gold or silver for them to dispute the possession of; exhibit but a copper or two, and peace is broken, truce void, armistice ended; their books are blank, their Virtue fled, and they so many dogs; some one has flung a bone into the pack, and up they spring to bite each other and snarl at the one which has pounced successfully. There is a story of an Egyptian king who taught some apes the sword-dance; the imitative creatures very soon picked it up, and used to perform in purple robes and masks; for some time the show was a great success, till at last an ingenious spectator brought some nuts in with him and threw them down. The apes forgot their dancing at the sight, dropped their humanity, resumed their apehood, and, smashing masks and tearing dresses, had a free fight for the provender. Alas for the corps de ballet and the gravity of the audience!

6 January 2015

Redundant Amplitude

Isaac Taylor, History of the Transmission of Ancient Books to Modern Times (Liverpool: Edward Howell, 1875), pp. 95-96:
[U]nless a universal devastation should take its course, at once, over every region of the civilised world, the literature now extant in books can neither perish, nor suffer corruption. A temple, a statue, a picture, or a gem is but one; and however durable may be the material of which it consists, it continually decays, and it is always destructible. The touch of the sculptor moulders from the chiselled surface; and the time will come when every monument of his genius shall have crumbled into dust, and when his fame — lost from the marble, shall live only in the works of the poets and historians who were his contemporaries.

Thus it is that the written records of distant ages, with the knowledge of which the intellectual, moral, and political well-being of mankind is inseparably connected, are secured from extinction by a mode of conservation that is less liable to extensive hazards than any other that can be imagined. If Man be cut off from the knowledge of the past, he becomes indifferent to the future, and thenceforward sinks into the rudeness and ferocity of the sensual life. The redundant amplitude, therefore, of the means by which this knowledge is preserved, only bears a due proportion to the importance of the consequences that depend upon its perpetuation.

5 January 2015

A Few Individuals

Isaac Taylor, History of the Transmission of Ancient Books to Modern Times (Liverpool: Edward Howell, 1875), pp. 88-89:
Learning and the sciences can flourish and advance only where there are the means of a wide and quick diffusion of the fruits of intellectual labour: but they may exist even under the almost total absence of such means. This was the case in Europe during the middle ages. Knowledge rested with the few whom the inward fire of native genius constrained to pursue it: and these few were often insulated from each other, and unknown beyond the walls within which they spent their lives; and often secluded also by their tastes, even from their fellows of the same society.

In every myriad of the human race, take the number where or when we may, there will be found a few individuals — born for thought; and if the vocation of nature is not always stronger than every obstacle, it is, for the most part, strong enough to overcome such as are of ordinary magnitude. Those who are thus endowed with the appetite for knowledge, will certainly follow the impulse, if the means of its acquirement are presented to them in early life.
A related post: Individuals

2 January 2015

Have You Wine and Music Still?

James Elroy Flecker, "To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence," The Collected Poems of James Elroy Flecker, ed. J.C. Squire (New York: Doubleday, 1916), pp. 75-76:
I who am dead a thousand years,
   And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
   The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
   Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
   Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
   And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
   And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
   That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Maeonides the blind
   Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
   Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
   I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
   And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
   To greet you. You will understand.
Tomorrow is the centenary of Flecker's death.