My co-editor (on the Bawdy Songbooks of the Romantic Period project), and a colleague of mine at Monash, Paul Watt, went to Clunes for the "Back to Booktown" event on Saturday (1 May 2010; details here).
It is one of those events that I have been meaning to go to for ages. Having had—for a while at least—a toe in "the Trade" in Melbourne I have known many people who have gone, either to trade or buy, and being a collector myself it is only natural that I should be curious on what I am missing out on, or if I am actually missing out on anything at all. (My experience of the Victorian Book Lovers Trail was rather mixed.)
Of course, since I had the pleasure of hearing Paul McShane speak on The International Book Town Experience last December (at a Melbourne Bibliographical Circle event), I have been even more interested in checking out the local "Book Town Experience" for myself.
But, since I missed it again, I asked Paul to put a few thoughts in writing for me to post here. Perhaps I will be able to write something myself next year! But this is what Paul had to say:
The blurb promised much: "the biggest collection of rare, out-of-print and second-hand books in Australia" but this event fell short of the hype. While a small number of traders of rare and antiquarian books had set up camp, a large chunk of store-holders were selling merely old and dusty books, sometimes damaged and soiled and only fit for the recycle bin or bonfire.
Only a few of tents and shops full of books piqued my interest; one of them being, I think, a well-known Melbourne bookshop selling remainders, since many of its wares looked similar to the stock in their Northcote shop, which I visited recently. Another tent of books sold hard-to-procure reference works and literary and history monographs from the major university presses. Their stock was unmistakably rare, in excellent condition and very competitively priced.
"Back to Booktown" included talks by authors, academics and writers, which leant a sense of a "literary festival" to the event but I found this addition contrived. On the other hand, the "Punch and Judy" show and the entertainment provided by the Creswick Brass Band seemed more relevant and interesting to the event’s relaxed and informal atmosphere.
The organisers of Back to Booktown need to make more of an effort to position the weekend as a genuine event for "rare, out-of-print and second-hand books in Australia" (as advertised) because at the moment the "second-hand" aspect is vastly over-represented. To be blunt, there was just too much junk masquerading as old and worthy books.
I also think the event can stand on its own without talks by authors, writers and publishers. "Back to Booktown" might also include vendors of maps, prints and paper and add more stalls that sell bookends, paper-weights and other novelties. While there were a few stalls selling such items, there is certainly room for more book-related trade, without the event becoming a gimmick.
Dr Paul Watt, School of Music, Monash University
Thanks Paul!
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Friday, 23 April 2010
A Whimsical Trifle of 1710
Aaron Hill's afterpiece The Walking Statue; Or, the Devil in the Wine Cellar (1710) is one of those relatively minor eighteenth-century works, by a relatively minor eighteenth-century writer that hardly casts a shadow on the internet.
Aaron Hill (1685–1750) has a fairly feeble entry on Wikipedia (here), even though there is a recent full-dress biography by Christine Gerrard: Aaron Hill: The Muses' Projector, 1685-1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). There are also a few short biographies online, but they are on subscription sites (like the ODNB online and The Dictionary of Literary Biography). Because of the friendship of Hill and Richard Savage and Eliza Haywood there are a number of short references to Hill online in biographies of these and other writers.
As for The Walking Statue: Thomas Whincop described it as "a Farce, acted with good Success, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane" in his "Compleat List of All the English Dramatick Poets" (1747), 248. One of the few recent references is Gerrard's description of it as "a slight but funny farce that was revived a number of times over the subsequent decade" (27). If you trawl even further you will also find this reference by William John Lawrence in Old Theatre Days and Ways (1935), 183:
On 3 January 1709/10 Hill brought out his tragedy Elfrid; or, The Fair Inconstant and on 9 January added his farce afterpiece The Walking Statue; or, the Devil in the Wine Cellar. It cannot be but that this whimsical trifle met with considerable success (it certainly lived much longer than the tragedy), for, following it, there came an eruption of similar afterpieces.
As you can see, none of these writers actually tells you anything about the action.
For reasons too complicated to explain my curiosity was roused by this title, so I read it. And having read it, I thought I would say a few words about it. If you want to read it you will find a reprint of the text in The Dramatic Works of Aaron Hill, Esq., vol. 1 (1760), 53–70.
The Dramatis Personæ are
Sir Timothy Tough
Leonora, his daughter
[Robin, Jonathan, servants to Sir Timothy]
Sprightly, a young Gentleman in love with Leonora
Toby, Sprightly's man
Corporal Cuttum, the statue
In the first scene Toby is attempting to gain entry into the house of Sir Timothy Tough in order to get a love-letter by Sprightly to Leonora. He is doing this by adopting the disguise of an "Exchange Girl" (a milliner). Sir Timothy Tough has poor eye-sight, but is suspicious and comes to the door with two servants, armed to the teeth. Toby is searched, the love-letter is discovered and he flees.
