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A king by any other name would die as duly, or the top 10 nicknames of Louis XVI

The following is written by Libraries student employee Brianna Bowers.

The few short months from the fall of 1792 to January 1793, in which heated debate and a final vote decided that Louis XVI would be guillotined, held centuries of progress. Our world would not be recognizable without the French Revolution. The University of Iowa has thousands of pamphlets from this exciting, tumultuous period, and many of the pamphlets are still being processed. As a student worker in Special Collections and Archives, I am currently taking down the information on each pamphlet to upload them into InfoHawk+, and I have come across some interesting things along the way. The collection of speeches given at the National Convention, debating what to do about Louis XVI, has no standardized way to refer to the man on trial. As his royal title was thrown into uncertainty, new names abounded. Below are 10 names that delegates called their ex-king, from clever to boring and from ruthless to obvious, ranked from awesome to awful.

Louis le dernier [Louis the Last]

This is alliterative in English—“Louis the Last.” It seems like the French had enough by their sixteenth Louis. Louis le dernier wasn’t actually the last king Louis, but the effect of calling him “the last” did implicitly condemn the following reigns as illegitimate.

You can find this name on the above pamphlet: (box 79:1-80:10 item 79:44), “Convention nationale. opinion de lanjuinais, Député d’Ille et Vilaine, Sur Louis le dernier. Imprimée par ordre de la Convention nationale. Nunquam de morte hominis cunctatio longa est. 31 Décembre 1792, l’an premier de la République.”

Louis Capet

Referring to royalty with a common first and last name was a slight, implying that their status was reduced to be equal with everyone else’s. This last name did come from Louis’ family history. Louis was part of the Bourbon dynasty, which derived from the Capetian dynasty. The Capetian dynasty was founded by Hugues Capet (c. 940-996 ᴄ.ᴇ.). There isn’t consensus on how Hugues Capet got his last name. The heraldist Hervé Pinoteau is credited with finding the first use of Capet as a dynasty name in the writings of Ralph de Diceto, from about 200 years after Hugues Capet’s death, with Capet possibly deriving from the “cappa” (a kind of cape) of St Martin of Tours. Other theories derive Capet from words meaning small head, stubborn, or to torment/harass.

You can find a pamphlet with this nickname in the image above: (box 79:1-80:10, item 79:57), “Convention nationale. opinion de laurent lecointre, Député du département de Seine & Oise, à la Convention Nationale; Sur le jugement de Louis Capet. Imprimée par ordre de la Convention Nationale. Quant à moi, je ne connois pas cette justice qui frappe, en souriant, un coupable obscur, & qui se prosterne devant un illustre criminel.”

Louis le traître [Louis the Traitor]

A few years before his trial and execution, Louis was widely seen as a father to his people, divinely ordained, and even a protector of the common people against the aristocracy. His resistance to the Revolution and attempt to flee to Austria in 1791 to raise an army to restore his throne to its former power turned the people against him. His fall from “long live the king” to the guillotine was hard, fast, and avertable.

You can find a pamphlet that uses this name in the image above and in Special Collections: (box 79:1-80:10, item 79:78), “Convention nationale. un mot sur louis le traitre, ou le dernier, et sa famille, Par c. l. masuyer, Député de Saone-et-Loire; Imprimé en vertu du décret de la Convention.”

dernier roi [last king]

This name is reaching for what “Louis le dernier” achieved in condemning Louis to be the last king. However, it isn’t quite as striking. The lack of his first name, Louis, makes the title feel impersonal, and it was already untrue since there were kings alive and kicking in other countries.

Find this name in the pamphlet above: (box 79:1-80:10, item 80:5), “Convention nationale. mon avis sur le jugement du dernier roi; Imprimé par ordre de la Convention nationale. Je dis ce qui se passe dans mon ame Et ce que je crois être la vérité. J. J. Rousseau.”

Capet

A man in this time would often be referred to by only his last name. So, like Louis Capet, this name is intended to lower his status. It strips him of his first name, which had been used by French kings for centuries and was what people knew him as. However, I’m docking a few points for a lack of specificity.

You can find an example on a pamphlet that uses this name in the image above and in Special Collections: (box 81:14-82:27, item 81:33), “Convention nationale. opinion de louis turreau, Député du Département de l’Yonne, Sur Capet; Imprimée par ordre de la convention nationale.”

le ci-devant roi [The former King]

This one does its duty. It’s specific enough that we all know who we are talking about. No frills, no nonsense.

