Lördag med Gutenberg

 Egentligen har jag inte alls tid att ägna mig åt Gutenberg i dag — men när jag upptäcker att man lagt ut ännu en upplaga av Mrs. Gaskells "Cranford" blir jag sittandes. För inte kan jag motstå nöjet att titta på Hugh Thomsons illustrationer av boken, och jämföra dem med C. E. Brocks, som illustrerat den upplagan som sedan tidigare finns hos Gutenberg. 

Båda upplagorna är rikligt illustrerade, och en aning beskowska när det kommer till kläderna.

en av Brocks illustrationer

Cranford gavs först ut som följetong mellan 1851 och 1853 i "Household Words", en veckotidning som Charles Dickens var redaktör för. 
Både Brocks och Thomson illustrerade sin tids kända författare, som Jane Austen, Charles Dickens och Mary Anne Evans.

När jag i sommar suttit och fnissat över roliga passager, i böcker jag läst, har jag tänkt en hel del på vad som ofta kallas för roliga böcker. Jag kan nog tycka att sådana ofta är krystade, medan jag uppskattar smålustiga episoder i vardagsskildringar. Som den här:

illustration av Brocks

As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, instead of a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady Glenmire—an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, but of which even Mrs Jamieson was not aware.  It related to some fine old lace, the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs Forrester’s collar.

“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me.  They say that they can’t make it now even there.  But perhaps they can, now they’ve passed the Catholic Emancipation Bill.  I should not wonder.  But, in the meantime, I treasure up my lace very much.  I daren’t even trust the washing of it to my maid” (the little charity school-girl I have named before, but who sounded well as “my maid”).  “I always wash it myself.  And once p. 125it had a narrow escape.  Of course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never be starched or ironed.  Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself have a very good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives it a very good creamy colour.  Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and the beauty of this fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a very little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very like a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked with something she wanted to swallow and could not.  And, would you believe it?  At first I pitied her, and said ‘Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty—cleaned out!  ‘You naughty cat!’ said I, and I believe I was provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, but only helped the lace down—just as one slaps a choking child on the back.  I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I determined I would not give the lace up without a struggle for it.  I hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour after, and almost expecting to be stroked.  ‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you have any conscience you ought not to expect that!’  And then a thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and sent her to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind enough to lend me one of his top-boots p. 126for an hour?  I did not think there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the young men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting a top-boot.  When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her forefeet straight down, so that they were fastened, and could not scratch, and we gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in which (your ladyship must excuse me) I had mixed some tartar emetic.  I shall never forget how anxious I was for the next half-hour.  I took pussy to my own room, and spread a clean towel on the floor.  I could have kissed her when she returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down.  Jenny had boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread it on a lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even to put it in milk.  But now your ladyship would never guess that it had been in pussy’s inside.”

När gästerna farit så tror jag att det är dags att läsa om Cranford.