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カナダの『タングルウッド物語』注釈版  Canadian Annotated Edition of _Tanglewood Tales_ (1907) [φ(..)メモメモ]

あれこれ Internet Archive 内を探索していて見つけた本。

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(cover)

Morang's Literature Sereis No. 19
Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales (Complete)
Edited with Notes by John C. Saul, M.A.
Toronto
Morang Educational Company Limited 1907
Price 15 cents

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(title)

Tanglewood Tales (Complete)
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
Edited with Notes by John C. Saul, M. A.
Toronto: Morang Educational Co, Ltd, 1907

   1907年、カナダのトロントの出版です。"Complete" (「全文」という感じかしら)とか付いているのと会社の名前が "Educational" とあることから推察されるように、教科書版という感じです。

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  行番号が振られるいます。そして脚注が付いています。脚注は固有名詞が多いけれど、それ以外の、文学的・語句的な内容のものもあるようです。

Hawthorne,TanglewoodTales(Morang,1907)166-7.JPG

   研究者向けのものとは思われず、勉強用の注釈本ということなのでしょう。

  Morang Educational をアマゾンで検索すると2010年刊行のペーパーバックとか出てくるので、いまでも経営されているのかと思いましたが、ISBNdb.com の検索で出てくるのは1910年前後のものばかりでした。<http://isbndb.com/d/publisher/morang_educational_co.html>   古代史、カナダ史、算数、ロマン派詩、シェークスピアなど。

  同じISBNdb.com で Morang で検索をかけると、あれこれ出てきて、どうやら George N. Morang というトロントの出版者がいたらしい。――<http://isbndb.com/d/publisher/george_n_morang_company_limite.html>

  "Do you have any information on Morang Educational Publishing?" という問いを Answers.com で発しているひともいた――<http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Do_you_have_any_information_on_Morang_Educational_Publishing>(自分ではない)。Yahoo 知恵なんとかみたいなやつだけれど、答えはない。

   で、出版社事情は不明なのだけれど、Open Library (Internet Archive から派生したWeb 図書館)で検索すると、22冊並んでいた。 <http://openlibrary.org/search?publisher_facet=Morang%20Educational%20Co.>  このなかで、E-text ではなくてただの書誌情報なのだけれど、1995年のもの(ブラウニング/テニソン詩集 Selections from Browning and Tennyson, ed. with notes by John C. Saul [同じ編注釈者やね])があったので、見てみたら、オリジナルを写したものだった。なるほどね。そうするとアマゾンに出てる2010年刊行の本とかも100年近く前の本のリプリント版ですね、99パーセント。

  "Morang" で(Open Libraryで)検索したら、珍しい名前の著者もいるもので600を超えて出てきたので、 "George Morang" で検索したら130、この出版社が版を出している本が並んだ。<http://openlibrary.org/search?q=George+Morang>


ホーソーンの「柘榴の種」(上) "The Pomegranate-Seeds" by Nathaniel Hawthorne [Marginalia 余白に]

記事「六粒の柘榴の種――母と娘のはなし(デーメテールとペルセポネ) "The Six Pomegranate Seeds" by Mary MacGregor (1910)」で20世紀初頭に子供向けに書かれたペルセポネの神話を書き出しましたが、アメリカのホーソーンがその半世紀前に子供たちのために書いた「柘榴の種 The Pomegrate-Seeds」も書き写しておきます。

  テクストは、A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys (1852)の続篇として出版された Tanglewood Tales (1853) 。

  20世紀のホーソーン全集、オハイオ州立大学の Centenary Edition では第7巻に合わせて収められています(A Wonder-Book はpp. 1-171、Tanglewood Tales はpp. 173-368)。

  オハイオ版は、依拠したテクストはもちろん原稿("The copy-text for the present edition is, of course, the manuscript, which alone has authority for the accidentals")と記しているので、原稿と初版テクストにひどく異同があったらめんどうだな、と思ったのですけれど、それほどたいした違いはないみたい。でも、ちなみに "accidentals" というのは、なぜか英和の辞書にその意味で載っていないけれども textual criticism ないし本文校訂の用語で、書き手の意味にとって本質的でない特徴です(ちゃんとOED では確認しました―― accidental の名詞のd で、 "Textual Criticism.  Applied to any feature that is non-essential to the author's meaning." 用例は17世紀からあります)。これに対して意味に関わる異同は "substantive variants" と呼ぶのですけれど、なぜかこれも英和辞典にはない、どころかOED にもはっきりテクスト批評の用語とは書いてないみたいです。

  オハイオ大学版が初版の "substantive variants" として、原稿と比較のうえで原稿を採用して初版のほうをしりぞけたのは3つあります。

初版 apron full    原稿  apronful
初版 she quite forget        原稿  she quite forgot
初版 as she if she were to stay   原稿 as if she were to stay

  下のふたつは実のところ誤植とわかる間違い。最初のは、プロセルピーナがエンネの野原で妖精たちに語ることばのなかで、エプロンいっぱいに花を摘んでくるからここで待ってて――"But do you wait for me here, and I will run and gather my apronful of flowers, and be back again [. . .]"――と言うところ。集めるのは(つまり動詞 gather の目的語は)花で、エプロンではないということで apronful が正しかろうと我々の目にも映ります。でもむかしはナンタラフルということば(代表的なのは spoonful)って、分かち書きしたり、1語になっても-fullだったりもするので、見た目よりはあいまいです。

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  原稿と初版が違っていて、初版のほうをそのまま採用している異同もありました(目につくのは naiad とか faun とか satyr が原稿では大文字になっている箇所があるのだけれど、統一させたみた。

  それから、原稿に誤字がある(w)――ceiling を cieling と書き間違えているとか、branches を brances と脱字で書いているとか――のとかは初版で直したほうを当然採用。原稿で落ちている引用符を初版が踏襲してしまっているのをセンテナリー版が直した箇所もあります。

  いろいろ見ると細かいです。細かすぎ。ということで、下のテクストはセンテナリー版の編集を基本尊重した初版テクストです。コンマとかの細かい異同は目を皿のようにしないとわからないところもあるので、気がついた時点で直していきます。(以上、まえおき)

  (あれこれ書いてたら50000字制限にくりかえし引っかかってしまったので三分割しますw)

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Walter Crane, Flowers from Shakespeare's Garden: A Posy from the Plays Illustrated in 40 Colour Plates by Walter Crane (London: Cassell, 1906)

 

THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS.


                                                       Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley and, in short, of the crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a kind of flower which she was always noted for wearing), and got into her car drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.

"Dear mother," said Proserpina, "I shall be very lonely while you are away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea nymphs to come up out of the waves and play with me?"

"Yes, child," answered Mother Ceres. "The sea nymphs are good creatures, and will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to stray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself. Young girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to get into mischief."

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Illustration by Milo Winter.  Tanglewood Tales.  Chicago: Rand McNally, 1913.

The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman; and, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was already on the shore, calling to the sea nymphs to come and play with her. They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing their glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of which was their home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful shells; and sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which they hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her kind playmates a wreath.

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Illustration by Virginia Frances Sterrett.  Tanglewood Tales.  Philadelphia: Penn Publishing, 1921. 

"O no, dear Proserpina," cried the sea nymphs; "we dare not go with you upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful we are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to keep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should look like bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun.

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Illustration by Maxfield Parrish.  A Wonder Book and Tanglewood Tales for Girls and Boys.  New York: Duffield, 1910. 

"It is a great pity," said Proserpina. "But do you wait for me here, and I will run and gather my apronful [apron full] of flowers, and be back again before the surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some wreaths that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many colored shells."

"We will wait, then," answered the sea nymphs. "But while you are gone, we may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge under the water. The air to-day is a little too dry for our comfort.
But we will pop up our heads every few minutes to see if you are coming."

The young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before, she had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little past their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers before--violets so large and fragrant--roses with so rich and delicate a blush--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks--and many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or three times, moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Proserpina's apron was soon filled, and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She was on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the sea nymphs, and sit with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths together. But, a little farther on, what should she behold? It was a large shrub, completely covered with the most magnificent flowers in the world.

"The darlings!" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, "I was looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did not see the flowers!"

The nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was richer than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not. It bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a deep, glossy luster on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made Proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous. To tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and run away.

"What a silly child I am!" thought she, taking courage. "It is really the most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull it up by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's garden."

Holding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina seized the large shrub with the other, and pulled, and pulled, but was hardly able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant it was! Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the earth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave another pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling sound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some enchanted cavern? Then laughing at herself for so childish a notion, she made another effort: up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back, holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole which its roots had left in the soil.

Much to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and growing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and all the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses' hoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team of four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing their way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at their heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all; and there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black tails, and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at once, close by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the figure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds. He was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked sullen and discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them with his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very fond of its light.

As soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her to come a little nearer.

"Do not be afraid," said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to put on. "Come!  Will you not like to ride a little way with me, in my beautiful chariot?"

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Tanglewood Tales, for Girls and Boys; Being a Second Wonder-Book.  Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1853. [1st American edition]

But Proserpina was so alarmed, that she wished for nothing but to get out of his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably good-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones were deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake underground than anything else. As is always the case with children in trouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her mother.

"Mother, Mother Ceres!" cried she, all in a tremble. "Come quickly and save me."

But her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most probable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow in some far distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor daughter, even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina begin to cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his arms, and again mounted the chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to the four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into so swift a gallop, that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running along the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant, and even the summit of Mount Aetna had become so blue in the distance, that she could scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater. But still the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron full of flowers along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot; and many mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great way off, and could not hear the cry.

As they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.

"Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?" said he, trying to soften his rough voice. "I promise not to do you any harm. What! you have been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will give you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of pearls, and diamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my name Pluto; and I am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones. Every atom of the gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal mines, which supply me with abundance of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my head? You may have it for a plaything. O, we shall be very good friends, and you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this troublesome sunshine."

"Let me go home!" cried Proserpina. "Let me go home!"

"My home is better than your mother's," answered King Pluto. "It is a palace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is little or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with diamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne. If you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will sit on the footstool."

"I don't care for golden palaces and thrones," sobbed Proserpina. "Oh, my mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!"

(continued)


ホーソーンの「柘榴の種」(中) "The Pomegranate-Seeds" by Nathaniel Hawthorne [Marginalia 余白に]

[上]

[下]

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Illustration by Virginia Frances Sterrett.  Tanglewood Tales.  Philadelphia: Penn, 1921.

 

But King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go faster.

"Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina," said he, in rather a sullen tone. "I offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under the earth; and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one thing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and down, and cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must do for King Pluto."

"Never!" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. "I shall never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door."

But she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past them, for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever. Proserpina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly that her poor little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing but a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great broad field of waving grain--and whom do you think she saw? Who, but Mother Ceres, making the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went rattling along. The child mustered all her strength, and gave one more scream, but was out of sight before Ceres had time to turn her head.

King Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy. It was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which the rumbling of the chariot wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the rocks had very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the airbecame obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had rushed along so swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine. But the duskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an air of satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong to them. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering dusk, and hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him.

"Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing," said King Pluto, "after being so tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much more agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected from diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight, when we get to my palace."

"Is it much farther?" asked Proserpina. "And will you carry me back when I have seen it?"

"We will talk of that by and by," answered Pluto. "We are just entering my dominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass those gates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the threshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!"

So saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right between the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which he had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs, so as to put his fore paws on the chariot wheel. But, my stars, what a strange dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but fierce as they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of his three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with silken ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn to it by its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor less than a live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect. And while the three-headed
Cerberus was fawning so lovingly on King Pluto, there was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as cross and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.

"Will the dog bite me?" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto. "What an ugly creature he is!"

"O, never fear," answered her companion. "He never harms people, unless they try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away when I wish to keep them here. Down,
Cerberus! Now, my pretty Proserpina, we will drive on."

On went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find himself once more in his own kingdom. He drew Proserpina's attention to the rich veins of gold that were to be seen amongthe rocks, and pointed to several places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of diamonds. All along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which would have been of inestimable value above ground, but which here were reckoned of the meaner sort and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.

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Illustration by Edmund Dulac.  Tanglewood Tales.  London and New York: Hodder and Stoughton, c1918.

