Ten Things You Never Knew About the Lilly Library

The Lilly Library, 1960.

Everyone knows that the Lilly Library is home to countless wonders. From Shakespeare to Spider Man, our wide-ranging collections bring together materials from around the world and throughout the history of the written and printed word. Perhaps you’ve stopped by to see one of our exhibitions: medieval manuscripts, puzzles, vegetarianism, and books printed in India are just a few of the topics we’ve covered recently. Perhaps you’ve done research in the Reading Room for a class or a personal project. Maybe you’ve stopped in for a Friday tour or been to a class session or one of our special First Thursday presentations. Maybe you couldn’t resist asking us if you could take a selfie with our Academy Awards.

We love all of our guests, from the casual visitor to our superfans. To celebrate IU Day, we put together some facts about the Lilly Library that may surprise you. There are no greater fans of the Lilly than the librarians who work here, and we enjoyed digging through our own archives to come up with these treats. If you have memories of the Lilly Library that you would like to share, please post them on our Facebook page, tweet us, or comment on Instagram: @IULillyLibrary.

  1. The exterior of the Lilly Library was once covered with ivy.
The Lilly Library, covered in ivy.
The Lilly Library, covered in ivy.

If you’ve been on campus for a few decades, you probably remember that the Lilly Library was once a bit more “Ivy League” than it is now. Although our collections still rival the Ivies, our building has been pruned. We’re not sure when the ivy was finally nixed, but we suspect the potential damage to the building played a role in giving the Lilly its current look, focusing on the beautiful Indiana limestone.

  1. One of the library’s vaults was once a bomb shelter.

The vault on the first floor was once a designated Civil Defense shelter, in the event of an air raid. It’s certainly a frightening thought, but we can think of worse places to be trapped than among some of the most beautiful and interesting books ever printed. Tinned beans would taste great eaten over the Gutenberg Bible.

  1. There is a set of doors in the Main Gallery that don’t go anywhere.
The mysterious doors to nowhere…

If you’re reading this post, you’ve probably been in our Main Gallery at some point. Did you ever notice the mysterious set of doors with darkened windows? Did you ever wonder where they lead? As much as we would like to say they lead to a magical and hidden room, they lead… nowhere at all. The doors were added to the gallery to provide symmetry and balance to the room.

 

 

 

  1. The Lilly Library has three working fireplaces.
The Lilly Library Ellison Room.
The Lilly Library Ellison Room.

The Lilly Library’s Ellison Room, Ball Room, and Lilly Room all contain a fireplace. Many visitors have commented upon them, but few realize that these fireplaces do work. Although no current staff members have seen them blazing, there is photographic evidence that they have been used. It may seem odd to have fire so prominently featured in what is essentially a House of Paper, but the library’s designers were creating rooms which were splendid enough to house the collections they contained. In more recent years, the chimneys have been blocked to prevent the campus’s flying squirrels from finding their way into the building. Who knew that squirrels were such fans of great literature?

  1. Smoking was once permitted in the library’s Lounge.
The Lounge (now the Slocum Puzzle Room). Note the ash trays!

As with the fireplaces, it is difficult to believe that cigarette smoke would be allowed anywhere near rare books and manuscripts. Smoking has always been prohibited in most of the library, but the Lounge (now the Slocum Room) was an exception; staff could smoke during breaks.

 

 

 

  1. There have been some famous visitors to the Lilly Library.

The Lilly Library has been host to several dignitaries, celebrities, and other notable visitors. One of the most interesting visits was from three of the original “Munchkins” from the 1939 film version of The Wizard of Oz. Clarence Swensen, Myrna Swensen, and Donna Steward-Hardway (the youngest Munchkin to appear in the film) visited in conjunction with the library’s 2000 exhibition of our Oz-related collections. Although the exhibition opening event, which drew over 500 guests, was certainly memorable, we have been unable to locate any photographs of the Munchkins’ visit!

4. J.K. Lilly, Jr. only visited the Lilly Library twice.

Herman B Wells and J.K. Lilly at the groundbreaking of the Lilly Library
Herman B Wells and J.K. Lilly at the groundbreaking of the Lilly Library, March 7, 1958. We still have the shovel held by Mr. Lilly in our collections!

