through the misreading of difficult words, and names of persons who
never existed have by this means found their way into Biographical
Dictionaries. In the Zoological Bibliography of Agassiz, there is an
imaginary author, by name J. K. Broch, whose work, “Entomologische
Briefe,” was published in 1823. This pamphlet is anonymous, and written
by one who signed himself J. K. _Broch._ is merely an explanation in
the catalogue from which the entry was taken, that it was a brochure.
Moreri created an author whom he styled “Dorus Basilicus” out of
the title of James the First’s Δωρον βασιλικον, and Bishop Walton
supposed the title of the great Arabic Dictionary, the _Kamoos_, or
Ocean, to be the name of an author whom he quotes as “Camus.” In the
_Biographie Universelle_ there is a life of one “Nicholas Donis” by
Baron Walckenaer, that name being a mere blundering alteration of
“Dominus Nicholas,” this Benedictine monk’s true appellation. Thevenot,
in his Travels, refers to the fables of “Damné et Calilve,” meaning
the Hitopadesa or Pilpay’s Fables. His translator calls them the fables
of the damned Calilve. This is on a par with De Quincey’s specimen of
a French Abbé’s Greek. Having to paraphrase the words “Ἡροδοτος και
ιαζων,” (Herodotus even while Ionicizing), the Frenchman rendered them
“Herodote et aussi Jazon,” thus creating a new author, one Jazon.[33]
In the _Present State of Peru_, a compilation from the _Mercurio
Peruano_, P. Geronymo Roman de la Higuera is transformed into “Father
Geronymo, a Romance of La Higuera”! Well may we say to the worthy
priest what Peter Quince said to Bottom, “Bless thee, bless thee, thou
art translated.”
The scissors-and-paste compilers are peculiarly liable to such errors
as these, and Wilson Croker proved in the Quarterly Review that the
_Mémoires de Louis XVIII._ (published in 1832) was a mendacious
compilation from the _Mémoires de Bachaumont_ by giving examples of the
compiler’s blundering. One of these muddles is well worth quoting, and
it occurs in the following passage: “Seven bishops--of _Puy_, Gallard
de Terraube; of _Langres_, La Luzerne; of _Rhodez_, Seignelay-Colbert;
of _Gast_, Le Tria; of _Blois_, Laussiere Themines; of _Nancy_,
Fontanges; of _Alais_, Beausset; of _Nevers_, Seguiran.” Had the
compiler taken the trouble to count his own list, he would have seen
that he had given eight names instead of seven, and so have suspected
that something was wrong; but he was not paid to think. The fact is
that there is no such place as Gast, and was no such person as Le Tria.
The Bishop of Rhodez was Seignelay-Colbert de Castle Hill, a descendant
of the Scotch family of Cuthbert of Castle Hill, in Inverness-shire,
and Bachaumont misled his successor by writing Gast Le Hill for Castle
Hill. The introduction of a stop and a little misspelling originated
the blunder as we now find it.
An author is sometimes turned into a place, as in the article on
_Stenography_ in Rees’s Cyclopædia. John Nicolai published a Treatise
on the Signs of the Ancients at the beginning of the last century, and
the writer of the article having seen it stated that a certain fact was
to be found in Nicolai, jumped to the conclusion that it was the name
of a place and wrote: “It was at Nicolai that this method of writing
was first introduced to the Greeks by Xenophon himself.”
D’Israeli gives a few curious instances of supposed authors in his
_Curiosities of Literature_--“A book was written in praise of Ciampini
by Ferdinand Fabiani, who quoting a French narrative of travels in
Italy, took for the name of the author the following words, found at
the end of the title-page, _Enrichi de deux Listes_; that is, ‘Enriched
with two Lists:’ on this he observes ‘that Mr. Enriched with two Lists
has not failed to do that justice to Ciampini which he merited.’ The
abridgers of Gesner’s Bibliotheca ascribe the romance of _Amadis_ to
one _Acuerdo Olvido_: Remembrance, Oblivion. Not knowing that these two
words on the title-page of the French version of that book formed the
translator’s Spanish motto. D’Aquin, the French King’s physician, in
his memoir on the preparation of Bark, takes _Mantissa_, which is the
title of the Appendix to the History of Plants by Johnstone, for the
name of an author, and who he says is so extremely rare, that he only
knows him by name.” To these may be added _S. Viar_, whose existence
was supposed to be proved by an inscription until an antiquary showed
that the complete reading of the mutilated stone was
[PRÆFECTU]S . VIAR[UM.]
