“John Lockland. One thousand one hundred and ninety nine, John his brother to him succeeds: Magna Carta he’s forced to sign: that in truth was the best of his deeds.” This stylized anecdote is but one example of the 399 handwritten verse cards—penned by the English translator, editor, and writer Sara Coleridge—housed at the Harry Ransom Center. The undated cards, written on scrap paper, calling cards, playing cards, advertisements, and invitations, form the foundation of what became Coleridge’s Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children; with Some Lessons in Latin, in Easy Rhyme, which was published anonymously in 1834.
The daughter of British poet and author Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sara Coleridge spent most of her life separated from her father. Despite distance from her father during the poet’s life, Sara became an advocate of her father’s work after his death in 1834. Sara spent much of her adult life editing and protecting the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s work, thus, helping to secure his place as a central figure of romantic British poetry.
Yet the legacy Sara ensured for her father’s work often eclipses that of her own work. Indeed, at the crossroads of Victorian womanhood and nineteenth-century intellectualism, Sara Coleridge produced many works that remain largely unpublished.
A child of a prominent English family, Sara Coleridge studied informally alongside her brothers but was excluded from formal schooling. From an early age, she displayed broad intellectual capacity and was a talented linguist. Her education, however, was hindered by the expectations that Victorian women should remain in the domestic domain. Even with her proficiency in several languages, including French, Spanish, Italian, and Latin, Sara Coleridge struggled to overcome nineteenth-century societal constrains.
Despite failing health, by July 1826 Sara Coleridge had published two translations of French and Spanish texts. Acutely aware of the Victorian social pressures imposed on women, Coleridge wrote about the conflated meaning of beauty and the limited role of women in British society. Because of her opium abuse and her extended and clandestine engagement to her first cousin Henry Nelson, anxiety plagued Sara in the late 1820s, and she published little writing.
The verse cards provided an avenue for Sara Coleridge to exercise her intellect. Because the public intellectual character of nineteenth-century Britain was inhospitable to women, Coleridge’s audience was limited to the private sphere. Coleridge delineates her son, Herbert, as the exclusive audience for her verse cards, and she frequently writes his name affectionately in the beginning lines.
The cards reveal not only the breadth and scope of Sara Coleridge’s knowledge but also her style as a writer. Coleridge does not simply list facts to be memorized but presents material about British history, animals, Latin, and geography in stylized verse.
Facing societal obstacles and bouts with poor health and addiction, Sara Coleridge published over ten works, including poems and translations. The verse cards shown here, along with unpublished letters, poems, and manuscripts are available for research at the Ransom Center.
Please click on the thumbnails below to view full-size images.
“Mommy, is that God?” a little girl once whispered to her mother as Stella Adler swept into a party in New York City. The girl’s mistake was understandable: Adler was known as a presence of divine proportions, a tall, glamorous woman whose grand gestures and dramatic one-liners captivated audiences both large and small. Adler began acting at age four in the “Independent Yiddish Art Company,” run by her parents, and continued her acting career until 1961. In 1931, Adler joined the Group Theatre, where she worked closely with Harold Clurman and Lee Strasberg.
In 1934, she went with Clurman to Paris to study with Constantin Stanislavski, an acting great famous for developing the Stanislavski System, a set of acting techniques that was tweaked by Strasberg and is known today as Method acting. Adler believed strongly that actors should use their imagination to synthesize characters, whereas Strasberg relied on emotional memory exercises, and the two eventually split over their differences. Adler left the Group Theatre and later opened her own acting school, The Stella Adler Studio of Acting, in 1949 in New York City, where she taught famous actors such as Marlon Brando and Robert De Niro. She opened another school, The Stella Adler Academy of Acting, in Los Angeles in 1985 with her friend and protégé Joanne Linville, who continues to run the school today.
The Ransom Center hold Adler’s papers, which were used extensively by Barry Paris in his book Stella Adler on America’s Master Playwrights (Knopf). The volume peeks into Adler’s classroom and explores the acting master’s take on American playwrights such as Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Edward Albee, Clifford Odets, and others.
The book was put together using transcripts from Adler’s script analysis classes, where lively discussions of American culture, socioeconomics, and history fleshed out the context of the plays—a practice on which Adler placed the utmost importance. Adler once said of the great artists featured in the book: “these playwrights all saw what was wrong.” She believed it was imperative for the actor not only to bring personal experience to the role, but to truly understand the beliefs, prejudices, and lives of the playwrights who crafted the plays she taught. Peter Bogdanovich, one of Adler’s former students, praised the book for “bring[ing] back the sound of Stella’s unique voice and thought processes, as well as her own particular vision.”
Molly Miller is a graduate student in the School of Information at The University of Texas at Austin. She is studying to become a teen services librarian, but has many other interests, including nineteenth-century British literature, vampires, rare books, and anything to do with the Victorian Era. As part of a research project in Michael Laird’s class “Studies in the Book Arts,” Miller studied a first edition of John William Polidori’s The Vampyre.