Discover this nickname in the above pamphlet: (box 77:76-78:80, item 78:19), “Convention nationale. opinion de jean de bry, député du département de l’aisne, Sur la question: Le ci-devant roi sera-t-il jugé? Imprimée par ordre de la Convention nationale. Jus malè faciendi cùm sit regi nullum, manet jus populi naturá supremum. Milton: Pro populo anglicano defensio.”

Louis XVI

A classic. This is Louis’s royal title. But as much as it is classic, it is also basic. This is a counter-revolutionary and a former monarch at that. Show some disrespect!

Roi [king]

This isn’t a terribly specific nickname. Which king? There were many other countries that had kings at the time after all. Besides, doesn’t this imply that Louis is still the rightful king? A virtuous revolutionary would never endorse the existence of a king, even in a nickname.

Find this pamphlet that uses the name in the image above and in Special Collections: (box 80:11-81:13, item 80:38), “Convention nationale. opinion Du Citoyen pétion, Sur le Roi; Imprimée par ordre de la Convention nationale.”

Louis

And if there were other kings, there were certainly other people named Louis. The briefest glance at members of the National Convention, the body putting Louis on trial, gives us Louis Portiez, Louis-Antoine Saint-Just, Louis Turreau, Louis Louchet, and Louis-Marie Réveillère-Lepaux, the very man who wrote the pamphlet calling the former king just plain Louis. Calling him just Louis is so basic, not to mention a logistical nightmare. Seriously, there were so many French men named Louis from 1792 to 1793! While we’re on the topic of his given name, Louis means famous in battle or loot bringer, and is derived from Old German.

You can find a pamphlet that uses this name in the image above and in Special Collections: (box 79:1-80:10, item 79:47), “Convention nationale. opinion de l. m. revellière-lépeaux, député de maine-et-loire, Sur la question de l’appel au Peuple du Jugement de Louis. Imprimée par ordre de la Convention. 7 Janvier, l’an deuxième de la République.”

Louis Hugues

This is a full name just like the names of normal plebeians. It is the same idea as calling him Louis Capet. Perhaps the name Hugues was derived from the same ancestor, Hugues Capet. But it wasn’t as popular because the people were already using Louis Capet. When I hear the name Louis Hugues, I think, “Louis Who?”

You can find a pamphlet that uses this name in the image above and in Special Collections: (box 79:1-80:10, item 79:37), “Convention nationale. opinion de j. p. lacombe-saint-michel, député du tarn, Sur le jugement de Louis Hugues; Imprimée par ordre de la Convention.”

Stepping into the bustling world of Bleak House’s first readers

“From the Classroom” is a series that features some of the great work and research from students who visit Special Collections and Archives at the University of Iowa Libraries. Below is a blog by Casie Minot from Dr. Jennifer Burek Pierce’s class “Reading Culture History & Research in Media” (SLIS:5600:0EXW).

Minot explores the paratext of the serialized version of Bleak House found in Special Collection and Archives. The novel by English author Charles Dickens follows a family who become embroiled in a long-running lawsuit over a disputed inheritance and is one of the author’s most acclaimed novels.

Black line drawings on blue paper of characters and locations in Bleak House — Front Cover of the February 1853 Edition of *Bleak House*

By the time the serial edition of Charles Dickens’ Bleak House concluded in September of 1853, the Illustrated London News reported that, “‘What do you think of Bleak House?’” was about as regular a question as “‘How are you?’” (Hayward 31). The main difference between the two was that “a great number of people who ask how you do, make a practice of neither waiting for, nor listening to, your reply.… But, on the contrary, those who inquire for your ideas about Bleak House, think of Bleak House; and, if they do not really want to know your opinion, want you to at least listen to theirs” (Hayward 31). Throughout its release, newspapers and readers alike agreed that Bleak House was London’s premiere literary social event.

Yet, one need not be a Victorian reader to experience the Bleak House buzz. By flipping through the original Bleak House serials, current readers can catch a glimpse at how the pamphlets functioned as a town square of sorts, where communities of readers from different class and gender backgrounds shopped through, learned from, and consumed novels and goods alike.

Nineteenth-century readers listened to Dickens’ stories read aloud in social settings, such as amongst family, neighbors, and friends of all sorts of classes. This especially enhanced the reading experiences of lower classes. At one shilling a piece, Dickens’ serials radically made historically expensive novels widely accessible to lower-class readers. Still, a shilling was a full day’s worth of wages for some readers, which led many lower-class families and communities to buy one representative pamphlet and hold communal recitations (Hayward 35). Moreover, literacy levels were low amongst lower class readers, making “listen[ing] to recitals of texts” an especially viable reading option (Lai-Ming 185). The prevalence of recitation even influenced Dickens’ craft: by using phonetic spellings and punctuation to emphasize speech patterns, Dickens’ prose enhanced the oral performance of the “reader-aloud” and catered to the aural entertainment of “reader-listeners” (Lai-Ming). From Dickens’ writing desk to the homes of readers, serialized novels like Bleak House encouraged communities from diverse class and literacy backgrounds to read each monthly installment.