Of course the Lilly Library would not be possible without the generous donation of over 20,000 books and 18,000 manuscripts by J.K. Lilly, Jr. Mr. Lilly’s generosity was combined with the vision of Indiana University President Herman B Wells, who realized the need for a building to preserve the collection and make it available to students, faculty, and the community. Mr. Lilly later believed that the gift of the books was “the most satisfactory thing he ever did.” However, he only visited the site of the library twice, once upon the groundbreaking and once for the dedication. In many ways, this was Mr. Lilly’s final gift: he trusted the recipients of his marvelous collection to care for it and to nurture it into something much bigger. From 20,000 books and 18,000 manuscripts, we have grown to over 450,000 books and over 8.5 million pieces of manuscripts. And we hope that we have made Mr. Lilly proud.

3. A Lilly Library book was once exhibited in the Tower of London.

Lilly Librarian David Randall brings Sir Walter Raleigh’s History of the World to London to go on exhibit in the Tower.

In 1971, a book from the Lilly Library made the long journey to the Tower of London’s Raleigh Room. The book, Sir Walter Raleigh’s History of the World (1614), was written while Raleigh was a prisoner in the Tower. The loan came about as the result of Lilly Librarian David Randall’s visit to the Tower. He noted that the furnishings were authentic, save for the thirteenth edition of World History on display, published more than fifty years after Raleigh’s death. A special case with a plaque identifying the book’s provenance was added to the room, and the book stayed in the Tower for several years. After its trip around the world, it is back in our collections and can be requested to view in our Reading Room: https://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/10097537

 

  1. There was once a car on exhibit inside the Lilly Library.
This is the only photographic evidence we have of the car parked inside the Lilly Library in 1978!

There are many strange objects in the library’s collections; we have Edgar Allen Poe’s hair, Tennyson’s pipes, and a life mask of Abraham Lincoln. But one thing we don’t have in our collection is an automobile. There was, however, a car exhibited inside the Lilly Library’s Lincoln Room in 1978. The car, a 1930 Austin Bantam, was loaned by Bloomington resident Norman Deckard for an exhibition titled “From the Donkey to the Jet: Man’s Experience with Travel from the Fifth Century B.C. to the Present.” A ramp was placed over the steps so that the car could be driven in through the front door.

  1. The Lilly Library has always been open to everyone.
A recent class session at the Lilly Library.
A recent class session at the Lilly Library. We have over 300 class sessions per year for undergraduates, graduate students, K-12, and community groups.

With so many curious and fascinating items in our collections, there is no one person who has seen everything that we have. Visitors and researchers, as well as our own librarians, make exciting discoveries in our collections every week. The library is an organic, living entity combined from the collecting passions of the past and the forward-thinking caretakers, donors, and university administrators of the present. Visitors often ask us to reveal the “secrets” of the library, hoping perhaps for some dusty tome that has remained hidden from view. We have tried to reveal some lesser-known facts about the library in this blog post, but our greatest secret… is that we have no secrets! Our collections are available for anyone to research and enjoy. Stop by and see our exhibitions or contact us at liblilly@indiana.edu to make an appointment to use our Reading Room.

If you enjoyed learning a bit more about the Lilly Library, make sure to follow us on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @IULillyLibrary. We’ll be posting #VintageLilly photos all day to celebrate IU Day and the Lilly Library!

Thank you to all Lilly staff members who helped with our IU Day “Vintage Lilly” Project: Joel Silver, Erika Dowell, Jim Canary, Isabel Planton, Maureen Maryanski, Sarah Mitchell, and Seth James. Special thanks to Zach Downey and Jody Mitchell for photography and digital editing. Thank you to Kristin Leaman and Julia Kilgore of IU Archives for making a valiant research effort to find better photographic evidence of the car. If any of our readers have photographs of Lilly history they would like to share, please contact us at liblilly@indiana.edu

–Rebecca Baumann, Lilly Library Head of Public Services

Newly Digitized: The Autobiography of Daniel Isgrig

We’re happy to announce that the Lilly Library’s Isgrig Manuscript Collection is now fully digitized and can be accessed online through the collection’s finding aid.

Daniel Isgrig was born in Baltimore County, Maryland in 1775, the son of Michael and Barbary (Lohr) Isgrig. In 1782 his father moved his family up in the Allegheny Mountains in Maryland. They then emigrated to Kentucky, eight miles above Fort Cumberland, in 1789. At the age of eight, Daniel had only about six months of formal schooling. On July 22, 1795, he married Mrs. Rachel (Barnes) Langley, a widow with a four-year-old son, Abraham, and a two-year-old daughter, Margaret. In 1806, he moved to Hamilton County, Ohio, near Cincinnati. He was drafted in the War of 1812 for a term of six months military service against Upper Canada, but being lame, his son, Daniel, not yet eighteen, served for his father. In 1817 he sold the land near Cincinnati, Ohio, purchased land in Ripley County, Indiana, and moved his family to that county. Daniel Isgrig wrote three books: Hieroglyphic (1834) The Hoosier (1836), and Biography (1838). He died in 1854, and is buried in Shockley Cemetery.

We invite researchers to explore this fascinating slice of Midwestern history!

 

The Tragic Musical Memento of the Duchess de Berry

The Tragic Musical Memento of the Duchesse de Berry

By Lindsay Weaver, Intern, Lilly Library Technical Services

The Lilly Library is currently cataloging an exciting collection of music once owned by Marie-Caroline de Bourbon-Sicile, Duchesse de Berry (1798-1870), an important political figure in France during the nineteenth-century as well as a generous patroness of the arts.

One of the most intriguing items in the collection so far is a slim funereal volume bound in black morocco with silver fleur-de-lys stamped on the spine. If the Duchesse were a heroine in a novel, this item more than anything else would represent the tragic climax of her origin story. Inside are twenty-five pieces of printed music pertaining to the murder of her beloved husband, which occurred 197 years ago this week on 14 February 1820.

Marie-Caroline married Charles-Ferdinand d’Artois, Duc de Berry, at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris on in June of1816. Despite their arranged engagement, a genuinely affectionate romance blossomed. Said to be inseparable, they strolled arm-in-arm in the public gardens of the Tuileries and scandalized the royal family by addressing one another in the familiar “tu” rather than the formal “vous.”

This, unfortunately, was not to last. On the evening of 13 February 1820, the Duc and Duchesse de Berry arrived fashionably late to the Opéra. Though an avid theater-goer, Marie-Caroline was exhausted and wanted to leave early. Unknown to Paris at large, she was three months pregnant. Charles-Ferdinand, ever the dutiful husband, escorted her to their carriage but wished to see the remainder of the performance. His decision to stay turned the evening from a diary footnote to history book fodder. As the Duc turned away from the carriage, an anti-monarchist called Louvel plunged a knife into his back and ran. The wounded prince was carried into an administrative office in the opera house where he died in the early hours of the morning with Marie-Caroline weeping at his side, covered in his blood. For over a month after the assassination, she sequestered herself in an apartment draped in black cloth.

A widow at twenty-two, they had been married less than four years.

Collections of music such as this one are fascinating pieces of history and offer rich insight into those who created them. Of the twenty-five songs contained in this volume, all but five are settings of a text entitled “Stanzas on the Death of His Royal Highness, Monseigneur Duc de Berry” by Marc-Antoine Désaugiers, then the director of the Théâtre du Vaudeville. The poem, which solemnly enumerates the Duc’s good qualities, ends on a hopeful note by declaring Marie-Caroline’s unborn child the future relief of France’s mourning. The words may have brought her comfort.

The contents also suggest something about her social circle during this time. Composers of personal importance are represented more than once: there are two works by her harp instructor, François Joseph Naderman, as well as two by Ferdinando Paër, her singing teacher. (And while this volume is not an exhaustive collection of all settings of Désaugier’s “Stances,” notably missing is a popular one by Paër’s rival, Gaspare Spontini.) Paër also appears as the musical intermediary between other composers and the Duchesse—three songs are marked as having been “offered to M. Paër by the music’s author.” Other pieces bear faint creases, clearly having been folded into quarters prior to binding, as though offered in passing to the Duchesse who tucked it away.

Lastly, multiple pages bear annotations, suggesting this was not passive, dutiful acquisition. There are penned annotations marking articulation or supplying missing accidentals, suggesting the Duchesse had engaged with this music. Given much of it is for soprano voice with piano or harp accompaniment, this seems likely: the Duchesse was reportedly a talented musician, especially on the harp.

This is only one of many interesting items at the Lilly Library relating to the musical life of the Duchesse de Berry and should prove an interesting collection to anyone interested in the music-making of women during the Bourbon Restoration.

References:

Margadant, Jo Burr. “The Duchesse de Berry and Royalist Political Culture in Postrevolutionary France.” History Workshop Journal 43 (Spring 1997): 23-52.

Reiset, Vicomte de. Marie-Caroline, Duchesse de Berry: 1816-1830. Paris: Goupil & Cie, 1906.

Skuy, David. Assassination, Politics, and Miracles: France and the Royalist Reaction of 1820.

Lindsay Weaver is a master’s student in library science with a specialization in Music Librarianship. Her research interests revolve around the the opera world in Paris during the nineteenth century. Currently an intern with the Lilly Library Technical Services Department, she hopes to work in a special collections library one day.

Cats in Miniature

Cats in Miniature

by Katie Tyring, Special Collections Cataloger

The Lilly Library is currently home to a growing collection of over 16,000 miniature books.  This makes us one of the foremost collectors in the United States.  A miniature book, by definition, must be three inches or less in height and width.  Miniature books in the U.S. date back to 1690 and were primarily religious texts or children’s stories in their earliest forms.  Today, the genre has morphed into a much more artistic endeavor, exploring different methods of illustration, typeface, folding, pop-ups, etc.  A popular artist, author, and printer of the 20th and early 21st centuries that may be familiar to microbibliophiles is Lloyd L. Neilson, more famously known as Juniper Von Phitzer.

Juniper Von Phitzer is a penname created by Neilson inspired by his three cats—Juniper, Von, And Phitzer.  His cats are also the namesake for his private publishing house, Juniper Von Phitzer Press.  With this in mind, it shouldn’t be surprising to discover that at least 10 of his 89 miniature books are about cats.  Fortunately, the Lilly Library has recently completed the Juniper Von Phitzer Press cat collection!

For those interested in learning more about Juniper, Von, and Phitzer, Cats in Charge reveals the three personalities via poetic form.  Similarly, San Francisco Cats tells the stories of more unique cats who make their home in the city where Juniper Von Phitzer Press resides.

For more visually interesting mini books, Visions of Cats is an impressive work of art.  It is an accordion fold that, when unfolded, is more than seven feet of cat illustrations, facsimiles, poetry, and more, all inside a decorative wooden chest with a faux fur interior.  Another accordion fold, Pas de Chat, features mounted illustrations of dancing cats amidst a graceful background.

See below for a complete listing of Juniper Von Phitzer’s miniature cats in the Lilly Library collection.

 

IUCAT Records

Cats in Charge: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/164526

San Francisco Cats: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/15993239

Visions of Cats: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16017024

Pas de Chat: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16016413

Sun Cat: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/1409986

Catfish Fishcat: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/4931872

Celebrity Cats: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16017119

Kitten’s Album: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16017187

Punky Dunk & the Spotted Pup: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16018581

Kiku: http://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/16018348

 

References:

Special Collections Cataloger Katie Tyring demonstrates how one of these miniature treasures unfolds.

Bradbury, Robert C. Twentieth Century United States Miniature Books: With Bibliographic Descriptions of each Book Arranged by Publisher. The Microbibliophile, 2000.

Bradbury, Robert C. Antique United States Miniature Books, 1690-1900: Principally from the Collection of the American Antiquarian Society and the Lilly Library, Indiana University. The Microbibliophile, 2001.

Walter Mason Camp Papers Digitized

camp_04We are excited to announce the full digitization of the Lilly Library’s collection of the papers of Walter Mason Camp. Camp (1867–1925) was an American author, editor, and researcher best known for interviewing hundreds of both Native American and white participants in the American Indian Wars of the second half of the 19th century. The collection consists largely of Camp’s penciled notes, mostly on small scraps of paper. Field notes include information on the Bozeman expedition of 1874, the Battle of Little Big Horn (1876), the Yellowstone Campaign of 1873, and many other topics related to Native American history and conflicts in the American West. Also digitized as part of the collection are photographs, maps, and the transcriptions of the field notes done by Professor Kenneth Hammer for his book Custer in 76.

You can view and download all digitized items in this collection by visiting Archives Online.

We would like to thank our Digitization Manager Zach Downey for leading this project. We would also like to thank our Public Services Assistant Jody Mitchell and student assistant Lilly Poor for their dedicated work in realizing this goal.

PEN Center USA Translation Award to Stephen Kessler

Photograph of Cernuda on cover of book
Forbidden Pleasures: New Selected Poems by Luis Cernuda. Translated by Stephen Kessler. (Black Widow Press, April 2015)

Tonight the PEN Center USA celebrates its 26th Annual Literary Awards in Beverly Hills, California. Congratulations to poet and translator Stephen Kessler, winner of the 2016 PEN Literary Award for Translation for the work, Forbidden Pleasures: New Selected Poems by Luis Cernuda. (Black Widow Press, April 2015.) The book is the most complete collection of the poetry of Spanish poet Luis Cernuda to appear in English. Kessler previously translated Cernuda’s prose poems, Written in Water (City Lights Books, 2004), and won the Harold Morton Landon Translation Award from the Academy of American Poets for his translation of Cernuda’s later poems, Desolation of the Chimera (White Pine Press, 2009).

Luis Cernuda was a member of the Generation of 1927, a group of Spanish poets influenced by modernist movements such as Surrealism and Futurism. Leaving Spain after the fall of the Spanish republic, he taught for several years at Mount Holyoke College and then settled in Mexico in 1952.

Stephen Kessler’s papers are part of the holdings of the Lilly Library. His collection is one of a growing number of collections documenting contemporary literary translation.

PEN Center USA is a branch of PEN International, the world’s leading international literary and human rights organization.

“Wipe Thy Self”: A Page from the Audubon Ledger at the Lilly Library

“Wipe Thy Self”: A Page from the Audubon Ledger at the Lilly Library

Christoph Irmscher, Provost Professor of English and Director of the Wells Scholars Program

In spring 2016, the Lilly Library acquired a handsome ledger bound in sturdy marble-covered boards. Dubbed the “Audubon Ledger” by bookseller Donald Heald, volume had been in the possession of Audubon’s great-granddaughter, Margaret Audubon McCormick until it was sold at Sotheby’s on January 26, 1983.  The earliest entry in the book dates from December 10, 1842; the latest was made on February 14, 1844.

The Audubon Ledger is a treasure trove for the scholar:  it is chock-full with lists documenting Audubon’s income and expenditures as he was finishing work on the Royal Octavo edition of Birds of America (1840-1844) and beginning to launch his new venture, The Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America.  Eight pages of draft letters, all in the handwriting of Audubon’s son Victor Gifford, add to the documentary value of the collection. But the Ledger has something else to offer too, something more unexpected.   Among the 70-plus pages of lists we find an example of a different kind of bookkeeping, a mysterious page-long aside, in Audubon’s own handwriting, consisting of nothing but a stream of words, slathered on the page in no apparent order and, it seems, with near-complete disregard to meaning.  Complete sentences are the exception rather than the rule.

audubon-ledger_00001

 

 

Transcription

  1. 219:

Second Course

Acquisition and use of Words in little sentences

Wipe Pocket  to wash

Fish, Wipe, Table, deceits  Smoke Pad  Bush–

Tables, Indian Ink  Pocket  Ashes  Ashes

Towels  to wipe, to wash, to catch to pilfer dainties

to extinguish, to listen, to smoke   to draw with water color

to wipe wiped mixed washed pilfered  between

already beautiful, Shine  shrine  rail sight

The table is high, The pocket is wide,  Pilfer

not that is not nice   Wipe thy self.

Bath Thread Needle

Wheel Bath Oath  envy harm song

 

Songs box, calf, (maggot, mite) fashion tired

waste booth both Silk (Willow pasture) boundary

Box boxes thread hurt to separate to avoid

(Willows to pasture) neither again Songs leather feather

(cart load, a tan [?])  mould vein quarrel noble

herd, poodle, nudel, needles, skull, there,

there that the to the the thine one no mine his

(clear pure)  Wine by shine flax stone.

The wheel is on the wagon  The mite

is in the cheese   The Willow is a tree.

Roof week to travel (to range to string)

Book Brook Roof partition   ah I me self

thee (yet, however)  (still, yet) high hole leek

Stomach breath smoke, rich soft proud cloth

Book beech (search to sack)  (matter thing affair)

revenge (guard watch) week cook kitchen oak

corpse (pool laughter)  to laugh—to make to pilfer

throat to rake to reach rays to cook cake

The book is new   The brook is deep  The beech is a

tree   The smoke comes out of the chimney.

The page that precedes this strange jumble of words (p. 214) is as ordinary as they come:  a list of monies the Audubons had collected in New York City on July 14, 1844, from subscribers to the Royal Octavo edition.  It is, as is most everything else in the volume, in Victor Gifford Audubon’s handwriting. Subsequent pages seem to have been cut out, and the number at the top of our strange meditation has been corrected to read “219.”

It’s difficult at first to discern some kind of principle behind this profusion of words.  Some come from the same semantic field (“wipe,” “wash,” “bath” “clear,” “pure”), some are repeated a number of times (“wipe” occurs, in somewhat different form six times; “pilfer” and “smoke” three times; “wash” twice).  Sometimes Audubon’s words acquire an incantatory quality and sound displaces meaning: “to rake to reach rays to cook cake.” Other passages—especially the few fully formed sentences—are almost embarrassingly simple, as if they had been lifted from a children’s picture book: “The wheel is on the wagon   The mite is in the cheese   The Willow is a tree.”  “The smoke comes out of the chimney.”  As we read on, elements of a landscape begin to emerge—willows, beech trees, a brook, a pasture, a house with a roof and a kitchen, smoke coming from the chimney. (I am immediately reminded of the “inscrutable house” in Elizabeth Bishop’s wonderful poem “Sestina.”) Then there is the feel of things, the soft, rich cloth of a dress (made of silk?) worn, perhaps, by a mother. “Pilfer not,” she might have said to her child, “that is not nice.”  And: “Wipe thyself.” We have, indeed, entered a child’s world, as the novelist Katherine Govier pointed out to me when I showed her a copy of that page.  But Audubon was a child not in England or America, where mothers or maids would have said such things.  He grew up in Napoleon’s blood-drenched France, raised by his stepmother.  The sounds made in this text—“Wheel Bath Oath,” “waste booth both,” “nudel, needles, skull,” “book Brook Roof””—are entirely English, as is the landscape it evokes, however confusedly.  Sing willow, willow, willow.

This page, then, evokes a childhood Audubon never really had, at least not in that form, a childhood he therefore couldn’t have outgrown. Hence, too, the sense of loss that pervades this page, a loss of purity and perhaps of life—the mite in the cheese, the maggot, the ashes, the skull, the corpse.   Pilfer not, the mother once said, and yet Audubon did, his entire adult life, when he entered into, and took away, the lives of birds.  And the need to “wipe thyself” would have been immediately clear to someone who spent his days wading through dirt and blood.  Birds weren’t “nice” in their habits, Audubon once said (in his essay about the Shoveler Duck; Ornithological Biography 241).  But neither was he.  “To draw with watercolor,” Audubon writes, close to the beginning of our page:  an apparent reference to the work he did.  And he goes on to define what he did: “to wipe wiped mixed washed pilfered  between already beautiful.”  All watercolors on the world could not wash out the damn’d spots each killing of a bird—of a living thing that was “already beautiful,” something that didn’t need the artist to make it so—left in him.

Of course, you might say, this is all speculation, a fantasy.  The title of the page (“Second Course”) and dry-and-dust subtitle (“Acquisition and use….”) might just mean that Audubon was reading a grammar textbook at the time and taking notes.  But for whom? Or had the insecurities he had felt as a non-native speaker finally caught up with him? In a journal he kept in England in 1826, he referred to himself as a man who “never Lookd into an English grammar” (Writings 186). But by the mid-1840s, he was widely respected as writer, even by other writers:  Longfellow, for example, based his Evangeline partly on the descriptions of Louisiana he had found in Audubon’s essays.  But maybe he was collecting words because he was getting ready to teach his grandchildren about homonyms and synonyms and the like?  Thomas Brewer, who visited Audubon on July 4, 1846, did attest to Audubon’s fondness for the “rising generation” (Herrick 2: 288).