Vampires have inspired human imagination for centuries. They even play a huge role in popular culture today, and vampire mythology has been explored in literature, movies, and many other forms of media. While big names such as Bram Stoker’s Dracula come to mind when thinking about the vampire legend, it is easy to overlook the tale that solidified these legends and presented to the world of literature the dark, brooding, mysterious, and somewhat Romantic figure that we recognize as the vampire today. This tale is John William Polidori’s The Vampyre.
Though Polidori’s Lord Ruthven rose to fame and became one of the most important figures for studying the roots of our contemporary idea of the vampire, Polidori himself remained in obscurity for several reasons. Perhaps the most prevalent one is that Polidori did not at first set out to be a writer. He was originally Lord Byron’s personal physician, who traveled with him in Switzerland. On one very cold summer’s night in 1816 (“The Year Without a Summer”), Polidori participated in a challenge to write the scariest ghost story among Byron and his group of friends. This same challenge produced Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Three years later, Henry Colburn, publisher and editor of New Monthly Magazine, came across Polidori’s manuscript of The Vampyre and published it serially in his literary magazine under Lord Byron’s name to promote the magazine using Byron’s established celebrity. Although Byron vehemently denied authorship of The Vampyre, it was not enough to disassociate his name from the work, and it became a sensation. When Polidori tried to assert his authorship, Colburn had the tagline “a tale by Lord Byron” removed from the book versions of the story he ordered from London printers Sherwood, Neely, and Jones. Polidori’s name, however, was not added, and the supplementary material printed before and after The Vampyre both relate to Byron in some manner. Therefore, Byron’s name continued to be attached to the work that Polidori had written, and Polidori remained in obscurity.
The Ransom Center holds one of these important London first editions of The Vampyre in the Robert Lee Wolff collection. It is essential to see and read the physical copy of this first edition to get the sense of why Byron’s name continued to be tied to the text even after he publicly denied writing it. It is similarly important to study this original first edition hastily printed for Colburn because of high demand by readers, to understand how the alluring Lord Ruthven would foster our enduring image of the vampire not only as a mythical monster but also as the glamorous seducer in society.
For Further Reading:
“The London Editions of Polidori’s The Vampyre.” by Henry R. Viets, M.D.
Poor Polidori: A Critical Biography of the Author of The Vampyre by D.L. Macdonald
Everybody loves cartoons. They proliferate in modern newspapers and on the Internet. From Peanuts to Doonesbury, cartoons provide commentary and amusement for the reader. The sueltas collection at the Harry Ransom Center, currently being cataloged under a grant from the Council on Library and Information Resources, also features its own first-rate cartoons. Created by Manuel Tovar, a famous twentieth-century caricaturist, these unique “monos,” as caricatures are known in Spanish, present unusual and interesting depictions of actors and actresses.
Born in Granada in 1875, Tovar illustrated postcards and painted fans and parasols as a young man. When he moved to Madrid, he fulfilled his life-long dream of working as a caricaturist and cartoonist, publishing his first cartoon in 1901 in the magazine Nuevo Mundo. Subsequently, he created cartoons in many well-known magazines and newspapers such as Blanco y Negro, La Correspondencia, El Gráfico, El Liberal, El Heraldo de Madrid, and El Cuento Semanal, whose cover he illustrated regularly for three years. For 15 years, Tovar created a popular daily cartoon for La Voz. He passed away suddenly in 1935, just after completing his daily entry.
Known for his sagacious wit and unique style, Tovar is widely considered one of the greatest caricaturists of his age. The sueltas collection contains a number of items from the “Novela Teatral” series, produced under the direction of José de Urquía from 1916 to 1925. This series is typical of the caricature work done by Tovar, which often depicted real figures in Madrid society. The “Novela Teatral” caricatures portrayed actors and actresses, but Tovar was perhaps most famous for his drawings of political figures and writers. In an interview, he once lamented that political cartoons had caused him a great deal of trouble, as many of his subjects found their representations less than flattering. His artistic style did not change in response to the criticism. He had one confrontation regarding a caricature of a government minister, Juan de la Cierva, who was illustrated wearing unattractive plaid pants. Embarrassed by the portrayal, the minister invited Tovar to inspect his wardrobe and note the lack of plaid pants. Another incident had Tovar hiding in the salon at a theater from an umbrella-brandishing disgruntled authoress who wished to punish the artist for his unflattering caricature of her.
Tovar is credited with having a profound and perfect knowledge of contemporary life in Madrid, and these delightful illustrations provide a fascinating look into the atmosphere of Madrid during the early twentieth century. The sueltas collection continues to provide us with opportunities for remarkable and thought-provoking study.
