Today’s post is to remind us that while not all books are rare, they can contain sentiments far nobler than even the author of the work itself intended, or the condition of the book would suggest. The inscription reads:
25th September 1905
On this evening I was notified over the telephone that my brother George had been killed in a railroad wreck at PaOh’ at 2:53 P.M. and what a fine man was he.
From the personal collection of the author.
[T]he comparatively major amount we know about Ben Jonson is because he really liked talking about himself (and even there there are gaps; we don’t even know what his wife’s name was).
~ A little pretty pocket-book: intended for the instruction and amusement of little Master Tommy, and pretty Miss Polly; printed at Worcester, Massachusetts: by Isaiah Thomas, and sold, wholesale and retail, at his bookstore, 1787
via Library of Congress
"Spit not in the Room, but in the Corner, and rub it with thy Foot, or rather go out and do it abroad."
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.It was the nightingale, and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree.Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
(after romeo is gone, juliet is about to join him when she hears the scream from outside. she takes the happy dagger with her as she creeps out to see a screaming woman and a huge, hulking demon behind her. my juliet, romeo whispers to her, and she can see a spectral version of him from the corner of her eye. save her as you couldn’t save me. she destroys the demon with the dagger meant for her. she flies through verona, with dead romeo in her ear. she is mad, some say. she is saving us, the others reply. what does it matter if it is because she has been driven to madness to do so? and so, mad juliet in her grief, saves the town that killed her love.)
I tell this story to everyone, ever since I heard it in a documentary on Art Nouveau. Stop fucking up pretty hats, you bastards!
every time i see this, my smile is renewed
I honestly do like fedoras ><
…It’s amazing what a tangential connection to Alphonse Mucha (who was Bernhardt’s official poster artist for many, many years and was one of the key intellectuals that she used to craft her image) can do for my opinion on a piece of clothing.
Incidentally, Bernhardt’s leg that was amputated? Apparently she had a funeral for it. People act like modern pop stars stars are a totally new radical weird thing but man Fin-de-Siecle Europe was a wild, wild place.
And here’s some images of Bernhardt courtesy of Mucha:
Man, Medea always gets me. What a haunting image.
But damn look at her as the fucking Prince of Denmark. Nnf.
I always get so pissed off at the whole co-opting of fedoras by the men’s rights movement because it wasn’t really until the fedora started going out of fashion that it became a men’s hat. Throughout its heyday of the first four decades of the 20th century it was pretty much always a unisex hat, as it was in the 1980s when it started to tentatively almost come back into fashion
I’ve told you before, I tell at least 40 students every semester, I’ll repost it every fucking time it comes up, until it Sinks In:
MRA’s wearing fedoras and claiming them as “Men’s Hats” is one of the most succinct arguments I can give for feminism.
For the confusèd among you.
- Old English (Anglo-Saxon): Eft he axode, hu ðære ðeode nama wære þe hi of comon. Him wæs geandwyrd, þæt hi Angle genemnode wæron. Þa cwæð he, "Rihtlice hi sind Angle gehatene, for ðan ðe hi engla wlite habbað, and swilcum gedafenað þæt hi on heofonum engla geferan beon."
- Middle English: In þat lond ben trees þat beren wolle, as þogh it were of scheep; whereof men maken clothes, and all þing þat may ben made of wolle. In þat contree ben many ipotaynes, þat dwellen som tyme in the water, and somtyme on the lond: and þei ben half man and half hors, as I haue seyd before; and þei eten men, whan þei may take hem.
- Early Modern English: But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!
- Modern English: Moving forward using all my breath. Making love to you was never second best. I saw the world crashing all around your face, never really knowing it was always mesh and lace. I'll stop the world and melt with you. You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time. There's nothing you and I won't do. I'll stop the world and melt with you.
A stage costume worn by Ellen Terry, one of the most celebrated and glamorous actresses of the Victorian age, has now returned home to Smallhythe Place in Kent – now a National Trust property.
The emerald and sea green gown, covered with the iridescent wings of the jewel beetle (which they shed naturally), was worn by Ellen when she thrilled audiences with her portrayal of Lady Macbeth at London’s Lyceum Theatre in 1888.
It was one of the most iconic and celebrated theatre costumes of the time, immortalised by the John Singer Sargent portrait now on display at the Tate Gallery.
Known as the Queen of the Theatre, Ellen was mobbed by fans wherever she went. She played opposite Sir Henry Irving at the Lyceum Theatre for over 20 years and was famed for her portrayal of Shakespearean heroines.
As one of the most important items in the collection, the Beetle Wing dress was on the priority list to be conserved.
At over 120 years old, the dress had seen many years of wear and tear and was subject to much alteration. It was structurally very weak and a shadow of its original self. Two years ago the intricate process of conserving it began.