THE DRAWING ROOM. History of the Bibliomania, or Account of Book Collectors, concluded

Bibliomania ◽  
2010 ◽  
pp. 277-622
Author(s):  
Thomas Frognall Dibdin
Author(s):  
Leslie Kathleen Hankins

Arranging to give a talk to celebrate Duke University’s acquisition of Virginia Woolf’s writing desk, I was both delighted and dismayed. Dismayed, because engrained in my mind is Walter Benjamin’s famous maxim: “For without exception the cultural treasures he surveys have an origin which he cannot contemplate without horror.” Woolf, too, curses a famous library for its exclusive guarding of archival treasures (AROO) and makes scathing remarks about pilgrimages to regard the possessions of dead writers. Contemplating archives as institutional hoarding, considering the archival turn in theory (with Derrida, Foucault, feminist critiques of archive politics, and the work of historians, curators and librarians between the lines), this paper interrogates the fate of artifacts in the archives, focusing on the material trace of Woolf’s writing desk. My saga begins with Quentin Bell’s letter about the history of the desk and continues through archives such as the Berg Collection (repository for Virginia Woolf’s walking stick as well as Charlotte Brontë’s writing desk), letters, diaries, and essays. Analyzing the gender politics of Woolf’s inherited view of writing desks, from her mother’s drawing room desk to her father’s rocking writing chair in an ivory tower studio, we witness her intervention in that heritage, moving from a standing desk to a writing table to a plywood writing board and overstuffed chair. In closing, the paper situates Woolf's writing space on the threshold of Hogarth Press and private space: a dynamic site for a writer.


Author(s):  
Honoré De Balzac
Keyword(s):  

An argument was taking place at the door between Mariette and a soldier, who became so insistent that the cook came into the drawing-room. ‘Monsieur, a regimental quartermaster just back from Algeria says he must speak to you.’ ‘Tell him to wait.’ ‘Monsieur,’ said...


2005 ◽  
Vol 38 ◽  
pp. 99-141
Author(s):  
Karen E. McAulay

Early in 2002, three nineteenth-century Scottish flute manuscripts came to light in the Whittaker Library at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama (RSAMD). The manuscripts are inscribed with the name of James Simpson of Dundee. The two slimmer volumes are dated 1828 and 1830. The third undated manuscript is a more handsomely bound volume and, judging by the content and handwriting, was likely to have been started at around the same time. Each manuscript consists almost entirely of flute duets and trios, and untexted psalm tunes for three and four voices. The history of the manuscripts is unknown, but it can be deduced that they were acquired by the RSAMD sometime after 1958. The manuscripts offer a colourful ‘snapshot’ of music-making in Dundee in the nineteenth century, with their cross-section of Scottish tunes and more widely-used drawing-room music, not to mention their church connections.


1931 ◽  
Vol 25 (2) ◽  
pp. 73-119
Author(s):  
L. W. Rodenberg

Author's Note—Since my return from the International Conference on Braille Music, which was held in Paris in the spring of 1929, there has been no time or occasion to develop the notes which I made under the general caption “Observations in Foreign Institutions.” A year and a half may play havoc with memory, yet I have left to draw from, an abundance of vivid impressions, thanks to the interest and courtesy shown me by the various authorities of institutions which I visited. Before leaving for Europe I was advised not to “waste all my time in work,” but to “see the world while the chance offered itself.” Happily, however, I concluded that to sightsee with a definite and useful purpose in mind—namely, to visit as many schools for the blind as possible—would mean that incidentally I should see quite enough of the world in general. This proved to be true, for it took me into places in France, Germany, and England which otherwise I should never have enjoyed in quite the same way. It was well, too, that I traveled alone, for I was always at my own command. Being without sight and without a practical knowledge of French, I was fortunate enough to find an attendant and interpreter in Paris, a congenial and intelligent young fellow, whom I employed full time and took with me into Germany and England. He was a professional guide for tourists and knew a great deal about the life, art, and history of Paris, so that the eighteen days spent in the French metropolis with him were exceptionally interesting. Also, M. Raverat, the Secretary-General of the American Braille Press, who is the founder and editor of the Musical Review for the Blind and who was the promoter and host of the Conference, prepared a number of fine treats for the delegates. We heard the glorious music of the opera Pelleas et Melisande by Debussy in the Opéra Comique, and we went on a pilgrimage to the village of Coupvray beyond the Marne, where Louis Braille was born. One evening after the Conference I was included in a small party which our host took to a fashionable drawing-room lecture where, before a select gathering of philanthropic laymen, a young man explained in glowing terms his new invention by which the blind of all the earth henceforth might draw their own portrait and feel how they look. The lecturer had me take a soft lead wire and shape it to the curves of my forehead, nose, lips, and chin, and then place the unshapely wire on a piece of heavy paper over a pad and perforate the outline with a stylus. There were many other experiences which, however interesting they may have been to me, have no place in these pages. No occasion was lost to discuss with delegates from other countries the conditions and problems of work for the blind in their respective lands. From suggestions thus derived it was possible to use to the best advantage the scant time left me to visit representative institutions before re-embarking. Of course, my observations were always directed chiefly to musical matters. In a series of three articles I shall describe what I saw, first in France, then in Germany, and finally in England.


