The Unpredictable Joyce

Imagine setting the type for James Joyce's Ulysses.... There is one 43-page run of text that consists of a only six paragraph breaks and no punctuation. Scattered through the book is music, headlines, and a made up word here and there. So it should be no surprise that the first edition ran a little behind schedule.

Laid into our first edition is concrete evidence of Sylvia Beach's frustration: the original prospectus from Shakespeare and Company. "The Autumn of 1921" is mostly scratched out and corrected by hand to read January 1922. Inside, the physical description of the book has been modified from 600 pages to 800 pages (it comes to 732 in the final version).

The order form would appeal to any book collector. It advertised the price of 350 francs for the deluxe version on Dutch hand made paper. As of this writing, there are two copies available priced over $200,000. Our copy is the pedestrian 150 franc version on hand made paper.

To see it with the first edition, ask for Val 827J853 X71.

Proper Motivation

On May 15th, 1872, Charles Edwin Hall, Class of 1870, petitioned President Asa Dodge Smith for mercy. At the end of the winter term in 1870, Hall had been expelled after standing before the faculty to answer for his participation in what he calls "the mock programme affair." Hall had apparently written a scurrilous essay about a fellow Dartmouth student that had then been published and distributed widely among the student body without Hall's knowledge. In his letter to President Smith, Hall acknowledges that he was at fault for writing the essay but states that he was unable to defend himself fully before the faculty. He now writes to clear up his involvement in the matter, with the hopes of finally receiving his degree.

As he describes the limits of his participation in the affair, Hall repeatedly underscores the fact that he is suffering from "mental discomfort" as a result of his lack of Dartmouth credentials and that the punishment has been "very hard" to him. He asserts that he would do almost anything to be a graduate of the class of 1870. Finally, after much handwringing, Hall divulges his true motivation for seeking a presidential pardon: he is engaged to a woman whose father belongs to the class of 1843 and won't let him marry her until he has been enrolled as an "honorable graduate" of Dartmouth College.

Faced with such a powerful plea, President Smith relented and Charles E. Hall was granted his diploma from Dartmouth College within the month. He went on to marry Nellie A. Barnard, daughter of Rev. Pliny F. Barnard, '43, three years later and moved to Greenville, NH, where he worked as a physician and pharmacist. Hall took to heart the hard lesson he had initially received at the hands of Dartmouth: he became a public servant, acting as the superintendent of schools for more than a decade before joining the New Hampshire state senate, where he served as chairman of the Committee on Education.

To learn more about Charles Edwin Hall, class of 1899, ask to see his alumni file at Rauner Library.

Gatsby--Not So Great

F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby has become a classic in American literature. It is taught in classes from high school to graduate school, has been adapted multiple times for film, and is lauded by many as the best singular expression of the Jazz age. But, it was not always so well received. In fact, it completely fell out of print for a period.

We recently acquired a minor rarity to accompany our first edition: the 1934 Modern Library reprint. At the time, the Modern Library was the premier publisher of inexpensive reprints of popular literary novels. Their famous Promethean trademark usually assured solid sales. But it couldn't work its magic for The Great Gatsby, a novel of 1920's excess that lost its glamor during the Great Depression. The Modern Library printed only 5,000 copies. After five years, the initial printing still has not sold out, and they reluctantly discontinued the title.

Our copy is unusual because it appears to have actually been sold--it lacks the "Discontinued" stamp usually found on Modern Library editions of Gatsby.

Come see it alongside the first edition by asking for Rare PS3511.I9G7 1934 and Rare PS3511.I9G8 copy 2.

Fabulous Fables

This past year we were able to acquire a spectacular edition of La Fontaine's Fables Choisies. Published in Paris between 1755 and 1759, the four volume set is one of the most lavishly illustrated literary texts of the 18th century. It is a testament to La Fontaine's standing in French culture at the time.

The illustrator, Jean Baptiste Oudry, gets almost equal billing in the first volume. While the title page only mentions La Fontaine, Oudry gets his own frontispiece alongside one of a bust of La Fontaine being unveiled by Aesop. Oudry was a natural choice. A Rococo painter fashionable at the time, he specialized in paintings of animals and nature scenes. He must have found particular inspiration in La Fontaine's fables with their talking animals and pastoral settings.

The books is wonder to behold. The 280 full-page plates carry you into the extravagance of 18th century France while providing a suitably fabulous accompaniment for La Fontaine's texts.

Ask for Rare PG1808.A1 1755

Correcting the Calendar

By the time 1582 rolled around, the Julian calendar was no longer accurate and the refined Gregorian calendar was slated to become the daily planner of choice. Great Britain obviously thought that this required further study and waited until 1751 to pass an act "regulating the Commencement of the Year, and correcting the calendar now in use." In order to prevent widespread confusion and panic, the act decreed that January would become the "first month of the year 1752." Prior to this March had been the usual start of the new year.

We have a small pamphlet purportedly printed by Benjamin Franklin in 1751. It reproduces a London Society of Friends pamphlet that briefly explains the act, provides readers with a small conversion table for the calendar switch, and gives a history of the names of the months and the days of the week.

According to the pamphlet, January is named for the Roman god Janus, February for the rituals surrounding sacrifices to the "Heathen God Pan," March for the god Mars and so on. The historical provenance of the names of the days of the week are likewise discussed and the pamphlet notes, rather snidely, that the "continued Use of these Names of Days, derived from such gross Idolatry of the Heathen, is a demonstration, how little the Purity of the Christian Religion was understood by the Generality of those who came into the publick Profession of it." A bit of we now know better than the unwashed masses who came before.

To avoid this morass of heathen superstition, the pamphlet then goes on to recommend the use of numerical designations for months and days, something the authors claimed was the "most Ancient" and "the most plain, simple and rational" method.

The pamphlet is dated "the sixth Day of the Seventh Month, 1751."

Ask for Presses F854f.

Something Pretty for the Holiday

Among our many medieval manuscripts is this beautiful leaf from a 16th century Italian antiphonal celebrating the Christmas Day mass. This floriated initial G leads into one of the most famous lines of Christian choral music: "Gloria in excelsis Deo."

We hope it brightens your holiday season.

We are closed through January 1st, but after that you can see the manuscript in person by asking for MS 002091.

Filling in Vasari

When Giorgio Vasari set out to illustrate his Le vite de' piv eccellenti pittori, scvltori, e architettor (Fiorenza: Appresso i Giunti, 1568) he aimed for authenticity in his depiction of each of the artists represented. But there were a handful for whom Vasari had no reliable likeness to draw on.  He placed blank medallion frames at the heads of each of their entries. Was he giving a future reader an opportunity to complete his work once a reliable image had been found? Or, by acknowledging his own ignorance, were the blanks there to bolster the integrity of the rest of his work?

In our copy, a 16th or 17th century artist took advantage of the several of Vasari's blanks and has provided beautiful pen and ink sketches to "finish" the work. This copy was owned by an 17th centry art historian, so perhaps he had access to likenesses Vasari did not and commissioned an artist to fill in the blanks.

Come see our improved Vasari by asking for Rare N6922.V2 1568.