However, the sheer difficulty of the fragment casts doubt on these more pedestrian readings.  What good are notes that make no sense?  And speaking of non-sense, perhaps this text is a clinical document more than anything else.  Audubon’s dementia became an established fact in May 1848, when his friend John Bachman visited him on his estate and found the naturalist’s “noble mind all in ruins” (Herrick 2: 289). But this change had not happened overnight—as early as July 1847, Spencer Fullerton Baird found his former mentor “much changed” (Herrick 2:288).  Did the first signs of his illness announce themselves even earlier?  We now know for sure what Alzheimer patients have perhaps always known intuitively, namely that language dysfunction is one of the first indications of the disease.  And we also know, and some of us have probably experienced it when taking are of a family member, that dementia patients still retain a measure of control over “a lexical phonological system that is used to repeat both known and novel words and that processes linguistic information independent of its meaning” (Glosser et al.).  But what if the last part of that statement—that there is no meaning in these repetitions—isn’t true after all?  What if all we needed to do is listen?  What if meaning—if of a different, more fantastical, speculative kind—still resides somewhere even in the lexicon of the troubled mind, waiting for the right person to unlock it?  “The brook is deep.”  John James continues to baffle us.

 

References

Audubon, John James. Ornithological Biography, or An Account of the Habits of theBbirds of the United States of America: Accompanied by Descriptions of the Objects Represented in the Work entitled The Birds of America, and Interspersed with Delineations of American Scenery and Manners.  Vol. 4. Edinburgh: Judah Dobson, 1839.

—.  Writings and Drawings.  Ed. Christoph Irmscher.  New York:  Library of America, 1999.

Glosser, Guila and Susan E. Kohn, Rhonda B. Friedman, Laura Sands, Patrick Grugan, “Repetition of Single Words and Nonwords in Alzheimer’s Disease,” Cortex, 33. 4 (1997): 653-666.

Herrick, Francis Hobart.  Audubon the Naturalist:  A History of His Life and Time.  2 vols.  New York:  Appleton, 1917.

New Indiana University Video Featuring Comic Collector Michael Uslan

Batman comic bookWith over 60,000 comic books and graphic novels in our collection, there is no doubt that we at the Lilly Library are fans of comics! A new promotional spot featuring Indiana University alum, Media School professor of practice, and Lilly Library donor Michael Uslan provides a 30-second version of Mr. Uslan’s journey from a student reading comic books in his dorm room to the executive producer of the Batman films.

You can watch the new video and also read about the Jacobs School’s role in providing the music on Inside IU Bloomington. You can also find out more about the comic book course that Michael Uslan taught at Indiana University on IU Archives’ blog.

In his introduction to the 2005 exhibition of material from his vast and deep collections of pop culture memories, Mr. Uslan described his lifelong passion for comics:

“My mother told me I learned to read from comic books when I was three. My seventh-grade English teacher informed me that it was perfectly fine for me to read comic books because they were clearly sparking my creativity. Indiana University allowed me to teach the world’s first accredited college course on comic books because they declared them worthy of academic study. DC Comics hired me to write their ‘Batman’ comics due to the international attention I received for starting my comic book course at IU. United Artists employed me as a movie studio attorney due to my study of copyright law and the comic book industry at Indiana University School of Law. DC Comics sold me the movie and allied rights to Batman because of my knowledge of the character, my respect for the character, and my credentials as a studio attorney. Batman in 1989 and Batman Begins in 2005 completed a dream I had to produce the definitive, dark, serious, plausible movies of Batman as he was created and evolved in the comics. And on the heels of Batman Begins, some 30,000 comic books from my personal collection are now a part of Indiana University’s Lilly Library collection for fans, for scholars, and for posterity. This has been my journey, and what an incredible ride it has been… and continues to be!”

Since that 2005 exhibition, Michael Uslan has continued to donate comic books and graphic novels as well as his personal papers to the Lilly Library. We are proud to provide access to these collections to researchers from around the world and also to conduct class sessions in which professors from around campus bring their students to see and learn about the fantastic history of comic books. You can search our database of Uslan comics or contact our Reference Department at liblilly@indiana.edu to find out more about how to access this remarkable collection.

Watch Us 3D Print a Death Mask!

dreiser_00004In May of 2016, the One Street Museum in Kiev, Ukraine contacted the Lilly Library about our Theodore Dreiser death mask. The One Street Museum has built an impressive collection of death masks—currently around 300—and they want to add Theodore Dreiser to that number. You can read more about this incredible and haunting collection here.

Dreiser (1871-1945) was an author of literary naturalism, known for such novels as Sister Carrie (1900) and Jeannie Gerhardt (1911).  The Lilly Library holds several collections of Dreiser materials, including manuscripts, photographs, correspondence, printed materials—and the death mask.

The traditional method of creating a copy of the mask involves using plaster to create a new mold and then casting a new mask from that. Obviously this would be a very messy process that could potentially damage the Lilly’s original, so we decided that a modern 3D print is a much more viable solution.

We contacted Tassie Gniady, the Digital Humanities Cyberinfrastructure Manager with UITS (University Information Technology Services) Research Technologies to get information on how to have a 3D print created. Tassie reached out to Jeff Rogers, Principal Project Analyst & Team Lead at ICTC (Information and Communications Technology Complex), IUPUI for the 3D scan to be made. Jeff came to the Lilly and used a GoScan! 3D scanner to create the initial digital 3D model, which we then took to Andrew Webb, the 3D Lab Coordinator with UITS Technology Center Consulting. You can find out more about IU’s 3D printing services here.

A small prototype was created, the 3D model was fine-tuned and at 7pm on Monday, June 13th the printing began.  You can watch a live stream of the print being made by following the link below:

http://go.iu.edu/1gau

We ask that you enter a user name (whatever you want it to be) so that we’ll know how many unique viewers are watching.  Then, depending upon your computer, operating system, browser, etc., you will basically be asked several questions about allowing your computer’s camera and microphone to be accessed or used. Just select “None” or “Deny” and continue.  After a few moments, the live stream will appear.

The entire print will take approximately 100 hours to complete.

Below are photos of the initial scanning process with our original death mask.  We’ve also included an image of the 3D model, which shows the support structures required for the print to be made.  Those will be removed after the print is complete.

We’re so excited to share the grim visage of Mr. Dreiser with the other side of the world without the original mask ever leaving the building, and we’re excited about the potential for collaborative partnerships that use amazing modern technology to bring the past to life. Thank you Tassie Gniady, Jeff Rogers, and Andrew Webb for making this project possible!

Zach Downey, Digitization Manager

 

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Spectral Analysis of the Boxer Codex

boxer-pigment-analysis_00005During the first week of May, Ms. Ellen Hsieh, an Everett Helm Visiting Fellowship recipient, and Dr. Christian Fischer, from the Cotsen Institute of Archaeology and the UCLA/Getty Conservation Program at UCLA, visited the Lilly Library to study the images of the Boxer Codex, one of the most important manuscripts in the Library’s collection.

The Boxer Codex was supposedly made in Manila at the end of the sixteenth century during the early Spanish colonial period. It contains Spanish-language text and 95 pages of illustrations which are not influenced, apparently, by contemporary European artistic styles. The objective of the research was to analyze the coloring materials used in the different sections of the codex in order to study the nature and provenance of raw materials as well as the production process of the codex.

Scientific analysis was conducted using portable X-ray fluorescence (pXRF) and fiber optics reflectance spectroscopy (FORS) in the visible and near-infrared. FORS spectra were collected with two spectrometers, a USB2000+ (Ocean Optics) operating in the visible and a UV-Vis-NIR Fieldspec 3 (ASDI, Panalytical), while pXRF qualitative data were obtained with a Niton XL3t GOLDD+ XRF analyzer (Thermo Fisher Scientific). These non-invasive technologies provide complementary information particularly useful for the identification of pigments and dyes, and have been successfully used to study other manuscripts from Europe and the Americas.

Preliminary results show that the painter(s) of the Boxer Codex used both pigments and dyes such as azurite, cinnabar and indigo. However, precise identification of the whole palette and probable mixtures will require further in-depth analysis and interpretation of the collected data.

The researchers are thankful for the financial support provided by the Lilly Library and the warm welcome and assistance from the librarians, conservators, and staff during their visit.