Water-Worlds: Ripple Effects or Sea Change?

KINNEY CENTER FOR INTERDISCIPLINARY RENAISSANCE STUDIES

WATER-WORLDS: RIPPLE EFFECTS OR SEA CHANGE?

SPRING 2024 A RENAISSANCE OF THE EARTH EXHIBIT

INTRODUCTION This exhibit is an outgrowth of many cross-disciplinary campus-wide collaborations. At the Kinney Center, we are in the midst of a multi-year project entitled, Renaissance of the Earth, which explores what it means to engage the early modern past with questions about our environmental future. Through a range of cross-disciplinary collaborative models, it puts students, artists, and scholars at the center of an interdisciplinary research mandate with the goal of discovering diverse avenues for creating sustainable and equitable life. The Renaissance of the Earth joins as an investigator with the Anthropocene Lab, an interdisciplinary group of humanists, scientists, social scientists, and artists who seek new interdisciplinary narratives about the Anthropocene in an effort to engage the deep past and shared futures, humans and non-human communities.

This year, under the directorship of Prof. Evan MacCarthy, the Center has launched the Elements series, an arts and humanities project which explores the four classical elements of earth, air, fire, and water through a variety of cultural lenses across disciplines and across time.

Water-Worlds emerges at the crosscurrent of these conversations.

In the exhibition cases, you’ll discover water-worlds depicted in drama, poetry, novels, natural philosophy, early earth science, music, origin myths, fables and more. As you explore, we invite you to consider how these water-worlds transform by way of subtle ripple effects and stunning sea changes. Much of what you’ll discover is drawn from the Kinney Center collections as well as works of Shakespeare on loan from a generous friend of the Center. Our exhibit also features the contemporary poetry of Joan Naviyuk Kane. Inside these works, water appears in all its states (from ice, frost, and snow to liquid and vapor). In adopting water as an Element we are exploring at the Kinney Center throughout 2024, we are interested in how humans have engaged the changing, moving states and qualities of water: melting, freezing, drying, evaporating, flowing, soaking, dripping, rising, flooding, poisoning, disappearing, cleansing, nourishing, preserving. In this exhibit and our related programming, we will explore human and non-human contexts of the creative, destructive, and restorative powers of our water-worlds.

Co-curators Evan MacCarthy and Marjorie Rubright

Living in the midst of a Little Ice Age, early modern Europeans debated extensively about what it meant to impact the natural world on a planetary scale and returned to the story of the biblical Flood time and again to explain the diversity of life on the terraqueous globe.

Geneva Bible (1594) In the book of Genesis earth becomes a water-world.

Environmental disaster transforms both the face of the earth and the course of human history in the story of the Universal Deluge.

“Behold, I will bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life under the heaven: all that is in the earth shall perish” (Genesis 9.17). Accounts of the biblical Flood in literature, art, natural philosophy and early earth science gave rise to questions of how humanity escaped near extinction and would embark upon living in imperfect environments thereafter.

The above image illustrates the floodwaters rising as a human figure clings on the far right to the trunk of a tree.

Thomas Burnet, Sacred Theory of the Earth (1684) In Sacred Theory of the Earth, Thomas Burnet argues that the Flood sparked what today’s readers might recognize in terms of a climate emergency as humans were “transplanted” from an “excellent” climate to a “worse,” and themselves “degenerated” in the process. “Insisting on the Flood’s universality was a way for Burnet to turn the Flood into a ‘golden spike,’ or geochrononological marker, between two distinct geological epochs” (Barnett, After the Flood, 94).

This image conveys the surface of the earth before the Flood: “not a wrinkle, scar or fracture in all its body” and “not so much as a Sea, nor half so much water as we have in this Earth.” Beneath the surface of that perfect sphere lies the Great Abysse into which a perfect world “broke and fell.” When the “fountains of the great Abysse were broken open,” Burnet writes, the old World was destroyed as the transforming effects of its waters reshaped every aspect of the natural world.

