“Da Cunha (J. A.), Opuscules Mathématiques de Feu, traduits littéralement du Portugais, par J. M. D’ Abreu. 8vo Bordeaux, 1811.
The idea conveyed to a Frenchman by this title would not be very clear, but it might possibly be understood that this is an infamous book, deserving to be burnt. It is a fortunate thing for feu Mr. Da Cunha, that this libel on his fair name was not published in his own country (he was a Portuguese) when he was living, and when the fashion was, not only to burn books, but authors; else, so dangerous an insinuation by the Royal Society of London might have exposed him to the chance of paying dearly for their blunders and bad French.
If errors of so ludicrous a nature occur in the first sheet which was so often revised, one may easily conceive in what state that part of the catalogue was which was set up, but not corrected. As a specimen I transcribe three entries in the last slip, containing a list of names put down pêle-mêle, of works said to be mathematical.
Litheosphorus, sive de lapide Bononiensi lucem in se conceptam ab ambiente claro mox in tenebris mire conseruante liber Fortunii Liceti Genuensis pridem in Pisano, nuper in Patauino, nunc in Bononiensi Archigymnasio Philosophi eminentis. 4to. Utini, 1646.
I suspected at one time, that the error arose from Litheosphorus being mistaken for a star, and no attention being paid to that explanation “sive de Lapide Bononiensi.” I am now satisfied that my suspicion was unfounded, and that the blunder is gravely, deliberately, and learnedly perpetrated; it is not to be attributed to the mere ignorance, that lapis means ameans a stone, not a star, but to a very ingenious process of reasoning, by which phosphorus was metamorphosed into a heavenly body.
To demonstrate in “as correct and complete” a manner “as the circumstances of the case will allow,” I beg to call Your Royal Highness’s attention to another work by Liceti, which does exist in the library of the Royal Society, and which was catalogued in the following manner, in the specimen now under consideration.
Licetus (Fort). De Lunæ sub obscurâ luce prope Conjunctiones Libri III. 4to. Utini, 1641.
In my proofs it stands thus:
Licetus (Fortunius). De Lunæ subobscurâ luce prope conjunctiones, et in eclipsibus observata. 4to. Utini, 1642.
Your Royal Highness may have heard of the Board of Agriculture having sent for twelve copies of Miss Edgeworth’s essay on Irish Bulls, for the use of that Institution, and this ludicrous mistake was thought so exquisite, that no one would have fancied it could possibly be equalled. But the attempt at cataloguing drawn up by some learned astronomers, the ornament and pride of the Royal Society, proves that among the members of this famous Institution, there are some who could leave the whole Board of Agriculture in the shade. The work on star-fish, mistaken for a work on constellations, not only is adorned with plates, showing that it treated of aquatic not heavenly bodies, but on the very title-page there is an oval engraving representing on the upper half the heavens covered with stars, and the lower half, the sea with star-fish; with the motto, sicut superius ita est inferius, which was taken literally by the acute individual who made this entry, and who very mathematically argued that the stars below, must belong to the domain of astronomical science, if they be, as the author declares, like those above. On the recto of the following page a dedication of the work occurs to Sir Hans Sloane, as President, and to the Fellows of the Royal Society, which probably was either passed over unread by the modest fellow who catalogued the book; or served to dazzle his understanding with such passages as this: “fulgent sidera in cœlis, in orbe litterario illustris vestra Societas. Sideribus inscribere stellas convenit.” But how could any one doubt that the work was astronomical, when the writer provokingly begins his preface: “Cœlorum spectare sidera decet juvatque Astronomos.” It is true he continues: “Physicorum interest stellis marinis visum intendere.” But this was probably taken for a figurative speech; and with that bold decision by which great men are distinguished, this work on so inferior a subject as star-fish, dedicated to the Royal Society, was by the élite of that same body declared to be a treatise on much higher bodies, on constellations, and consequently classed among astronomical books, whilst I, thinking marine stars to be animals, did not dare to follow an example so splendidé mendax, and classed the work among others on zoological subjects. What a difference, both with respect to the length of the title and the classes in which it was entered! Linckius would rise from his grave, were he to see mis-classed a work, which, as he said, he had dedicated to the resplendent constellations forming the Royal Society of his days, just because it treated of stars! How fortunate that the learned persons who are to render my Catalogue correct and complete have it still in their power to appease his indignant shade by re-classing the work among astronomical treatises!
These few specimens will satisfy any one of the justice of my assertion that it was impossible to correct such a work. I am fully aware of the difficulties, nay, of the impossibility, of compiling any catalogue which shall be free from errors of a very grave description. No work requires more indulgence than one of this sort; but the specimens which I have given are such as cannot admit of excuse or palliation: they must at once convince the most indulgent observer that those who committed them were incapable, utterly incapable of performing the task they had undertaken. After what we have seen, shall we wonder that Newton’s Principia should be misplaced? We cannot wonder; but by Your Royal Highness, who has the honour to fill the chair once occupied by that immortal man, and by those Fellows of the Royal Society who are not unworthy of the distinction, something like sorrow must be felt, when they see in the catalogue of their Library that work classed among pure Mathematics, as if Mechanics had nothing to do with it.”
How amusing are some of Panizzi’s remarks, and how fully do they evince the supreme contempt he must have felt for the ignorance displayed in the sheets, which were submitted for his correction. It is impossible not to help dwelling on and re-quoting such a sentence as this: “It is a fortunate thing for feu Mr. Da Cunha that this libel (the utter non-appreciation of the word feu) on his fair name was not published in his own country (he was a Portuguese) when he was living, and when the fashion was not only to burn books, but authors.” This must have been a cutting but amusing hint for His Royal Highness, and then we perceive the manly tone of Panizzi when he added: “So dangerous an insinuation by the Royal Society of London might have exposed him to the chance of paying dearly for their blunders and bad French.”
In October, 1833, the New Catalogue, entrusted to Panizzi was commenced; not, however, left to his own discretion, for cabined, cribbed, confined, he was called on to follow a plan, concocted by the Library Committee, of which he incidentally remarks: “Heaven forbid that I should ever be supposed guilty of having approved of it, or be suspected capable of selecting such a plan, had I been at liberty to execute the work as I pleased. I agreed to carry their plan into execution on my own responsibility.”
The agreement entered into with the Council of the Society was only a verbal one, and, by its terms, the compiler of the Catalogue was to be paid according to the number of titles written, and at certain stages of his labour, the first instalment when the whole of the titles were written, the second when they were ready for the printer, and the third when the book was completed. This agreement or contract was never reduced to writing. Panizzi, it may be, was inexperienced in a business point of view, but it is more probable that he placed implicit confidence in the understanding with the Council, through the Chairman Mr. Lubbock.
As the work progressed, however, the members of the Library Committee appear to have conceived that they had a right to interfere with the execution of the work. The compiler firmly resisted this, and it was ultimately