Muzikologija ◽  
2009 ◽  
pp. 97-111
Author(s):  
Aleksandar Vasic

The Music Herald was the first music magazine to appear in Belgrade after WWI. It was published monthly, for a year (January - December 1922). Its editor-in-chief was Petar Krstic, a composer. Other members of the editorial staff were Bozidar Joksimovic, Stevan Hristic, Kosta Manojlovic (composers) Vladimir R. Djordjevic (an ethnomusicologist) and Jovan Zorko (a violinist). Over 200 articles were published in the magazine. It dealt with different genres of music writings, such as articles, treatises, documents on the history of Serbian / Yugoslav music, music criticism, polemics, necrologies and bibliographies. Twenty-four compositions by native composers were published in the musical supplement of The Music Herald, among them the works of its editors as well as those of other Yugoslav musicians. The Music Herald dealt with three fields of interest: music historiography, ethnomusicology and the current topics of its epoch. When the magazine started, Serbian musicology was in its initial stage so the editors were trying to foster its development. They published numerous biographies of Serbian 19th century musicians, as well as documents on Serbian music culture during the reign of Prince Milos Obrenovic. Music folklore was also very often the subject of interest in the magazine. The Music Herald was interested in current topics and covered the Yugoslav music school system, opera houses, military music music associations, etc. It was especially interested in choral societies which in the course of the 19th century took up not only an artistic, but also a political and patriotic role in the liberation movement. After WWI choral societies entered a period of crisis. Their political raison d'?tre was lost, so they were faced with the challenge of achieving higher professional standards. This study deals with two aspects of 'The Music Herald': aesthetic and ideological aspects. In terms of ideology, the magazine was strongly in favor of the Yugoslav idea. Its correspondents (more then 40 of them) came from all parts of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, as well as from abroad (Poland). The music culture of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes was treated with equal enthusiasm. The articles were published in both Cyrillic and Latin script, and in two languages (Serbo-Croatian and Slovenian). The editors of The Music Herald were also Slavophiles. They wrote about Czechoslovakian and Polish music, and also covered the works of Russian musicians who had emigrated to Yugoslavia after the October Revolution in 1917. The so-called 'national style' was fostered in The Music Herald, because it was believed by the editors to be the future of Serbian and Yugoslav music. Avant-garde music was treated with suspicion although on one occasion a defense of contemporary music by Stanislav Vinaver, a writer and a music critic, was published. On the other hand fostering the 'national style' did not mean that moderate means of expression sufficed for the positive evaluation of a certain music piece. That is why the compositions of Petar Stojanovic were judged as 'drawing-room music'. Although it lasted for just one year, The Music Herald has an important place in the history of Serbian music periodicals. Its orientation towards music historiography is, in this respect, especially important. It blazed the trail for the Serbian musicology in its dealings with unknown music data in the past.