Advertisement for crochet cotton from Marsland, Son, & Co's with image of roses and crown. — Marsland, Son, & Co.’s Doily Template and Advertisement in the December 1852 Edition of *Bleak House*

The original 1852 and 1853 serials of Bleak House, a part of the Leigh Hunt collection, further animate how Dickens’ first readers might have participated in this highly social reading process. While the pamphlet’s latter half contains four Bleak House chapters, the first half features a wealth of advertisements, such as funeral services, toupees, pills for ailments, and dress fashions. The array of advertisements encouraged readers to leisurely “loiter” through ad after ad as if readers were window shopping (Andrews 24). One notable advertisement is Marsland, Son, & Co.’s crochet cotton thread. Each monthly advertisement featured one new doily pattern adorned with avian, floral, or even royal motifs. Readers could easily collect the patterns for themselves or offer them to loved ones. Perhaps a reader perfected their stitching while listening to protagonist Esther and her friend, Caddy, perfect theirs in the story. Advertisements like the Marsland, Son, & Co. doily patterns illustrate the “arcade” of leisurely activities at readers’ disposal inside Bleak House serials (Andrews 24).

Bleak House’s advertisements also offer insights into Dickens’ diverse reading demographics. The inclusion of crochet advertisements gestures towards Dickens’ female readership, but many of the advertisements also targeted their respective families, which included a wide variety of socioeconomic classes. On their way to Bleak House, parents and children strolled through advertisements for expensive waterproof overcoats for their family patriarch as well as lists suggesting Christmas gifts for family reading. While such lists feature more costly novels, the overall serials also offer a variety of newspapers and reading lists advertised at cheaper prices.

Text ad for Uncle Tom's Cabin — *Uncle Tom’s Cabin* Advertisement in the November 1852 Edition of *Bleak House*

Not only did the advertisements appeal to women and their families across class boundaries, but they also appealed to women active outside the home. For instance, published one week after Bleak House’s first release in March of 1852, readers saw Harriet Beecher Stowe’s sentimental protest novel against enslavement—Uncle Tom’s Cabin—explode both in popularity and in the number of advertisements. Stowe’s blockbuster novel meant to stir sympathy in its female readership while mobilizing readers to take action to support the Abolitionist movement in the United States, and that stirring rippled to Victorian England (Fekete Trubey 62). Selling one million copies across the pond within its first nine months of publication, the novel inspired English women to organize the “largest-scale, traditionally political mobilization” in the form of the Stafford House Address (Fekete Trubey 64-65). Signed by 563,000 British women and gifted to Stowe herself, the 1853 petition implored American women to take action against enslavement in the United States, where the novel only sold 300,000 copies in its first year (“Stowe’s Global Impact”). However, one wonders what these British women readers experienced when confronted with Bleak House’s Mrs. Jellyby and Mrs. Pardiggle, whose respective portrayals expose their inability to address complex social issues as well as their consequential distractedness from domestic duties, such as the sewing tasks Esther and Caddy perform. Thus, the advertisements of Dickens’ serials appealed to certain demographics, though these demographics, at times, clashed with the social themes of Dickens’ novel.

Contemporary readers can come in today to leisurely peruse through the same avenues of advertisement that entertained readers of the past. Moreover, current readers can indulge in the “arcades” of activities within Bleak House’s narrative (Andrews 24). As a part of the University of Iowa’s Leigh Hunt collection, present-day readers can gawk at Dickens’ defamatory caricature of Leigh Hunt and his decadent lifestyle in the form of Bleak House’s Harold Skimpole. Readers can learn more about the complicated friendship between Hunt and Dickens through this caricature alongside other artifacts within the collection, such as Dickens’ correspondence with Hunt prior to and after Bleak House’s publication. Researchers can also explore the exciting, new avenues of research present in these serials. Each advertisement acts as a window into the past, unlocking new insights into readership demographics and reading practices of Dickens’ time.

The original serialization of Bleak House and its advertisements invites scholars and enthusiastic readers alike to explore the avenues of readership it inspired. In doing so, readers of today can learn more about the endless possible ways readers might have listened to, read aloud, multi-tasked along to, shopped through, gawked at, and tore parts out of arguably Dickens’ best novel.

Black and white ad for Lloyd's Newspapers, featuring 1800s man in had and glasses reading a newspaper — “Lloyd’s Weekly London Newspaper” Advertisement in the July 1852 Edition of *Bleak House*

Works Cited

Andrews, Malcolm. “Dickens and the Serial Flâneur.” The Dickensian, vol. 114, no. 504, 2018, pp. 21-25.

Fekete Trubey, Elizabeth. “‘Success Is Sympathy’: Uncle Tom’s Cabin and the Woman Reader.” Reading Women: Literary Figures and Cultural Icons from the Victorian Age to the Present, edited by Janet Badia and Jennifer Phegley, University of Toronto Press, 2005, pp. 53–76.

Hayward, Jennifer. Consuming Pleasures: Active Audiences and Serial Fictions from Dickens to Soap Opera, University of Kentucky Press, 1997.

Lai-ming, Tammy Ho. “Reading Aloud in Dickens’ Novels.” Oral Tradition, vol. 23, no. 2, 2008, pp. 185-199.

“Leigh Hunt Online: The Letters – The Brewer-Leigh Hunt Collection at Iowa.” University of Iowa Special Collections and Archives. https://www.lib.uiowa.edu/sc/leighhunt/collection/

“Stowe’s Global Impact.” Harriet Beecher Stowe Center. https://www.harrietbeecherstowecenter.org/harriet-beecher-stowe/her-global-impact/

Versals from a 15th-century Book of Hours, in order of increasing fanciness

The following is written by Museum Studies Intern Joy Curry

If medieval scribes knew one thing, it was the importance of fancy letters. Surviving manuscripts are decorated with gold, filigree, intricate paintings, and more methods to make the words as beautiful as possible. One type of decoration was versals: letters that are drawn rather than being made with normal pen strokes (which are called calligraphed letters). You’re probably familiar with these, even if you haven’t heard the term –– if you’ve ever seen a medieval book where one letter took up half of the page, or was filled with drawings, that was probably a versal. However, those super fancy caps aren’t the only way to do versals. The University of Iowa’s 15th century Book of Hours from Utrecht shows many different ways to spruce up or tone down drawn letters.

Level 1: Know the basic

On the blank pages at the very beginning and end of the book of hours (called fly leaves), readers added in prayers and scriptural excerpts of their own. Here we find the least fancy versals. Fortunately for us, these give a good demonstration of the difference between versals and calligraphed letters. All of the letters were clearly drawn with the same pen, so it’s easier to see the techniques used to form the different types. In the versal O, for example, the writer had to draw the sides with two separate pen strokes, which created some empty space inside the letter. The calligraphed Q has no such gaps.

Level 2: Color, color, everywhere!

Within the actual book of hours, the simplest versals look pretty similar to those in the book’s fly leaves. The main difference is the use of color; the scribes used vibrant red and blue pigments to fill in any gaps in the letters. They’re also very small. They fit right in with the rest of the lines of text; they’re just a bit wider than the normal calligraphed letters.

Level 3: Mind the gaps (and swirls, and leaves)

When the versals get a bit bigger, they shift the rest of the text block to accommodate them. These larger letters also have a lot more empty space to fill in, so to elevate the level of fanciness, the scribes played with that space and filled the letters with fun shapes.

Those fine lines around the letter are called filigree. This is where the really intricate art starts to come in. Here, the scribes have filigreed swirling foliage and other shapes around some of the large versals.

Level 4: Color me impressed!

The pinnacle of fancy versals puts all of the previous techniques together and then adds some more. The scribes pulled out all the stops for these letters; they even brought out a green pigment seen nowhere else in the book, and they designed both the text block and the border around the letter.

So, what purpose does all this decoration serve? Much of it was practical. In breaking up the text block and highlighting specific words, these letters guide the reader through the book and draw attention towards the subjects that the scribe found most important. The three most ornate versals each indicate the beginning of a different section of the book: the first marks the starting page for the Hours of the Virgin (folio 15r), the next marks the start of the Hours of the Cross (folio 52r), and the final one marks the beginning of the Seven Penitential Psalms (folio 87r). Their size, their ornate borders, and their unique colors would make them relatively easy to find when skimming through the book.

Notably, two of these sections use the same word from the same verse: the versal letter is the D in Domine from Psalm 50:17 of the Vulgate (numbered Psalm 51:15 in the New King James Version): “Domine, labia mea aperies, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam.” [O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall show forth your praise.”] The other versal is the beginning of Psalm 114:1 in the Vulgate (Psalm 116:1 in NKJV): “Dilexi, quoniam exaudiet Dominus vocem orationis meae.” [“I love the LORD, because He has heard My voice and my supplications.”]