Margaret Denny received a Marlene Nathan Meyerson Photography Fellowship to conduct research in the Ransom Center’s Gernsheim collection. Below she shares some of her findings at the Ransom Center.
During the past decade, I have conducted primary research on Victorian women in photography, an investigation that culminated in my dissertation From Commerce to Art: American Women Photographers 1850–1900 (University of Illinois at Chicago, 2010).
My current project For Love and Money: Victorian women photographers in and beyond the studio follows a select group of nineteenth-century American and British women photographers operating in the commercial realm of advertising, photojournalism, studio portraiture, and travel photography. The importance of this investigation is that current scholarship on the history of photography has diminished the importance of commercial work; it likewise has overlooked women in the commercial sphere.
With a fellowship at the Ransom Center, I have progressed closer to realizing my project as a publication. In pondering this experience, several impressions stand out—the Center as a rich repository of photographs and ephemeral materials, and, co-equal, the Center’s proficient staff members and systems that provide a stimulating, nurturing, and collegial environment in which to explore one’s topic. Through the proficient and patient stewardship of Emilio Banda and suggestions proposed by Senior Research Curator Roy Flukinger and Associate Curator of Photography Linda Briscoe Myers, I was able to navigate smoothly through box upon box of photographs, biographical material, and memorabilia. Even the tradition of weekly coffees and a brown bag lunch for fellows offers scholars and staff opportunities to exchange insights and information.
The Gernsheim collection of Victorian and Edwardian photography amassed by Helmut and Allison Gernsheim in England at the end of World War II and purchased by the Harry Ransom Center in 1963 became the focus for this study. The collection holdings present a rich glimpse into elite British society through the studio portrait practice of Alice Hughes. I viewed the wealth and breadth of photographs made by Hughes at the turn of the twentieth century in her London studio. Having researched Hughes at the National Portrait Gallery in London, it was beneficial to evaluate this expansive number of photographs to build on my earlier inquiry.
Another chronicler of Britain’s elites, Kate Pragnell operated commercially in London in the 1890s. The Center’s illustrated article on Pragnell showed her photography in more of its original context. The fact that Pragnell hired only women workers in her studio and wrote about her practice makes her an interesting case study. These British women will be compared with the American photographers Frances Benjamin Johnston and Gertrude Käsebier as they shared the experience of being middle- to upper-class women who chose photography as a vocation. To investigate the media treatment of American and British women photographers, I reviewed issues of The Photogram published in England between 1894 and 1905 by American Catharine Weed Barnes Ward and her British husband H. Snowden Ward. Likewise, as a comparison to understanding opinions emanating from other journals of photography, I examined the issues of Alfred Stieglitz’s Camera Work, published from 1903 to 1917.
Equally germane to my investigation, the Center’s holdings contain over 350 photographs by British photojournalist Christina Broom. A documentarian of Edwardian fame, Broom photographed important British events from military maneuvers to Royal pageantry, most printed as picture postcards, a business that supported her family facing the loss of household income after her husband’s accident. In my project, Broom will be compared to Frances Benjamin Johnston, who operated as a photojournalist working with Bain News Service in America. Johnston’s assignments took her to Naples, Italy, where she photographed Admiral Dewey and his U.S.S. Olympia crew following their successful campaign in the Philippines during the Spanish American War. Equally notable, Johnston was the last photographer to photograph President McKinley, 17 minutes before his assassination in 1901.
As a seasoned researcher at a number of institutional archives, I feel the time spent at the Ransom Center put me in a more positive position to take my findings to publication. Because the staff made research suggestions beyond my original itinerary, I will be able to incorporate even more information in the study. As I continue to research the topic of women photographers of the Victorian Era into the Edwardian period, my larger goal is to develop the information into book format supported by a traveling exhibition. Having the opportunity to conduct research at the Ransom Center and to develop the narrative of women in the commercial realm of photography places me one step closer toward the realization of this major undertaking.
Judith Freeman, a fellow from the University of Southern California, discusses her research in the Ross Russell archive. Freeman’s focus lies primarily with noir, Raymond Chandler, and Los Angeles, but her time in the collections expanded her interest in jazz.
Freeman’s project, “Raymond Chandler’s Los Angeles,” was funded by the Erle Stanley Gardner Endowment for Mystery Studies.
Samantha Pinto came to the Ransom Center as a fellow from Georgetown University to work on her project “Africa, (Re)Circulated: Cosmopolitan Performances of Mid-Century Modernity.”
Pinto’s research, which focuses on the United States’s perception of Africa, involved documents and multimedia components from the Transcription Centre archive. The materials from the archive related to Africa are in their own finding aid, which Pinto says will make the Ransom Center a destination for students and scholars in the field of African and African Diaspora studies.
Pinto’s work was funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Research Fellowship Endowment.