Author(s):  
Anders Toftgaard

Anders Toftgaard: Amongst speaking statues and admonishing ghosts. Mazarinades in the collections of The Royal Library Mazarinade is a term for political writing that was published in different forms in France during (and related to) the Fronde (1648–1653). The Fronde was a series of civil wars that first broke out when Louis XIV (born 1638) was still a child, and Mazarin was the Chief Minister of France and responsible for the young king’s education. Mazarin governed the country together with the king’s mother, Anne of Austria. The term mazarinade covers pamphlets, letters, official documents, burlesque poetry, sonnets and ballads, discourses and dialogues.The Royal Library in Copenhagen holds a collection of mazarinades. The Copenhagen collection was overlooked by scholars and Hubert Carrier (who travelled widely) because it had not been properly catalogued. The collection of mazarinades in the Royal Library has now been catalogued by the author of the article, and the catalogue is available in Fund og Forskning online. The article serves as an introduction to this hitherto unknown collection of mazarinades. After a presentation of the Fronde, and the term mazarinade and its denotation, the article lists the rare and unique mazarinades in the collections of The Royal Library, Copenhagen and where possible, traces their provenance.The collection consists of 33 volumes of mazarinades that have been put together in the 19th century in order to form a single collection: Collection de mazarinades. Apart from this Collection de mazarinades there are other mazarinades in the holdings, stemming both from the Royal Library and from the University Library. The 33 volumes (one volume has been missing for years) have been grouped together by various subsets. One of these subsets is a collection of mazarinades created by Pierre Camuset, who lived during the time of the Fronde. Camuset introduces himself as “conseiller du roi, eslu en l’election de Paris”. Archival records show that he was appointed to this position on 9 December 1622, that in 1641 he married Agnès, daughter of Jean Le Noir, lawyer to the Parliament of Parisian, and that he died some years before 1670.In the Collection de Mazarinades, there are approx. 100 mazarinades which were considered rare or “rarissime” by Célestin Moreau in his Bibliographie des mazarinades (1850–1851). There are three mazarinades, which would seem to be unique; three mazarinades, which are not recorded in the existing bibliographies of mazarinades (made by D’Artois and Carrier, in the Bibliothèque Mazarine) but of which there are copies in other libraries. There is a mazarinade printed by Samuel Brown in The Hague, which has not been recorded elsewhere. Finally, there are 11 mazarinades printed by Jean-Aimé Candy in Lyon, of which only three, judging from existing catalogues and bibliographies, seem to exist in other libraries.Only few of the mazarinades were brought to Denmark during the Fronde. Most of them were collected by Danish 18th century collectors. Surprisingly, only a small part stems from the incredibly rich library of Count Otto Thott (1703–1785). When Thott’s library was auctioned off, his mazarinades were bought by Herman Treschow (1739–1797) who acted as a commission agent for numerous book collectors, and due to the detailed cataloguing in Thott’s auction catalogue, it would probably be possible to find the volumes from his library in a foreign library.Both Hans Gram (1685–1748) and Bolle Willum Luxdorph (1716–1788) owned copies of Gabriel Naudé’s Mascurat in which they wrote handwritten notes. Luxdorph was the great collector of Danish press freedom writings. In his marginal notes he compares a passage in Naudé’s text about common people appropriating the art of printing with his own experience of a servant who came up with songs that were “assez mechants” during the fall of Struensee on 17 January 1772: “Mon valet faisait aussi d’asséz méchans vers su aujet de la revolution du 17de janvier 1772”. Luxdorph’s reading of Mascurat is thus in close connection with his interest in writings on press freedom.The Mazarinades are valuable both for studies in history, literary history and history of the book. More specifically, the collection of Mazarinades in the Royal Library, on the one hand, through the example of Pierre Camuset, shows how an individual tried to get a grasp of an abnormal period, and on the other hand, through the example of Luxdoph, very clearly testifies to the 18th century interest in the history of the book and in historical periods with de facto freedom of the press.


Author(s):  
Natalya V. Radishauskayte

The Russian pre-revolutionary book features many various provenance marks including marks of ownership. Such marks indicate that a particular item belongs to a particular owner. They can have forms of supralibros (or super ex-libris), ex-libris (or bookplates), book stamps, signatures and inscriptions. There are also “non-specific” ownership stamps and labels, which do not have indications of their book nature (such as phrases “from the books/library of...”, “ex-libris…”) and can be used on any objects. Usually these are word rubber stamps (rarely — labels) with a text consisting of a book owner’s name and occasionally some additional information (such as an owner’s address, title, etc.). In Russia, bibliophiles and bibliologists have been studying bookplates for about two centuries. However, there are still many blank spots in the history of the Russian bookplate. Regional book ownership marks are mostly unexplored. This article presents an attempt to describe and analyse book ownership marks of the Russian Far Eastern book owners. Studying of library holdings of 13 regional institutions and conducting bibliographic research allowed revealing 58 local marks of ownership (excluding signatures and inscriptions) that belonged to 23 local book collectors of the pre-revolutionary period. The study showed that they used all types of marks from supralibros to inscriptions, but mostly preferred the “non-specific” book stamps and super ex-libris. There was also established that the bookplate labels were particularly rare — the author discovered the only specimen in the Far Eastern State Research Library. The predominance of book stamps as marks of ownership can be explained by their multipurposeness, cheapness and easiness of manufacturing. Far Eastern book owners frequently used two or three different types of marks together on one book, for example, book stamp and supralibros, inscription and book stamp or supralibros and inscription, etc. Often one collector used several different stamps or supralibros: almost 40% of book collectors had two or three marks of ownership. At the same time, 11 of 23 book owners additionally marked their books with the inscriptions.


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