Not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the stream which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she beheld so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream; its waters reflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnate than flow either one way or the other.

"This is the River Lethe," observed King Pluto. "Is it not a very pleasant stream?"

"I think it a very dismal one," answered Proserpina.

"It suits my taste, however," answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen when anybody disagreed with him. "At all events, its water has one excellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every care and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of it, my dear Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your mother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being perfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet, the moment we arrive."

"O, no, no, no!" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. "I had a thousand times rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in forgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her."

"We shall see," said King Pluto. "You do not know what fine times we will have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid gold, I assure you."

He alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues, which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was a kind of gloom in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a single object in the hall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little Proserpina herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even King Pluto had never been happy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen away Proserpina, in order that he might have something to love, instead of cheating his heart any longer with this tiresome magnificence. And, though he pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of the child's presence, bedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint and watery sunbeam had somehow or other found its way into the enchanted hall.

Pluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in preparing a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of setting a golden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.

"I will neither drink that nor anything else," said Proserpina. "Nor will I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your palace."

"I should be sorry for that," replied King Pluto, patting her cheek; for he really wished to be kind, if he had only known how. "You are a spoiled child, I perceive, my little Proserpina; but when you see the nice things which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly come again."

Then, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts of delicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be set before Proserpina. He had a secret motive in this; for, you are to understand, it is a fixed law, that when persons are carried off to the land of magic, if they once taste any food there, they can never get back to their friends. Now, if King Pluto had been cunning enough to offer Proserpina some fruit, or bread and milk (which was the simple fare to which the child had always been accustomed), it is very probable that she would soon have been tempted to eat it. But he left the matter entirely to his cook, who, like all other cooks, considered nothing fit to eat unless it were rich pastry, or highly-seasoned meat, or spiced sweet cakes--things which Proserpina's mother had never given her, and the smell of which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening it.

But my story must now clamber out of King Pluto's dominions, and see what Mother Ceres had been about, since she was bereft of her daughter. We had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving grain, while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the chariot, in which her beloved Proserpina was so unwillingly borne away. You recollect, too, the loud scream which Proserpina gave, just when the chariot was out of sight.

Of all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one that reached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the rumbling of the chariot wheels for a peal of thunder, and imagined that a shower was coming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow. But, at the sound of Proserpina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every direction, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that it was her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that the girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas (which she herself could not have traversed without the aid of her winged dragons), that the good Ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some other parent, and not her own darling Proserpina, who had uttered this lamentable cry. Nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender fears, such as are ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart, when she finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without leaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such faithful guardian. So she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy; and, as her work was not half done, the grain looked, next day, as if it needed both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear, and had something the matter with its roots.

The pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in less than an hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her home, and found it empty. Knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the sea-shore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld the wet faces of the poor sea nymphs peeping over a wave. All this while, the good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once, every half minute or so, had popped up their four heads above water, to see if their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw Mother Ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it toss them ashore at her feet.

"Where is Proserpina?" cried Ceres. "Where is my child? Tell me, you naughty sea nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?"

"O, no, good Mother Ceres," said the innocent sea nymphs, tossing back their green ringlets, and looking her in the face. "We never should dream of such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but she left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon the dry land, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the day, and we have seen nothing of her since."

Ceres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say, before she hurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood. But nobody told her anything that would enable the poor mother to guess what had become of Proserpina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little footprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a basket of fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers; several persons had heard either the rattling of chariot wheels, or the rumbling of distant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain and catnip, had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish nonsense, and therefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid people! It took them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that it was dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must seek her daughter elsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set forth, resolving never to come back until Proserpina was discovered.

In her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the winged dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the search more thoroughly on foot. At all events, this was the way in which she began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and looking carefully at every object along the path. And as it happened, she had not gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on the shrub that Proserpina had pulled up.

"Ha!" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. "Here is mischief in this flower! The earth did not produce it by any help of mine, nor of its own accord. It is the work of enchantment, and is therefore poisonous; and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child."

But she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she might ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.

All night long, at the door of every cottage and farm-house, Ceres knocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen her child; and they stood, gaping and half- asleep, at the threshold, and answered her pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the portal of every palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials hurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king or queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to repose in. And when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen Proserpina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which way to seek her. Thus passed the night; and still she continued her search without sitting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put out the torch although first the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the morning sun, made its red flame look thin and pale. But I wonder what sort of stuff this torch was made of; for it burned dimly through the day, and, at night, was as bright as ever, and never was extinguished by the rain or wind, in all the weary days and nights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.

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Illustration by Milo Winter.  Tanglewood Tales.  Chicago: Rand McNally, 1913.

It was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter. In the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who used, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary places, and were very sociable with persons who understood their language and customs, as Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she tapped with her finger against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately its rude bark would cleave asunder, and forth would step a beautiful maiden, who was the hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of it, and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its green leaves sported with the breeze. But not one of these leafy damsels had seen Proserpina. Then, going a little farther, Ceres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would dabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up through its sandy and pebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping hair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of the water, and undulating up and down with its ever- restless motion. But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to drink out of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these water-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief, would answer "No!" in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the stream.

Often, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country people, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their foreheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gamboled merrily about the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature but grew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow, when Ceres inquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But sometimes she same suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces like monkeys, and horses' tails behind them, and who were generally dancing in a very boisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter. When she stopped to question them, they would only laugh the louder, and make new merriment out of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly satyrs! And once, while crossing a solitary sheep pasture, she saw a personage named Pan, seated at the foot of a tall rock, and making music on a shepherd's flute. He, too, had horns, and hairy ears, and goats' feet; but, being acquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question as civilly as he knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden bowl. But neither could Pan tell her what had become of Proserpina, any better than the rest of these wild people.

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Illustrations by Edmund Dulac.  Tanglewood Tales.  London and New York: Hodder and Stoughton, c1918.

And thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights, finding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a withered flower; and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because she fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All day she traveled onward through the hot sun; and, at night again, the flame of the torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she continued her search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.

On the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern within which (though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been only a dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning there. It flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the entrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her own torch before her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which had been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it were) was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head, they tell me, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of ornament, she wore a wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the moment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put all her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would have a word to say to other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to be.

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Illustration by Virginia Frances Sterrett.  Tanglewood Tales.  Philadelphia: Penn Publishing, 1921. 

"I am wretched enough now," thought poor Ceres, "to talk with this melancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet." So she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the dog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss, she had found no other companion.

"O Hecate," said she, "if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?"

"No," answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every word or two; "no, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter. But my ears, you must know, are made in such a way, that all cries of distress and affright all over the world are pretty sure to find their way to them; and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very miserable, I heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great distress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest assured. As well as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel monster, was carrying her away."

"You kill me by saying so," cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. "Where was the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"

"It passed very swiftly along," said Hecate, "and, at the same time, there was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell you nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your abode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the world."

"Not yet, dark Hecate," replied Ceres. "But do you first come with your torch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no more hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come), then, if you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered leaves or on the naked rock, I will show what it is to be miserable. But, until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I will not allow myself space even to grieve."

The dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the sunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate Ceres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun shine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad spirits quite as well, as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally consented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches, although it was broad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight seemed to make a gloom; so that the people whom they met, along the road, could not very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught a glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second glance.

As the pair traveled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck Ceres.

"There is one person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my poor child, and can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of him before? It is Phoebus."

"What," said Hecate, "the young man that always sits in the sunshine? O, pray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous young fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which I have almost wept away already."

"You have promised to be my companion," answered Ceres. "Come, let us make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it."

Accordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing grievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse lamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world. There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were like light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid, that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to wear a black veil. Phoebus (for this was the very person whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had recently composed. For, beside a great many other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable poetry.

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Illustration by Virginia Frances Sterrett, 1921. 

As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus smiled or frowned.

"Phoebus!" exclaimed she, "I am in great trouble, and have come to you for assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child Proserpina?"

"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?" answered Phoebus, endeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of pleasant ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer ago than yesterday. "Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very lovely child, indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did see the little Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself perfectly easy about her. She is safe, and in excellent hands."

"O, where is my dear child?" cried Ceres, clasping her hands, and flinging herself at his feet.

"Why," said Phoebus--and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as to make a thread of music run in and out among his words--"as the little damsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite taste for flowers), she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and carried off to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe; but the royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold, diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your daughter's ordinary playthings. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to give yourself no uneasiness. Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a very enviable life."

"Hush! Say not such a word!" answered Ceres, indignantly. "What is there to gratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of without affection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me you go with me, Phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?"

"Pray excuse me," replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance. "I certainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you. Besides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you the truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway; for I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know, are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom."

"Ah, Phoebus," said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, "you have a harp instead of a heart. Farewell."

"Will not you stay a moment," asked Phoebus, "and hear me turn the pretty and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?"

But Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate. Phoebus (who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith began to make an ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to judge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with a very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of using his heartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as much as he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly, though Phoebus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the sunbeams amid which he dwelt.

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Illustration by George Wharton Edwards.  Tanglewood Tales.  Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1889. 

(continued)


ホーソーンの「柘榴の種」(下) "The Pomegranate-Seeds" by Nathaniel Hawthorne [Marginalia 余白に]

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[中]

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Illustration by George Wharton Edwards.    Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1889.
 

Poor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but was not a whit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked more desperate than ever. As long as Proserpina was above ground, there might have been hopes of regaining her. But now that the poor child was shut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which lay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of her ever making her escape. The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the darkest view of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and spend the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres answered, that Hecate was welcome to go back thither herself, but that, for her part, she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance to KingPluto's dominions. And Hecate took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with a glimpse of her dog's face as she went.

Poor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her toilsome way, all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame of which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in her heart.So much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been quite youthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a very brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever thought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which she put on the very morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed about in so wild a way, and with her hair so disheveled, that people took her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was Mother Ceres, who had the oversight of every seed which the husbandman planted. Nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time nor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and the crops to fade or flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing, now, in which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children at play, or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed, she would stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children, too, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster themselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in her face; and Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them to their homes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of sight.

"For, if they do," said she, "it may happen to you, as it has to me, that the iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and snatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away."

One day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's kingdom, she came to the palace of King Cereus, who reigned at Eleusis. Ascending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the royal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant, it seems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and would take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The queen--her name was Metanira--was desirous of funding a nurse; and when she beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she thought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed. So Queen Metanira ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her arms, and besought Ceres to take charge of it, or, at least, to tell her what would do it good.

"Will you trust the child entirely to me?" asked Ceres.

"Yes, and gladly, too," answered the queen, "if you will devote all your time to him. For I can see that you have been a mother."

"You are right," said Ceres. "I once had a child of my own. Well; I will be the nurse of this poor, sickly boy. But beware, I warn you, that you do not interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for him. If you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly."

Then she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good; for he smiled and nestled closely into her bosom.

So Mother Ceres set her torch in a corner (where it kept burning all the while), and took up her abode in the palace of King Cereus, as nurse to the little Prince Demophoon. She treated him as if he were her own child, and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he should be bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how often he should take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would hardly believe me, if I were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid of his ailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two rows of ivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or since. Instead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the world (as his own mother confessed him to be, when Ceres first took him in charge), he was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up his heels, and rolling from one end of the room to the other. All the good women of the neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their hands, in unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this darling little prince. Their wonder was the greater, because he was never seen to taste any food; not even so much as a cup of milk.

"Pray, nurse," the queen kept saying, "how is it that you make the child thrive so?"

"I was a mother once," Ceres always replied; "and having nursed my own child, I know what other children need."

But Queen Metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know precisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid herself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed to sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into great coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze flickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the walls. Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the firelight making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She undressed the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant liquid out of a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red embers, and make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had been. At last, while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little hands, and laughing in the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your little brother or sister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres suddenly laid him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot embers. She then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.

You may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking nothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She burst forth from her hiding-place, and running to the hearth, raked open the fire, and snatched up poor little Prince Demophoon out of his bed of live coals, one of which he was gripping in each of his fists. He immediately set up a grievous cry, as babies are apt to do, when rudely startled out of a sound sleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she could perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in which he had lain. She now turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to explain the mystery.