In the second scene Sprightly commiserates with Toby, and lays out a fresh plan of attack. He is going to take advantage of Sir Timothy's poor eyesight by substituting Cuttum for a statue that Sir Timothy has ordered. Toby dresses as a Jew and delivers the "statue" to Sir Timothy.
In the third scene Sir Timothy and Leonora are arguing about the fact that, although he once encouraged the suit of Sprightly, he has become greedy and now wants her to marry an even richer suitor. Leonora wants to marry Sprightly, but Sir Timothy will only honour his word to the extent of allowing them to marry if Sprightly can out outwit him. At this point the "statue" is delivered.
Toby (dressed as a Jew) needles Sir Timothy about his age until he is chased out of the room (see passage below); Cuttum tries to take the opportunity to speak to Leonora, who screams, bringing back Sir Timothy. With his sudden arrival Cuttum must hold a different posture, when Sir Timothy notices, Cuttum rushes him and Sir Timothy and his servants chase him from the house. Leonora, realising too late her that this was another attempt by Sprightly to rescue her from her father, also flees.
In the fourth scene, we see that Toby has been unable to flee the house altogether. He hides in the cellar, putting on an old mask and horns he happened to have on him. Sir Timothy and his servants return, the former encouraging the latter to celebrate with a bottle of wine.
In the fifth scene, the servants are in the cellar drinking and singing. When Toby is about to be discovered, he rushes from his hiding place, terrifying the servants and Sir Timothy. Toby escapes. Sir Timothy and the servants return, and while they are huddled in the hallway, Leonora, Sprightly, Toby and Cuttum turn up and explain the deception. Sprightly asks to be pardoned, and to agree to the marriage. Sir Timothy exits, ranting: "Confusion! furies! devils! witchcraft! rogues! tricks! damnation! conjuration! and distraction!" The stage direction is: "He raves, and stamps, and runs off the stage."
To give you a better idea of the "whimsical" style, the bluster, confusion, slapstick and casual prejudice, here is an excerpt from Scene 3.
Toby. I am by profession a statuary, by country a Portuguese, but brought up in England; by quality a foreman, alias a journeyman, and by religion a Jew, Sir.
Sir Tim. A Jew? Adzooks! what have you to do in a christian country, sirrah?
Toby. Ha, ha, you are pleas'd to be merry, Sir! But where must the statue be plac'd, an't please you?
Sir Tim. Plac'd ? [Aside. Egad I don't like this fellow, he says he's a Jew, but he looks like a Philistine!]
Toby. Set him down there, gently, gently; be careful how you place him, pray, Gentlemen—So, now he stands right; go—stay without till I come to you.
[The four bearers go out.]
Sir Tim. Let me see how this statue looks. Ads my life! a pretty piece of workmanship truly! But pray, friend, why did not Mr. Chisiel come himself? Am I so bad a customer, that he must send servants to do my business? nay, and heathen servants too?
Toby. Your worship, I perceive, is a facetious old gentleman. But my master, an't please you, is sick at present.
Sir Tim. Old gentleman! sirrah! Is that your Hebrew breeding! Get out of my house, you rogue! that Levitical face of thine stirs up my indignation!
Toby. I beg your pardon heartily, if I have said any thing that offends you, Sir; but pray don't be in a passion for nothing. Is not the work done as you expected it?
[All the while Sir Timothy is talking with Toby, Cuttum makes whimsical motions from the table to Leonora, who leans pensively, and don't observe him.]
Sir Tim. Expected it, sirrah! I did not expect to have the figure to be sent home by a rogue of a Jew, sirrah! Let Let me look all round the piece ’egad, 'tis ten to one but the superstitious dog has circumcised my statue!
Toby. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Sir Tim. Villain, rascal! what, am I to be laugh'd at to my face!
Toby. Ha, ha, ha, you must excuse me, Sir, ha, ha, ha, I vow you are the pleasantest gentleman of your age that ever I met with.
Sir Tim. Again at my age, sirrah! here, Robin, Jonathan, quickly, bring me my blunderbuss. Sirrah, get out of my house, or I'll break off a limb of the statue, and knock out your brains with it.
[He runs to pull offone of the Statue's legs, and Cuttum kicks him down backward with the other.]
If you dig deeper into the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century texts on Google Books you will find a few more details than those I quoted above, which I will finish by quoting.