John Woodward, An Essay toward a Natural History of the Earth (1695) For John Woodward, life on planet Earth is a story of one water-world replacing another. The Flood was nothing short of a “mighty Revolution” that left the “Earth quite unhinged, shattered all to pieces and turned into a heap of ruins.” In his Preface, he contends that “the vast Multitudes of Shells, and other Marine Bodies, found at this day incorporated with and lodge in all sorts of Stone, in Marble, in Chalk” could be “found in all Parts of the known World, as well in Europe, Africa, and America, as in Asia, and this even to the very tops of the highest Mountains”— all evidence supporting the universality of Noah’s Flood and disproving the notion that fossils ‘grew’ in situ, arising from the rocks and soils in which they were found.

Richard Verstegan, A Restitution of Decayed Intelligence (1605) The earth after the Flood was marked by ruin. The title page of Richard Verstegan’s A Restitution of Decayed Intelligence (on display) illustrates humanities’ migration across the globe following the curse of the Tower of Babel, one of three catastrophes that shaped the early history of mankind in the book of Genesis. Each catastrophe resulted in a fragmentation and scattering of life on earth: first, the Fall from Eden, leaving man and woman to wander and toil beyond the walls of the garden; then, the Flood, which reshaped both the form of the earth itself and life upon it; and third, the destruction of the Tower of Babel as a result of God’s curse of linguistic confusion among mankind.

As Verstegan focuses on the postdiluvian reality of living in a waterworld, the story of the Flood emerges as the catalyst for the building of the Tower of Babel. After the flood, he writes, Noah’s sons were living in fear “upon hilles & mountains”; after they descended, God told them to disperse and settle the earth, which they refused to do out of suspicion that this was but “a device or plot,” whereby God “the more easely once again . . . destroy them.”

Verstegan lived his entire life on the borders of the North Sea, and much of his life in the Netherlands. Floods were a real, frequent, and often devastating part of living at or below sea level. The story of The Flood aroused Verstegan’s environmental sympathies. To him, mankind’s building of the Tower was not an act of defiance, disobedience, or hubris against God but was, instead, savvy environmental planning in the face of eco-catastrophe. Catalyzed by the desire to live on higher ground, to stay clear of the low-lying plains, the Tower of Babel was mankind’s first earth-work project: a feat of engineering aimed at living sustainably on a floodplain.

Edward Jorden, A Discourse of Natural & Mineral Waters (1631) In each of its states (water, ice, and steam), the restorative powers of water for both body and soul have long been advocated. For centuries, guides and treatises in the fields of hydrotherapy and balneology have professed definitions of the medical properties of mineral waters and identified the effects of natural baths across the world. English physician and chemist Edward Jorden (1569-1632) completed his medical training at the University of Padua, then practiced medicine in London and later in the town of Bath, Somerset. He also published a discourse on hysteria, A Brief Discourse of a Disease called the Suffocation of the Mother (1603), which drew the attention of James I for its relating of hysteria to demonic possession.

In this treatise on natural baths and mineral waters, Jorden defines the three sources of mineral waters: (1) “from moist vapors congealed by cold in the air” (i.e. precipitation), (2) from the earth (e.g., perpetual springs and rivers), and (3) “by percolation from the Sea.” He also explores in detail the simple and compound minerals and metals found in water, claiming distinct medical benefits for them, from affecting humors, opening pores, inducing sweat, moving bodily fluids, comforting nerves, cleansing the skin, and removing salts. For Jorden, the temperature of the bath’s waters induces different effects on the body, as does duration of the patient’s immersion in the waters, even the time of year and day. Consumption of heated or cooled mineral waters also has salutary results. Ultimately, Jorden warns that the authority to distinguish “the virtues and uses of our Baths” remains with the physician, and the two “cannot well be intimated to the patient without dangerous mistaking.”

Michael Maier, Atalanta Fugiens (1617) The artistic craft of alchemy primarily focuses on processes of transforming physical matter through the use of a transmuting agent, the philosopher’s stone. Beyond objectives to change lead into gold, alchemical transmutation also had medical motives: to heal, to extend life, to expel sickness. Once again, the element of water features in these processes of transformation.

The German alchemist Michael Maier (1568-1622) produced the multimedia work Atalanta Fleeing: New Chymical Emblems Relating to the Secrets of Nature, which features in opening of the book emblems, mottos, discourses, and musical works that were intended, as the title page states, “to be seen, read, meditated [upon], understood, distinguished, sung and heard.” With these instructions, “Maier underscores the fact that Atalanta fugiens is…a collection of emblems, a genre that demands of its reader not flight and forward motion but pause, lingering, and stillness. Moreover, the emblematic mode of reading demands multiple senses: not just the intellect or eyes but also (in this case) the voice and ears” (Nummedal, “Sound and Vision,” 1).