"Foolish woman," answered Ceres, "did you not promise to intrust this poor infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done him. Had you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of celestial birth, endowed with superhuman strength and intelligence, and would have lived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to become immortal without being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the fire? But you have ruined your own son. For though he will be a strong man and a hero in his day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow old, and finally die, like the sons of other women. The weak tenderness of his mother has cost the poor boy an immortality. Farewell."

Saying these words, she kissed the little Prince Demophoon, and sighed to think what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding Queen Metanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the hot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby! He never slept so warmly again.

While she dwelt in the king's palace, Mother Ceres had been so continually occupied with taking care of the young prince, that her heart was a little lightened of its grief for Proserpina. But now, having nothing else to busy herself about, she became just as wretched as before. At length, in her despair, she came to the dreadful resolution that not a stalk of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a turnip, nor any other vegetable that was good for man or beast to eat, should be suffered to grow until her daughter were restored. She even forbade the flowers to bloom, lest somebody's heart should be cheered by their beauty.

Now, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself out of the ground, without the especial permission of Ceres, you may conceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The husbandmen plowed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black furrows, all as barren as a desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown in the sweet month of June as ever they did in chill November. The rich man's broad acres and the cottager's small garden patch were equally blighted. Every little girl's flower bed showed nothing but dry stalks. The old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had grown aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the warm smile of summer on its face. It was really piteous to see the poor, starving cattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and bleating, as if their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and everybody that was acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy on the human race, and, at all events, to let the grass grow. But Mother Ceres, though naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now inexorable.

"Never," said she. "If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it must first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming back to me."

Finally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend Quicksilver was sent post-haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be persuaded to undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right again, by giving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of his way to the great gate, took a flying leap right over the three-headed mastiff, and stood at the door of the palace in an inconceivably short time. The servants knew him both by his face and garb; for his short cloak, and his winged cap and shoes, and his snaky staff had often been seen thereabouts in times gone by. He requested to be shown immediately into the king's presence; and Pluto, who heard his voice from the top of the stairs, and who loved to recreate himself with Quicksilver's merry talk, called out to him to come up. And while they settle their business together, we must inquire what Proserpina had been doing ever since we saw her last.

The child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a mouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King Pluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the same time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy, is more than I can explain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the faculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too. At any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the earth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify, had yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to Proserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day by day, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly-preserved fruits, and delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most fond of. But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these things; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she would have resolutely refused to taste them.

All this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little damsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense palace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful objects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid itself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she wandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of her footsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which flamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor could the most brilliant of the many-colored gems, which Proserpina had for playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to gather. But still, whenever the girl went among those gilded halls and chambers, it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with her, and as if she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her left. After Proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of stately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The inhabitants all felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them."

My own little Proserpina," he used to say. "I wish you could like me a little better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm hearts, at bottom, as those of a more cheerful character. If you would only stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the possession of a hundred such palaces as this."

"Ah," said Proserpina, "you should have tried to make me like you before carrying me off. And the best thing you can now do is, to let me go again. Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as kind as you knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come back, and pay you a visit."

"No, no," answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, "I will not trust you for that. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and gathering flowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not these gems, which I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer than any in my crown--are they not prettier than a violet?"

"Not half so pretty," said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's hand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. "O my sweet violets, shall I never see you again?"

And then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little saltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as those of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at, if, a few moments afterwards, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as merrily as she and the four sea nymphs had sported along the edge of the surf wave. King Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a child. And little Proserpina, when she turned about, and beheld this great king standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so melancholy, and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran back to him, and, for the first time in all her life, put her small, soft hand in his.

"I love you a little," whispered she, looking up in his face.

"Do you, indeed, my dear child?" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down to kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for, though his features were noble, they were very dusky and grim. "Well, I have not deserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and starving you besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing which I can get you to eat?"

In asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning purpose; for, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food in his dominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them.

"No indeed," said Proserpina. "Your head cook is always baking, and stewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or another, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as well save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have no appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread, of my mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden."

When Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best method of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and artificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's opinion, as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her. Wondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one of his trusty attendants with a large basket, to get some of the finest and juiciest pears, peaches, and plums which could anywhere be found in the upper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when Ceres had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking all over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a single pomegranate, and that so dried up as not to be worth eating. Nevertheless, since there was no better to be had, he brought this dry, old withered pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent golden salver, and carried it up to Proserpina. Now, it happened, curiously enough, that, just as the servant was bringing the pomegranate into the back door of the palace, our friend Quicksilver had gone up the front steps, on his errand to get Proserpina away from King Pluto.

As soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told the servant he had better take it away again.

tanglewoodtales00hawt_0253.jpg
Illustration by Virginia Frances Sterrett, 1921. 

"It is the only one in the world," said the servant.

cu31924022254167_0250.jpg
Illustration by Milo Winter.  .  Chicago: Rand McNally, 1913.

He set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and left the room. When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close to the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great deal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited her taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her at once. To be sure, it was a very wretched-looking pomegranate, and seemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster shell. But there was no choice of such things in King Pluto's palace. This was the first fruit she had seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless she ate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and be wholly unfit to eat.

"At least, I may smell it," thought Proserpina.

So she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow or other, being in such close neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found its way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting pity! Before Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten it, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the door of the apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by Quicksilver, who had been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At the first noise of their entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her mouth. But Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the sharpest that ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a little confused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been taking a sly nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he never guessed at the secret.

"My little Proserpina," said the king, sitting down, and affectionately drawing her between his knees, "here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a great many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my detaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had already reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from your good mother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this vast palace is apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly shine very bright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition, and that therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society of some merrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown for a plaything, and me--ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina--me, grim as I am, for a playmate. It was a silly expectation."

"Not so extremely silly," whispered Proserpina. "You have really amused me very much, sometimes."

"Thank you," said King Pluto, rather dryly. "But I can see plainly enough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted keeper of it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain you here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you tasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home to your dear mother."

Now, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it impossible to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a good deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She even shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great palace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she herself--his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had stolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much--after she should have departed. I know not how many kind things she might have said to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried her way.

"Come along quickly," whispered he in her ear, "or his majesty may change his royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say nothing of what was brought you on the golden salver."

In a very short time, they had passed the great gateway (leaving the three-headed Cerberus, barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew verdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her blessed foot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the wayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigor and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in barrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after their long fast, and ate enormously, all day, and got up at midnight to eat more.But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush. Nor must I forget to say, that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon the newly-blossoming trees, and sang together, in a prodigious ecstasy of joy.

Mother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting disconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She had been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when, all at once, it flickered and went out.

"What does this mean?" thought she. "It was an enchanted torch, and should have kept burning till my child came back."

Lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing over the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a golden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just risen sun."Does the earth disobey me?" exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly.

"Does it presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my daughter shall be restored to my arms?"

"Then open your arms, dear mother," cried a well-known voice, "and take your little daughter into them."

And Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom. Their mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their separation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now they shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express itself in any other way.

TanglewoodTales(GeorgeWhartonEdwards).JPG
Illustration by George Wharton Edwards.    Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1889.
 

When their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked anxiously at Proserpina.

"My child," said she, "did you taste any food while you were in King Pluto's palace?"

"Dearest mother," exclaimed Proserpina, "I will tell you the whole truth. Until this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But to-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all shriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I was tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and Quicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but--dear mother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am afraid, remained in my mouth."

"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!" exclaimed Ceres. "For each of those six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in King Pluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six months with me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!"  

"Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto," said Prosperina, kissing her mother. "He has some very good qualities; and I really think I can bear to spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the other six with you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but then, as he says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in that great gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change in his spirits to have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There is some comfort in making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest mother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year round."

おしまい

 

Rossetti,Proserpina(1871,pastel&chalk).jpg 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Proserpine (1871) pastel and chalk on paper


ディドロの「私の古い部屋着への惜別」(4) Regrets sur Ma Vielle Robe de Chambre (4) [私の古い部屋着への惜別]

ディドロの「私の古い部屋着への惜別」(4) Regrets sur Ma Vielle Robe de Chambre (4)  [私の古い部屋着への惜別]  

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  どうしてあれをとっておかなかったのだろう? あれはわたしにフィットしていたし、わたしもあれにフィットしていた。あれはわたしの体に窮屈でなく、体のあらゆるラインにはまっていた。わたしはピトレスク〔pittoresque〕(*) で美しかった。もうひとつのは、こわばっていて、ごわごわしていて、わたしをマネキンみたいにぎこちなくさせる。いかなる用事にもあの服はこころよくはからってくれた。というのも貧窮というのはつねに親切なものだから。本がほこりだらけになっていると、部屋着の襞がそれを拭いてくれた。ペンのインクが濃くなってきて出るのを拒んだときには部屋着がその裾を提供してくれたので、頑固なペンから出てきた長い黒いラインが跡になっているのが見えるだろう。長いすじは、その持ち主が著述家、作家、刻苦する人間だということを吹聴していた。いまのわたしは裕福なのらくら者で、誰もわたしが何者かわからない。

  あれの庇護のもと、わたしは従僕の粗相も、わたしの粗相も、火の閃光も、水の飛沫もおそれなかった。わたしはわたしの古い部屋着の絶対君主であったのだ。それが新しいやつの奴隷になりさがってしまった。

  金の羊毛を見張っていた龍(*) もいまのわたしほど不安ではなかった。憂いがわたしを包んでいる。

  手も足もくくられて若い娘の気まぐれと愚かさに身を委ねた情痴の老人は、朝から晩まで愚痴をこぼす――わたしのもとのいい、わたしの古い家政婦は、どこだ? この娘にかえてあれを追い出したときに、いかなる悪魔 (démon) がわたしに取り憑いていたのか? そして彼は泣いたりため息をついたりする。

  わたしは泣きはせず、ため息もつかない。けれどもしょっちゅうこう言う――普通の生地を緋色に染めて値打ちをつける術を発明した者は呪われよ! わたしが敬まわねばならぬ高価な衣服は呪われてあれ! わたしの古の、わたしのつつましやかな、わたしのここちよいカルマンド(*)の襤褸着はどこに行ってしまったのか?

  友たちよ、諸君の旧友を大切にとっておきたまえ。友たちよ、富の接近に注意したまえ。わたしの例が諸君へのよい教訓となるように。貧乏は自由を有するが、裕福は拘束をもたらす。

  ああ、ディオゲネス(**)よ! 汝の弟子がアリスチッポス(***)の贅沢なマントを着ているのを見たらさぞかし笑うことだろう! ああ、アリスチッポスよ、贅沢なマントはたくさんの卑下によって購われたのだ。汝の軟弱で、放縦で、女性的な(****)生き方と、襤褸をまとった犬儒派の自由で確固とした生のあいだにどれだけ懸隔があることか! わたしは今まで君臨していた樽(*****)を、暴君の下に仕えるために、出てしまった。

  つづきです。第8、第9、第10、第11パラグラフ――。

Ce n'est pas tout, mon ami. Écoutez les ravages du luxe, les suites d'un luxe conséquent.
それだけではないのだ、我が友よ。それに続いて起こった奢侈の嵐、奢侈の一連の結果に耳を傾けよ。

Ma vieille robe de chambre était une avec les autres guenilles qui m'environnaient. Une chaise de paille, une table de bois, une tapisserie de Bergame, une planche de sapin qui soutenait quelques livres, quelques estampes enfumées, sans bordure, clouées par les angles sur cette tapisserie; entre ces estampes trois ou quatre plâtres suspendus formaient avec ma vieille robe de chambre l'indigence la plus harmonieuse.
わたしの古い部屋着は、わたしを取り巻く他の襤褸とひとつになっていた。ワラの椅子(*)、木のテーブル、ベルガム(**)の壁掛け、何冊かの本をのせていたモミの板、額に入れられておらず壁掛けの角のところにピンで止められただけの煤けた数枚の版画、そして版画のあいだに吊るされた三つ四つの石膏像が、わたしの古い部屋着と一緒になって、貧乏の最も調和的な効果を形成していた。

Tout est désaccordé. Plus d'ensemble, plus d'unité, plus de beauté.
[いまや]すべてが調子がはずれている。もはやアンサンブル〔全体的効果〕も統一も美もない。