Of course, another reason for the decoration was aesthetic because to make a book beautiful is a testament to both the artist’s skill and their dedication to beauty for the glory of God. In a way, the two purposes were the same: to make a book practical was to make it beautiful, which was also to make it holy.

Beware of marginal monsters

The following is written by Museum Studies Intern Joy Curry.

Illuminated “O” with dragons around text

This 14th-century book of hours may be tiny, but it is jam-packed with beasts, ranging from fish to lions to feathered dragons. It’s a marvel that so much of the art has survived, especially since the book is missing 19 miniatures. Fortunately for us, the illustrator incorporated figures throughout the letters, lines, and margins of the book.

According to the seller’s information, the illustrator of this manuscript also worked on the Ghent Psalters (Bodleian MSS Douce 5-6). We recognize them by their decorative line-fillers, dragons in the margins, and finely-painted expressive faces. The illustrator decorated our manuscript for use in the diocese of Thérouanne. As a book of hours, the reader would have used it for religious meditations and devotions.

In that context, it may seem strange that the art decorating the book is so unsacred. The marginal creatures don’t create an orderly, contemplative scene; they attempt to bite letters and borders, they smack into one another, and they vomit vines that curl around the text block.

Illuminated “D” with monster inside, as well as in the margins

As Michael Camille has argued, these chaotic creatures don’t detract from the religious purpose of the text. By mixing up important medieval categories—man and beast, sacred and profane—the art plays with taboo and makes a visual contrast between the holy interior of the text and the wild, disorderly margins. As Elaine Treharne pointed out, art that encroached on the text block, like the decorative line-fillers, still contributed to the order by maintaining a balanced writing grid

Of course, these small illustrations also provided an opportunity for artists to show off their skill and joy in their work. Even though the book of hours is tiny, the illustrator still took care to show the scales on the fish, shading on the leaves, and feathers on the wings. Whatever its exact purpose, this art shows impressive dedication to the craft.

Come visit Portable Book of Hours, use of Thérouanne (xMMs. Bo13) today.

Further Reading:

Camille, Michael. Image on the Edge : The Margins of Medieval Art. Reaktion Books, 1992.

Treharne, Elaine. Perceptions of Medieval Manuscripts: The Phenomenal Book. 1st ed., Oxford University Press, Incorporated, 2022, https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780192843814.001.0001.

Oxford, Bodleian Library MS. Douce 5: https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/objects/ffa96f42-fde8-4f82-93e5-0c645f7f1b94/ Oxford, Bodleian Library MS. Douce 6: https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/objects/4a0c575c-0cad-4dd2-8fd4-a6689c0ae1e8/

Welcome Isabel Cazares

We are happy to welcome Isabel Cazares as our new instruction and outreach librarian.

In this position, Isabel will be working with both the University of Iowa Libraries and the Stanley Museum of Art to increase visibility and usability of our deep and distinctive art collections through object-based learning in the classroom.

Isabel comes to us from the hot and dry Phoenix, Arizona (we give her major points for moving in the middle of winter). She attended the University of Arizona in Tucson and received a bachelors in anthropology and East Asian studies. In 2019, she received her master’s degree in library and information science online through Simmons University in Boston.

For the last four years, Isabel has worked for the Arizona Historical Society where she developed a love of architectural drawings and a deeper appreciation of local and regional history.

As a librarian, Isabel likes the opportunity to help others connect with people and places through what others have created, and she enjoys supporting the long-term care of unique materials for future generations.

“I am excited to start exploring the wonderful UI [Libraries] collections as well as the Stanley Museum of Art collections and sharing that excitement through engaging moments with students, faculty, and staff. The chance to help others access a rich variety of resources to spark their creativity and passion is something I really look forward to in my position.”

When not working, you can find Isabel exploring local restaurants and delicacies, watching classic films, playing board games, and attending cultural festivals and performance art events.

Welcome, Isabel!

Voices from the stacks: Corita Kent

The following is written by Olson Graduate Research Assistant, Kaylee Swinford.

Collage of Corita Kent from the Josephine Pletscher Papers (IWA0913)

Corita Kent was an American artist, educator, activist, and former religious sister. With a rebellious spirit, Corita was a pioneering designer, who produced a body of work for over three decades combining themes of spirituality, hope, peace, and acceptance. Inspired by the popular Pop Art movement taking hold throughout the 1950s–60s in America, Corita’s serigraphs, also known as screenprints, incorporated questions about racism, war, poverty, and religion through found text, images, and vibrant colors.