The twenty-eighth emblem and fugue features the alchemical allegory of King Duenech, whose melancholy, which was caused when he found himself despised in a meeting of monarchs, was cured by a steam bath. The etching by Swiss engraver Matthäus Merian (1593-1650) depicts the naked, but crowned monarch reclining in a compact chamber, as vaporous steam rises through the floor’s vents, inducing sweat in the king’s body. The music of this three-voice fugue is composed by John Farmer, published earlier in a collection of Divers & Sundry Waies of Two Parts in One, to the Number of Fortie upon one Playnsong (1591). Maier’s Latin text (and its German translation) of the accompanying fugue reads: Prince Duenech, armed with the Lions strength, Grew melancholic and morose at length: Pharut is sent for to contrive a cure, Who by a vaporous bath does health assure; Which means by frequent use wrought good effect, And his distempers wholly did correct.

Like Jorden’s Discourse, Maier argues that the water’s temperature is key to its curative powers, since with “hot stoves or baths... a beautiful complexion is acquired to the face and whole body,” signaling that “the melancholic blackness, which infects the skin, may by degrees be evacuated, and all the humors corrected, that pure and rosy blood may afterwards be generated.” He also warns that the “water may…burn his tender flesh, or obstruct the pores, whereby more damage than utility would ensue, and his malady not be cured.”

Salvador Dalí’s illustrations for Essays of Michel de Montaigne (1947) In 1580, the philosopher and essayist Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592) embarked on an eighteen-month journey across France, Alemannic Switzerland, southern Germany, Austria, and Italy in order to present a copy of his Essays to Pope Gregory XIII in Rome and to seek out mineral waters and hot baths, which might bring relief to his kidney stones. In a travel journal, maintained by Montaigne and his secretary, there are frequent, detailed accounts of the taste, smell, temperature, and curative strengths of waters at Plombières-les-Bains, Baden, Bagni di Lucca, Pistoia, and many other baths visited by Montaigne during these movements around Europe.

In the displayed pages from this 1947 translation of Montaigne’s Essays, which feature illustrations by the Surrealist painter Salvador Dalí (1904-1989), we find Montaigne reflecting on the varied therapeutic practices found at such baths.

Learned from his wide travels, he writes of differing prescribed methods of washing, soaking, drinking, and mixing mineral waters with “other drugs to make it work the better,” but observes that the “best and surest part” of these healing waters is the opportunity to “enjoy the pleasure of company” encountered at the baths. The juxtaposition of Montaigne’s thoughts on restorative waters with Dalí’s surreal painting, itself inspired by another of Montaigne’s essays (“Of repentance”), invokes the reflective nature of water seen by the lone wanderer, and water in states vaporous (clouds) and solid (snow), and even the perhaps confounding, suspended dodecahedron, which Dalí elsewhere celebrates for the “luminous and Pythagorean instantaneousness based on the celestial communion of the number twelve” (hours, months, apostles, signs of the zodiac, et al.). Christy Wampole reminds us that the reader of this particular edition of Montaigne’s Essays “is invited to determine the relationship between Dalí’s image and Montaigne’s text but not to conjure [their] own image” (Wampole, “Dalí’s Montaigne,” 327).

John Ray, Three Physico-Theological Discourses (1693) Were any of God’s original creatures lost in the planetary catastrophe of rising waters? Fossilized sea life became the focus of significant debate among natural philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries who raised questions regarding the extinction of species. Natural philosophers speculated on the similarities and differences between the pre- and post-Deluge water-worlds. These illustrations convey the diversity of ante-diluvian sea life, including: “Petrify’d shells,” “two petrify’d fishes lying in stone, with their scales and bones,” and “a Sea-Urchin petrfy’d with its Pricles broken off.”