Une nouvelle gouvernante stérile qui succède dans un presbytère, la femme qui entre dans la maison d'un veuf, le ministre qui remplace un ministre disgracié, le prélat moliniste qui s'empare du diocèse d'un prélat janséniste, ne causent pas plus de trouble que l'écarlate intruse en a causé chez moi.
牧師館(***)に新しく来たうまずめの新しい家政婦も、男やもめの家に入った女も、面目失墜した大臣の座にとってかわった大臣も、ヤンセン派(****)の司教の管区を奪ったモリーナ派(*****)の司教も、緋色の闖入者が私のところに起こしたような混乱は惹き起こさない。

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ワラの椅子(*)
chaise de paille たぶんゴッホのアルル時代の絵のようなやつ――

VincentVanGogh-LaChaiseetlaPipe.jpg
Vincent van Gogh, La Chaise et la Pipe [The Chair and the Pipe] / Vincents Stuhl mit Pfeife [Vincent's Stool with Pipe] / Van Gogh's Chair (1888) National Gallery, London. 
image via Wikimedia Commons <
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vincent_Willem_van_Gogh_138.jpg?uselang=ja>

  日本では「アルルのゴッホの椅子」とか「パイプが載っている椅子」とか呼ばれているみたい。1888年の絵ですけど、前年の1887年には都会のパリにいたのでした。

ベルガム(**)
Bergame に相当する英語は Bergamo。もともとイタリア北部のロンバルディア州の町の名。ベルガムとは、はじめイタリアのベルガモでつくられ、フランスでは16世紀末から使用され、製造されるようになった、ウール、絹、木綿、麻、あるいはヤギや牛の毛で織られた質素なタペストリー。フランスではノルマンディー地方のルーアン (Rouen)(ジャンヌ・ダルクが火刑になった町) とエルブフ (Elbeuf) が製造の中心地だった。ゴブラン織が高級なタペストリーとしてあるのに対して、粗野な壁掛けとしてあったらしい。明代の中国からで壁紙 (wallpaper) とその技術が伝わり、そしてとくに19世紀に広まるまでは壁掛けが用いられていた。・・・・・・"Designer Fabrics" というサイトで "Bergamo tapestry" を検索すると、意外と高級なのもありそう <http://www.iluvfabrix.com/products.php?cid=13&page=15>。

牧師館(***)
presbytère はプロテスタントの長老派教会 (Presbyterian Church) を思い起こす綴りだけれど、新教以前にキリスト教会に「長老」はいて、初期キリスト教会でも「監督」の下が「長老」なのだけれど、簡単にいうと、のちの司祭(監督⇒司教に対して)です。司祭はプロテスタントだと牧師です。だから英語だと rectory か manse で、「牧師館」です。どこのセクトの牧師・司祭にせよ、「子だくさん」という俗説(?)があるけれど、そういうセクシュアルなことをあてこすっているのかどうか不明(stérile = sterile (英) =  「子ができない」「不妊の」)。

ヤンセン派(****)
janséniste は英語だと Jansenist。ヤンセン Cornelis Jansen (1585-1638) はオランダのカトリック神学者。ヤンセン主義とはこのヤンセンの教会改革の精神を奉じる主張・運動だが、とくに性に対する厳格な考えを特徴とする。

モリーナ派(*****)
moliniste は16世紀スペインのイエズス会士ルイス・デ・モリーナ Luis de Molina (1535-1600) が唱えた Molinism (molinisme 仏) を奉じる立場。神の恩寵と人間の自由意志の調和を、神の恩恵は人間の自由意志に左右される、あるいは神の恩恵は人間の意志的同意によってのみ力がある、人間の自由意志の協力が必要である、というかたちで唱える(自由意志の同意をもってはじめて力を発する「充足的恩恵」という概念の導入)。充足的恩恵はGoogle 検索で2つしか出てこない。Yahoo 智恵袋あたりで聞いてみようかなw。

父と子と聖霊 キリスト キリスト教 AVE MARIA アヴエ マリア 天使祝詞 ...

おおくの神学者達や私たちの修道会の支持をうけている私たちの学説又は意見は,内在的に効果的な恩恵と完全に一致するとともに,まことの充足的恩恵とも合致しています。 ・ ・・。 P166 ミサや告白のほかに,いのりの生活の為ピオ神父がすすめた主要な事 ...
www.geocities.co.jp/Bookend-Akiko/6063/sub1.htm - キャッシュ
 
実は、神は烈しい熱意、溢れるような愛と豊かな恵みを取り上げられたが、永遠の救いのための充足的恩恵は残っているからである。 ... 反対に、荒みの中にある人は、充足的 恩恵をもつ自分が全ての敵に十分抵抗できると考え、創造主を頼りにして、力を身に ...
www.beati.jp/se.html - キャッシュ

ターンスタイル――ポー全集 (1902) の挿絵 The Turnstile in Poe's "Never Bet the Devil Your Head" [モノ things]

先の記事「有蓋橋(屋根付き橋) Covered Bridges (Revised)」と「ターンスタイル(回り木戸) Turnstile」であれこれ想像を膨らませようとしたものの、ターンスタイルがどんなスタイルだったのか結論が出ず、フェリーニの、舞台を20世紀にして翻案した『世にも怪奇な物語』の映画でどうだったのか見直そうかと思いつつ、ビデオが見つからず、忘れていましたところ、今日、ふと足元に転がっていたポー全集の一冊を開いたら、ちょうど「悪魔に首を賭けるな」の挿絵が目に飛び込んできたのでした。――

NeverBetTheDevilYourHead1600mod.jpg
Illustration by F. S. Coburn (クリックで拡大) Vol. 4 of Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, 10 vols., ed., John Harrison (New York: Fred de Fau, 1902), opposite to p. 296 [between pp. 296 and 297]

  手前左の息子ブッシュに似た黒衣の人物が悪魔的なキャラで、彼に誘われるようにしてターンスタイルを飛び越そうとして首を切り落としたトービー・ダミットが描かれています。向こう側から橋をこちら側に渡ってきた、という方向の絵です。語り手の「私」はどこにいるのかわかりませんが、語り手の視点から描いた絵ということかもしれません(いちおう語り手は先にターンスタイルを手で回して通過していたので)。

  ちょっとジョジョふうな趣きの絵ですな。

  この挿画はサインが読めませんし、本にイラストレーターの記載がないのですけれど、他の挿画は "F. S. COBURN 1901" あるいは "F. S. COBURN 1902" と記されているのが何枚か読めるので、おそらくコバーンのものです。

  ま、挿絵があるからって、その絵が歴史的に正しいものかどうかはわからんのですけれど、とりあえず妙にリアルな感じに納得したりしました。


画家 F・S・コバーン Frederick Simpson Coburn [F. S. Coburn] [Marginalia 余白に]

20世紀初めのポー全集に挿絵を描いた画家のコバーンはWikipedia に記事がないみたいなので、書き留めておきます。

F. S. COBURN というふうに大文字で署名している絵が多いらしい F. S. コバーンは、長い名を フレデリック・シンプソン・コバーン Frederick Simpson Coburn といい、1871年カナダのケベックに生まれ、1960年に生まれ故郷の村で亡くなりました。

Coburn,F.S.-Poe_MurdersintheRueMorgue0-mod.jpg
F. S. Coburn, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, frontispiece to Vol IV of Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe (New York: Fred de Fau, 1902)  右側のページとのあいだにパラフィン紙がはさまっていて、キャプションが書かれています。(クリックで拡大)

  ☆香港の古書店 Lok Man Rare Books のページ(ポー全集の写真と、下の Klinkhoff 画廊からの伝記の引用)・・・・・・これを見ると、モーリちゃんの父が持っている10巻本は "Tamerlane Edition" というもともとデラックスな版の、おそらくは廉価版で(といってもこれだって限定1000なのだが)あるようです――"The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Edited and Chronologically Arranged on the Basis of the Standard Text, with Certain Additional Material and with a Critical Introduction by Charles F. Richardson. - Edgar Allan Poe 1902 - G. P. Putnam's Sons / The Knickerbocker Press, New York and London - The Tamerlane Edition"
<http://www.lokmanbooks.com/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=583&category_id=%20&keyword=Coburn&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&332c25b43a99a39361f1cad2bf90a6f3=7d6a897ecda122bb1c20fa1ab9af99e2>

  ☆カナダの画廊 Galerie Walter Klinkhoff のページ(くわしい伝記と油絵の風景画の展示あり)――
"Frederick Simspon Coburn, R. C. A. (1871-1960)"
<http://www.klinkhoff.com/canadian-artist/Frederick-Simpson-Coburn>

  ☆カナダの Michel Bugué Art Galleries の画家一覧ページ(肖像とくわしい伝記)―― "F. S. Coburn (Frederick Simpson Coburn) 1871-1960"
<http://www.galeriemichelbigue.com/en/frederick-simpson-coburn-en>

  ☆昨年2010年に没後50年の展覧会が故郷で開催されたときの記事――
"Sherbrooke museum features works of artist F.S. Coburn: 30 paintings from Musee des beaux-arts de Sherbrooke's collection on display" By Mike Fuhrmann, The Canadian Press 
 [Times & Transcript January 16, 2010]  <http://timestranscript.canadaeast.com/rss/article/921615>

 

  以上からの情報をかいつまんで、適当につけくわえて、以下に記します。

  フレデリック・シンプソン・コバーンは1871年3月18日、カナダのケベック州南部モントリオール東部の町シャーブルック Sherbrooke のすぐ北にある小さな村アパーメルバン Upper Melbourne に生まれた。モントリオールの工芸学校で才能を示し、ニューヨークの Carl Hecker School of Art に進学、そして1890年に19歳のときにベルリンの(王立)美術院 Akademie der Künste に留学した。Julius Erhentraut と Franz Skarbina (1849-1910) のもとで解剖学的知見にもとづく精密なデッサン力を鍛錬した。しかしドイツで修行中にカナダの母親が急死、一時帰国。1892年ふたたび渡欧し、パリの École des Beaux-Arts では Jean-Léon Gérôme に師事して印象主義を吸収(ロートレックらと交遊)、フランス滞在中の3年間に、北米の雑誌 Harper’s MagazineMcClure’s New Monthly MagazineThe Monthly Illustrator などにイラストを描くようになり、カナダとフランスを行き来する。

  1896年、カナダ帰国時に、アイルランド生まれのカナダの詩人ウィリアム・ヘンリー・ドラモンド William Henry Drummond (1854-1907) と面識をもち、詩集 The Habitant and Other Canadian Poems の挿画を依頼される。こののちドラモンドの刊行する本の挿画を継続的に手がける。

  1896年から1897年にかけて、ロンドンの Slade School of Art では Henry Tonks に師事して、写実を超えた主観的解釈を学ぶいっぽう、London Sporting and Dramatic News にカナダの野生動物を描いたり、London News の仕事をしたりする。1897年、ベルギーのアントワープの 美術学校に入学、Albrecht De Vriendt のスタジオで人物画を学ぶ。この地で、その後結婚することになる女性画家(画学生だった) Malvina Sheepers と知り合う。Goot 助成金を外国人としてはじめて獲得、2年間、無料のスタジオ、モデル、衣装、美術書の自由な閲覧など認められた。1897年の夏カナダに帰省してドラモンドの次作 Madeleine Verchères の挿絵を描くためにカナダの地方を取材。

  1898年ふたたびベルギーに。その後カナダとのあいだを行き来しながら、ドラモンドの刊行する本の挿画、さらに、さらにドラモンドのつきあいのあったニューヨークの出版社 Putnam からイラストを依頼されるようになり、ディケンズ、ポー、テニソン、ゴールドスミス、ロバート・ブラウニングなどの作品に挿画を描くことになる。

  さらに1903年に新境地を求めてふたたび渡欧した先のオランダではハーグ派 Hague School の画家たちの影響を受ける(Maris 兄弟や J. H. de Weissenbruch と交流)。その後のコバーンの絵はこの派の明るい色調が出てくるみたい(それまでの白黒を主調としたイラストから変化していく)・・・・・・とりあえず、今日のところはここまでにして以下の生涯の記述は略)。

 

  という感じで、全部で80枚くらいのポーの挿絵を描いた1901年、1902年というのはコバーンが暗い色調(というかモノトーン)を好んで描いていた時代だったようで、そのことはポー作品にとってはラッキーだったような気がします。1930年だいとかの風景画を見ると(といってもあくまでWEB上で小さなスキャン画像しか見られないけれど)、同じ作家とは思われないような絵です。

Coburn,F.S.-Poe_MurdersintheRueMorgue1mod.jpg
F. S. Coburn, illustration for "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," between pp. 188-189 [click to enlarge] "In a small paved yard in the rear . . . lay the corpse of the old lady."