Corita, born Frances Kent in Fort Dodge, Iowa, in 1918, grew up in Los Angeles after her family relocated there when she was a young child. At 18, Corita decided to join the order of the nuns at the Immaculate Heart of Mary, providing her the opportunity to pursue art and higher education in a way that would not have been an option for many women in 1936. While here, she took the name Sister Mary Corita though wished to be referred to as Corita. As a member of the teaching order, she taught art education at various institutions while receiving an art education herself. In 1947, Corita was then asked to teach with the Art Department at the Immaculate Heart College where she would remain until 1968.

Corita Kent with her students at Immaculate Heart College from *Sister Corita*

The Art Department at Immaculate Heart College was a space of growth and development for Corita. Here she would develop her art style, which in early stages often incorporated religious imagery, containing medieval-influenced figures, then later evolving to integrate a wider breadth of material like song lyrics, advertisements, abstract shapes, and brighter colors. While Corita was further developing her work, she was having a significant impact on her students, urging them to discover new ways of experiencing the world. Through exercises like exploring a grocery store for inspiration or looking through an empty 35mm slide mount to frame compositions, Corita’s approach to teaching inspired her students and led to a fruitful period of creation and exploration for Immaculate Heart College which drew national recognition. This influential impact can be seen in the work of Corita’s students of this time, found within the student’s pieces, as well as the Irregular Bulletin, a zine-like newsletter created by the art department to announce the activities and accomplishments of students and faculty.

Page from the Irregular Bulletin, created by the Art Department under Corita Kent’s direction

Through rising tensions within the country from the United States’ involvement in the Vietnam War, Corita and her fellow sisters became more politically and civically engaged, participating in demonstrations throughout the city, and gaining a reputation as rebellious nuns. By 1968, the strain between the Immaculate Heart of Mary sisters and the Archbishop of Los Angeles was high, leading to the majority of the sisters dispensing with their vows, and Corita leaving LA for the East Coast. It was there Corita would continue to create under a more introspective style until her passing in 1986.

Immaculate Heart nuns protesting at a Mary’s Day Procession in 1964 (Courtesy of Corita Art Center)

Within the University of Iowa’s collections, Corita’s work can be found through various published books, screenprints found both in the Special Collections and Archives as well as the Stanley Museum of Art, and an intimate manuscript collection from a former student, her mentee and friend, Josephine Pletscher. Pletscher, with a long-lasting connection to the Immaculate Heart College, amassed a thorough collection, not only regarding the Immaculate Heart, but also Corita and her career. Incorporating correspondence, serigraphs created both by Pletscher and Corita, as well as Corita’s personal rosary beads, the care and connection between the two women is evident.

Published books featuring Corita Kent’s art found in the Sackner Archive of Concrete & Visual Poetry at Special Collections and Archives

With impactful messages that continue to resonate today, Corita’s work reminds viewers to reflect upon and explore the world around them. Just as she imparted to her students, great strength comes from opening oneself to new possibilities.

To learn more, visit us in person to view the published Corita Kent printed materials within the collection, or visit the finding aid for the Josephine Pletscher Papers (IWA0913) which can be viewed in person at the Iowa Women’s Archive. Additional information about Corita and her work can be found at Corita.org.

Remembering Frank Paluka

We are saddened to announce the Feb. 15, 2025, passing of Frank Paluka, former director of Special Collections at the University of Iowa Libraries. Frank joined Special Collections in 1961, becoming the head of the department in 1962. He remained in this position until March of 1986.

Under Frank’s direction, Special Collections’ holdings of rare books grew into a noteworthy collection. Among his many contributions as director, Frank developed the Iowa Authors Collection, worked with author Mildred Wirt Benson to receive her manuscripts, and grew the Leigh Hunt letter collection.

Frank Paluka, director of Special Collections from 1962-1986

Professionally, Frank was an outstanding scholar and bibliophile. He was the editor of Books at Iowa for over 20 years and author of the book The Three Voyages of Captain Cook. Frank was also a passionate book collector in his free time, and his personal book collection showed a man with a keen eye for fine books who also demonstrated a curiosity about the world around him. His home contained a large collection of Henry James first editions and biographies of Captain Cook. Yet his collection stretched beyond traditional titles and topics, spanning from genre fiction to alternative science and the occult.

Frank donated hundreds of his personal books to Special Collections, including several rare works and items by Clark Ashton Smith, H.P. Lovecraft, and Sax Rohmer. Along with his books, the Libraries also holds his papers in the archives. His professional papers provide a view of his impact on our own collections here at the UI, while personal letters and photographs from his youth offer a look at the man behind the books.

His legacy is still felt here in Special Collections and Archives, especially when we use the material he procured or donated to us in our classes. We will continue to carry on his memory by working to spark even half as much love of books as he had in the students of the university.