Also the _August Oriuna_, supposed to be the wife of Carausius, of whom
Dr. Stukeley wrote some theoretical memoirs. This blunder originated in
the credulous Doctor’s misreading of the inscription on a battered coin
of Carausius:--
ORIVNA AVG . _for_ FORTVNA AVG.
The French often fall into this class of blunders from their constant
practice of translating or explaining whatever it is supposed can be
translated or explained, thus G. Brunet of Bordeaux, having occasion in
his “La France Littéraire au XVe Siècle,” to mention “White Knights,”
the seat of the Duke of Marlborough, translates it “Le Chevalier
Blanc.”[34] When Dr. Buckland, the distinguished geologist, died, a
certain French paper published a biography of him, in which it was
explained that the deceased had been a very versatile writer, for
besides his works on Geology, he had produced one, “Sur les ponts et
chaussées.” This was a puzzle at first, but it was soon found that
the Bridgewater Treatise was here alluded to. The French love of
translation and explanation is amusingly illustrated in the _Annuaire
des Sociétés Savantes, par le Cte. Achmet d’Hericourt_, 1863, where
the author, in his notice of the Geological and Polytechnic Society
of the West Riding of Yorkshire, says that as it is known that the
English word _Ride_ means a “voyage à cheval ou en voiture,” it might
be thought that this was a “Société hippique,” but he obligingly adds
that it is not so.
We have already seen in several cases how dangerous it is to jump to
conclusions, but we have still to point out the particular danger of
filling out contractions without sufficient knowledge. Pope, in a note
on _Measure for Measure_, informs us that the story was taken from
Giraldi Cinthio’s novel Dec. 8, Nov. 5, thus contracting the words
Decade and Novel. Warburton, in his edition of Shakespeare, was misled
by these contractions, and filled them out as December 8, and November
5. An error of the same kind is made by Dr. Allibone in his Dictionary
of English Literature, under the heading of Isaac Disraeli. He notices
new editions of that author’s works revised by the Right Hon. the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, of course Isaac’s son Benjamin (now Earl
of Beaconsfield and Prime Minister); but unfortunately there were two
Chancellors in 1858, and Allibone chooses the wrong one, printing as
information to the reader that the reviser was Sir George Cornewall
Lewis. But still worse was the following emendation of an ‘intelligent’
printer. A writer in one of the reviews sent his copy to press with the
contraction “J. C. first invaded Britain,” and the compositor, who made
it his business to fill up all such abbreviations, instead of Julius
Cæsar, set up _Jesus Christ_.[35]
Next in importance to the selection of appropriate headings in an
Index is the careful use of cross references. Great judgment is here
required, as the consulters are naturally irritated by being referred
backwards and forwards, particularly in a large Index. At the same
time, if judiciously inserted, such references are a great help.
When the entries are short and few, it is better to repeat them than
to refer from one to the other. In the case of long entries cross
references are very advantageous, and it is always well to refer to
cognate headings.[36] This, however, must not be carried too far; for,
as Mr. Poole says in an article on his own index,[37] “If every subject
shall have cross references to its allies, the work will be mainly a
book of cross references rather than an index of subjects.” He adds,
“One correspondent gives fifty-eight cross references under Mental
Philosophy, and fifty-eight more might be added just as appropriate.”
At all events let the cross references be real. In Eadie’s Dictionary
of the Bible (1850), there is a reference “Dorcas _see_ Tabitha,” but
there is no entry under Tabitha at all.
No reference to the contents of a general heading which is without
subdivision should be allowed.[38] There are too many of these vague
cross references in the Penny Cyclopædia, where you are referred
from the known to the unknown. If a general heading be divided into
sections, and each of these be clearly defined, they should be cross
referenced, but not otherwise. At present you may look for Pesth and
be referred to Hungary, where probably there is much about Pesth, but
you do not know where to look for it in the long article without clue.
Sometimes cross references are mere expedients, particularly in the
case of a cyclopædia published in volumes or numbers. Thus a writer
agrees to contribute an article early in the alphabet, but is not
ready in time for the publication of the part, so a cross reference is
inserted which sends the reader to a synonym later on in the alphabet.
In certain cases this has been done two or three times. In Cobbett’s
_Woodlands_ there is a good specimen of backwards and forwards cross
referencing. The author writes: “Many years ago I wished to know
whether I could raise birch trees from the _seed_.... I then looked
into the great book of knowledge, the Encyclopædia Britannica; there I
found in the general dictionary--
BIRCH TREE.--See _Betula_ (Botany Index).
I hastened to BETULA with great eagerness and there I found--
BETULA.--See _Birch_ Tree.
That was all, and this was pretty encouragement.”
Cross referencing has its curiosities as well as other branches of our
subject. Perhaps the most odd collection of cross references are to
be found in Hawkins’s _Pleas of the Crown_, of which it was said in
the _Monthly Magazine_ for June, 1801 (p. 419) “A plain unlettered man
is led to suspect that the writer of the volume and the writer of the
index are playing at cross purposes.” The following are some of the
most amusing entries, but there are many more as good:
Assault, _see_ Son.
Cards, _see_ Dice.
Cattle, _see_ Clergy.
Chastity, _see_ Homicide.
Coin, _see_ High Treason.
Convicts, _see_ Clergy.
Death, _see_ Appeal.
Election, _see_ Bribery.
Farthing, _see_ Halfpenny.
Fear, _see_ Robbery.
Footway, _see_ Nuisance.
Honour, _see_ Constable.
King, _see_ Treason.
London, _see_ Outlawry.
Shop, _see_ Burglary.
Sickness, _see_ Bail.
The Index to Ford’s Handbook of Spain contains an amusing reference--
Wellington, _see_ Duke.
But perhaps the strangest place to find a cross reference is on a
tombstone. In Barnes churchyard the following inscription was put up to
a once famous actor:--
Mr. J. Moody
A native of the Parish of Saint Clement Danes
and an old Member of Drury Lane Theatre.
For his Memoirs see the European Magazine; for his professional
abilities see Churchill’s Rosciad.
Obiit Dec. 26 1812,
Anno Ætatis 85.
II.
Intimately connected with compilation is arrangement, for however well
the contents of a book may be analysed, the result will not form a good
Index unless it is well arranged.
An Index should be one and indivisible, and not broken up into several
alphabets, thus every work ought to have its complete Index whether
it is one volume or many.[39] This important rule has frequently
been neglected in English books, and is almost universally rejected
in Foreign ones, to the great inconvenience of readers. An Index may
be arranged either chronologically, alphabetically, or according to
classes, but great confusion will be caused by uniting the three. The
alphabetical arrangement is so simple, so convenient, and so easily
understood by all, that it has naturally superseded the other forms,
but some still cling to the rags of classification, in the belief
that that is a more scientific arrangement. The evil of this is that
the consulter is never sure whether the reference he requires may
not be lurking in some place that he has missed, but in the case of
a single alphabet an answer to the question “Does the Index contain
what I require?” is obtained at once. Classification is the reverse
of this, for, as Mr. Poole says in his observations on the proposal
of one of his helpers to place Wealth, Finance, and Population under
the head of Political Economy--“the fatal defect of every classified
arrangement is that nobody understands it except the person who made it
and he is often in doubt.” The general principle here enunciated will
perhaps be better understood by reference to a few examples. Brayley’s
_Surrey_, in five volumes, has a separate Index to each volume, and
it is a pretty general experience that whatever is wanted is sure to
be found in the last volume consulted. The new edition of Hutchins’s
_Dorset_, 1874, has at the end eight separate Indexes, 1. Places; 2.
Pedigrees; 3. Persons; 4. Arms; 5. Blazons; 6. Glossarial; 7. Domesday;
8. Inquisitions. How much thought is here required which would not
be needed were all united into one alphabet. The general Index to
the Reports of the British Association is a most inconvenient one
to use, as it is split up into six alphabets; but the evil of these
subdivisions is most marked in Indexes to the various volumes of the
_Athenæum_, which are so subdivided that they are practically useless.
Who would rack his brain to find under which of the many headings the
subject he requires is likely to be hidden? These divided Indexes are
the exception in English books, but abroad almost every Index is in two
parts: 1. Persons; 2. Things. The Index to Arago’s complete works has
the threefold division: 1. Auteurs; 2. Cosmique; 3. Matières. If this
division be made, it ought surely to be carried out correctly, and yet
in the _Autoren Register_ to Carus’ and Engelmann’s Bibliography of
Zoology may be found the following entries: _Schreiben_; _Schriften_;
_Zu_ Humboldts Cosmos; _Zur_ Fauna.
The inconveniences of classification in an index are so palpable
that it is needless to add more, but a list of titles of books that
have given trouble to bibliographers, and at sundry times have been
misarranged, will perhaps be amusing. Edgeworth’s Essay on Irish Bulls
and a Treatise on the Great Seal have been placed under the heading
of _Zoology_; Napier’s Bones under _Anatomy_; Swinburne’s Under the
Microscope under _Optical Instruments_; a volume of Poems, entitled
the Viol and Lute, under _Musical Instruments_; Ruskin’s Notes on
the Construction of Sheepfolds under _Agriculture_; McEwen on the
Types under _Printing_; and most famous of all, Link, de Stellis
Marinis, under _Astronomy_. Disraeli reports an amusing anecdote of
“an honest friar who compiled a church history and placed in the class
of ecclesiastical writers Guarini, the Italian poet; this arose from
a most risible blunder: on the faith of the title of his celebrated
amorous pastoral _Il Pastor Fido_, ‘The Faithful Shepherd,’ our good
father imagined that the character of a curate, vicar, or bishop, was
represented in this work.”
Such incongruities as these had a charm for the author of the
_Curiosities of Literature_, and he therefore devotes a chapter to the
“Titles of Books.” The foregoing are tempting subjects for the jumpers
to conclusions, but some titles are impenetrable--what, for instance,
can be made of _Labia Dormientum_? It turns out to be a Catalogue of
rabbinical writers, and was so called in reference to a passage in
_Solomon’s Song_, “Like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down
sweetly, causing _the lips of those that are asleep to speak_” (vii.
19).
In order to help the makers of Indexes in judging of the relative
extent of the various letters of the Alphabet certain calculations have
been made,[40] but the statistics must vary greatly according to the
character of the Index. Thus _B_ is the largest in an Index of English
names, but loses its preeminence in an Index of subjects, and _S_ takes
high rank in both classes.
Mr. Curtis advocates in his paper the arrangement under each initial
letter according to the next following vowel, a plan often adopted in
Locke’s and other Common Place Books, but which is highly inconvenient,
especially when words without a second vowel as _Ash_ and _Epps_ are
placed at the head of each letter, as _Ash_ before _Adam_ and _Abel_;
and _Epps_ before _Ebenezer_.
In arranging entries in alphabetical order it is necessary to sort
them up to the most minute difference of spelling. In order to save
themselves trouble some workers think they may leave off sorting at the
third letter, and their idleness gives others much annoyance. I have
often been troubled in this way when consulting the Index to a large
map of England in which the names of places are not arranged further
than the third letter.
The Alphabetical arrangement has its difficulties which must be
overcome; for instance, it looks awkward when the plural comes before
the singular, and the adjective before the substantive from which it is
formed, as _naval_ and _navies_ before _navy_.
Another difficulty arises when names and words from a foreign language
are introduced into an English Index. The only safe rule in these cases
is to use the English alphabet.[41] One of the Rules of the American
Library Association is, “The German _ae_, _oe_, _ue_ are always to be
written ä, ö, ü, and arranged as a, o, u”; by this Goethe would have
to be written Göthe, which is now an unusual form, and I think it would
be better to insist that where both forms are used, one or other should
be chosen and all instances spelt alike. It is a very common practice
to arrange ä, ö, ü, as if they were written ae, oe, ue, but this leads
to the greatest confusion, and no notice should be taken of letters
that are merely to be understood. Those who have stumbled over the
arrangement that treats the vowel I and consonant J, and the vowel U
and consonant V, as identical, will be glad to have a rule that keeps
them distinct.
Although it has been previously said that words and names must be
arranged in alphabet up to their last letters, it is necessary to bear
in mind that each word is to stand by itself; for instance, first
will come the various persons bearing the surname _Grave_, arranged
according to the order of their Christian names,
Grave, George,
Grave, John,
then the substantive and adjective _grave_, arranged according to the
alphabet of the words that follow,
Grave at Kherson,
Grave of Hope,
Grave Thoughts,
and last,
Gravelot,
Gravesend.[42]
We now come to the consideration of a matter of some perplexity. It is
more of a difficulty for the Cataloguer than for the Indexer, still
it is one with which the latter must grapple. There cannot be two
opinions about the simple rule that a man should be set down under
his surname, but our trouble commences when we ask the question--What
is a surname? The answer to it must necessarily be complicated on
account of the varieties of form which proper names take in different
languages. The greatest difficulty arises from the prefixes, some of
which can easily be dispensed with, while others are integral portions
of the name.[43] If the prefix be a preposition, it must be rejected,
and the name arranged in alphabet under the following letter; thus,
_D’_, _De_, in French, _Da_ in Italian,[44] _Von_ in German, and _Van_
in Dutch, are no real portion of foreign names, which can stand very
well without them. If, however, the prefix be an article, such as the
French _La_, it must be retained; for instance, the full name of the
great astronomer La Place is De La Place, but it is under _L_ that
it could alone be placed with propriety. If no other reason could be
given, a very sufficient one might be found in the fact that were not
_De_ and _Von_ rejected, a large proportion of French and German names
would appear respectively under those prefixes. Although this rule
is generally accepted as the only true one, it is seldom carried out
consistently; thus in the South Kensington Universal Catalogue of Books
on Art, we find D’Ayzac under _Ayzac_, D’Azara under _D_, D’Azeglio
under _A_, De La Blanchère under _D_, De La Borde under _L_, De La Fons
under both _D_ and _L_, with a cross reference from Fons. A logical
difficulty arises when the preposition is joined to the article, as in
_Du_ and _Des_, and here, in order to retain the article, we are forced
to retain the preposition as well. These rules only apply to Foreign
names, and such English names as De Quincey, Delabeche, Van Mildert,
must be arranged under _D_ and _V_ respectively, because the prefixes
are here meaningless.
The rule for the arrangement of compound names differs accordingly as
these names are either English or Foreign.[45] The frequent practice
in England of using surnames as baptismal names gives the united names
the appearance of compound names, which they really are not. The first
name in a foreign compound is almost invariably the true name, and
frequently the second name is that of the owner’s wife or mother.
The French cannot understand our sur-christian-names, and with few
exceptions treat them as true surnames. There is a most amusing blunder
consequent on this misapprehension in the well-known _Biographie
Moderne_, edited by the late Dr. Hoefer, and published by Firmin Didot.
In this valuable Biographical Dictionary there is a long account of
Brigham Young, extending over many columns, but, instead of appearing
under _Y_, it has a place found for it in letter _B_, and the heading
runs as follows: “Brigham le jeune ou Brigham Young”! Although such
an instance as this could not well be paralleled in any English book
of the same high character, we are not as a nation incapable of making
blunders of a like kind. De Morgan remarks, in his Arithmetical Books,
“I have had in one or two instances to throw away German _Authors_
for a very obvious reason. The reader will not find the works of
_Anleitung_ or _Grundriss_ or _Rechenbuch_ in my list, which is more
than can be said of every one that has preceded it.” _Derselbe_ might
have been added, as it sometimes has a very surname-like look. Blunders
are of no particular nationality, and it is needful to use special
vigilance in transferring proper names from the books of one language
to those of another. The most trustful, however, would be on his guard
when dealing with a writer who introduced the Duke of Newcastle to his
readers as “Gul. de Cavendy dux de Xeucathle.”
Sometimes we have to deal with the latinised names of celebrated
men, and it is a very frequent practice to turn these back into the
vernacular, but it may be questioned whether it is right to do so. De
Morgan writes, “I have not attempted to translate the names of those
who wrote in Latin at a time when that language was the universal
medium of communication.... It is well to know that Copernicus,
Dasypodius, Xylander, Regiomontanus, and Clavius were Zepernik,
Rauchfuss, Holtzmann, Müller and Schlüssel. But as the butcher’s bills
of these eminent men are lost, and their writings only remain, it is
best to designate them by the name which they bear on the latter rather
than on the former.”
The question however has pertinently been asked, how are we to act
if the butchers’ bills were by chance to be forthcoming and required
registration in a Catalogue of Manuscripts. Probably in this case also
it would be well to arrange the names under their best known forms.
The Hungarians, and sometimes the Italians, place the surname before
the Christian name, which is very confusing to those unacquainted with
the practice. Sometimes the same difficulty occurs in English from
the manner in which the names are printed; thus we learn from the
_Gentleman’s Magazine_ that
Owen Gallager } died in 1769.
Fleetwood Hesketh }