The Great Frost (1608), a pamphlet. (reproduction) Houghton Library, Harvard University Throughout the Renaissance, Europe was in the midst of a Little Ice Age. Beginning in the fourteenth century, temperatures in the British Isles cooled by two degrees celsius. By the early seventeenth century, “frost fairs” were regularly taking place on London’s river Thames. This pamphlet’s title page conveys the seemingly playful “cool doings” during the “terrible frost,” but obscures the large-scale crop failures and food shortages that resulted as well as the significant challenges that frozen waterways pose to a maritime trading center dependent on rivers for trade, fishing, and transportation.

The Little Ice Age reached its peak intensity between 1680-1730.

2019

François Rabelais, The Fourth Book of Pantagruel (1552), a page. (reproduction) Bibliothèque nationale de France On a bitter cold voyage, Rabelais’ Pantagruel hears faint and undefinable voices trapped in the surrounding icescape. His captain reveals that “this is the edge of the frozen sea” where a battle once ensued. “Frightful noises of battle” were once “frozen on the air” but with the thaw “noises are melting, and so you can hear them.” “Here, here,” exclaims Pantagruel, “here are some that are not yet thawed.” “Then he threw on the deck before us whole handfuls of frozen words, which looked like crystallized sweets of different colors. We saw some words gules, or gay quips, some vert, some azure, some sable, and some gold.

When we warmed them a little between our hands, they melted like snow, and we actually heard them, though we did not understand them, for they were in a barbarous language.”

In this image, drawn from a page of Rabelais’ Gargantua and Pantagruel, words begin thawing together into a slurry of non-sense sounds: “frrrr, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, traccc, trac, trr, trr, trr, trrr, trrrrrr, On, on, on, on, ououououon: goth, magoth” which conclude with the exclamation, “& ne scay quelz autre motz barbares” [“and goodness knows what other barbarous sounds”].

Joan Naviyuk Kane, “Dark Traffic” in Dark Traffic (2021) “Dark Traffic contains a series of poems that reflect upon the changing nature of water in Alaska’s Bering Sea coast . . .

[Kane’s] verse, in the title poem and throughout the collection, respond to the fracturing of the Arctic climate by evoking pervasive loss, exploring forms of adaptation, and imagining possibilities for new relationships with a changing place. As new texts for blue humanities scholarship, the poems in Dark Traffic open windows onto a remote and changing icescape” (Mentz, Blue Humanities, 113-14).

Ludovico Einaudi, Elegy for the Arctic (2016)

Lamenting the loss of glaciers is at once an urgent cry for the planet’s future and a mourning heartache for its deep history. In 2016, the Italian pianist Ludovico Einaudi was invited by Greenpeace to participate in a global campaign to mandate the creation of a marine sanctuary in Arctic waters, saving them from oil and gas drilling, industrial fishing, and military activity. A threeminute video was recorded in the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard, the same islands where over a million samples of the world’s crop seeds are conserved in a vault surrounded by slowly melting ice and thawing permafrost. Set in the icy waters below a calving glacier, Einaudi is seen floating on a small pontoon, seated at a grand piano while warming his hands before performing a wordless Elegy for the Arctic. Greenpeace describes the moment of the recording against the thunderous chaos of ice breaking away from the glacier into the sea: “The silence broken by the noise of the glacier as it fell off. Some notes torn from a grand piano floating in a sea of ice” (Einaudi, Elegy for the Arctic [The Making of]).

Since its release on YouTube in 2016, Einaudi’s Elegy has had over 20 million views, but an Arctic sanctuary awaits declaration.

Laura Alexandrine Smith, The Music of the Waters: A Collection of the Sailors Chanties or Working Songs of the Sea (1888) The thirteenth-century Persian poet Rumi likens the art of singing to “sea foam,” for its “graceful movements come from a pearl somewhere on the ocean floor.” Such an evocative image of song’s beauty hailing from the depths of the sea connects human-made music to the music of nature, especially of water. Smith’s maritime music collection The Music of the Waters, published in London in 1888, seeks to do the same. It is considered by scholars to be the first comprehensive, ethnographic treatment of sea shanties and sea songs, aiming to bring together tunes from all maritime nations. For this study, Smith transcribed tunes and their texts of music related to the sea and to life at sea, having collected music and stories received from active and retired sailors who responded to calls and ads placed in trade journals.