Read former University Librarian Dale Bentz’s 1986 tribute to Frank upon his retirement in Books at Iowa.

Language of flowers speaks volumes

The following is written by museum intern student Joy Curry.

Illustrated plate from *Poetry of Flowers*

Valentine’s Day is, among other things, a common time to give and receive flowers. If you visited a florist this last holiday, you might have seen some explanations on what flowers mean. You may have heard of the symbolism attached to different colors of roses for example, a red rose means love, and a yellow rose means friendship—but you can send even more specific messages with your bouquet if you know where to look. During the Victorian period, floral enthusiasts published full-blown dictionaries explaining a symbolic “language of flowers.” This language of flowers gained popularity from a misinterpretation of the Turkish harem game of Sélam, which involved rhyming items, as a language of symbolic objects that lovers used to communicate with one another in secret.

Here in Special Collections and Archives, we have two poetry compilations that contain floral dictionaries: Poetry of Flowers selected by Mrs. C. M. Kirtland, and Frances S. Osgood’s 1860 book The poetry of flowers and flowers of poetry; to which are added, a simple treatise on botany, with familiar examples, and a copious floral dictionary.

These books show that Victorian “flower language” was far from standardized. For example, Kirtland and Osgood give very different meanings to the Bachelor’s Button flower. Osgood describes it as meaning “I with the Morning’s Love have oft made Sport,” while Kirtland claims that it means “Celibacy.” So, if you want to use floral language to communicate with someone, make sure you’re both referencing the same dictionary!

We hope you had a happy Valentine’s Day—but even if you didn’t, here are some floral ways to express your feelings, courtesy of the Mabbott Poe Collection!

· A bouquet of Cherry Blossom or Foxglove, Scarlet Auricula, and Turk’s Cap means “Your insincerity and avarice make me hate you.”

· A bouquet of Nasturtium, Oak Leaves, Heliotrope, and Everlasting or Immortelles means “Your patriotism, courage, and fidelity merit everlasting remembrance.”

· A bouquet of red roses, Carolina Syringa, and Sycamore means “I love to disappoint your curiosity.”

· A bouquet of Lemon Geranium and Withered White Rose means “Our unexpected meeting left but transient impressions.” If you receive this bouquet, the book recommends responding with a bouquet of African Marigold and Moonwort, meaning “Vulgar minds soon forget.”

Further reading:

Seaton, Beverly. The Language of Flowers : A History / Beverly Seaton. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1995.

Nossett, Lauren, and Luca Pixner. “The Language of Flowers and the (Re)Productive Female Body in Hedwig Dohm’s Werde, Die Du Bist.” Feminist German Studies 36, no. 1 (2020): 144–65. doi:10.1353/fgs.2020.0011.

Voices from the Stacks: Phillip G. Hubbard

The following is written by Olson Graduate Research Assistant Anne Moore.

Hubbard in 1966, after being appointed dean of academic affairs (From University Archives Faculty Files, RG01.0015.003)

Phillip G. Hubbard was an engineering professor, administrator, civil rights champion, and distinguished member of the University of Iowa community. He was the first Black professor at the university and spent more than 40 years advocating for students and providing counsel to six presidents. In 1971, he became the first Black vice president at any Big 10 university.

Hubbard was born in Missouri in 1921, but his mother moved the family to Des Moines, Iowa—where the schools were desegrated—so her children could have a better education. Hubbard attended North High School and shined shoes to save up money for college. He first came to the UI as an undergraduate student in 1940, when the university was still largely, if informally, segregated. Black men were excluded from university housing, and all students of color were discouraged from using the cafeteria and attending social events. Like many Black male students, Hubbard lived with a local Black family during his undergraduate years because of housing discrimination in Iowa City. Years later, Hubbard and his wife, Wynonna, would welcome Black students into their own home.

In 1943, Hubbard enlisted in the Army reserves but eventually returned to the UI to finish his BS in electrical engineering, graduating with honors in 1947. That same year, he was hired by the university as a research engineer, making him the first Black faculty member at the UI. He went on to earn an MA in hydraulics and mechanics, a PhD in engineering, and became an assistant professor in 1954.

As the civil rights movement reached its peak throughout the United States, Hubbard helped to found the Committee on Human Rights to combat housing and employment discrimination at the UI and in Iowa City. They investigated complaints and lobbied for Fair Housing ordinances, which were adopted by the city in 1964.

1968 University of Iowa Hawkeye Yearbook

Hubbard was appointed dean of academic affairs at the UI in 1966, becoming the first Black administrator at a university in the state of Iowa. In 1971, he was named vice president of student services. During his leadership tenure, he was a staunch advocate for students of all walks of life. He fought for better undergraduate support and engagement and was admired on campus for his willingness to listen to student concerns. His steady relationship with students helped see the university through the turbulence of the Vietnam War and protests that rocked the campus.