The unfailing David Erskine Baker et al. in Biographia Dramatica (1812) are more loquacious than Thomas Whincop.
The Walking Statue; or, The Devil in the Wine Cellar. Farce, by A. Hill. 4to. No date. [1710]; 8vo. 1760. This little farce is printed at the end of, and was annexed in the representation to, Elfrid, or, The Fair Inconstant, of the same author. The plot of it is totally farcical, and the incidents are beyond the limits of probability; nay, even of possibility: yet there is somewhat laughable in the incident of passing a living man on the father as a statue, or automaton; and the consequence of it, though somewhat too low for a dramatic piece of any kind of regularity, may, nevertheless, be endured, by considering this as a kind of speaking pantomime; which may surely be as readily admitted of, and allowed as instructive, at least, as those where the parti-coloured gentleman has no other method of expressing his sensations and sentiments, than the very ingenious one of gestures and grimaces.
Finally, according to the Memoirs of John Bannister, Comedian, vol. 1 (1839), on 25 July 1786 John Bannister revived this "extravagant farce" for his benefit.
He performed the principal character, who, having been received into the house of an old virtuoso as a statue, produces some confusion and much merriment by being sometimes a man, sometimes an image, but always where he is not wished for, except when he is forwarding the love intrigues, for which his ingenuity is employed. It is said, and perhaps justly, that to introduce a living man as a statue, is to draw strongly on public credulity; but much may be allowed in a broad farce, and the experiment has recently been repeated in Paris, with great success, in "L'Homme Automate."
Aaron Hill (1685–1750) has a fairly feeble entry on Wikipedia (here), even though there is a recent full-dress biography by Christine Gerrard: Aaron Hill: The Muses' Projector, 1685-1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). There are also a few short biographies online, but they are on subscription sites (like the ODNB online and The Dictionary of Literary Biography). Because of the friendship of Hill and Richard Savage and Eliza Haywood there are a number of short references to Hill online in biographies of these and other writers.
As for The Walking Statue: Thomas Whincop described it as "a Farce, acted with good Success, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane" in his "Compleat List of All the English Dramatick Poets" (1747), 248. One of the few recent references is Gerrard's description of it as "a slight but funny farce that was revived a number of times over the subsequent decade" (27). If you trawl even further you will also find this reference by William John Lawrence in Old Theatre Days and Ways (1935), 183:
On 3 January 1709/10 Hill brought out his tragedy Elfrid; or, The Fair Inconstant and on 9 January added his farce afterpiece The Walking Statue; or, the Devil in the Wine Cellar. It cannot be but that this whimsical trifle met with considerable success (it certainly lived much longer than the tragedy), for, following it, there came an eruption of similar afterpieces.
As you can see, none of these writers actually tells you anything about the action.
For reasons too complicated to explain my curiosity was roused by this title, so I read it. And having read it, I thought I would say a few words about it. If you want to read it you will find a reprint of the text in The Dramatic Works of Aaron Hill, Esq., vol. 1 (1760), 53–70.
* * * * *
The Dramatis Personæ are
Sir Timothy Tough
Leonora, his daughter
[Robin, Jonathan, servants to Sir Timothy]
Sprightly, a young Gentleman in love with Leonora
Toby, Sprightly's man
Corporal Cuttum, the statue
In the first scene Toby is attempting to gain entry into the house of Sir Timothy Tough in order to get a love-letter by Sprightly to Leonora. He is doing this by adopting the disguise of an "Exchange Girl" (a milliner). Sir Timothy Tough has poor eye-sight, but is suspicious and comes to the door with two servants, armed to the teeth. Toby is searched, the love-letter is discovered and he flees.
In the second scene Sprightly commiserates with Toby, and lays out a fresh plan of attack. He is going to take advantage of Sir Timothy's poor eyesight by substituting Cuttum for a statue that Sir Timothy has ordered. Toby dresses as a Jew and delivers the "statue" to Sir Timothy.
In the third scene Sir Timothy and Leonora are arguing about the fact that, although he once encouraged the suit of Sprightly, he has become greedy and now wants her to marry an even richer suitor. Leonora wants to marry Sprightly, but Sir Timothy will only honour his word to the extent of allowing them to marry if Sprightly can out outwit him. At this point the "statue" is delivered.
Toby (dressed as a Jew) needles Sir Timothy about his age until he is chased out of the room (see passage below); Cuttum tries to take the opportunity to speak to Leonora, who screams, bringing back Sir Timothy. With his sudden arrival Cuttum must hold a different posture, when Sir Timothy notices, Cuttum rushes him and Sir Timothy and his servants chase him from the house. Leonora, realising too late her that this was another attempt by Sprightly to rescue her from her father, also flees.
In the fourth scene, we see that Toby has been unable to flee the house altogether. He hides in the cellar, putting on an old mask and horns he happened to have on him. Sir Timothy and his servants return, the former encouraging the latter to celebrate with a bottle of wine.
In the fifth scene, the servants are in the cellar drinking and singing. When Toby is about to be discovered, he rushes from his hiding place, terrifying the servants and Sir Timothy. Toby escapes. Sir Timothy and the servants return, and while they are huddled in the hallway, Leonora, Sprightly, Toby and Cuttum turn up and explain the deception. Sprightly asks to be pardoned, and to agree to the marriage. Sir Timothy exits, ranting: "Confusion! furies! devils! witchcraft! rogues! tricks! damnation! conjuration! and distraction!" The stage direction is: "He raves, and stamps, and runs off the stage."
* * * * *
To give you a better idea of the "whimsical" style, the bluster, confusion, slapstick and casual prejudice, here is an excerpt from Scene 3.
Toby. I am by profession a statuary, by country a Portuguese, but brought up in England; by quality a foreman, alias a journeyman, and by religion a Jew, Sir.
Sir Tim. A Jew? Adzooks! what have you to do in a christian country, sirrah?
Toby. Ha, ha, you are pleas'd to be merry, Sir! But where must the statue be plac'd, an't please you?
Sir Tim. Plac'd ? [Aside. Egad I don't like this fellow, he says he's a Jew, but he looks like a Philistine!]
Toby. Set him down there, gently, gently; be careful how you place him, pray, Gentlemen—So, now he stands right; go—stay without till I come to you.
[The four bearers go out.]
Sir Tim. Let me see how this statue looks. Ads my life! a pretty piece of workmanship truly! But pray, friend, why did not Mr. Chisiel come himself? Am I so bad a customer, that he must send servants to do my business? nay, and heathen servants too?
Toby. Your worship, I perceive, is a facetious old gentleman. But my master, an't please you, is sick at present.
Sir Tim. Old gentleman! sirrah! Is that your Hebrew breeding! Get out of my house, you rogue! that Levitical face of thine stirs up my indignation!
Toby. I beg your pardon heartily, if I have said any thing that offends you, Sir; but pray don't be in a passion for nothing. Is not the work done as you expected it?
[All the while Sir Timothy is talking with Toby, Cuttum makes whimsical motions from the table to Leonora, who leans pensively, and don't observe him.]
Sir Tim. Expected it, sirrah! I did not expect to have the figure to be sent home by a rogue of a Jew, sirrah! Let Let me look all round the piece ’egad, 'tis ten to one but the superstitious dog has circumcised my statue!
Toby. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Sir Tim. Villain, rascal! what, am I to be laugh'd at to my face!
Toby. Ha, ha, ha, you must excuse me, Sir, ha, ha, ha, I vow you are the pleasantest gentleman of your age that ever I met with.
Sir Tim. Again at my age, sirrah! here, Robin, Jonathan, quickly, bring me my blunderbuss. Sirrah, get out of my house, or I'll break off a limb of the statue, and knock out your brains with it.
[He runs to pull offone of the Statue's legs, and Cuttum kicks him down backward with the other.]
* * * * *
If you dig deeper into the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century texts on Google Books you will find a few more details than those I quoted above, which I will finish by quoting.
The unfailing David Erskine Baker et al. in Biographia Dramatica (1812) are more loquacious than Thomas Whincop.
The Walking Statue; or, The Devil in the Wine Cellar. Farce, by A. Hill. 4to. No date. [1710]; 8vo. 1760. This little farce is printed at the end of, and was annexed in the representation to, Elfrid, or, The Fair Inconstant, of the same author. The plot of it is totally farcical, and the incidents are beyond the limits of probability; nay, even of possibility: yet there is somewhat laughable in the incident of passing a living man on the father as a statue, or automaton; and the consequence of it, though somewhat too low for a dramatic piece of any kind of regularity, may, nevertheless, be endured, by considering this as a kind of speaking pantomime; which may surely be as readily admitted of, and allowed as instructive, at least, as those where the parti-coloured gentleman has no other method of expressing his sensations and sentiments, than the very ingenious one of gestures and grimaces.
Finally, according to the Memoirs of John Bannister, Comedian, vol. 1 (1839), on 25 July 1786 John Bannister revived this "extravagant farce" for his benefit.
He performed the principal character, who, having been received into the house of an old virtuoso as a statue, produces some confusion and much merriment by being sometimes a man, sometimes an image, but always where he is not wished for, except when he is forwarding the love intrigues, for which his ingenuity is employed. It is said, and perhaps justly, that to introduce a living man as a statue, is to draw strongly on public credulity; but much may be allowed in a broad farce, and the experiment has recently been repeated in Paris, with great success, in "L'Homme Automate."
Friday, 2 April 2010
Eighteenth-Century Dildos
On 26 March the BBC reported that two eighteenth-century dildos in a leather-lined case had been sold at an Essex auction for £3,600 [ca. A$6,000].
The wooden items, believed to be French, were auctioned at Brentwood Antiques Auction on Thursday [25 March 2010]. Auctioneer Wendy Wood said: 'You might laugh but it's a good opportunity for investment. You won't see another one in a long time.' An anonymous bidder bought the pair which come with their own leather-lined case. One of the objects measures 10in (25cm) and the other 11in (28cm). Staff at the auction described the sex toys as 'extraordinary and exceptionally rare'.
The description provided in the Brentwood Antiques Auction catalogue (already taken down) read:
Lot Number: 340. Erotica. An extraordinary and exceptionally rare 'Travel Godermiche' being a pair of wooden phallus contained within a fitted kid leather covered Treen case with strap fleurs-de-lys decoration, one phallus 10 inches and with testicles and the other 11 inches and without testicles. The case, although having a re-lined interior appears to have age commensurate with those of the phallus and both are thought to date from the late 18th century and are probably French.
Although the dildos attracted a lot of press attention after the sale, very little appears online beyond the above description and six photos—seemingly distributed by Brentwood Antiques themselves.
Prior to the auction the Brentwood Gazette carried a far more informative piece by Iain Johnson. It reads, in part,
The antiques, soon to go on sale at Brentwood Antiques Auction in North Road, are thought to originate in 18th century France. Experts believe the set of rosewood shafts travelled around with an aristocrat during the days of the French Revolution.
TV antiques expert Paul Hetchin described the saucy heirloom as "extremely rare". "It is an extraordinary item. It fits within the term 'erotica' and could be of interest to a collector or a museum of erotica or sex. To find they are wood is very rare."
He added: "It is such an unknown quantity, so it would be hard to be sure how much they could sell for. These will be interesting to people that collect erotica. Beautiful ivory boxes of pornographic images are quite common but this is very rare.
"They date from the late 18th century and are likely to be from the upper classes because they were very expensive to produce and would have been out of reach of the masses. They would have been used as a travelling companion as it were, so a lady would take it with her when she went away."
Having been commissioned in France over two centuries ago, the adult toys later found their way into the hands of an Austrian author who specialised in sex paraphernalia. With "free love" at its height in the 1970s, the erotic writer gave them as a gift to an Italian businessman who cherished them until they were put under the watch of Brentwood Antiques Auction's Wendy Wood.
The experienced auctioneer revealed that only once has she seen something similar, which was made of ivory. She added: "There is a big market for erotica and I have no qualms about selling it. You can get more photographs than anything else but this is a rare item. "I am expecting quite a large market for them."
UPDATE 7 November 2015: for "More Eighteenth-Century Dildos" see here.
[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After all my pictures disappeared (again) I decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files and, for now on, will stick with the smaller images (500px), which Blogger is prepared to host.]
Georgian Ale Glass, ca. 1740
It would take a long time to get through a modern stubby of beer using this English Ale Glass, let alone a long-neck bottle. And I am struggling to think of a beer special enough to drink out of a glass that is about 270 years old.
So I think I am more likely to drink a nice glass of Muscat out of it. Or a Rutherglen Rare Tokay from Chambers. But I am in no hurry, because I think I'll probably get just as much pleasure out of just looking at it, and looking at it doesn't require me to clean it afterwards. And almost every glass I have broken I broke cleaning…
[UPDATE 30 Jan 2011: lan Mckenzie has gently corrected me. This is not, in fact, an ale glass but a tear-stemmed wine glass. Apparently, ale glasses have deeper bowls. And since "wine" meant fortified wine when this glass was made it would be particularly appropriate for me to drink a Rare Tokay from Chambers out of this glass. Perfect in fact. So, being corrected by Ian about this is, as Dumbledore would say, like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon!]
[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After all my pictures disappeared (again) I decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files and, for now on, will stick with the smaller images (500px), which Blogger is prepared to host.]
So I think I am more likely to drink a nice glass of Muscat out of it. Or a Rutherglen Rare Tokay from Chambers. But I am in no hurry, because I think I'll probably get just as much pleasure out of just looking at it, and looking at it doesn't require me to clean it afterwards. And almost every glass I have broken I broke cleaning…
[UPDATE 30 Jan 2011: lan Mckenzie has gently corrected me. This is not, in fact, an ale glass but a tear-stemmed wine glass. Apparently, ale glasses have deeper bowls. And since "wine" meant fortified wine when this glass was made it would be particularly appropriate for me to drink a Rare Tokay from Chambers out of this glass. Perfect in fact. So, being corrected by Ian about this is, as Dumbledore would say, like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon!]
[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After all my pictures disappeared (again) I decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files and, for now on, will stick with the smaller images (500px), which Blogger is prepared to host.]
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Light Sources for Examining Paper
Matthew Davis has an excellent post on "How to photograph watermarks with an electroluminescent sheet" here.
Electroluminescent sheets can be any size, but the ones that David is talking about are about A4 in size and look and feel like a laminated manila folder. Being "electro-" and "luminescent" you won't be surprised to discover that you plug them into a power source and they glow.
Flat, flexible, glowing A4 sheets are very useful in bibliography because they are moderately portable and you can use them to back-light a large page without moving the book it is in from the bookrest you are consulting it on (i.e., holding it up to a window or a light). Also, being a cool, large and uniform light source, unlike a incandescent bulb or a fluorescent tube, it is very easy to use them to illuminate (and photograph) large paper features such as watermarks.
I don't have a lot to add to Mark's post in terms of function and use of these sheets, but the supplier of these electroluminescent sheets, power supplies etc in Australasia is different from those he mentions, and so I suspect that my experience getting hold of the electroluminescent sheets will be of interest to Australasian bibliographers.
Shef Rogers visited Monash University in September 2008 to give a paper on Pope's Miscellaneous Poems and Translations (1712/1714). (The visit was organised by the Centre for the Book as a part of the Melbourne Bibliographical Circle series; details here.) He bought with him, and demonstrated the use of, an electroluminescent sheet that he had bought in New Zealand from the local representative of Flexalite.
Flexalite is—as their website will tell you—"the first and only authorised dealer of CeeLite™ LEC panels and Flatline Inverters in Australia." Unfortunately, CeeLite may be an award-winning product, but Flexalite is unlikely to ever become an award-winning retailer. Shef had some difficulty obtaining his CeeLite panel and Inverter in New Zealand, I had a lot of trouble obtaining my CeeLite panel and Inverter in Melbourne. I don't know of anyone else who has managed to get one in Australasia.
The Melbourne distributor can only be contacted by mobile phone and was very "difficult" to reach by email (often not answering emails at all, or "answering" them at cross-purposes) and was only capable of sending orders by fax. I was unable to get the distributor to email me a jpeg or pdf purchase order or to post a hard copy. (It didn't help that Monash has effectively shut down its fax system and does not allow mobile calls from its phone system.)
After a very long series of frustrating emails I was eventually sent a pair of panels and inverters. I had asked for three panels—including one A5 panel—and two different inverters, one more powerful than the other. Some weeks after asking how I might return and replace the wrong inverter and obtain the A5 panel, I was sent the right inverter, but no A5 panel.
At this point I gave up; and simply sent my money. A colleague—aware of my protracted and frustrating exchange with the local rep—was going to Sydney, which is where Flexalite is based, and was going to visit them in person. Unfortunately, when he turned up at their shop front he found that they were no longer there. They had moved! When I am next in Sydney I will try to locate their new premises and see if I can't get the "sample" (A5) panel.
Prices are similar to those reported by Matthew Davis ("the whole setup cost a little less than [US]$100"). A Ceelite Panel [AB100] 216 x 279mm [8.5 x 11 inches] is A$75.00; and a Ceelite Inverter [INV-US100-AB] is A$50.00: making A$125. The more powerful inverter [INV-FL300-AB], which puts out four amps instead of two, is the same price but makes no noticeable difference to the luminosity of the panels.
I have shown before how useful these panels are in illuminating watermarks in books, so I thought I would use the Ceelite to illuminate a much more complex watermark on a loose leaf of paper.
The leaf concerned is a single-page letter dated 16 September 1732 from James Leake (bookseller in Bath 1721–64) to John Nourse (bookseller in the Strand, London 1730–80). The leaf (310 x 190 mm) was folded once to make four pages, only one of which was used for writing, then had the four edges folded in before being addressed and sealed. The letter is stamped "18 / SE" (for 18 September) and "BATH," which is where it was posted from.
The text of the address is:
To Mr Nourse
Bookseller
at the Lamb
near Temple Bar
London
The text of the letter is:
Mr Nourse Sept 16 1732
On Saturday by 9 in ye
morning Pray Send to Mr Hazard
One Set of Ovid neatly b[oun]d G[il]t
Back & The Lovers Marbl'd. I
have not yet examin'd your Catalogue
but shall soon when you may
to hear from
Y[ou]r Humble Ser[van]t
James Leake
As you can see, the watermark is a seal enclosing the Coat of Arms of the Kingdom of Great Britain (as it existed between The Acts of Union 1707 and 1801—see here) surmounted by the Imperial Crown of the Sovereign. The caption is the motto of the British Monarch Honi Soit | Mal Y Pense.
(BTW: This watermark appears in Philip Gaskell, A New Introduction to Bibliography (1972), 69 (Fig. 35), who cites Edward Heawood, Watermarks: Mainly of the 17th and 18th Centuries (1957), 448, where it is identified as "London, 1736." The letter is made up of one half of a "pot" sheet, the full sheet being at ca. 310 x 380 mm according to Gaskell (1972), 75, Table 3.)
Playing around with the contrast and colour-balance makes the watermark a little clearer (as here), and a high-definition camera with macro would probably be even more helpful. But, as you can see here, even the raw photograph off a bog-standard (and not very recent) digital camera provides a very clear image, certainly clear enough to make out all the features of the watermark.
More importantly, it is very easy to slip this panel under the page you are looking at, snap a picture and keep going. You can collate an entire volume like this and in a very short space of time build up a reference set of photographs of the watermarks in a volume, which you can then be used to compare to other copies of the same volume.
Of course, it is possible to record watermarks without the panels. But, like Matthew Davis, I have been reluctant to try to sketch/trace watermarks because I am "artistically incompetent," and these tracings take a long time to do. The resulting sketch would also be of no bibliographical value since my "Coat of Arms" would be indistinguishable from a Fool's Cap, a Fleur-de-lis or anything else for that matter. And the technological alternatives—like beta radiography—are expensive and available at few libraries. I suspect that this is why watermarks are still under-examined and under-recorded.
As use of these cheap and relatively portable panels becomes more wide-spread I expect that bibliographers will be more inclined to record watermarks along with other bibliographical features. And as they become more widely used, and more evidence concerning the use of watermarks is recorded, the evidence that is collected will be of more use to the bibliographers, encouraging further recording etc.
[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After all my pictures disappeared (again) I decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files and, for now on, will stick with the smaller images (500px), which Blogger is prepared to host.]
Electroluminescent sheets can be any size, but the ones that David is talking about are about A4 in size and look and feel like a laminated manila folder. Being "electro-" and "luminescent" you won't be surprised to discover that you plug them into a power source and they glow.
[The power-brick (top) and Inverter (bottom) for a CeeLite™ Electroluminescent panel]
Flat, flexible, glowing A4 sheets are very useful in bibliography because they are moderately portable and you can use them to back-light a large page without moving the book it is in from the bookrest you are consulting it on (i.e., holding it up to a window or a light). Also, being a cool, large and uniform light source, unlike a incandescent bulb or a fluorescent tube, it is very easy to use them to illuminate (and photograph) large paper features such as watermarks.
I don't have a lot to add to Mark's post in terms of function and use of these sheets, but the supplier of these electroluminescent sheets, power supplies etc in Australasia is different from those he mentions, and so I suspect that my experience getting hold of the electroluminescent sheets will be of interest to Australasian bibliographers.
[Inverter and CeeLite™ Electroluminescent panel (back)]
* * * * *
Shef Rogers visited Monash University in September 2008 to give a paper on Pope's Miscellaneous Poems and Translations (1712/1714). (The visit was organised by the Centre for the Book as a part of the Melbourne Bibliographical Circle series; details here.) He bought with him, and demonstrated the use of, an electroluminescent sheet that he had bought in New Zealand from the local representative of Flexalite.
Flexalite is—as their website will tell you—"the first and only authorised dealer of CeeLite™ LEC panels and Flatline Inverters in Australia." Unfortunately, CeeLite may be an award-winning product, but Flexalite is unlikely to ever become an award-winning retailer. Shef had some difficulty obtaining his CeeLite panel and Inverter in New Zealand, I had a lot of trouble obtaining my CeeLite panel and Inverter in Melbourne. I don't know of anyone else who has managed to get one in Australasia.
[Inverter and CeeLite™ Electroluminescent panel (front)]
The Melbourne distributor can only be contacted by mobile phone and was very "difficult" to reach by email (often not answering emails at all, or "answering" them at cross-purposes) and was only capable of sending orders by fax. I was unable to get the distributor to email me a jpeg or pdf purchase order or to post a hard copy. (It didn't help that Monash has effectively shut down its fax system and does not allow mobile calls from its phone system.)
After a very long series of frustrating emails I was eventually sent a pair of panels and inverters. I had asked for three panels—including one A5 panel—and two different inverters, one more powerful than the other. Some weeks after asking how I might return and replace the wrong inverter and obtain the A5 panel, I was sent the right inverter, but no A5 panel.
[CeeLite™ Electroluminescent panel (illuminated)]
At this point I gave up; and simply sent my money. A colleague—aware of my protracted and frustrating exchange with the local rep—was going to Sydney, which is where Flexalite is based, and was going to visit them in person. Unfortunately, when he turned up at their shop front he found that they were no longer there. They had moved! When I am next in Sydney I will try to locate their new premises and see if I can't get the "sample" (A5) panel.
Prices are similar to those reported by Matthew Davis ("the whole setup cost a little less than [US]$100"). A Ceelite Panel [AB100] 216 x 279mm [8.5 x 11 inches] is A$75.00; and a Ceelite Inverter [INV-US100-AB] is A$50.00: making A$125. The more powerful inverter [INV-FL300-AB], which puts out four amps instead of two, is the same price but makes no noticeable difference to the luminosity of the panels.
* * * * *
[CeeLite™ Electroluminescent panel (illuminating a sheet of paper)]
I have shown before how useful these panels are in illuminating watermarks in books, so I thought I would use the Ceelite to illuminate a much more complex watermark on a loose leaf of paper.
The leaf concerned is a single-page letter dated 16 September 1732 from James Leake (bookseller in Bath 1721–64) to John Nourse (bookseller in the Strand, London 1730–80). The leaf (310 x 190 mm) was folded once to make four pages, only one of which was used for writing, then had the four edges folded in before being addressed and sealed. The letter is stamped "18 / SE" (for 18 September) and "BATH," which is where it was posted from.
[The front of a letter from James Leake to John Nourse]
The text of the address is:
To Mr Nourse
Bookseller
at the Lamb
near Temple Bar
London
[The back of a letter from James Leake to John Nourse]
The text of the letter is:
Mr Nourse Sept 16 1732
On Saturday by 9 in ye
morning Pray Send to Mr Hazard
One Set of Ovid neatly b[oun]d G[il]t
Back & The Lovers Marbl'd. I
have not yet examin'd your Catalogue
but shall soon when you may
to hear from
Y[ou]r Humble Ser[van]t
James Leake
[The inside of a letter from James Leake to John Nourse]
As you can see, the watermark is a seal enclosing the Coat of Arms of the Kingdom of Great Britain (as it existed between The Acts of Union 1707 and 1801—see here) surmounted by the Imperial Crown of the Sovereign. The caption is the motto of the British Monarch Honi Soit | Mal Y Pense.
(BTW: This watermark appears in Philip Gaskell, A New Introduction to Bibliography (1972), 69 (Fig. 35), who cites Edward Heawood, Watermarks: Mainly of the 17th and 18th Centuries (1957), 448, where it is identified as "London, 1736." The letter is made up of one half of a "pot" sheet, the full sheet being at ca. 310 x 380 mm according to Gaskell (1972), 75, Table 3.)
Playing around with the contrast and colour-balance makes the watermark a little clearer (as here), and a high-definition camera with macro would probably be even more helpful. But, as you can see here, even the raw photograph off a bog-standard (and not very recent) digital camera provides a very clear image, certainly clear enough to make out all the features of the watermark.
[The watermark, view from inside the letter (watermark correctly oriented)]
More importantly, it is very easy to slip this panel under the page you are looking at, snap a picture and keep going. You can collate an entire volume like this and in a very short space of time build up a reference set of photographs of the watermarks in a volume, which you can then be used to compare to other copies of the same volume.
Of course, it is possible to record watermarks without the panels. But, like Matthew Davis, I have been reluctant to try to sketch/trace watermarks because I am "artistically incompetent," and these tracings take a long time to do. The resulting sketch would also be of no bibliographical value since my "Coat of Arms" would be indistinguishable from a Fool's Cap, a Fleur-de-lis or anything else for that matter. And the technological alternatives—like beta radiography—are expensive and available at few libraries. I suspect that this is why watermarks are still under-examined and under-recorded.
[The watermark, view from outside the letter (watermark reversed)]
As use of these cheap and relatively portable panels becomes more wide-spread I expect that bibliographers will be more inclined to record watermarks along with other bibliographical features. And as they become more widely used, and more evidence concerning the use of watermarks is recorded, the evidence that is collected will be of more use to the bibliographers, encouraging further recording etc.
[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After all my pictures disappeared (again) I decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files and, for now on, will stick with the smaller images (500px), which Blogger is prepared to host.]
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