The volume is arranged geographically, featuring distinct chapters on nautical songs from England, America, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, France, Italy, Scandinavia, Germany, Holland, Russia, Greece, Japan, Egypt, India, China, and Peru. Highlighting the intersections of labor, warfare, commerce, and travel with poetry, folk music, and oral traditions, Smith’s gathering of songs and song texts made for and by those living on and with the sea is a powerful snapshot of an evolving understanding of the planet’s oceans amid the Industrial Revolution and a profound respect and growing nostalgia for a deep history that these songs engage with in their performance and in their collecting. According to Laura Alexandrine Smith, the passage of time has “made very little difference in the music of the sea,” since the “winds moaned their sad dirges, or thundered their great stormchords, the waves have murmured their lullabies to the waiting shores, and the wild sea-birds have screamed their hoarse choruses through all ages, and will continue to do so as long as man and the world of waters exist.”

Frank Martin, Der Sturm (1956)

The violent energy of the sea is vividly captured by Austrian artist Stefan Hlawa (1896-1977) in this title page for an opera based on William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Swiss composer Frank Martin (1890-1974) started composing this magic-comedy opera (a “Zauberlustspiel”) in 1952 and premiered it with the Vienna State Opera in 1956. Setting August Wilhelm von Schlegel and Ludwig Tieck’s German translation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Martin arranges the play’s text across ten scenes in three acts with eleven singers, one dancer, two choirs, and a large orchestra, as well as a small orchestra featuring jazz percussion, a harpsichord, and a string quintet, enabling Martin to move between musical styles and orchestral colors. Hints of the looming storm are revealed amid the opening moments of calm in the Overture, but Martin’s opening scene of Act I features dramatic percussive rolls to imitate surging, crashing sounds of Hlawa’s hurling waves as the ship’s crew begin to panic before finding themselves overboard, amid the sea’s waters.

Robert Johnson, “Full fathom five” (ca. 1660), a page. (reproduction) Folger Shakespeare Library Robert Johnson (ca. 1583-1633) composed a version of Ariel’s song from The Tempest Act I, scene 2, which is believed to be one of the few composed Shakespearean songs to survive in its original musical setting.

This manuscript copy of “Full Fathom Five” (Folger Shakespeare Library, MS V.a.411), believed to be in the hand of John Playford, is a three-voice version attributed to John Wilson, but based on Johnson’s setting.

William Shakespeare, The Tempest (Second Folio, 1632) on loan from a generous friend of the Kinney Center Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.

Isolated by water’s frontiers, islands are singular water-worlds, often sites of mystery, utopias and dystopias, elected isolation or exiled, new beginnings or desolation. Waves, tides, reefs, storms, and the deep blue seas defend and contain an island’s inhabitants and its secrets. Water both creates and destroys islands.

Shipwrecked by Prospero’s titular storm, the King of Naples Alonso’s son Ferdinand appears in Act I, scene 2, puzzled, wondering aloud how and from where the songs of Ariel and the spirits have reached his ears: “Where should this Music be? I’th air, or th’earth?” And later: “This Music crept by me upon the waters.” Confused, Ferdinand claims to follow the song, or to be drawn by it. It is at once there, then gone, then returns. Ariel’s song “Full fathom five” relates Alonso’s apparent drowning in the tempest, leading to a transformation, “a sea-change/ Into something rich and strange” at thirty feet below the sea’s surface, evoking images of an aquatic metamorphosis, both physical and spiritual, as bones become coral, eyes pearl, and underwater angels (here, sea-nymphs) mark Alonso’s apparent passing with tolling bells. Upon hearing Ariel’s song, Ferdinand responds, “The ditty does remember my drowned father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound / That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.”

Shakespeare’s use of the term “sea-change” marks the first time the term appears recorded in the English language.

Aesop’s Fable, “The Shepherd and The Sea” (late 15th c.), a page. (reproduction) New York Public Library Calm, violent, inviting, threatening, nourishing. These are but a few of the adjectives humans have long deployed to personify the ocean, bestowing a human-like agency on the sea and its energy. From cosmogonic myths about the planet’s origins to tales of catastrophic floods, oceans actively wield creative and destructive powers. Found among the large corpus of Aesopic fables, “The Shepherd and the Sea” recounts a shepherd who sells his flock after encountering a peaceful seashore and sets sail with a ship laden with a supply of dates to sell in new ports. While caught in a tremendous storm and fearing the ship would go down, the shepherd throws his cargo into the volatile waters, and the sea is suddenly appeased. Upon returning home, the shepherd laments to a passerby that the sea is hungry and “quiets down when it wants another helping.” The ocean’s voracious nature leads to the fable’s moral: “Even accidents can teach us valuable lessons.”