In 1967 Hubbard spearheaded the Rust, Iowa, and Le Moyne for Expanding Educational Horizons (RILEEH) program, which created partnership between the UI and predominantly Black colleges in the rural south. RILEEH facilitated student exchanges, teacher training, and graduate research to help support under-resourced academic institutions in Mississippi and Tennessee. Later, Hubbard would recruit faculty from these same institutions to help build the emerging Afro-American studies program.

As part of his work to promote cultural studies at UI, Hubbard chaired a newly created committee on Afro-American studies in 1968. He encouraged students of all backgrounds to take classes in this emerging field. He saw inclusivity and cultural competency as vital in higher education, believing the university should produce well rounded students who are prepared to live and work in a diverse world. He advocated for the Afro-American Cultural House and the Chicano Indian American Cultural Center (now called the Latino Native American Cultural Center), understanding the importance of creating a welcoming and supportive environment for minority students.

Hubbard with Students in 1983 (Frederick W. Kent Collection of Photographs).

To that end, Hubbard created Opportunity at Iowa in 1987, a program aimed at increasing diversity at the university through the recruitment and retention of minority students and faculty. This included scholarships, outreach to underserved public schools in Iowa, and summer workshops for highschoolers.

After more than 40 years of service, Hubbard retired from the UI in 1990, though he continued to advise Opportunity at Iowa. A year later, Union field (located south of the Iowa Memorial Union) was renamed Hubbard Park in his honor. In 2001, he received a lifetime achievement award from the Iowa City Human Rights Commission.

Dedication of Hubbard Park in August 1991 (Daily Iowan Archives)

Hubbard passed away in 2002 at the age of 80. Today numerous scholarships, medals, and awards bare the Hubbard name, including the Philip G. Hubbard Human Rights Award and the Wynonna G. Hubbard Scholarship. As we reflect on his life and legacy, we should strive to honor Hubbard’s commitment to human rights and his dedication to uplifting students of all backgrounds.

To learn more, view the finding aid for the Phillip G. Hubbard Papers (RG99.0248), or visit us in person or online at the Iowa Digital Library. You can also search the Daily Iowan archives for articles on Phillip Hubbard’s work, or check out his autobiography My Iowa Journey: The Life Story of the University of Iowa’s First African American Professor on InfoHawk+.

New acquisition, Neue Jugend, imparts Dada history

Cover of June 1917 edition of Neue Jugend, taken by Ursula Romero

The following is written by curator Timothy Shipe

Among the International Dada Archive’s latest acquisitions are several issues of the Berlin journal Neue Jugend, founded in early 1914 by two student poets, Heinz Barger and Friedrich Hollaender.

Neue Jugend is a telling example of how the Berlin dadaists managed to elude wartime government censorship. The journal published five issues before its editors were drafted to fight when Germany went to war in August 1914. A sixth issue, distinctly pro-war in tenor, was published in December, after which the journal went silent. Meanwhile, the young writer Wieland Herzfelde served in the German medical corps in Belgium, returning to Berlin in early 1915, expelled from the military for insubordination and deeply disillusioned by the massive slaughter he had witnessed. In Berlin he joined a circle of young writers and artists who, like Herzfelde, were seeking an outlet for their growing pacifist sentiments. Their ingenious solution was to purchase publishing rights to the dormant Neue Jugend.

Because the last issue had been staunchly pro-war, the authorities paid little attention to the journal as it resumed publication in July 1916 with a staunchly anti-war and internationalist orientation. Herzfelde and his associates managed to produce numbers 7 through 12 before the authorities took notice and banned the journal in early 1917. But the editors had one more trick up their sleeves. Taking advantage of a legal loophole, they were able to recast Neue Jugend as a “weekly” in newspaper format. Two issues of this “Wochenausgabe” appeared before it, too, was banned. But it is these two issues, with their radical page layout and avant-garde content, that mark the beginning of a Dada sensibility in Berlin.

By this time, Richard Huelsenbeck had returned from Zurich, where he had helped found the Dada movement. Herzfelde and his colleagues eagerly adopted this new movement, giving it a more overtly political flavor. The final, June 1917 issue of Neue Jugend is considered one of the masterpieces of dadaist page design. Now, with the recent acquisition of nos. 1 and 2 of the first series and no. 1 of the “Wochenausgabe,” we are just one issue short of holding a complete run of this major Berlin Dada publication.

You can find out more about visiting Special Collections to view this and other items in the International Dada Archive by visiting our website.