Coburn,F.S.-Poe_MurdersintheRueMorgue2mod.jpg
F. S. Coburn, illustration for "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," between pp. 228-229 [クリックで拡大]  "The gigantic animal had seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as she had been combing it).

    扉絵が本文中の挿絵で反復されています。手前の、髪の毛をオランウータンにつかまれているのが母親のエスパニエですけれど、笑い仮面みたいにみえるのは気のせいで、下を向いているのだと思います。扉絵はまたちがう仮面に見えますけど。奥の女な娘で、煙突に詰め込まれ、母親は前の挿絵に描かれたように、裏手の舗道に投げ捨てられます。

  ま、作品が暗いから絵も暗くなるのでしょうけど、画家の想像力が文学テクストのゴシック的な消化/昇華を示している絵も見られるようです(ということでスキャンをしながらつづく)。


改行解除(ワード) How to Remove Line Breaks (Microsoft Office Word) [φ(..)メモメモ]

WEB上のE-textはぶつぎれに改行されているものがけっこうあって、むかしマッキントッシュを使っていたころは適当にやったら置換して行をつなげられたのだけれど、ウィンドウズでワードを使うようになってからうまくできなくなっていた(個人的に)。

  調べたらできることがわかったけれど、知恵袋的なサイトにはあれこれいくつも書いてあって混乱するので、忘れないようにメモっておく。

改行の解除1.JPG

(0)  ctl+F などで「検索と置換」ウィンドウを開ける。 

(1)  「検索する文字列」に、^pサーカムフレックス circumflex accent のカネテツ型)と小文字 p]
          もしくは  ^13サーカムフレックス と数字の13]

(2)  「置換後の文字列」はそのままだとスペースなし。そして、半角(英字)で空白スペースを打ったぶん、改行が解除された1行目の終わりと2行目の頭の文字間にスペースができる。ということで英文だといちおう基本1スペース。日本語だと基本なし(完全な空白のまま)。

(3)  「あいまい検索」(英)」もしくは「あいまい検索(日)」にチェックが入っていたらはずす。

改行の解除2s.jpg

  ^p^13 との違いがどこかにあるのかどうか不明。どうやら、ない。


RLB: Remove Line Breaks [φ(..)メモメモ]

前の記事「改行解除(ワード) How to Remove Line Breaks (Microsoft Office Word)」を書くときに英語をしらべていたら、Remove Line Breaks - Delete Carriage Returns & Remove Double Spaces というサイトがあった <http://www.removelinebreaks.com/>。

白枠の中に改行を解除したい文書をコピペしてクリック一発ということです。
あと、ダブルスペースも全部除去したければ "Remove double spaces" のボックスにチェックを入れろ、と(シングルスペースになるということです)。――個人的には文末のピリオドのあとはダブルスペースという習慣を捨てがたいのですが。

タングルウッド・テールズ一冊まるごとぶちこんでみたら、ちゃんと変換してくれました。日本語も試してみましたけどOKでした。

あと同じサイトにおまけで "Remove Line Breaks in Microsoft Word" というページがあって、説明が書かれています <http://removelinebreaks.com/information/about/remove_in_word>。

1)  double line breaks を single line break にするには「検索&置換 Find - Replace」ダイアログで、
   Find: ^p^p 
   Replace: ^p

〔このdouble line breaks (^p^pがあらわすもの) というのは、テクストだと行の終わりに改行マークがあって、そして1行まるごとスペースがあって次の行(段落)があるようなやつです。下の"IRS." と"The Foundation" の間が double line breaks――

($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
   〕 ・・・・・・でももしかするとブログに貼り付けようとするとEnter マークみたいなのが ↓ に変わってしまうかも。この行区切り記号「↓」を検索でヒットさせるには、^l (サーカムフレックス・アクセントに小文字のエル)です。

 

2) line breaks をシングルスペースにすべて置き換えるには、文書に使われていない文字・記号(たとえば#とか)でスペースをはさんで(# #)、^p をすべて置換し、しかるのちに、すべての # を削除。なるほどね。頭の体操みたいなもんですね。でもわたしのワードだと、スペースバーを押して「置換後の文字列」にスペースを指示できます。

パラグラフを残してその他の改行を解除するにはどうしたらいいのかしら。頭の体操をしてみよう。


津波 Tsunami Surge [φ(..)メモメモ]

昨日の夜から、カリフォルニアで知り合った人たちから安否を問うメールがいくつも来ていて、ふと、むかしよく見ていたサンフランシスコ・ベイエリアのテレビ局KRON4 のWEB ページを開いてみた。

Kron4: The Bay Area's New Station <http://www.kron.com/>

KRONE4-6.JPG

ビデオでも記事でも、(日本)史上最大のマグニチュード8.9 と言っている。

これは、KRON4 のメニューの Earthquakes のリンクにも入っている USGS Tsunamis and Earthquakes の発表が8.9 であったのを踏襲しているらしい。USGS というのは United States Geological Survey (アメリカ合衆国地質調査所)。

USGS.JPG
<http://www.usgs.gov/>

USGS CoreCast: Magnitude 8.9 Near the East Coast of Japan <http://www.usgs.gov/corecast/details.asp?ep=147> : "A magnitude 8.9 earthquake struck the coast of Japan on March 11, 2011. USGS geophysicists and Bill Ellsworth and Eric Geist talk to CoreCast host Kara Capelli about the quake and subsequent tsunami."

いまカリフォルニアは金曜日の夜6時過ぎで、ニュースの時間で、ライブで流しているのだけれど、スポーツニュースの間も字幕で地震と津波のことが字幕で出ている。

津波が太平洋岸カリフォルニアに到着するのが地震の起こった10時間後だかで bounce back を繰り返して次第に大きくなるのだという説明のビデオとか、サンタクルスの波止場で被害があった様子とか、その前にハワイに達した津波とか、アメリカに直接かかわるニュースでも、当然ながらあったのだ。

州知事はシュワちゃんから Jerry Brown というひとにかわっているが、声明を出している。――

"Govenor Brown Issues Statement on Earthquake in Japan" <http://gov.ca.gov/news.php?id=16931>  "Our thoughts are with the people of Japan as they endure this tragedy. . . ."  〔オバマ大統領の「思いをいたし」というのと同じなのかしら・・・・・あ、――

Today’s events remind us of just how fragile life can be.  Our hearts go out to our friends in Japan and across the region and we’re going to stand with them as they recover and rebuild from this tragedy.

(The White House Blog) <http://www.whitehouse.gov/blog/2011/03/11/presidents-press-conference-causes-government-response-and-long-term-solutions-risin>〕

"Governor Brown Declares State of Emergency in Del Norte, Humboldt, San Mateo and Santa Cruz Counties" <http://gov.ca.gov/news.php?id=16933>

ベテランの女性キャスターの Darya Folsam は健在のようだけれど、自分の好きだったEvelyn Taft はまたどこかへ移ってしまったみたい。twitter を見ると、KCAL9 Los Angeles の8時から10時の天気ニュースをやっているみたい。――

CBS Los Angeles <http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/

それと、知らないうちに、Kron4 にはインターネット専任のレポーターとして Kimberlee Sakamoto というひとが加わっていた―― "Kimberlee Sakamoto's What's on the Web on KRON 4" <http://www.kron4.com/Reporters/wotw.aspx>。最新のリンクは "Google Responds to the Japan Earthquake With an Online Crisis Center" 〔Google Crisis Response としての「東日本大震災(東北地方太平洋沖地震)」(Person Finder やPicasaの避難所名簿写真ページなど)をとりあげる記事〕。

KRON 4は地震についても専用のブログがあったりする。天気についてもトゥウィッターで細かい数値の情報を交換している(こういうのカリフォルニアの人たち好きそう)――Bay Area Weather Tweets in Weather。ますますWEBサイトが拡大しているみたい。

KCAL9 のCBS News のほうの記事をいくつか――

"Toll could exceed 1,000 in Japan quake, tsunami" (March 11, 2011 10:01 AM) <http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-503543_162-20042091-503543.html>

"Special section: Earthquake in Japan" ["Disaster in Japan"] <http://www.cbsnews.com/2718-202_162-1082.html>

"Quake afters[c]hocks reach Yoko Ono, 'Hawaii Five-O' and 'Twilight' cast" (March 11, 2011 6:43 PM) <http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-31749_162-20042298-10391698.html?tag=cbsnewsMainColumnArea>

 


改行解除とパラグラフ保存とインデント(字下げ)の頭の体操 [Marginalia 余白に]

記事「改行解除(ワード) How to Remove Line Breaks (Microsoft Office Word)」と「RLB: Remove Line Breaks」の余白に。 

あとのほうの記事の最後に「パラグラフを残してその他の改行を解除するにはどうしたらいいのかしら。頭の体操をしてみよう。」と書きました。

ちゃんと知ってる人は知ってるんだろうなあ、と思いつつ、しかし恥じることもなく頭の体操をしてみる。

いちおう例題(実験台)として Full text of"Tanglewood Tales" [Project Gutenberg] @ Internet Archive <http://www.archive.org/stream/tanglewoodtales00976gut/tnglw10.txt>

☆第零段階
ワードにコピペしてctl[Ctrl; control]+ H [or F] などで検索・置換ダイアログを開ける。

☆第一段階
・検索する文字列―  ^13{2,}
・置換後の文字列―  テクスト内で使われていない文字をひとつ、あるいは念のためふたつ、たとえば##
・検索オプション―  ワイルドカードを使用するにチェックを入れる
・この条件ですべて置換(837個の項目を置換)

〔{2,} はその前の要素が2回以上を表わす。^13 は改行だけど、1個だけだと見た目行間が空かない改行(つまり^13 が2回あるのは行間が空いている)〕

☆第二段階
・検索する文字列―  ^13
・置換後の文字列―  スペース半角分ひとつ  
・検索オプション―  なし(ワイルドカードを使用するのチェックはあってもなくても同じ)
・この条件ですべて置換(5444個の項目を置換)

第三段階
・検索する文字列―  第一段階の文字(列)、たとえば##
・置換後の文字列―  ^13      ^13とパラグラフ冒頭のインデントしたい分のスペース、たとえば5個  
・検索オプション―  ワイルドカードを使用するのチェックはあってもなくても同じ
この条件ですべて置換(837個の項目を置換)

  これは、自分の感じからすると、オオカミだかキツネだかがいるけどウサギとニワトリを向こう岸に舟一艘で渡す頭の体操に似ている。

  でも、よく見ると、グーテンベルグの冒頭の説明のところは改行がもともとヘンなので、そこはきれいに統一されないです。あと、段落のインデント(字下げ)は別途設定してもいいかも。

  ワイルドカードの ! =「否定」の利用も考えたのですけれど、英語だとうまくいかなかった。勉強しよっと。

2011年3月16日午前1時ごろ追記――ちなみに第一段階を経ないで第二段階の置換を行なうと7151個の置換が行なわれる。7151=5444+837×2 ではない。5444+837×2=7118 すなわち改行マークは3以上で連続している箇所があるということかな。


エイシー AC [ひまつぶし]

コマーシャルがAC、ACと連呼して、うるさいと思うのは自分だけではないと思う。

「馬鹿」っていうと
「馬鹿」っていう
 (金子みすゞ 「こだまでしょうか」)

カリフォルニアにいたころにAC というとバス会社だったのだが(自分も含めておひまなかたは「September 4 徒歩生活にお別れ(?) ――AC トランジットとMTCとTOD AC Transit and MTC and TOD」参照)。

確かに<こころ>はだれにも見えない
けれど<こころづかい>は見えるのだ
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
同じように胸の中の<思い>は見えない
けれど「思いやり」はだれにでも見える (宮澤章二 「行為の意味――青春前期のきみたちに」)

そーかなー。 

まー、相田みつを(せんだみつおではない)の詩を連呼されるよりはいいかもしれないけれど。 

news.jpg
©Advertising Council Japan.  image via 「2010年度地域キャンペーン: こだまでしょうか| ACジャパン」 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/self_area/03/index.html>

(1) 日本語ウィキペディアより(順番勝手に変えました)――

団体・企業

一般名詞

以上 「AC - Wikipedia (jp]」 <http://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/AC>

(2) 英語ウィキペディアより――

Science

Places

Computing

  • AC (complexity), a hierarchy of complexity classes found in circuit complexity
  • .ac, Internet top-level domain name for Ascension Island
  • .ac (second level), Internet second-level domain used to denote academic institutions in many countries
  • Authorization certificate or attribute certificate, a digital permission to use a service or resource

Job titles / ranks

Entertainment

  • AC, the name of the ultimate computer at the end of time in Isaac Asimov's The Last Question
  • After Colony, an alternate timeline in the Gundam metaseries for the universe of Gundam Wing
  • A.C. Slater, character in the American sitcom Saved by the Bell
  • AC Comics, a comic book publisher established in 1969.
  • Armor Class, a combat-related parameter in the Dungeons & Dragons role playing game system

Video games

  • Ace Combat, a series of combat flight simulator games
  • Armored Core, a series featuring the eponymous robotic fighter under the player's control
  • Asheron's Call, a fantasy massively multiplayer online role-playing genre

Organizations

Miscellaneous

以上 「AC - Wikipedia [en]」 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AC>

(3) 仏語ウィキペディアより――

Codes

Sigles et abréviations

Sciences

Médecine

Autres

以上 「AC - Wikipedia [fr]」 <http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/AC>

(4)   公共広告機構・AC

「ACジャパンは、広告を営利目的のためでなく、公共のために役立てようと、全国の企業が集まった団体です。広告を通じて住みよい社会作りに貢献することが、私たちの願いです。」 <www.ad-c.or.jp/>
今年度の広告など―― <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/formation/>
全国キャンペーン〔「あいさつの魔法。」、「見える気持ちに。」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/self_all/>
地域キャンペーン〔「こだまでしょうか」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/self_area/index.html>
支援キャンペーン〔「オシムの言葉」、「知層」、「大切なあなたへ」、「ありがとう あしながさん」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/support/index.html>
NHK共同キャンペーン〔「あいさつの魔法。」、「見える気持ちに。」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/nhk/>

 


タグ:AC

ディドロの「私の古い部屋着への惜別」(5) Regrets sur Ma Vielle Robe de Chambre (5) [私の古い部屋着への惜別]

ディドロの「私の古い部屋着への惜別」 (5) 

(0)

(1)

(2)

(3)

(4)

                 私の古い部屋着への惜別、または財産より趣味を多く持つ人へ与える意見

                                                                      ドニ・ディドロ

  どうしてあれをとっておかなかったのだろう? あれはわたしにフィットしていたし、わたしもあれにフィットしていた。あれはわたしの体に窮屈でなく、体のあらゆるラインにはまっていた。わたしはピトレスク〔pittoresque〕(*) で美しかった。もうひとつのは、こわばっていて、ごわごわしていて、わたしをマネキンみたいにぎこちなくさせる。いかなる用事にもあの服はこころよくはからってくれた。というのも貧窮というのはつねに親切なものだから。本がほこりだらけになっていると、部屋着の襞がそれを拭いてくれた。ペンのインクが濃くなってきて出るのを拒んだときには部屋着がその裾を提供してくれたので、頑固なペンから出てきた長い黒いラインが跡になっているのが見えるだろう。長いすじは、その持ち主が著述家、作家、刻苦する人間だということを吹聴していた。いまのわたしは裕福なのらくら者で、誰もわたしが何者かわからない。

  あれの庇護のもと、わたしは従僕の粗相も、わたしの粗相も、火の閃光も、水の飛沫もおそれなかった。わたしはわたしの古い部屋着の絶対君主であったのだ。それが新しいやつの奴隷になりさがってしまった。

  金の羊毛を見張っていた龍(*) もいまのわたしほど不安ではなかった。憂いがわたしを包んでいる。

  手も足もくくられて若い娘の気まぐれと愚かさに身を委ねた情痴の老人は、朝から晩まで愚痴をこぼす――わたしのもとのいい、わたしの古い家政婦は、どこだ? この娘にかえてあれを追い出したときに、いかなる悪魔 (démon) がわたしに取り憑いていたのか? そして彼は泣いたりため息をついたりする。

  わたしは泣きはせず、ため息もつかない。けれどもしょっちゅうこう言う――普通の生地を緋色に染めて値打ちをつける術を発明した者は呪われよ! わたしが敬まわねばならぬ高価な衣服は呪われてあれ! わたしの古の、わたしのつつましやかな、わたしのここちよいカルマンド(*)の襤褸着はどこに行ってしまったのか?

  友たちよ、諸君の旧友を大切にとっておきたまえ。友たちよ、富の接近に注意したまえ。わたしの例が諸君へのよい教訓となるように。貧乏は自由を有するが、裕福は拘束をもたらす。

  ああ、ディオゲネス(**)よ! 汝の弟子がアリスチッポス(***)の贅沢なマントを着ているのを見たらさぞかし笑うことだろう! ああ、アリスチッポスよ、贅沢なマントはたくさんの卑下によって購われたのだ。汝の軟弱で、放縦で、女性的な(****)生き方と、襤褸をまとった犬儒派の自由で確固とした生のあいだにどれだけ懸隔があることか! わたしは今まで君臨していた樽(*****)を、暴君の下に仕えるために、出てしまった。

  それだけではないのだ、我が友よ。それに続いて起こった奢侈の嵐、奢侈の一連の結果に耳を傾けよ。

  わたしの古い部屋着は、わたしを取り巻く他の襤褸とひとつになっていた。ワラの椅子(*)、木のテーブル、ベルガム(**)の壁掛け、何冊かの本をのせていたモミの板、額に入れられておらず壁掛けの角のところにピンで止められただけの煤けた数枚の版画、そして版画のあいだに吊るされた三つ四つの石膏像が、わたしの古い部屋着と一緒になって、貧乏の最も調和的な効果を形成していた。

  [いまや]すべてが調子がはずれている。もはやアンサンブル〔全体的効果〕も統一も美もない。

  牧師館(***)に新しく来たうまずめの新しい家政婦も、男やもめの家に入った女も、面目失墜した大臣の座にとってかわった大臣も、ヤンセン派(****)の司教の管区を奪ったモリーナ派(*****)の司教も、緋色の闖入者が私のところに起こしたような混乱は惹き起こさない。

  つづきです。第12、第13、第14パラグラフ――。

Je puis supporter sans dégoût la vue d'une paysanne. Ce morceau de toile grossière qui couvre sa tête; cette chevelure qui tombe éparse sur ses joues; ces haillons troués qui la vêtissent à demi; ce mauvais cotillon court qui ne va qu'à la moitié de ses jambes; ces pieds nus et couverts de fange ne peuvent me blesser: c'est l'image d'un état que je respecte; c'est l'ensemble des disgrâces d'une condition nécessaire et malheureuse que je plains. Mais mon coeur se soulève; et, malgré l'atmosphère parfumée qui la suit, j'éloigne mes pas, je détourne mes regards de cette courtisane dont la coiffure à points d'Angleterre, et les manchettes déchirées, les bas de soie sales et la chaussure usée, me montrent la misère du jour associée à l'opulence de la veille.
わたしは田舎女を見ても嫌悪感をもたずに我慢することができる。彼女の頭を覆う粗野な布地も、彼女の頬にたれかかる髪の毛も、彼女の体をなかばしか包まない襤褸着も、彼女の脚の半分までしか達しない粗末な短いスカートも、泥だらけの裸の足も、わたしを傷つけることはできない。それはわたしが敬意を払う状況のイメジなのだ。それはわたしが憐憫をよせる窮乏と不幸の状態のアンサンブルなのだ。だが、わたしの心がむかつくものはなにか。その背後からは芳しい雰囲気がただようけれども、レース〔ポワン・ダングルテール(*)の帽子と切れた袖口と絹の靴下とすり減らした靴とが、昔日の富裕にひきかえた今日の悲惨をわたしに見せる娼婦からわたしは目をそらすのである。

Tel eût été mon domicile, si l'impérieuse écarlate n'eût tout mis à son unisson.
もしも、専横な緋色の女(**)がすべてを自分の調子に合わせていなかったとしたら、わたしの住まいはそんなだったろう。

J'ai vu la Bergame céder la muraille, à laquelle elle était depuis si longtemps attachée, à la tenture de damas.
わたしはベルガムが、ずっと以前から掛かっていた壁面を、ダマスクの布に譲るのを見た。

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ポワン・ダングルテール(*)
points d'Angleterre の "d'Angleterre" は「英国の」の意味だが、英仏間でレースの輸入が禁止された時代(たぶん1662~1699 らしい)にブリュッセルで作られたレースの呼称(ポワン point とは本来は英語だと needlepoint と呼ばれる針を使って作るものだが、このレースの場合は bobbin を用いたらしい)。17世紀末には禁が解かれたが、その後もこの名称が用いられた。WWW.LACE-TAPESTRIES.COM の説明――

It is a mixed lace. The name "Point d'Angleterre" was given to a Flemish lace produced at the time when the law prohibiting the importation or foreign laces (in England and France) was being strictly enforced. It is a mixed technique of very fine bobbin lace (Duchesse) on a needlepoint net with needle lace motifs for the fillings. The wealth of floral designs and the fineness of the petals, pearls, and snowdrops in the appliqué work are perfectly balanced. This type of lace reached its peak in Flanders during the 19th century.  <http://www.lace-tapestries.com/en/point-d-angleterre.htm>

Point d'Angleterre,18thc-470306896775519.jpg
Point d'Angleterre, 18th century
image via "Brussels lace : Reference (The Full Wiki) <
http://www.thefullwiki.org/Brussels_lace>

緋色の女(**) 
écarlate 緋色の女というのは第11段落では「緋色の闖入者 l'écarlate intruse」と呼ばれた、新しい部屋着。それは田舎女と対照される娼婦になぞらえられる。娼婦が汚れた絹の靴下や擦り切れた靴を履いていたら見苦しいので、それにあわせて他のものも入れ替わっていったということか。

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆  ☆

Denis Diderot, "Regrets sur Ma Vielle Robe de Chambre" E-text at Project Gutenberg <http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13863>  <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/13863/13863-8.txt>

アセザ (Jules Assézat編)版ディドロ全集 Œuvres complètes de Diderot の第4巻 Miscellanea philosophique (哲学雑篇)<http://www.archive.org/stream/uvrescompltesde06assgoog#page/n13/mode/2up>


ブルー(憂鬱)を吹き飛ばす本 Books to Dispel the Blues [Daddy-Long-Legs]

1913年7月29日のオーストラリアの South Australia 州の州都の Adelaide 市の The Advertiser 紙の新聞記事より――

BookstoDispeltheBlues(TheAdvertiser,Adelaide,SA,31July1915).JPG

BookstoDispeltheBlues(TheAdvertiser,Adelaide,SA,31July1915)b.JPG

 

 

BOOKS TO DISPEL THE BLUES.

COBB'S BILL OF FARE―By Irvin S. Cobb.  Each course is full of laughter.  Exquisitely funny.  Illustrated. [New York: George H. Doran, 1912, 1913 <http://www.archive.org/stream/cobbsbilloffare00cobbiala#page/n5/mode/2up>]

DADDY LONG-LEGS―A Full of Smiles Book, by Jean Webster.  The whole thing is delicious, the oddest, merriest, tenderest story that has come along for many a day.  〔繰り返し書いてきたように、正しいタイトルはすべてハイフンでつないだ Daddy-Long-Legs なのだけれど、このような綴りかたでリプリント版がしばしばつくられてきたのでした(それは蟲の表記が正しくは daddy long-legs であるというのが原因でしょう(いちおー「ワードニックとワードテック Wordnik and Wordtheque 」参照)) New York: Century, 1912 <http://www.archive.org/stream/daddylonglegs00websrich#page/n7/mode/2up>; 1913年のリプリント <http://www.archive.org/stream/daddylonglegs00websgoog#page/n8/mode/2up>〕

THE ADVENTURES OF MR. WALLABY JOHNSON, Commercial Traveller―By Oliver Booth; illustrated.  〔Oliver Booth というのはどうやらオーストラリアの作家のようだが不詳〕

PERKINS OF PORTLAND―By Ellis Parker Butler.  "One of the most amusing books we have ever had the good fortune to laugh over." ―"Daily Mail." [Boston: Herbert B. Turner, 1906 <http://www.archive.org/stream/perkinsofportlan00butlrich#page/n7/mode/2up> <http://www.archive.org/stream/perkinsportland00presgoog#page/n8/mode/2up>; as Mr. Perkins of Portlannd (Toronto: Copp Clark, n. d.) <http://www.archive.org/stream/mrperkinsportla00butlgoog#page/n0/mode/2up>]

SHORT CRUISES―A Laughter-Provoking Novel, by W. W. Jacobs; illustrated.  [New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907 <http://www.archive.org/stream/shortcruises02jacogoog#page/n0/mode/2up>; New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909 <http://www.archive.org/stream/shortcruises00jacogoog#page/n10/mode/2up>; New York: McKinlay, Stone and Mackenzie, 1907 <http://www.archive.org/stream/shortcruises01jacogoog#page/n6/mode/2up>]

COURTIN' CHRISTINA―The Story of Wee MacGreegor's Courtship.  By J. J. Bell.  In this delicious little book Mr. Bell shows Wee MacGreegor in love, very gentle, very human, and tenderly touched with true humor is the story of Christina's conquest of Wee MacGreegor's heart.  〔この本のE-book は現在のところ見つからないけれど(Cf. Amazon のペーパーバック)、シリーズの一作で前作の Oh! Christina! (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1909) <http://www.archive.org/stream/ohchristina00bell#page/n5/mode/2up> 〕

 


オシムのことば―エイシー AC [Marginalia 余白に]

記事「エイシー AC」のおまけ。 

2011年3月21日夜、ふと気づくと「エ~シ~♪」という〆のコトバが消えている(とりあえずテレビ朝日あたりでは)。ウルサイというクレームがあったのかしら。

それはそれとして、金子みすゞや宮澤章二の詩や詩の断片をくりかえしくりかえし反復的に脳に注入されて、反問したり納得したり反発したり煩悶したりするわけですけれど、なかなか覚えられない、というか、頭に入らないのがオシムのことばです。

それで調べてみた。なんのことはない、前の記事のリンクのACの「支援キャンペーン」に掲載されていましたw。はやく見ればよかったw。――

OsimViitalna je brzina
NAスピードが命なんだよ。
OsimTo i kod fudbala i kod tretmana mozdanog udara
NAサッカーでも、脳卒中の対応でも。[・・・・・・]
これらの症状が現れたらすぐに救急車を。
Osimpreziveo, pomoglo ostalima, to bi bilo super
NA私の経験を活かしてくれ。
[・・・・・・]
SL♪AC~

<http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/support/01/

☆22日朝追記――『オシムの伝言』公式ブログの「VITALNA JE BRZINA(スピードが命)」(2011.3.19) というページ <http://info.osimnodengon.com/?eid=250>にくわしいことばの説明がありました。 カタカナの振り仮名つき。ボスニア語だそうで。

・インタビューをまとめた動画(日本脳卒中協会)――<http://www.jsa-web.org/ac2010/index.html>

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公共広告機構・AC

「ACジャパンは、広告を営利目的のためでなく、公共のために役立てようと、全国の企業が集まった団体です。広告を通じて住みよい社会作りに貢献することが、私たちの願いです。」 <www.ad-c.or.jp/>
今年度の広告など―― <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/formation/>
全国キャンペーン〔「あいさつの魔法。」、「見える気持ちに。」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/self_all/>
地域キャンペーン〔「こだまでしょうか」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/self_area/index.html>
支援キャンペーン〔「オシムの言葉」、「知層」、「大切なあなたへ」、「ありがとう あしながさん」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/support/index.html>
NHK共同キャンペーン〔「あいさつの魔法。」、「見える気持ちに。」ほか〕 <http://www.ad-c.or.jp/campaign/nhk/>

 


タグ:AC

からっぽで痛い Empty and Aching [Daddy-Long-Legs]

サイモンとガーファンクル Simon & Garfunkel の1968年のアルバム Bookends のA 面3曲目におさめられた「アメリカ America」はミシガン州サギノー Saginaw から徒歩&ヒッチハイクで出かけてペンシルヴェニア州ピッツバーグからはニューヨークにむかうグレイハウンド・バスに乗って旅をする男女のようすを描く。でももっぱら男の語りで、そこに女の発話も直接・間接話法で入っているかたち。

最後からふたつめのスタンザの最終行から――

And the moon rose over an open field
そして開けた平地に月が昇った。

"Kathy, I'm lost,"
I said, though I knew she was sleeping,
"I'm empty and aching and I don't know why "
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America
「キャシー、ぼくはダメだ」
ぼくは言った、彼女が眠っているのはわかっていたけれど、
「ぼくはからっぽで痛くってなぜだかわからない」
ニュージャージーのターンパイクでクルマを数える
彼ら〔クルマ〕はみんなアメリカを探しにやってきた
みんなアメリカを探しにきた
みんなアメリカを探しにきた

歌詞@ LyricsFreak <http://www.lyricsfreak.com/s/simon+and+garfunkel/america_20124598.html> 〔引用符のつきかたが間違っていると思うのだが――ほかの多くのサイトもそうなのだけれど――自分がもっていたはずのアルバムが見当たらず確認できません〕


Simon & Garfunkel, "America" (1968)

chochotakamuneek, 訳詩で歌うサイモン & ガーファンクル "America" Simon & Garfunkel Cover @YouTube 

  で、『あしながおじさん』 (1912) の大学卒業後の10月3日の手紙の一節――

And he is―Oh, well!  He is just himself, and I miss him, and miss him, and miss him.  The whole world seems empty and aching.  I hate the moonlight because it's beautiful and he isn't here to see it with me. 
(そしてあのひとは――ああん、もういや。 あのひとはあのひとのままなのだけれど、いないとさびしくて、なつかしくて、恋しくて。全世界がからっぽで痛いみたいに感じる。月の光が憎らしいのは、美しいのに一緒に眺めるあのひとがここにいないから。)

  この手紙はロック・ウィローから書いているのですけれど、月明かりというと、前年の8月25日にジャーヴィスとロック・ウィロー農場のそばのスカイ・ヒルに登ったときの帰り道が "We came down by moonlight" と記述されていたのですし、卒業間近の4月4日にもジャーヴィスとスカイ・ヒルに登って思いを高めた手紙を書いていたのでした。


ヴァッサー大学指定のフランス語文法教本 Practical French Grammar by Whitney (1887) [Daddy-Long-Legs]

  1年前の記事「第二次ポエニ戦争とジュディーの戦況報告 Second Punic War and Judy's Reports from the Scene of Action」で、『あしながおじさん』1年生10月10日の手紙(3通目の手紙)の後半でジュディーがはじめて学業について報告をしている箇所を引きました。――

     And now I suppose you've been waiting very impatiently to hear what I'm learning?
     I.  Latin: Second Punic war.  Hannibal and his forces pitched camp at Lake Trasimenus last night.  They prepared an ambuscade for the Romans, and a battle took place at the fourth watch this morning.  Romans in retreat.
     II.  French: 24 pages of the "Three Musketeers" and third conjugation, irregular verbs.
     III.  Geometry: Finished cylinders; now doing cones.
     IV.  English: Studying exposition.  My style improves daily in clearness and brevity.
     V.  Physiology: Reached the digestive system.  Bile and the pancreas next time.
                        Yours, on the way
                        to being educated,
                                           JERUSHA ABBOTT.  (Penguin Classics 17)
(さてわたしが何を学んでいるのかお聞きになりたくてずっとむずむずしていらっしゃるのではないかと思います。
  I. ラテン語。第二次ポエニ戦争。ハンニバルの率いる軍は昨晩トラジメヌス湖畔に陣を張った。ついでローマ軍の攻撃にそなえて伏兵を配置、今朝第4刻に戦闘を開始。ローマ軍退却中。
  II. フランス語。「三銃士」を24ページと第3変化不規則動詞。
  III. 幾何。円柱を終えて、今は円錐にはいる。
  IV. 国語。説明文を勉強。私の文体は日に日に明晰と簡潔の度を増して改善中。
  V. 生理学。消化系に達する。つぎは胆汁と膵臓。
               教育途上にある
                       ジェルーシャ・アボット)

  そのときは、とりあえずラテン語について、ということで、ポエニ戦争からフェビアン(「社会主義者ジュディー、社会主義者ジーン (3) Judy the Socialist, Jean Webster the Socialist (3)」など)→ハンニバル・バラカ(「ハンニバル・バルカはバールの愛するものであるか Hannibal Barca, Baal's Blessing」)などに進みつつ、なんとなく悪魔と天使の話(「大天使ミカエルが踏みつぶすものたち(1) Those Whom the Archangel Michael Treads (1)」など)につながったのでしたが、ラテン語の先に進んでいませんでしたw。

  で、フランス語(この春、ディドロの「私の古い部屋着への惜別」でフランス語勉強してますしーw)。

  1年前の記事「ジーン・ウェブスターが1年生のときのヴァッサー女子大の「カタログ」(1) 入学試験など The Vassar College Catalogue of the Academic Year When Jean Webster Was a Freshman」で、ジーン・ウェブスターがヴァッサーに入学した1897年の大学便覧を覗きました。ラテン語が必須で、他に第二・第三外国語としてギリシア語・ドイツ語・フランス語からひとつ選択せねばならないと書かれています。―― "IN ADDITION TO THE LATIN TWO OTHER LANGUAGES ARE REQUIRED.  The second language may be Greek or German or French: the third language may be French or German." 

VassarCatalogue(1897-8)p.18.jpg
VassarCatalogue(1897-8)p.19.jpg
<http://www.archive.org/stream/annualcatalogue00collgoog#page/n369/mode/2up>

  しかし、これって admission (入学許可というより受講許可ですかね)のための要件なので、事前にこういう知識を身に付けておけ、ということですか。やれやれ。

  前年度のカタログでは、30ページで "IN ADDITION TO THE LATIN ONE OTHER LANGUAGE IS REQUIRED.  This may be Greek, German, or French." と書かれた次のパラグラフが斜体太字で、"In 1896 a third language (French or German) will be required." となっていました。そして、31ページのフランス語の記述。――

VassarCatalogue(1896-7)p.31.jpg
<http://www.archive.org/stream/annualcatalogue00collgoog#page/n369/mode/2up>

   "Whitney's Practical French Grammar" がくりかえし言及されています(1897年には、その part first が指定されている)。この本です。――

Whitney,PracticalFrenchGrammar(1887).jpg

  この本は Internet Archive に数種類 E-text 化されたものが納められています。

   William Dwight Whitney, Practical French Grammar: With Exercises and Illustrative Sentences from French Authors.  New York: Henry Holt, 1887.  xiii+442pp. <http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924027102023#page/n5/mode/2up>

@ Open Library <http://openlibrary.org/works/OL13095331W/A_Practical_French_Grammar_with_Exercises_and_Illustrative_Sentences_from_French_Authors>

<http://openlibrary.org/books/OL24187454M/A_practical_French_grammar>


コールのブック・アーケード Cole's Book Arcade [Marginalia 余白に]

記事「ブルー(憂鬱)を吹き飛ばす本 Books to Dispel the Blues」で載せた、オーストラリアの新聞の画像を再掲――

BookstoDispeltheBlues(TheAdvertiser,Adelaide,SA,31July1915)b.JPG

  "Gardening Books" や "Books to Dispel the Blues" などの見出しでお勧め本をリストアップしているコラムのタイトルが "COLE'S BOOK ARCADE" です。

  そして、画像では切れているけれど、 "For the Children" という見出しの次は "Secondhand Department" なのでした。はい、古書部ですぅ。

Cole'sBookArcade(AdelaideAdvertiser,1915).JPG

  E. W. Cole とはなにか、つーと Edward William Cole で、英語のWikipedia には "Edward William Cole" の見出しで記事があり、"Edward William Cole, also known as 'E. W. Cole of the Book Arcade', (4 January 1832 – 16 December 1918) was a bookseller and founder of the book arcade, Melbourne, Australia." と冒頭に書かれています <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_William_Cole>。

  オーストラリアのメルボルンの本屋さんでした。エドワード・ウィリアム・コールはイギリスのケント州出身で、20歳のころにオーストラリアに移民し、農業をやったあと1865年に600冊の本を並べて本屋を開きました。そして1874年にはそのそばのBourke Street に移転。さらに店を拡充していって "arcade" を形成。

Cole'sBookArcade-pi000691.jpg
image via eGold (Electronic Encyclopedia of Gold in Australia) <http://www.egold.net.au/objects/DEG000070.htm>

  "Toyland" とありますけれど、古本部門だけでなく、さまざまな雑貨や置物やオモチャを詰め込んだ空間だったようです(Cole's Book Arcade の写真 "Ornamental overkill (ca. 1900) <http://www.flickr.com/photos/15693951@N00/3079723675/in/photostream/>)。 

MrsCole-pi000108.jpg 
Mrs. E. W. Cole (c. 1901), image via State Library of Victoria <http://www.slv.vic.gov.au/pictures/0/0/0/doc/pi000108.shtml>

  そして、ウィキペディアには書いていないけれど、オーストラリア人名事典の記述によれば、1898年にEdward Augustus Petherick からシドニーとアデレードの本屋を買収してチェーン展開しました。アデレードの新聞の記事の最後の Rundle Street というのはアデレード市の中心的な商店街です。

  コールというのはなかなかの奇人のようで、そのうちいくつか記事を書くかもしれません。

/////////////////////

"Cole, Edward William (1832-1918)" in Australian Dictionary of Biography: Online Edition <http://www.adb.online.anu.edu.au/biogs/A030410b.htm> 〔E. Cole Turnley, 'Cole, Edward William (1832 - 1918)', Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 3, Melbourne University Press, 1969, pp. 438-440〕

"Edward William Cole - Wikipedia" <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_William_Cole>

"Image - Cole's Book Arcade - Electronic Encyclopedia of Gold in Australia" <http://www.egold.net.au/objects/DEG000070.htm>

Sally Ruljancich, "Cole's Book Arcade," eMelbourne: The Encyclopedia of Melbourne Online <http://www.emelbourne.net.au/biogs/EM00374b.htm>

b46417.jpg
Cole's Book Arcade, Melbourne (c1890's), image via State Library of Victoria <http://www.slv.vic.gov.au/pictoria/b/4/6/doc/b46417.shtml>

flickr の Cole's Book Arcade の写真 "Ornamental overkill (ca. 1900) <http://www.flickr.com/photos/15693951@N00/3079723675/in/photostream/>, "Cole's Book Arcade (ca. 1900)" <http://www.flickr.com/photos/15693951@N00/3082012913/in/photostream/> by ookami_dou Wolfgang Wiggers.

 


ウィリアム・シャープとフィオナ・マクラウドの書誌 Partial Bibliography of William Sharp and Fiona Macleod [作家の肖像]

むかしカリフォルニアでつくりかけていたビブリオをUSBメモリースティック内に発見。奥さんが書いた伝記と戦後の研究書など数冊を参照してまとめた記憶がある。とりあえず「ウィリアム・シャープとロセッティ William Sharp and Dante Gabriel Rossetti」と「ロセッティのプロセルピーナ (4) Dante Gabriel Rossetti's Proserpina」で言及したロセッティの研究書だけリンクを張っておきます。あとはヒマにまかせてe-text にリンクを張ります。リンクを貼るたびに行間あけていきますw――

[William Sharp (1855-1905)]

“American Literature.”  Good Words 30 (June 1889): 56-71.

[Ed.]  American Sonnets.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1889. <http://www.archive.org/stream/americansonnets00shar#page/n0/mode/2up> 〔「『アメリカのソネット』(ウィリアム・シャープ編, 1889) _American Sonnets_ (1889), ed. William Sharp」 (2012.1.7) 参照〕

“Cardinal Lavigerie’s Work in North Africa.”  Atlantic Monthly 74 (August 1894): 214-27.

“Celtic Literaturel.”  (With Ernest Rhys.)  Library of the World’s Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, ed. Charles Dudley Warner.  New York: International Society, 1896-97.  VIII: 3403-50.

“Chelsea Hospital and Its Inhabitants.”  Good Words 26 (November 1885): 705-11.

“The Child in Art.”  Realm December 15, 1894: 172-3.

The Children of To-morrow.  London: Chatto and Windus, 1889. <http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924013546530#page/n5/mode/2up>

“The City of Beautiful Towers.”  Good Words 26 (May 1885): 320-6.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti: A Record and a Study.  London: Macmillan, 1882.<http://www.archive.org/stream/dantegabrielross00sharrich#page/n7/mode/2up> 〔「ウィリアム・シャープとロセッティ William Sharp and Dante Gabriel Rossetti」 (2011.2.17)参照〕

“The Dramas of Gabriele D’Annunzio.”  Fortnightly Review 74 (September 1900): 391-409.

“Dust and Fog.”  Good Words 24 (October 1883): 721-3.

Earth’s Voices: Transcripts from Nature; Sospitra and Other Poems.  London: Elliott Stock, 1884.

Ecce Puella and Other Prose Imaginings.  London: Elkin Matthews, 1896.

“Edward Burne-Jones.”  Fortnightly Review 70 (August 1898): 289-306.

Fair Women in Painting and Poetry.  Portfolio of Artistic Monographs, no. 7.  London: Seeley, 1896.

A Fellowe and His Wife.  (With Blanche Willis Howard.)  New York: Houghton-Mifflin, 1892.

Flower o’ the Vine.  Introductory note by Thomas Janvier.  New York: Webster, 1892.

[Ed.]  For a Song’s Sake and Other Stories, by Philip Bourke Marston.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1887.

“Garden of the Sun I.”  Century 71 (March 1906): 663-81.

“Garden of the Sun II.”  Century 72 (May 1906): 37-54.

“George Meredith’s Reading of Earth.”  Scottish Art Review 1 (February 1889): 263-5.

The Gypsy Christ and Other Tales.  Carnation Series.  Chicago: Stone and Kimball, 1895.

“Hersart de la Villemarqué: The Heroic and Legendary Literature of Britany.”  Library of the World’s Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, ed. Charles Dudley Warner.  New York: International Society, 1896-97.  XXXVIII, 15377-91.

“The Hotel of the Beautiful Star.”  Harper’s 103 (October 1901): 673-9.

The Human Inheritance, The New Hope, Motherhood.  London: Elliott Stock, 1882.

“Icelandic Literature.”  Library of the World’s Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, ed. Charles Dudley Warner.  New York: International Society, 1896-97.  XX: 7865-95.

“In the Days of My Youth.”  Mainly About People.  November 14, 1900.  484-5.

“The Isle of Arran.”  Art Journal 47(July 1885): 205-8.

“Italian Poets of Today.”  Quarterly Review 196 (July 1902): 239-68.

“La Jeune Belgique.”  Nineteenth Century 34 (September 1893): 416-36.

“Lands of Theocritus.”  Harper’s 106 (April 1903): 802-10.

The Life and Letters of Joseph Severn.  London: Sampson, Lowe, and Marston, 1892.

Life of Browning.  Great Writers Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1890.

Life of Heinrich Heine.  Great Writers Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1888.

Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley.  Great Writers Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1887.

Literary Geography.  London: Pall Mall Publications, 1904.

“Maeterlinck.”  Academy.  March 19, 1892.  270.

“A Memory of Verona.”  Good Words. 

“Monte Oliveto and the Frescoes of Sodona: 1-II.”  Art Journal 46 (April-May 1884): 101-4, 133-6.

“Mr. George Meredith.”  Good Words 50 (July 1899): 477-82.

“Myths and Folklore of the Aryan Peoples.”  (With Ernest Rhys.)  Library of the World’s Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, ed. Charles Dudley Warner.  New York: International Society, 1896-97.  XXVI: 10522-42.

“A Note on Climate and Art.”  Modern Thought 3 (June 1881): 153-5.

“A Note on the Aesthetic Development of America.”  Scottish Art Review 2 (November 1889): 162-3.

“A Note on the Belgian Renascence.”  Chap-Book 4 (December 1895): 149-57.

Pagan Review.  1 (August [September] 1892).

[Ed.] The Poems of Eugene Lee-Hamilton.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1903.

[Ed.]  The Poems of Swinburne.  Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1901.

[Ed.]  The Poetical Works of Walter Scott.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1885.

The Progress of Art in the Nineteenth Century.  London and Edinburgh: W. R. Chambers, 1902.

“Puvis de Chavannes.”  Art Journal 60 (December 1898): 377-8.

“Random Impressions from an Author’s Note-Book.”  Scottish Art Review 1 (January 1889): 237-40.

“Reminiscences of the Marble Quarries of Carrara.”  Good Words 31 (August 1890): 617-24.

Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy.  London: Walter Scott, 1888.

Selected Writings of William Sharp.  (Uniform Edition Arranged by Mrs. William Sharp.)  5 vols.  London: Heinemann, 1912.

“The Sicilian Highlands.”  Atlantic Monthly 82 (September 1898): 375-83.

Silence Farm.  London: Grant Richards, 1899.

“Sir Edward Burne-Jones.”  Atlantic Monthly 82 (September 1898): 375-83.

“Some Personal Reminiscences of Walter Pater.”  Atlantic Monthly 24 (December 1894): 801-14.

“Some Personal Reminiscences of Christina Rossetti.”  Atlantic Monthly 75 (June 1895): 801-14.

[Ed.]  The Songs and Sonnets of Shakespeare.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1885.

“The Sonnet in America.”  National Review 75 (April 1889): 199-201.

[Ed.]  The Sonnets of This Century.  Canterbury Series.  London: Walter Scott, 1886.

Sospiri di Roma.  Rome: Societa Laziale, 1891.

The Sport of Chance.  3 vols.  London: Hurst and Blackett, 1888.

“Thomas Hardy and His Novels.”  Forum 26 (July 1892): 583-93.

Vistas.  Green Tree Series.  Chicago: Stone and Kimball, 1894.

“William Morris: The Man and His Work.”  Atlantic Monthly 78 (December 18986): 775-90.

Wives in Exile: A Comedy in Romance.  London: Grant Richards, 1898.

 

[Fiona Macleod]

The Divine Adventure; Jona; By Sundown Shores.  London: Chapman, 1900.

The Dominion of Dreams.  London: Constable, 1899.

“A Field for Modern Verse.”  Dome (new series) 4 (March 1899): 207-10.

From the Hills of Dream.  2nd ed., rev.  Edinburgh: Patrick Geddes, 1896.

From the Hills of Dream, Threnodies, Songs, and Later Poems.  London: Heinemann, 1901.

Green Fire.  New York: Harper’s, 1896.

“The Irish Muse: 1-II.”  North American Review 179 (November-December 1904): 685-97, 900-12.

“The King’s Ring.”  Pall Mall Magazine 31 (May-June 1904): 36-48.

The Laughter of Peterkin.  London: Constable, 1895.

The Mountain Lovers.  Keynote Series.  London: John Lane, 1895.

Pharais.  Derbyshire: Frank Murray, 1894.

The Sin-Eater and Other Tales.  Edinburgh: Patrick Geddes, 1895.

The Washer of the Ford.  Edinburgh: Patrick Geddes, 1895.

The Winged Destiny: Studies in the Spiritual History of the Gael.  London: Chapman and Hall, 1904.

The Works of Fiona Macleod.  7 vols.  London: Heinemann, 1910-12.

 

 


『あしながおじさん』の広告記事 A Notice of _Daddy-Long-Legs_ in Adelaide Advertiser (June 18, 1913) [Daddy-Long-Legs]

オーストラリアのアデレイドの新聞 The Advertiser 紙に載った Cole's Book Arcade 書店(「コールのブック・アーケード Cole's Book Arcade」参照)による新刊書紹介記事(1913年6月18日)。――

Cole'sBookArcade(28June1913).JPG

DADDY LONG LEGS, a full Smiles Book,
by Jean Webster

  やっぱり "a full of smiles book" のフレーズが冠せられており(「ブルー(憂鬱)を吹き飛ばす本 Books to Dispel the Blues」参照)。

  Daddy-Long-Legs の初版がニューヨークの The Century, Co. から出版されたのが、1912年のおそらく10月のことでした。1913年には増刷が出ているのは確かです。そして1913年にはたぶんイギリス版が出ている(つづりやパンクチュエーションが異なる――「『あしながおじさん』のテクスト問題 (1) ――イギリス版を使っているらしいプロジェクト・グーテンベルクの電子テクスト Problems of Texts in Daddy-Long-Legs (1): Project Gutenberg E-text」参照)。


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