In an illuminated Greek manuscript of Aesopic fables (New York Public Library, Spencer MS 50, f. 28r), produced for the Medici family in the late fifteenth century, we find the fable’s text in Greek. The single frame of the accompanying illumination depicts the shepherd’s misadventures in a continuous narrative from right to left.

Joseph Moxon. A Brief Discourse of a Passage by the North-Pole to Japan, China, etc. (1697) Title Page. (reproduction) Rauner Special Collections Library, Dartmouth College Tales and images of ships trapped by sea ice are plentiful. Navigating patterns of freezing and thawing has long been a challenging, unpredictable science for sailors, but many have pursued passage through Arctic seas driven by the promise of shorter routes or the discovery of new lands. In addition to a career as a printer of mathematical texts and maps and as producer of celestial and terrestrial globes, Joseph Moxon (1627-1691) was appointed in 1662 by Charles II to be the court’s hydrographer, overseeing the mapping, measuring, and describing of maritime features for navigation, defense, and commerce.

Among his endeavors in this post was research on securing a safe, clear route for the Northwest Passage by way of the North Pole.

Moxon published in 1674 A Brief Discourse of a Passage by the North-Pole to Japan, China, etc. (on display is the 3rd edition, published in 1697), where he reports of a conversation with a Dutch sailor in a tavern, who described “a free and open Sea under the very Pole, and somewhat beyond it.” Moxon shares further the absence of ice there and reports of “fine warm weather, such as was at Amsterdam in the summertime, and as hot.” Inspired by this conversation and its promise of ice-less seas, Moxon attempts to address three commonly held objections: (1) since the sea is full of ice, ships cannot sail through, (2) the North Pole cannot be as warm as Amsterdam since it is so far north, and (3) it would be impossible to employ a navigational compass to return from the magnetic North Pole. Moxon argues that the twenty-four hours of sunlight in summer make the North Pole quite warm. Furthermore, only winds off the land are what make Greenland and Russia cold, while the air above the open seas at the Pole would be warmer. Finally, Moxon claims that “the Mare glaciale is not a Sea, but a Sinus or Bay, the waters whereof are sweet, which is the same with what the Tartars do also assure us, who have tasted those waters in the very midst of the Sinus.” Collecting such reports from attempts to sail north spurred Moxon and contemporaries to chart new northerly routes and theorize the nature of sea ice and the Arctic climate.

The Renaissance of the Earth revolutionizes what it means to think with the early modern past about our environmental future. Through a range of cross-disciplinary collaborative models, it puts students, artists, and scholars at the center of an interdisciplinary research mandate with the goal of discovering diverse avenues for creating sustainable and equitable life. www.renaissanceoftheearth.com

BIBLIOGRAPHY Lydia Barnett, After the Flood: Imagining the Global Environment in Early Modern Europe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016.

Ludovico Einaudi, “Elegy for the Arctic (The Making of)” YouTube, uploaded by Ludovico Einaudi July 18, 2017.

Steve Mentz, An Introduction to the Blue Humanities. New York: Routledge, 2024.

Tara Nummedal, “Sound and Vision: The Alchemical Epistemology of Michael Maier’s Atalanta fugiens” in Furnace and Fugue: A Digital Edition of Michael Maier’s Atalanta fugiens (1618) with Scholarly Commentary. Eds. Tara Nummedal and Donna Bilak. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press. https://furnaceandfugue.org Christy Walpole, “Dalí’s Montaigne: Essay Hybrids and Surrealist Practice” in On Essays: Montaigne to the Present. Eds. Thomas Karshan and Kathryn Murphy.

Oxford University Press, 2020: 323-348.

This exhibit is part of the 2023-2024 campuswide Shakespeare Unbound exhibition, which showcases selected items from an extraordinary private collection of rare books on loan to the Kinney Center and the W.E.B. Du Bois Library in honor of lifelong friend of the collector and University of Massachusetts Professor, Pieter Elgers, Isenberg School of Management.

For more information, please visit the Shakespeare Unbound website: