# New Dimensions in History
A Series of Original Books in Paperback Form

Series Editor: NORMAN F. CANTOR

## Essays in Comparative History

The most valuable new and exciting historical method of the past two decades has been the comparison of two or more institutions, doctrines, or social patterns separated in time or space or both. However, there is very little material available at present utilizing the new techniques; this series is designed to fill this gap. Each of these volumes will be an original contribution to scholarship in its own right because of the novelty of the method employed.

ESSAYS IN COMPARATIVE HISTORY will begin publication in 1964—each book of about 250 pages will be a contribution to the progress of historiography.

SOCIAL CLASSES IN LATE MEDIEVAL EUROPE—
Hans Rosenberg, Berkeley

MEDIEVAL HERESIES—Malcolm Lambert,
Bristol

THE CROWD IN HISTORY, 1730-1850—George
Rudé, Adelaide (Australia)

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION IN HISTORICAL
THOUGHT—Richard Cobb, Oxford

THE FRONTIER IN MEDIEVAL HISTORY—
Julian Bishko, Virginia

THE CLASSICAL TEMPER IN 17TH CENTURY
LITERATURE—Jules Brody, Rochester

INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTIONS—R. M. Hartwell,
Oxford

CONSTITUTIONAL IDEAS OF 16TH AND 17TH
CENTURY EUROPE—J. G. A. Pocock,
Canterbury (New Zealand)

THE EMERGENCE OF THE AUTONOMY OF THE
SCIENCES—Satish Kapoor, Cambridge

THE MEDIEVAL COMMUNE—William M.
Bowsky, Nebraska

MODERN SCHOOLS OF HISTORICAL THOUGHT—
Hayden White, Rochester

THE CONCEPT OF RELIGIOUS TOLERATION IN
16TH CENTURY EUROPE—Theodore K.
Rabb, Harvard

ROMAN LAW IN RENAISSANCE EUROPE—
Ralph Giesey, Minnesota

also available in hardbound editions

URBAN DEVELOPMENT IN LATIN AMERICA—
Richard Morse, Yale

THE SOCIAL AND INTELLECTUAL IMPACT OF
ITALIAN HUMANISM—J. E. Seigel,
Princeton

PRELUDE TO A GREAT REBELLION—
A. William Salomone, Rochester

DOCTRINES OF IMPERIALISM—
A. P. Thornton, Toronto

CATHOLICISM AND THE STATE—Bennett Hill,
Western Ontario

THE STATE AND SOCIETY IN MODERN EUROPE
—David Bien, Princeton

THE RISE OF POLITICAL ANTI-SEMITISM IN
GERMANY AND AUSTRIA—P. G. J. Pulzer,
Oxford (see back cover)

MEDIEVAL KINGSHIP—William A. Chaney,
Lawrence

THE SOURCE AND COURSE OF CIVILIZATION IN
RUSSIA—Rushton Coulborn, Atlanta

PATTERNS OF URBANIZATION IN 19TH
CENTURY UNITED STATES—Julius Rubin,
Columbia

REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT IN MEDIEVAL
EUROPE—Thomas Bisson, Brown

THE BRITISH AND AMERICAN LEFT SINCE
1880—Kenneth McNaught, Toronto

# EDITORIAL

## New Dimensions in History

HISTORICAL SCHOLARSHIP today is in a condition of ferment and upheaval greater than at any time in over half a century. By the early twentieth century, following lines set down by the great German scholars of the nineteenth century, history had become a self-conscious and socially valuable discipline, aimed at creating a true picture of the past. But to a large degree, the historiography of the first half of the twentieth century devoted itself to the refinement of the methods and the answering of the questions which had already been established by 1900. There was a danger that history would become congealed in a nominalist and positivist mold, and that historians would come to fulfill Tolstoy's description of them as men who answered questions that nobody asked.

In the past decade it has become amply clear that we have entered a new and creative period in historical thought, and that history is taking on genuinely new dimensions for the first time since the early twentieth century. Today, historians of the younger generation, in particular, are not afraid to ask the broad and important questions about the nature of historical change and to use the concepts and methods of the social and behavioral sciences—not because these concepts and methods are necessarily valid but because they are interesting, novel, and challenging, and force the historian to reconsider accepted interpretations. There are, furthermore, many scholars today who wish to restore history to its pristine condition as a humane and liberal study by addressing the ever-increasing educated public, instead of simply each other. Thus is historical scholarship again made worthwhile, justifying itself by its service to social need.

It is not easy to say what will be the outcome of this intellectual ferment among historians. Undoubtedly many errors and not a little nonsense will be solemnly enunciated before the great breakthroughs are made towards a much more profound understanding of the past than was dreamed of twenty-five years ago. We are probably now only in the pre-Newtonian stage of historical scholarship.

The *New Dimensions in History* publications, comprising the *Historical Cities* series and *Essays in Comparative History* are designed to serve as an important forum of expression for novel approaches to historical thought. Fifty-five volumes are now in preparation and the initial volumes will be published in the summer of 1964. The authors are held to no "line"; a great variety of historical methods, interpretations, and attitudes will be presented to the historical profession and to the lay reader in the *New Dimensions* volumes. The only requirement is that the authors be original, perceptive, learned, and that they write with clarity and distinction. In many instances, the *New Dimensions* series will publish a younger historian's first book; in other instances, a well-known and distinguished scholar, who has already won acclaim, will be the author. But in all cases, the aim will be to make a genuine contribution to the expanding frontiers of historical knowledge.

To further the same ends as that for which John Wiley & Sons established the *New Dimensions* series, Wiley has founded COLLOQUIUM, a journal of historical and social thought, which will be published twice yearly. Each issue will feature two articles selected from chapters of volumes in preparation for the *New Dimensions* series and an interview with an important historian concerning his work. It is intended that eventually other departments of the journal will be created.

N.F.C.

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# The Structure of Patrician Society
## in Renaissance Florence

By Gene A. Brucker

Dr. Brucker is Associate Professor of History at the University of California, Berkeley. His most important published work is *Florentine Politics and Society 1343-1378*. Based on a vast amount of archival research, it is the first really major contribution to Florentine political history in half a century. Dr. Brucker is preparing a study of *Renaissance Florence* for the *Historical Cities* series under the *New Dimensions in History* imprint. The following excerpt from this book is particularly significant because it takes issue with one of Jacob Burckhardt's fundamental theses on the nature of Renaissance civilization.

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THE STRUCTURE of Florentine society was determined, in its essence, by two elements, both of which were deeply rooted in the city's past.① One was economic. Wealth, its possession and utilization, was an important criterion in determining the Florentine's place in the social order. Moreover, the evolution of a capitalistic economy had created well-defined 'classes': entrepreneurs, rentiers, artisans and petty shopkeepers, propertyless wage-earners, and the *miserabili* of the Florentine underworld. A second significant characteristic of the social structure was its corporate form.

The history of medieval Florence was largely the history of the interaction of corporate groups: families, guilds, Parte Guelfa, ecclesiastical foundations, commune. Not only had these institutions survived into the fifteenth century, but so too had the corporate mentality. The Florentine still saw himself, in Burckhardt's memorable statement, 'as a member of a race, people, party, family or corporation, and only infrequently did he conceive of himself as existing outside of these categories.'

These two elements which blended in the Florentine crucible were fundamentally irreconcilable. A capitalistic economic order is characterized by uncertainty, flexibility, risk, sharp rises and precipitous declines. It emphasizes individual and independent action. Inevitably, it contributes to social mobility and dislocation through perpetual redistribution of wealth. Conversely, a corporate social order stresses group action; its goals are stability, security, conformity. It gives its members a sense of identity, of 'belonging'; it teaches them to accept the principles of a hierarchic social structure, a sense of social place. It is instructive to visualize the history of the Arno city during its most dynamic period as a perpetual conflict between these two contradictory impulses. It is possible that the tension created by the juxtaposition of these two elements was a source of vitality and creativity. Their influence may also explain some peculiar features of Florentine society in the early Renaissance: the coexistence of cosmopolitanism, a by-product of the Arno city's international economic and political rôle, and of parochialism, an attitude encouraged by the corporate social order.

①This is a draft, not a final version, of one part of a chapter on the Florentine patriciate. This will be a key section in my study of Renaissance Florence, which will concentrate on the period from 1380 to 1450. In addition to an introductory chapter on the physical city, other chapters will be devoted to the economy, politics, the Florentine "underworld," religion and culture. Readers of Lauro Martine's admirable book, The Social Background of Florentine Humanism 1390-1460 (Princeton, 1963), will be aware of my debt to him in this section. I first developed the problem of patron-client relationships at a meeting of the American Historical Association in December, 1962. It was received with considerable skepticism by the scholars who attended the meeting.

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THE FAMILY constituted the basic nucleus of Florentine social life throughout the Renaissance, and the bond existing between members of a family was the strongest cement in the social order. One of its fonts of vitality was tradition, the collective memory of a past when family members were forced to unite and act as a group in order to survive. The strong family sense of such prominent houses as the Cavalcanti and the Buondelmonti was nourished by memories of the rôles which these houses had played in the city's history: of street fights against rival clans, of the exploits of the family's military contingent in battles against Florence's enemies. Physical evidence of this cohesiveness was the concentration of the households of each family in one district, along a single street, or surrounding a square. Tangible evidence of a different kind may be found in the compilations of communal offices held by a family, a testament of its influence and importance, and in the proud statements of family antiquity recorded in the memoirs and diaries of individual Florentines. As early as 1350, a member of one prominent mercantile family, the Alberti, commissioned an agent to search for documents which would throw light upon his family's origins. Sixty-five years later, the scion of another distinguished house, Doffo Spini, expressed surprise that no member of his family had ever written about their ancestors, and he then recorded all of the data pertaining to the early Spini which he could recall. Most diarists had rather inflated views of the wealth and social status of their ancestors; few were as modest as the merchant Giovanni Morelli who wrote in 1400 that his forebears were poor but honorable

folk who had migrated into Florence from the countryside in the thirteenth century. Morelli justified the composition of his family history by stating that he wished to instruct his sons concerning their past, and he added: 'For everyone today pretends a family background of great antiquity, and I want to establish the truth about ours.' No genealogical tree, however, was so fanciful as that created for the Medici by a court historian of the sixteenth century, who traced that family's origins to one of Charlemagne's captains who had accompanied the Frankish ruler into Italy in the eighth century.

It was to the family that the individual owed his primary obligation, and the rank and condition of the family largely determined the course which his own life was to take. The family's status (and this was carefully weighed and measured) established the individual's status. The family provided wealth, business and political connections, the opportunity for public office. Not only was a man's bride normally chosen by his father; but the father's selection was limited to those houses similar in rank to his own. Even after a son was legally emancipated from his father, he was bound to his relatives by many ties. A head of a household who planned to marry his daughter would invariably consult with his kin about the choice of son-in-law. Any important decision—the purchase of land, a marriage contract, the making of a will—was made with the advice and consent of father, uncles, cousins, in-laws. From this system, which restricted the individual's actions, he received certain positive benefits. He could normally expect his relatives to assist him in case of grave financial need, and to give him

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support in lawsuits. Although the ancient blood vendetta was slowly dying as a social institution, a scion of a large and powerful family could be secure in the knowledge that only a very bold man would deliberately court the hostility of his kin by attacking him.

IN A SOCIETY thus organized around the family, the marriage contract was a document of supreme significance. First, it was an important financial transaction. The size of the dowry was an indication of the economic status of the contracting parties. In 1400, a dowry of 1000 florins was common in patrician marriages; this represented an investment of some $4000 at the current gold price of $35 per ounce, and several times that figure in terms of purchasing power. In his account book, the silk merchant Goro Dati described how he invested dowry money in business firms, and thus gained both wealth and status. Marriage connections also had political connotations, and sometimes were formed to cement a political alliance. To contract a marriage with a family out of favor with the ruling faction was to court serious dangers.

Marriages were also good indices of social status, and of the rise and decline of families. In 1396 a merchant from a middling family, Francesco Davanzati, wrote to his father in Venice of a marriage contract negotiated with the socially prominent Peruzzi: 'Bartolomeo has taken a bride and has made a great and noble marriage alliance. . . . Truly none of our ancestors have ever made so honorable a marriage.' However, families which had suffered misfortune were often forced by circumstances to marry beneath them. The

Strozzi were one of the most powerful Florentine houses which suffered eclipse after the Medici coup of 1434. In 1448 Alessandra Strozzi wrote to her exiled son in Naples about a marriage which she had contracted between her daughter and a young silk manufacturer named Giovanni Parenti, who, she wrote, 'possessed a little status.' The phrase contains a hint of irony, for Parenti's grandfather had been a lowly artisan. His marriage with a Strozzi was a clear sign that the Parenti had 'arrived,' and also that the fortunes of one branch of the Strozzi clan had declined.

The accounts of births, deaths and marriages bulk large in the private records of any society, but the space devoted to marriage negotiations in Florentine letters and diaries is conclusive evidence of the importance of this activity in patrician circles. The archives of the Del Bene family contain a series of letters written by Giovanni del Bene to his cousin Francesco, describing the complex negotiations which he had pursued to arrange marriages for his daughter Caterina and his nephew Amerigo. He recounted the lengthy and detailed discussions which took place within each family circle, and then between the families on a broad range of issues: the size of the dowry, the selection of the church where the betrothal would be solemnized, the bride's costume, the elaborate protocol of visits and announcements. The conclusion of Amerigo's marriage agreement was postponed when the prospective bride's father objected to the bond of 2000 florins, which he would be required to pay if he broke the agreement. His argument is eloquent testimony of the intimate character of this society: 'The rumor which has spread of the large dow-

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ry which I have given has ruined me and done great harm with respect to my taxes. . . . Concerning this bond of 2000 florins, everyone will think that I provided a dowry of that size, and this will be my destruction.'

Caterina's marriage proceeded more smoothly, but this contract aroused the ire of Francesco's wife, Dora, who complained that Caterina was betrothed before her own child, Antonia. Describing this domestic crisis to Dora's husband, Giovanni wrote: 'I have always considered Dora a sensible woman, but her behavior in this matter does honor neither to her nor to us. . . . She has become so melancholy and distraught that she does nothing but weep and complain that your daughter will never be married, and that you aren't concerned about it. She says the most shocking things that I have ever heard.' Giovanni urged his cousin, who was absent from the city on government service, to write his wife some comforting words.

MARRIAGE connections were a significant index of a family's social rank, but other criteria were also important: wealth, antiquity, and the number and quality of offices held by members of the family. A characteristic feature of this dynamic order was the constant fluctuation in the social scale of both families and individuals. Economic decline was often the prelude to a family's descent in the social hierarchy, for it was usually followed by loss of political influence, and an inability to contract important marriage connections. To incur the enmity of the ruling group was even more dangerous, for this involved not only social ostracism and exclusion from office, but the threat

of economic disaster through property confiscation and discriminatory taxation.

How a combination of economic and political adversity could destroy a powerful family was graphically illustrated by the fortunes of the Castellani. Since the middle of the fourteenth century, this house, though small in number, had been one of the most important in Florence: wealthy, politically influential, socially exalted. A visual monument to its stature is the imposing Castellani palace which still stands on the bank of the Arno immediately behind the Uffizi Palace. The wealth of this family was based upon the cloth trade, and its members could point to a distinguished tradition of public service which spanned two centuries. The Castellani had filled all of the commune's highest offices; they were so influential that Sienese ambassadors consulted with them, as private citizens, concerning diplomatic problems. Charter members of the ruling coalition which controlled the government after 1382, the Castellani possessed all of the resources and advantages for maintaining their high rank in the city. Their decline from this pinnacle, which began about 1400, was gradual but steady. In 1390 two Castellani households ranked among the first ten in their quarter of S. Croce in the size of their tax assessments. Thirty years later, the wealthiest of the Castellani was ranked only eleventh, and his other relatives were far down on the list, barely ranking among the first 100 households in wealth. We do not know the circumstances of this economic decline; perhaps a combination of poor business judgment and bad luck lay at the root of the Castellani's misfortune. Possibly this generation was less talented

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in business affairs than its predecessor. One member of the family, appealing for tax relief in 1396, blamed his economic ruin on his large family and on business losses due to circumstances beyond his control. The final and most serious miscalculation of this ill-starred house was to join the enemies of the Medici in 1433. From this decision, the family never recovered, and it sank into the oblivion which was the fate of many illustrious houses, whose palaces and coats-of-arms still survive in Florence, mute testimony to the evanescence of worldly fame and fortune.

DISPLACING FAMILIES sliding into obscurity were parvenu houses which combined talent, cleverness and audacity to rise above their lowly station into the exalted ranks of the patriciate. Thus, the ruling class was constantly nourished by new blood, although the degree of flow fluctuated sharply from generation to generation. Typical of these new houses which rose to prominence in the Quattrocento are the Vespucci, whose most famous member, Amerigo, gave his name to the New World. Amerigo's modern biographer, Germain Arcinegas, credited the Vespucci with descent from the feudal nobility, but he has been misled by amateur genealogists with a talent for creating noble ancestry out of servile origins. The Vespucci emigrated to Florence from Peretola, a village six miles from the city, but not until the end of the fourteenth century did they make any substantial mark. The occupation of the first urban Vespucci was wine-selling, a lowly profession which conferred neither social distinction nor political influence.

Simone Vespucci was the first member of the family to gain wealth, reputation and modest political stature from his occupation as a silk manufacturer. His descendants prospered, and either through luck or astuteness, they tied their fortunes to the Medici. After 1434, they regularly held high office, and in 1447 a Vespucci first filled the post of standard-bearer of justice, the republic's most exalted position. The family's rising status was also reflected in its marriage alliances; not until the second quarter of the fifteenth century did a Vespucci marry into a patrician household of high rank. Amerigo Vespucci's own father was a notary of modest means, but through the family's close links with the Medici, Amerigo had access to opportunities which ultimately catalyzed his name into the stream of world history.

THE PATRICIAN'S social milieu was not limited to his family, but extended far beyond this nucleus to embrace the city and the surrounding environs, and the world beyond. The quality of these relationships depended upon many factors: the individual's social and economic status, his occupation, and his particular talents. Men of such stature as Niccolò da Uzzano or Cosimo de' Medici would include kings, popes and cardinals among their acquaintances. Uzzano was a banker who maintained close contacts with other Florentine entrepreneurs, as well as with merchants and moneylenders from other European marts. As one of the city's leading statesmen, he knew personally and intimately most of the politically active citizens who met in the Palazzo Vecchio to deliberate on the republic's affairs. Service as an am-

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bassador took him to Rome, Bologna and Venice where he met the spiritual and temporal leaders of Christian Europe. Elected as governor or judge of communities within the Florentine domain, his circle of acquaintances also included the prominent citizens of these localities. And on another but no less important level, Uzzano was on close terms with the peasants who farmed his land in the contado, with the artisans who repaired his houses, and with the druggists, wine-sellers and retail cloth dealers who traded with him, and whose friendship and support contributed to his power and influence in the Palazzo Vecchio.

Thus, the social world of the Florentine patriciate represented a balance between two contrasting principles: the aristocratic and the egalitarian. The egalitarian strain was fostered by the open, flexible character of the society, by the constant fluctuations of fortune and status, and also by the political structure. Since 1293, powerful magnate families had been excluded from the commune's highest offices, and after 1343 lower guildsmen were guaranteed a share of these offices. In the piazza and in the council hall, the patrician rubbed shoulders with artisans and shopkeepers, whose votes and opinions were not without significance in politics, and whose economic activities and interests touched his own at a hundred points. Cosmopolitanism also contributed to this tendency. On a given day, a Florentine merchant might lend money to an impoverished English soldier, honor a letter of credit sent by an Arab trader in Algiers, and listen to a French cardinal of noble birth present an address to the

communal council. But even though Florentine society was not formally organized in a hierarchic pattern, its patrician elements did exhibit strong aristocratic and élitist impulses. The social ideals and tensions of Europe's nobility, which were accepted by Tuscany's feudal families, never died out completely in this urban milieu, and in the fifteenth century, they experienced a remarkable revival.

The PERSISTENCE of a sense of rank and hierarchy in Florence also encouraged a new phenomenon, the proliferation of patron-client relationships. These neo-feudal bonds became particularly frequent in the period of 'oligarchic' government after 1382. In one sense, they represent a continuation and extension of the old feudal relationship between lord and dependant which never disappeared in the city, and remained quite strong in the rural regions. This survival can be seen in the maintenance of bands of retainers, the ancestors of the *bravi* in Manzoni's *I promessi sposi*, who were fed, clothed and armed by prominent citizens for protection and defense, and also for aggressive purposes. The assembly of these gangs of toughs, normally recruited from the *contado*, was a common phenomenon in times of political unrest.

More important than this anachronistic survival for the development of patron-client relationships was the slow disintegration of the corporate structure of Florentine society. In the past, the individual had received status and security, not only from his family, but also through membership in, and identification with, one or more of the city's corporate bodies. Of central importance was his guild, which

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both protected him and defined his economic relationships with others. As a guildsman, he was automatically a member of the commune, the organ which governed the city and its territory. But he could also identify himself more specifically with a political organization, the Parte Guelfa, and with the residents of his district or *gonfalone*, organized originally into military companies, and still mustered on rare occasions to defend the city in times of crisis. To give expression to his religious impulses, he might join a religious confraternity, such as the *Miseri-cordia*, which took care of the sick, or one of many societies which met periodically to recite prayers or engage in devotional practices.

By the end of the fourteenth century, these corporate groups were declining in strength and vitality, and were playing a less important role in Florentine life. The communal government had steadily whittled away the rights, privileges and im-munities of the guilds. The once-powerful Parte Guelfa also grew weaker, as a result of the indifference of the citizenry and the jealousy of the communal govern-ment. The increasing hostility of the com-mune to these corporations was illustrated by a law of 1419 which temporarily dis-solved all religious brotherhoods or Con-fraternità. While these corporate organs were losing power and prestige, the family bond was also weakening. In the Quattro-cento, families did not constitute such unified and solid blocs as in the previous century, when survival depended upon unity. Adherence to rival political factions split some families, as did, too, the dis-parity in wealth among the households of a clan. Illustrating a type of petition pre-

sented with increasing frequency to the communal executive is that of Andrea Salterelli, who described himself as a 'young man of quiet and peaceful tem-perament and condition, who is in the wool trade and desires to live in harmony with his neighbors.' He appealed to the Signoria to be legally separated from his relatives 'who belong to a different rank and who lead less honorable lives and are not engaged in any trade.' This petition reflects a significant change which has occurred in the Florentine patrician men-tality, in which men now sought identifica-tion and status on their own merits, and did not wish to be judged by the condi-tion and behavior of their kin. The strong-est incentive for familial division existed within magnate ranks, whose members could be fined for the misdeeds of their relatives. To escape these economic penal-ties, and to obtain the right to hold im-portant offices, many magnates requested the commune's permission to change their names, and thus alienated themselves from their ancestral lineage.

In this society in which corporate groups had lost much of their power and cohesiveness, the individual was ex-tremely vulnerable. He was no longer pro-protected, to the same degree as before, by family or guild connections. To defend himself against the dangers and threats which confronted him in the very com-petitive Florentine milieu, he sought the support and friendship of men more pow-erful and influential than himself. He did not neglect marriage alliances, and he continued to join a guild, the Parte Guelfa or a religious association. But he now placed greater reliance upon these per-

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sonal connections with important men, which counted for more than membership in corporate groups. This phenomenon was well described in Giovanni Morelli, who gave this advice to his son:

> Connect yourself by marriage with those who are in power . . . and if you cannot arrange this, then make him [the man of influence] your friend by speaking well of him, by serving him in whatever way you can. . . . Seek his advice. . . . Show him your trust and friendship; invite him to your house, and act in ways that you think will please him, and will dispose him benevolently toward you. Always keep on good terms with those in power: obey and follow their will and their commands; never speak ill of them and their activities, even if they are evil. Keep silent and do not speak unless in commendation.

The character of this network of relationships can be seen more clearly by studying the bonds which linked one patron to his clients. A good example is Forese Sacchetti, a figure of middling status and importance in Florentine life in the first quarter of the fifteenth century. While not one of the most powerful men in the city, Sacchetti belonged to that second echelon of influential citizens who regularly held office in the government. Sacchetti's correspondence, a part of which has been preserved in the archives of the *Conventi soppressi*, reveals that his circle of *raccomandati*, of men who made claims upon him for aid, was very wide, that it included residents of both the city

and the *contado*. His clients made varied demands upon him: they wanted tax relief; they were seeking a government post, or an ecclesiastical benefice, or (in one case) a university chair in Perugia. They sought release from prison, or they merely wanted to receive Sacchetti's assurance that he would protect their interests.

But more significant than the nature of the appeal is the bond of obligation upon which the appeal rested. One petitioner wrote: 'I know of no one, my lord, to whom I can turn in my hour of need with more security and trust than you, who are both able and willing to help your friends and servants.' Several correspondents made the point that they regarded Sacchetti in loco parentis; for example, in this appeal: 'I have always considered you as my father, since I have never recognized any other father in the world except Forese Sacchetti.' Frequently, petitioners wrote to him on behalf of someone else, as did one man who sought to obtain the release from jail of a prisoner 'to whom I act as a son should act for his father, and who has always treated me as his son.' Some writers based their appeal strictly upon friendship, while others emphasized the service which the petitioner was prepared to do for his patron. A native of S. Miniato wrote to Sacchetti that 'the people of this town know that I am your servant, and therefore I must write to you on their behalf.' One poor suppliant, however, stated the bleak and unvarnished truth when he wrote: 'You see how much faith I have in you; I hope that you are content with that. I can do nothing for you, except to live in accordance with the dictates of my conscience.' Such candor is refreshing, and it suggests that in many

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cases, the patron expected only gratitude in payment for benefits, aware that his generosity would become common knowledge, and that his influence would be increased by evidence of its efficacy.

IN his description of social change in the Renaissance, Jacob Burckhardt argued that the individual had become emancipated from the corporate bonds of the medieval world, that he had become a free man in a free social order. The Florentine experience does not corroborate these conclusions of the Swiss historian. It is true that collective restraints upon the individual had weakened, although they never entirely disappeared. In particular, the vitality of family bonds and commitments remained much greater than Burckhardt suggested. But contradicting the vision of Renais-

sance man joyfully breaking his traditional bonds and exulting in his liberty is the picture of the Florentine who desperately sought new sources of security and identity to replace those which had disappeared. He forged bonds of friendship and obligation with protectors and benefactors, who would defend him against his enemies, and also against the burgeoning power of the state. Nor was the powerful citizen, the patron, really free. He too was enmeshed in a network of obligations and commitments, which limited and controlled his freedom of action. He could not release himself from these obligations without incurring loss of social prestige and political influence. The social freedom of the Renaissance man postulated by Burckhardt and elaborated by his followers is, in fifteenth century Florence at least, a myth.

The view of Florence in the "Supplementum Chronicarum" from 1490.

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# The Roots of Political Anti-Semitism
in Germany and Austria

By Peter G. J. Pulzer

Dr. Pulzer is Student and Tutor of Christ Church, Oxford, and Lecturer in Politics, Oxford University. His first book, *The Rise of Political Anti-Semitism in Germany and Austria*, will be published in 1964 in the *Essays in Comparative History* series under the *New Dimensions in History* imprint. The following article, which is taken from this book, presents Dr. Pulzer's thesis that political anti-semitism in German Central Europe was the consequence of the failure of nineteenth century Liberal civilization — a provocative and profound interpretation which will arouse wide discussion.

## O diese Juden!

Illustration from:

*Humoristische Satyren aus dem Volke Israel,*
by Richard Schmidt (Berlin, 1905).

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## Political Anti-Semitism

ANTI-SEMITISM, either systematically pursued for its own sake, or as an integral part of a wider political ideology, flourishes only in particular economic and social conditions. It is a product of the post-liberal age; an age which has experienced the impact of industrialisation, scientific thought and democratic ideas.

In Anglo-Saxon countries—and in Western Europe generally—the “industrial revolution” was both slow and thorough. It gave to the industrial nations a bourgeois character that ranged wider than the class which created the changes: the doctrine “may the best man win” was—and is—widely accepted. As long as the ideology of the open society flourishes, organised political anti-Semitism will find it difficult to strike political roots. As we travel further East and South across Europe, the less capitalism had developed by 1914, the less successfully had liberal ideas and institutions been grafted on to the societies concerned. Only a fraction of the industrialisation could be ascribed to autochthonous entrepreneurs; the state played a large part (Prussian coal mines, Russian railways), as did foreign investors (Rumanian railways, Viennese gas services). Where the money for industrialisation was raised domestically, it came generally from banks and credit institutes and was thus a matter for a small and closed group. After the finger-burning of 1873, the general public of Germany and Austria had no further desire to speculate in equities. The more the balance of power favoured financial capital over industrial, the greater was the share of the Jew in determining the course of the economy.

The Jews in German Central Europe inclined more to financial operations than to industrial empire-building. In Germany heavy industry was a predominantly Gentile business and banking partly, but by no means entirely, Jewish; in Cisleithan Austria, finance was almost entirely in Jewish hands, as were certain sections of industry (textiles, paper milling, some coal mines); further East still, where social immobility was even greater and the terms 'Jew' and 'bourgeois' for a long time almost synonymous, manufacturers as well as bankers were overwhelmingly Jewish. Where, therefore, the growth of capitalism was a process with which the majority of the population could not identify itself and where it failed thoroughly to stir the class pot, those feelings of pessimistic anger and pseudo-revolutionary conservatism, which were readily associated with anti-Semitism, were bound to assert themselves; and where the financial-capitalist community was not only easily identifiable but already burdened with centuries of religious hatred, all requisite factors were present.

Moreover, as far as Germany and Austria were concerned, the experience of earlier “industrial revolutions” had, by the time industrialisation spread to these countries, helped to evolve a coherent theory of Socialism; this was imported ready-made—the North German Parliament of 1867 already contained two Social Democrats—and the lower social mobility enabled it to spread much faster than in the earlier industrial powers (Britain, France, U.S.A.). Thus Liberalism was even less capable of seizing the imagination of the majority and quickly became the creed only of a minority class

14

COLLOQUIUM

[Lc]

with a stake in capitalism. It even alienated large sections of the middle class who had been Liberals from the 1840's to the 1860's, and anti-Semitism was able to take advantage of their political homelessness.

SECONDLY, the new ways of thought introduced by the scientific revolution were influential. This may seem surprising and is certainly paradoxical. Anti-Semitism may be irrational, anti-intellectual and often superstitious; in general it treats with suspicion the findings of science and the respect for fact and logic which characterise the modern scholar. It has, nevertheless, tried to build an anti-science of its own, drawing with bewildering eclecticism on biology, anthropology, theology and psychology to construct a theory of "race". Indeed, it is instructive to follow the changing anti-Semitic attitude to Darwin. Early Christian-conservative anti-Semites not only rejected Darwinism on biblical grounds, but disliked any attempt to justify a competitive economy with Darwinian analogies. But from the turn of the century onwards the theory of "the survival of the fittest" became increasingly attractive to the political anthropologists and increasingly useful to doctrines of racial superiority. Parallel to this change there evolved a revised attitude to religion. Whereas the generation of the 1860's and 70's had in the main been orthodox Christians, the more democratically inclined anti-Semites were often "liberal" in religious outlook and anti-clerical. The great majority of racialists have either been overtly hostile to orthodox Christianity or at best lukewarm towards it. They disliked its links

with Judaism, its universality and its gospel of compassion. Under the impact of nineteenth-century thought they regarded religion as a social or national characteristic, devoid of universal moral validity.

THIRDLY, this anti-Semitism is unthinkable without democracy. This, too, may seem paradoxical; and anti-Semitism is certainly incompatible with parliamentary government and the civil rights which this implies; but, aimed as it is at the "small man" and the *Lumpenproletariat*, it must recognise the right of the masses to take part in the political process. Modern anti-Semitism, even in its earliest beginnings, has been demagogic. It has, from its beginnings, made a popularistic appeal to grass-roots-anti-élitist, anti-individualist, anti-intellectual. Its democracy was plebiscitary, presaging that "tyranny of the majority" which Liberals from Aristotle onwards have feared as the outcome if the masses entered politics; but it could flourish only in a century already familiarised by Liberalism with the principle of popular participation in government.

It is to be identified in particular with that important by-product of Rousseauian democracy, nationalism. Based on the principle of self-determination, nationalism also claims to be derived from Liberal doctrine. Unfortunately, experience shows that in the pursuit of that one object it quickly loses sight of all other tenets of Liberalism and of the moral obligations which Liberalism imposes, and assumes a single, infallible, general will.

Nationalism degenerates, like the larger Romantic movement of which it was a part, first into irresponsibility, then into

Political Anti-Semitism

15

nihilism. The literary representatives of its last phase are Barrès, d'Annunzio or Roy Campbell, combining *le culte du moi* with swashbuckling military enterprises. Though often inspired in its first stage by the urge to emancipate, it finds its logical conclusion in a paroxysm of destructiveness. Realising this, we can understand Hitler's threat—so nearly carried out—that if the Thousand-Year *Reich* collapsed it would drag the world with it; we can understand also the terrorism which so frequently accompanies nationalist agitation.

AN IMPORTANT factor in the violence of anti-Semitic politics was the feeling of powerlessness which was common to anti-Semites. Throughout the nineteenth century some or all Jews in Western or Central Europe appeared to occupy a privileged position. Before emancipation this applied to the court bankers, afterwards to all those who took advantage of the liberal, capitalist order that seemed tailor-made to serve their peculiar ambitions, all those who succeeded in circumventing barriers which seemed insurmountable for Gentiles constricted within a rigid social system. In Austria-Hungary this attitude to the 'privileged' Jew was complicated by the conflict of nationalities. To the non-historic nations the Jew appeared as an accomplice of the dominant, historic nations; to the lower middle class among the historic nations as a member of the wealthy oligarchy; to pan-Germans or pan-Slavs who wished to destroy the Monarchy, as one of the supra-national, centripetal forces, helping the Habsburg domains to cohere. The despair of ever being able to defeat the

Jew in an equal fight is common to all anti-Semitic writers, for his triumph is merely a symptom of universal rottenness.

After 1918 this pessimism became even more acute, but the change was quantitative, not qualitative.

As political despair and collective paranoia grows, as nationalism becomes more debased, so the attitude to Jews changes. We can trace this from generation to generation: the Liberals of 1848 who embraced them as fellow-Germans; Treitschke who was one of the first to draw the distinction between "acceptable" incidental Jews and Polish Jews with whom Germans had nothing in common; and the racial mystics to whom Jews were the most pernicious non-Germans.

ANTI-SEMITISM is the outlet for all those who feel that Liberalism, with its moral obligations, inhibits desires or personalities—or, with its equality of opportunity, leaves the sufferer at an unfair disadvantage. It is a revolt, not of the sentimental idealist or the hard-headed reformer, but of the dionysiac element in man, a hunger for pre-civilised standards of conduct. Unlike the Socialist or Communist, who theoretically believes in a blue-print for reorganising society on a basis of equality and universal rights, the anti-Semite merely wishes to remove obstacles to his own power and prosperity; it is not a question of "comrades in the struggle" but of "sauve-qui-peut". Hence the strong element of sex envy and sadism.

A FURTHER important factor in political anti-Semitism, which may be deduced from the fear of liberal values

16

COLLOQUIUM

and of the complexities of modern, competitive life, is nostalgic primitivism, noble savagery—a rejection of the elabo-rate, sophisticated, intellectual, legalistic urban concepts which we associate with nineteenth-century civilisation. The leaders of that civilisation were not democrat-ic, they believed in an aristocracy of the intellect, alone among all the classes of society capable of judging rationally and disinterestedly the interests of all. They feared rule by the masses—we have only to read Liberal Victorian intellectuals like J. S. Mill, Matthew Arnold and Bagehot on this point—whom they regarded as ig-norant and unenlightened; they were de-voted to an economic system, allowing great differences of wealth, which they considered as part of a flawlessly consist-ent natural order.

Yet a great many ordinary people, in Central and Eastern Europe more than in Britain and the West, were unimpressed. The system brought them no benefits, but increased their insecurity. Government by the clever, they remained convinced, led them nowhere. But they had been stirred, as the slogans of 1789 and 1848 perco-lated to them, into a realisation that they too ought to be heard, and they were at-tracted more easily by the illiberal de-mocracy of Rousseau's simple, unspoilt man. The people, the Volk, the narod, meant those untouched by the modern Babylons in which Jewish stockbrokers, Jewish editors, Jewish lawyers and Jewish deputies had usurped power, and in this democracy of the lowest common denom-inator and the most mediocre achieve-ments the mass-appeal of radical, racial anti-Semitism found an echo. As in much grass-roots propaganda, the radicalism is

restricted to words. Essentially the approach was conservative, a revolt against the innovations of nineteenth-century con-fidence and optimism. Its appeal was small-town and agrarian.

But, when all is said and done (it may be argued), the anti-Semitic move-ments and ideologies of the late 19th and early 20th centuries could show only the most negligible results by 1918. Emanci-pation was untouched. The statute books remained unamended. The parties and their leaders were without influence. This is to miss the point. Thirty years of inces-sant propaganda had been more effective than men thought at the time; anti-Semi-tism was no longer disgraceful in wide social and academic circles; anti-Semitic vulgarities expressed in representative as-sembles permanently lowered the tone of public debate. Above all, it is a fact some-times forgotten in the history of ideas that all the movements most fashionable in the 'twenties and 'thirties—artistic and literary as well as political—had their intellectual roots in the pre-war years. The great prophets of violence, irrationalism and pessimism belong to that period. The arsenal was fully assembled in 1918: it was merely a question of waiting for the order to fire.

The main difference between the politi-cal anti-Semitism of the post and pre-war periods lies not in its content, but in its success. There were some changes in em-phasis, a general increase in virulence of tone and unscrupulousness, and a growing acceptance of physical violence; but one would have to go a very long way through the anti-Semitic literature of the twenties or early thirties to discover a point or

Political Anti-Semitism

[Lc]

17

argument which had not already been
used before 1914. The generation of Alfred
Rosenberg appears as mere *epigoni*.

ERNST NIEKISCH'S often-quoted epi-
gram that “Hitler is the retribution
for Königgrätz” is true at many levels. It
summarised, above all, the victory of the
South German völkisch ideology over the
classical nationalism and chauvinism of
Prussia and the North. It was the self-
appointed task of this ideology to destroy
every vestige of the Liberal civilisation
painstakingly and uncertainly built in Cen-
tral Europe in the previous hundred years.

This Liberal civilisation had not been
slow to recognise an enemy in anti-Semi-
tism. But it was slower to recognise that
anti-Semitism flourished through its own
failure to respond to human needs. It was
these failures, some traceable to sins of
commission and omission, others traceable
to larger and older political factors, which,
combined with the particular situation of
the Jews in Germany and German Aus-
tria, form the background to German anti-
Semitism. Not all political movements
of the kind associated with German anti-

Semitism become necessarily anti-Semitic —Italian Fascism did not; nor does a large and prosperous Jewish commercial community inevitably produce anti-Semitism —Holland would disprove such a contention. But German-speaking Central Europe provided that correct "conjunction of facts and ideas" which we have seen to be essential if a political movement is to prosper.

To that extent, therefore, anti-Semitism
was a "spontaneous" product, arising out
of a particular situation, not a creed foisted
on the public from above by an unscrupu-
lous ruling class. Once its possibilities were
apparent, however, it undoubtedly was
exploited, and with the catastrophic suc-
cess which we all know. Perhaps those
who exploited it in its early days thought
they would be able to master the force
they had released, perhaps they did not
even consider the problem, but they would
have done well to ponder the mediaeval
Papal warning to those who commune
with dark spirits: *Ipse simulat se captum,
ut te capiat; a te inclusum, te finaliter con-
cludat. (He feigns surrender in order to
capture you; contained by you, he finally
overcomes you).*

## Interviews

19

**Q** Dr. Elliott, could you tell us how you came to be an historian and what in your educational and personal background may have contributed to getting you interested in history?

**A** As a child at my preparatory school I had an extremely good teacher in history who really awakened my interest in the past. I went to Eton on a scholarship in classics and spent several years specializing in Latin and Greek, but in the later part of my school career decided to switch over to modern languages. I studied French and German and got very interested in both French and German literature. I think this gave me a growing interest in both French and German literature. I think this gave me a growing interest in comparative studies, in comparing my English experience with continental experience, and perhaps it made me think more in continental terms than many schoolboys would at that particular stage. On going up to the University though, I felt I had reached the stage in languages where I could read literature in French and German fairly easily for myself. I didn't particularly want to go on studying languages and so it seemed fairly natural to switch over to history when I got to Cambridge.

**Q** Would you comment on the value of the Cambridge tripos (the undergraduate history syllabus) as a program of study for young historians?

**A** I enjoyed it enormously myself at the time, I think partly because I had

done no history before. But a considerable proportion of people studying history at Cambridge have already done a great deal of history at their schools. The Cambridge syllabus is heavily weighted in favor of English history, and many undergraduates tend to feel that they are repeating too much of the work on English history that they have already done at school. The courses in medieval and modern European history have many attractions, but they seem too large and generalized. As for extra-European history, there are very few options indeed, other than the history of the U.S.A. So I should very much like to see the introduction of more intensive work on European history and a greater range of choice in extra-European.

**Q** How did you come to be interested in the history of Spain of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries?

**A** Well, this was partly the result of accident. On my first long vacation from Cambridge I went on an expedition to Spain with a number of other undergraduates and got extremely interested in Spanish art and Spanish architecture and the Spanish scene in general. I think one of the things that most influenced me was the Prado in Madrid, and the paintings of Velázquez in particular. I was extremely struck by the great portrait of the Count-Duke of Olivares, the favorite and chief minister of Philip IV, and I very much wanted to find out more about him. But I found when I started looking at books on seventeenth-century Europe that Olivares

20

COLLOQUIUM

was scarcely mentioned in comparison
with his great rival Cardinal Richelieu,
who dominates the history-book accounts
of the seventeenth century.

**Q** How did you move from your interest in Olivares to your work on the revolt of the Catalans?

**A** When I finally went off to Spain as a research student it was with the intention of working on the policies and the career of Olivares. I started working in the archives at Simancos but the more I looked the less I could find about Olivares himself. This was extremely disappointing to me, and I was becoming more and more depressed about it when I happened to notice in a guide book to a private archive that Olivares' papers were removed by Olivares himself at the time of his fall from power in 1643. His archives passed into the hands of the family of the Duke of Alba and a large part of the Duke of Alba's archives, including all Olivares' papers, were destroyed in a great eighteenth century fire. This in fact made it impossible to do any intensive study of Olivares, in the way that one could do an intensive study of Cardinal Richelieu. As soon as this happened, I realized that I had to do some quick rethinking. If I wanted to go on studying Olivares' period of power, I would have to approach it from another direction. The two great incidents during Olivares' tenure of office were the revolt of Portugal and the revolt of Catalonia. Both those revolutions took place in 1640. It seemed to me possible by studying one of these revolutions to find out something about Olivares' policies,

as seen from the area in which they were
put into effect, and about the kinds of
reaction those policies produced. In that
way we might learn more about Olivares
himself and the whole structure of society
and government in the early seventeenth
century.

**Q** What do you think your work on the Revolt of the Catalans has contributed in a general way to our understanding of Spanish government and society in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries?

**A** The tendency in Spanish history has always been to talk in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries about Spain as a unit—as a unified state. Historians have tended to forget the peripheral regions of the Spanish peninsula—Catalonia, Aragon, Valencia, and so on. I think it’s been very useful to take one of these regions and try to see there, from a study of social and economic and administrative conditions, what Spanish government really meant in the seventeenth century; how far Spain was the centralized state presented in the textbooks; how far a province like Catalonia managed to preserve its own autonomous traditions, its own spirit of nationalism, its own language and culture, and so on. As soon as one began to work on this, one realized the extreme diversity of sixteenth and seventeenth century Spain, the fact that this was a very fragmented society, that there was a serious lack of unity which ultimately affected the whole governmental situation at a time when Spain was fighting its foreign wars in the 1630’s and 1640’s. In fact, a study

21

## Interviews

of conditions at the periphery can tell us much that is new about conditions at the center.

Q Dr. Elliott, how do you think your work has contributed to our understanding of the well-known historical concept of the decline of Spain? What do you see as the real significance of this term in the light of your own work?

A The decline of Spain has been much more talked and written about than studied, and I believe that we have hardly got beyond the superficial generalizations which have dominated the picture of the decline of Spain for so long. If one begins to question the origin of these statements about the decline of Spain one finds that they tend to derive from contemporary seventeenth century Spaniards themselves. They themselves are using the word "decline," and their statements about the terrible condition of Spain in the reign of Philip III and Philip IV were taken up by their own Protestant contemporaries, the Dutch and English, and worked their way into liberal and Protestant historiography, and have been passed on from generation to generation. I think the great problem now is to get behind these statements and see what the word "decline" really means. I believe the blanket use of the word tends to conceal a number of different phenomena. In the first place, if we are to talk about the decline in terms of the decline of Spanish power in relation to that of other European states, I think this is something that must be placed in the 1640's, when one takes into account the great successes of Spanish arms in the

first years of the Thirty Years War. To speak of the decline of Spain under Philip III as we do at present makes it impossible to understand those military successes. I believe that it is better really to look at different aspects, both internal and external, and perhaps separate them. As we look at the question of internal decline, I think here again we can use the diversity of the Spanish peninsula to understand better what's happening. If one realizes that in sixteenth century Spain it's the central region of the peninsula, Castile, which is fighting and paying for the wars, that it is Castile which is shouldering the prime burden of Spanish imperialism, then first one must study the conditions in Castile. And I think it is quite clear, for instance, that already in the last years of the reign of Philip II Castile is finding itself in increasing economic difficulties in relation to the enormous burdens that it is called upon to bear. I think if one starts thinking in terms of the problems of Castile in the seventeenth century, one really begins to see a change in the whole structure of Hapsburg Spain. In the sixteenth century, Castile's predominance within the Spanish peninsula is undoubtedly. But, by the end of the century, Castile is under heavy strain, and the new government of Philip III fails to use the coming of peace to introduce long overdue reforms. As a result of these wasted years Spain enters the Thirty Years War with its resources weakened and its capacity for war reduced. It is because Castile finds itself in such difficulties in the 1620's that Olivares has to produce his plans for mobilizing the rest of the peninsula. It is because Castile isn't strong enough at this moment to carry through his plans that you get the

22

COLLOQUIUM

disastrous reaction of the other provinces. Therefore, the decline of Spain begins essentially with the economic problems of Castile, and as soon as those problems prompt Olivares to devise political schemes for mobilizing the rest of the peninsula, the constitutional problem which has been latent since the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella assumes great importance. The year 1640 is the crucial year which sees, as the result of the Catalan and Portuguese revolutions, the crackup of the rather precarious constitutional structure of Hapsburg Spain.

**Q** Dr. Elliott, how does your study of the history of Catalonia fit into the general pattern of Catalan historiography? How do the Catalans themselves see their history?

**A** I think this is one of the most revealing and interesting aspects of my own work, because when I started working on the Catalan revolution I was very struck by the extent to which the history of Catalonia in the seventeenth century and other periods was dominated by a certain preconception about Catalonia and its relations with Castile. This was essentially an extremely nationalist historiography which derived its strength primarily from popular tradition.

I believe in many ways this national historiography has played an extremely valuable part in Catalan life because it has helped to keep alive the Catalan spirit of resistance, and Catalonia's consciousness of itself as a historical community. But this freezing of Catalan historiography at a certain point has also had some very unfortunate consequences which

have become increasingly obvious in the past few years. The tendency to look to Castile as the supposed author of all Catalonia's troubles, has made it extremely difficult to work out any new *modus vivendi* between Castile and Catalonia. I believe one of the essentials for producing the kind of cooperation that is necessary if Spain is to become a viable state, a state in which Catalonia and Castile can cooperate with a certain degree of mutual happiness and satisfaction, is for the Catalans and, of course, the Castilians too, to begin looking at their history in a more dispassionate light. It is extremely interesting that the moment I was doing this work on seventeenth century Catalonia a group of young Catalan historians was tackling other periods, going back like myself to the archives and discovering that many of the documents they found simply didn't produce conclusions that were in any way in conformity with what they had read in the traditional textbooks. So that in the 1950's a revisionist movement was already beginning in Catalan historiography, and I came in at just the right moment. I think the result of our combined work has been to produce a more realistic picture of the Catalan past, a picture which explains many of the troubles of Catalonia, not as the result of the designs of Castile but as a result of the internal deficiencies and weaknesses of Catalan society. Once the Catalans begin to appreciate from these historical studies that perhaps, after all, Castile is not responsible for all their misfortunes, I think the way may have been opened for a better understanding of Catalonia itself, its strengths and its weaknesses, and also of Castile. Here you have a perfect example

Interviews

23

of the way in which a historian can contribute to the thought of his own time.

**Q** Which historians have had a strong personal influence on you in your work?

**A** I should say there have been two in particular whom I have worked with who impressed me very deeply. The first was Herbert Butterfield who supervised my original research and whom I particularly admire for his intuition and insight. I think he brought home to me the essential place of insight in the makeup of any historian, and as a research supervisor he had a genius for always being one jump ahead, and for being able to warn me of the kind of problems that were likely to face me next.

The other great figure is the Catalan historian, Vicens Vives, who died in 1960 tragically early. I have enormous admiration for him. He knew that the writing of Spanish history was two or three decades behind that of the French, Germans and English, and was determined to bring it up to date. Against enormous opposition and with very limited financial resources, he attempted a whole revision not only of Catalan history but also of the history of the Spanish peninsula, incorporating social and economic history into the general history of Spain in a way that had never been done before. Although he died very early, he had written a large number of very exciting books, and he had built up a little school of historians who, I hope, will carry on his work. But he was even more impressive as a person than as a historian. He was an intensely dynamic man, extremely professional in his attitudes,

and at the same time extremely humane. I learnt a lot just from seeing him in action, and I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.

**Q** An outstanding historian who has published in recent years important work on the Mediterranean world and Spain in the 16th century is the French historian, Fernand Braudel. Would you give us your opinion of Braudel's method and would you tell us what you think is the extent of his achievement?

**A** Braudel's book has completely changed our understanding of and approach to the history of 16th and 17th century Europe. Anybody who delves into it will discover new ideas and new guiding lines for his own work. But as a book it doesn't seem to me to be entirely successful in its composition. I don't believe that the enormous geographical and economic and social survey of the first part really ties up satisfactorily with the narrative view of the second part. I feel in some ways that the canvas was too large and I think that I would rate more highly as an influence on my own thinking a book which perhaps is now rather underrated; Lucien Febvre's study of the Franche-Comté, which does the same thing as Braudel later tried to do, but on a much smaller canvas. This book greatly influenced my approach to Catalonia. It showed how you could incorporate social, economic, political, and narrative history into a graspable whole, whereas I think that Braudel's Mediterranean has become ungraspable. While I enormously admire Braudel himself and his work, I also think

24

COLLOQUIUM

that in lesser hands it can lead to some
unfortunate results. I am particularly con-
cerned now with the growing tendency
to introduce counting in history as if the
computers have all the answers. I think
that the counting of port dues and so on
is getting out of hand. After all, not every-
thing can be reduced to numbers. The
decline of Spain can't be measured, what-
ever is said to the contrary. Unless his-
torians can free themselves from some of
their present obsession with mathematics,
I'm afraid that a pretty bleak period lies
ahead of us.

Q. Dr. Elliott, you have been visiting in this country for four or five months. What is your impression of the greatest strength and greatest weakness of American historians?

A. I have been extremely impressed
by the professionalism of American his-
torians. In England the ideal of the coun-
try gentleman historian still lingers on,
and I find it refreshing to escape from
that particular environment, at least mo-
mentarily, and to have seen professional-
ism at work here. I have got the
impression, though, that American his-
torians are more interesting to talk to than
to read. It may be that our standards are
falling, but I think we do place a greater
emphasis on good writing, and this is re-
flected in what I would consider the
higher literary quality of English historical
works. I may have got a jaundiced view
from reading a number of peculiarly arid
American monographs recently, but I do
think this question of communication is
extremely important if the gap between
professional historians and the reading

public is not to grow even wider. Unless
we are prepared to take some trouble with
our writing, I can see no reason why we
should be read.

Q. Dr. Elliott, what are your future plans for work? What enterprise are you engaged in at the present?

A. I am using my year away from
Cambridge to do some general reading on
Latin America in the 16th and 17th cen-
turies, and then go down to Mexico and
Peru to the archives. I am doing this part-
ly because Latin America is a natural
extension of my interest in Spain, and I
am very anxious to see how the Spanish
empire was governed in its more distant
regions. I also think that nobody has really
seriously thought about the importance of
its empire for Spain, except in strictly
economic and monetary terms. Ideally
16th and 17th century Spain should be
considered in terms of what is happening
in the empire and what effect the empire
is having on it. That means studying not
only the economic impact of the empire,
but also its influence on Spain politically
and administratively, and its effect on Span-
ish thought and art. I think this may help
refresh our whole view of 16th and 17th
century Europe. I don't ultimately con-
sider myself a Spanish historian nor do I
really believe in clinging to one nation. I
would much rather work across 16th and
17th century Europe and America and
study comparatively the various societies
and governments in this period. This could
be a most useful line of approach for re-
freshing our whole attitude toward 16th
and 17th century history which is now re-
duced to a series of tired clichés.

## New Dimensions in History

### Historical Cities

The HISTORICAL CITIES series under the NEW DIMENSIONS imprint will integrate political, cultural, and economic historical dimensions through concentration on the life and values of a city under the leadership of a person or group of persons of outstanding quality. Each of these volumes will bring to life the texture of a great moment in history.

HISTORICAL CITIES will begin publication in 1964—each book of about 250 pages will be an original contribution to historical knowledge.

PERICLEAN ATHENS—A. E. Raubitschek, Stanford

ROME OF THE CAESARS—Thomas W. Africa, Southern California

IMPERIAL AACHEN—Karl Morrison, Minnesota

PAPAL ROME—Robert Brentano, Berkeley

SCHOLASTIC OXFORD AND PARIS—Gordon Leff, Manchester

CHAUCER'S LONDON—D. W. Robertson, Princeton

RENAISSANCE FLORENCE—Gene A. Brucker, Berkeley

VENICE IN MATURITY—William J. Bouwsma, Berkeley

CALVIN'S GENEVA—William Monter, Northwestern

16TH CENTURY NUREMBERG—Gerald Strauss, Indiana

PHILIP II'S SEVILLE—John H. Elliott, Cambridge

EARLY STUART LONDON—Robert Ashton, Nottingham

COLONIAL RIO DE JANEIRO—Kempton E. Webb, Columbia

AMSTERDAM IN THE GOLDEN AGE—Herbert H. Rowen, Wisconsin at Milwaukee

*also available in hardbound editions*

REFORMATION AUGSBURG—Franklin H. Littell, Chicago Theological Seminary

BOURBON PARIS—Orest Ranum, Columbia

COLONIAL BOSTON—Alden Vaughan, Columbia

DR. JOHNSON'S LONDON—Dorothy Marshall, University College of South Wales

YANG-CHOW: The Richest City of 18th Century China—Ping-ti Ho, Chicago

REVOLUTIONARY PARIS—Jeffry Kaplow, NYU

VICTOR HUGO'S PARIS—Stanley I. Mellon, Yale

PUSHKIN'S PETERSBURG—Sidney Monas, Rochester

ROME IN THE RISORGIMENTO—A. William Salomone, Rochester

BOSS TWEED'S NEW YORK—Seymour Mandelbaum, Carnegie Institute of Technology (see back cover)

IMPERIAL BERLIN—Gerhard Masur, Sweet Briar College

HEARST'S SAN FRANCISCO—Dennis Strong, Riverside

20TH CENTURY LONDON—R. J. Kaufmann, Rochester

BUENOS AIRES FROM GRAN ALDEA TO METROPOLIS—James R. Scobie, Berkeley

INDUSTRIAL PITTSBURGH—Roy Lubove, Harvard

## Foreword

All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books.

THOMAS CARLYLE

You are now engaged in one of the most satisfying achievements of civilized man — the writing of a book.

Your book deserves every chance of success, and success can best be obtained through close cooperation between author and publisher. Essential to this cooperation is an understanding of the primary tasks and responsibilities of each. You as author have the task of creating a manuscript that is clear in form and content, accurate, knowledgeable, and interesting. We as publisher have the responsibility of transforming this manuscript into a book that is attractive, useful, and salable. Each of us can do much to further the work of the other at every stage of creation and production.

Though the major creative task is yours, our intent in providing you with this manual is to offer suggestions that stem from our many years of experience. Even so, because no manual this brief can cover every contingency, you may find that you need guidance above and beyond the suggestions offered here. If so, we stand ready at all times to give you any assistance that we can.

For nearly one hundred years we have taken pride in the books we have been privileged to publish. We derive immense satisfaction from helping an author develop his manuscript into a significant book. We look forward to working with you toward "the most satisfying achievement of civilized man."

v

## 1

# Preparation

Most authors find it highly useful to make, and follow, an outline. Byways and side roads of academic interest are a constant lure, but to follow them is to run headlong into various dangers: considerations of length and continuity are ignored; your time and that of the reader is misspent; unity is shattered. Digression in a lecture may provide variety, change of pace; in a book it may create serious disproportions.

Schedules, too, are essential. First you will work out with our editor responsible for a list of books in your subject—known to us as the "Acquiring Editor"—a schedule for preparation of your manuscript. Later you will work out with our editor responsible for supervising the production of your manuscript—called by us the "senior editor"—a schedule for responding to our queries and for correcting your proof. These schedules must be followed if your book is to be published at the optimum moment. One week's delay in delivery date may, by a sort of publishing geometrical progression, cause a month's delay in publication date.

## The Publishing Process

In view of the complexity of the job for both author and publisher, it is necessary to allow at least seven to nine months' time to turn a final manuscript into a published book. A complex manuscript

1

[2.3] THE PUBLISHING PROCESS • • 3

Although your editor is, of course, a layman with
respect to the content of your book, he is a professional, and an
expert, in judging its effectiveness in communicating that content.
He studies the organization of material and the level upon which
the reader is addressed. He searches for opportunities to improve
the structure, smooth the continuity, clarify and tighten the writ-
ing; incidentally, he checks on questionable facts and dates.

Along with editing for communication and organi-
zation, your editor will also edit for form. He will check for con-
sistency of spelling, usage, and punctuation style. The manuscript
will be made to conform to house style, unless there is a good
reason for divergence from that style. This final phase of copy
editing is the most painstaking in detail and the most time-con-
suming. The larger part of this pamphlet is devoted to ways of
making the process more efficient.

2.3 *Design*

The design of a book is influenced by such con-
siderations as subject, length, competing books, illustrative matter,
and size of edition. It is finally determined, however, by a com-
bination of functional and esthetic considerations. Will this volume
be pleasant to use? Will its format aid in the understanding of its
subject matter?

Ideally, the design and editing processes are car-
ried on simultaneously. It is for this reason that we ask you to send
a carbon copy of your manuscript along with the original. We also
ask you for your design preferences, if you have any, and we cer-
tainly shall take your ideas into consideration.

It is at the design stage that the process of pro-
duction really begins. A close estimate is made to determine the
probable length of the book; the nature of the illustrations is con-
sidered; the number and length of extracts (portions of text in
smaller type), headings, and captions are reviewed. Then, within
the technical limits imposed by these factors, type style and layout
are selected. Sample pages are set by the printer before final ap-
proval is given to the design.

4 • • • HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

The
3 Manuscript

The following specific directions and hints have been assembled
to help you in preparing your manuscript. By heeding them,
you can save yourself and us much time, effort, and needless
expense. It is never a waste of time—and quite often a great
saving of your and our time—to send us a sample chapter for
checking and comment.

3.1 *Physical Properties*

The basic rules outlined below apply to most
manuscripts; if you are preparing an anthology, a book of read-
ings, or a new edition of an existing book, you will find Sections 9
or 10 of this pamphlet a further help.

**Typing the Manuscript.** All manuscript copy
should be typed on one side of the page and should be double-
spaced. (If an Olivetti machine is used, please triple space.)
Never single space *your typing*, even for quotations, bibliogra-
phies, or footnotes.

Allow generous margins, about 1½ inches at the
left and 1 inch at the right, for editors' and printers' markings.
Leave about 1¼ inches at top and bottom of page.

Use a 20-pound-weight bond paper, 8½ by 11 inches, of the so-called noncorrasable type. Make two carbon copies, one for your own files and one for us. Be sure that the typewriter ribbon and the carbon paper are renewed frequently enough to produce clear, legible copy.

Every chapter should start a new page, and
pages should be numbered consecutively in the upper right-hand
corner. Also type your last name at the top of each page. Do not

[3.1] THE MANUSCRIPT · · 5

number by chapter; instead, number consecutively throughout the manuscript. Paragraphs are indicated by a 5-space indention of the first line, not by extra line space. Quoted material and extracts are indicated by 3-space indention of all material, not by single spacing.

Use paper clips if you want to keep chapters separate. Never staple pages together.

If possible, arrange to have the same typist copy the entire manuscript, with approximately the same number of lines to each page. If this is impossible, at least make sure that the typing style and the size of the type are uniform. Such uniformity makes it possible for the printer to provide an accurate and speedy estimate.

Mimeographed, Dittoed, Thermo-Faxed, carbon, or handwritten copy is unacceptable. The paper cannot take the necessary markings, and the blurred copy usually evokes a printer's penalty of additional cost for composition.

**Marking the Manuscript.** If your book is to include illustrations, charts, or tables, be sure to note in the manuscript margin the approximate placement of such items. Just write, for instance, Fig. 2.1, or Fig. 2-1, in the margin of the pertinent page, and circle your note. All illustrations and tables should be cross referenced by number in the text.

Quotations that appear in the text should be set in regular text type if they run four or five lines. Naturally, they will be set off by quotation marks. If the quotation is longer, type it as indicated above—indented, but still double-spaced—and omit the quotation marks. Then draw a single vertical line in the left-hand margin to indicate that the material is to be set in extract type. Please be sure that all quotations are typed accurately. (See Figure 1.)

If your manuscript has very few footnotes, you may want to include them on the text pages. If you do, please type them, too, double-spaced. If your manuscript has more than eight or ten footnotes to a chapter, they should be typed on separate pages. Suggested forms are given in Section 3.3.

**Changes and Corrections.** It is important to keep your manuscript pages clean. If you must add or change a word

Baller and Charles

188

ON "BEING BROUGHT UP THAT WAY"

We have noted the part that different agencies play in
bringing various behaviors to the individual's awareness and
in providing him the opportunity to "practice" them and
selectively to integrate certain of them into his own
developing style of life. But this falls short of giving us
the key to the explanation of how the behaviors which are
"around" the individual get "into him" and become part of him.
*Those Who Do the "Bringing-up"*

After raising a series of questions about how the people
of different societies came to have the behaviors character-
istic of them (e.g., the Chinese dislike for milk and milk
products and the willingness of the Japanese to die in a
Banzai charge that seems senseless to us), Kluckhohn (1949)⁸
proposes this answer:

> Not because different peoples have different instincts,
> not because they were destined by God or Fate to different
> habits, not because the weather is different in China and
> Japan and the United States. Sometimes shrewd common sense
> has an answer that is close to that of the anthropologist:
> "because they were brought up that way."

There are, as we have said, the *agencies* of society that
provide the settings for the individual to learn the culture.
There are also the *agents*--the "culture bearers"--who teach
"the way to behave."

*The Mother as Agent of the Culture.* From birth onward
the child learns new actions and develops new motives. His
original drives become altered, and his acquired motives help

**Figure 1.** Sample manuscript page.

[3.2] THE MANUSCRIPT · · 7

or two, or a mark of punctuation, use a caret mark (^) within the affected line, making your correction legibly in eradicable ink. Do not use a ball-point pen. If a few lines must be changed, retype your material on a separate sheet of paper, double-spaced, and paste the new copy over the old. If still more extensive corrections or changes are necessary, retype the whole page. If you are inserting additional material, cut your original page at the point where the new material is to go; then paste the original copy and as much as fits of the new copy onto a clean sheet. Do not use cellophane tape or staples. Never write an insert or correction on the reverse side of the manuscript page. Additional new copy can then precede the remainder of the original page on still another clean piece of paper. The chief aim is to keep continuity, making it unnecessary for the printer to interrupt the composition process. All pages must be the same size. If you are left with a portion of a page, paste it onto a full-sized page or retype it.

Be sure to indicate all changes on both carbon copies as well as on the original. Extensive changes, of course, call for renumbering of the entire manuscript.

## 3.2 Physical Style

Careful planning at the manuscript stage will help make the appearance of the finished book reflect its contents and organization.

**Chapter Titles.** Usually, chapter titles are used as running heads (the line that appears with the page number across the top or the bottom of the printed page); therefore, try to keep them short and concise. Otherwise, they must be so condensed that their meaning is lost or obscured. Arabic numerals are generally preferable for numbering chapters. Remember to refer in your text to chapters by the same numbering system that you have actually used.

**Headings.** In addition to having a title, a chapter should be subdivided sufficiently to expedite its study, especially if it is in an elementary text. Too many breaks in the text, of course, are as bad as too few, and the ideal proportion is one that grows naturally out of your material.

8 • • • HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

In order to make sure that headings receive proper weight and design, please indicate their value on the manuscript through the style of capitalization and placement on the page (see Figure 1). It is rarely necessary or desirable to use more than three levels of heading. In technical and scientific books, it may be desirable to number each section for easy reference; if so, use the chapter number as the first part of a decimal heading, for instance, 2.3.

Remember that primary heads also may serve as running heads, and should therefore be short. Neither should they be a complete sentence or question. Heads are always titles; they are not part of the text, and text matter must not refer to headings as antecedents. For instance, if the heading is "Intelligence Tests," the following material must read "Intelligence tests are used...." rather than "They...." A heading is a complete break in the text, and you should be careful to make clear your references to subjects discussed before the heading. Keep all headings as consistent in style as is possible-do not, for example, jump from one-word headings to headings of several words.

**Readings and Anthologies.** In anthologies and books of readings, headings may occur within selections as well as in the accompanying text. Be sure to indicate relative importance of all such headings. For further hints, refer to Section 9 on anthologies.

### 3.3 Supplementary Material

**Bibliography.** The nature and placement of bibliographic material should be worked out with your editors well before final manuscript is prepared. Will it be a simple alphabetical listing of sources you have used, or will it include suggested readings? Will it be annotated, and if it is, what form will the annotations take? Will the bibliography follow the complete text, each chapter, or each part?

Many bibliographical forms are acceptable. Whatever form is used, however, care should be taken to make references accurate and stylistically consistent.

[3.3] THE MANUSCRIPT ... 9

Usually, though, we follow the general rules illustrated in the examples below. If you prefer to use short forms of publishers' names, please ask for and follow our mimeographed list.

AMERICAN POLITICAL SCIENCE ASSOCIATION, COMMITTEE ON CONGRESS, *The Reorganization of Congress*. Washington, D.C.: Public Affairs Press, 1945.

BERNS, WALTER, AND OTHERS, *Essays on the Scientific Study of Politics*, Herbert J. Storing, ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1962.

CARDANO, GEROLAMO, *The Book on Games of Chance*, trans. by Sydney Henry Gould. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1961. Reprinted from Oystein Ore, *Cardano: The Gambling Scholar*, Princeton, N.J., Princeton University Press, 1953.

CRAFTS, A. S., *Translocation of Plants*, Biology Studies Series. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1961.

DEWHURST, J. FREDERICK, AND ASSOCIATES, *America's Needs and Resources*. New York: The Twentieth Century Fund, Inc., 1955.

FEIGL, HERBERT, AND GROVER MAXWELL, eds., *Current Issues in the Philosophy of Science: Symposia of Scientists and Philosophers*, Proceedings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Section L (1959). New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1961.

*General Interim Report*, 81st Cong., 2d Sess., House Report 3138, 1950.

KENNEDY, JOHN F., "'The Shame of the States,'" *The New York Times Magazine*, May 18, 1958, pp. 12, 37-39.

KLEIN, MAURICE, "A New Look at the Constituencies: The Need for a Recount and a Reappraisal," *American Political Science Review*, vol. 49 (December 1955), pp. 1105-1119.

*Local Self-government in New Jersey: A Proposed Optional Charter Plan*, final report. Trenton, N.J.: Commission on Municipal Government, 1949.

LOCKE, LOUIS G., WILLIAM M. GIBSON, AND GEORGE ARMS, *Introduction to Literature*, 4th ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1962.

—, —, and —, *Toward Liberal Education*, 4th ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1962.

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF LABOR, BUREAU OF LABOR STATISTICS Bulletin 1119, *Negroes in the United States*. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1952.

10 * * HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

If your professional association has established a definite style, such as that outlined in the *Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association* or in the *MLA Style Sheet*, you may wish to follow that. If you do, please make a note on your manuscript pointing out what your authority is. Your editor will be glad to work out a consistent form with you.

Please start your bibliography on a new page, but do not take it out of its place in the manuscript.

**Captions.** Captions, or headlines, for tables should include the table number and a concise title. It is unnecessary to duplicate in the title material indicated in the headings of the table itself. Tables, if not too numerous, are usually numbered consecutively throughout the text. If a source footnote is used, it should be placed as a footnote to the table, not to the text (see Section 7.6).

Captions, or legends, for illustrations should include the figure number, title or description of the figure, and the source of the figure. The source, including the credit, must be given in the form desired by the owner of the illustration if so requested. When no particular form is demanded, the form should be consistent with that of the bibliographical items. Illustrations, if numerous, are numbered consecutively in each chapter, thus: 1.1, 1.2, and so forth.

Captions should be typed separately from the manuscript (see Section 6.1, where this is clarified).

**References and Cross References.** Cross references to figures, tables, equations, chapters, and so on should be complete in the manuscript. Be sure to maintain consistency in all cross references. Keep all references to a minimum. When a reference is in the text, spell out "Chapter," "Figure," and "page" (except in some science manuscripts where references are numerous). When a reference is in a footnote, bibliography, or caption, use the abbreviations "p.," "pp.," "chap.," and "chaps."

**Footnotes.** Footnotes should be kept to a minimum. They should be referred to in the text by a superior number (except when the reference number follows another number, in which case the reference should be indicated by a symbol, as shown in Section 7.6) and they should be numbered consecutively.

12 • • • HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

tively for each chapter. Credit footnotes for quoted material must follow the form demanded by the copyright owner if specifically requested. In the absence of specific demands, the form should follow that of the bibliographical items, with the exception that author's names are not inverted in footnotes.

Type footnotes separately for each chapter.

**Questions, Problems, Exercises.** Teaching aids should be typed as if they were text, but marked for the editor's attention. If you feel strongly that reduced type should, or should not, be used for exercises, please inform your editor. Maintain consistency in naming your exercise section. Unless there is a reason for differentiation, use the same heading throughout your manuscript, rather than using "Problems" and "Exercises" alternately. Discuss with your Acquiring Editor the advisability of including within the text the answers to the problems.

**Tables.** Tabular material can be a valuable graphic aid in clarifying the text for the reader. In order for tables to be useful, however, they must be precise and readily understood. Unintelligible tables may unnecessarily confuse an incisive text. It is important that you check all tables for their accuracy and clarity before including them in your manuscript.

All tables should be typed on separate pages and keyed for insertion into the manuscript; for instance, the table that goes on manuscript page 174 should fall on page 175, and page 174 should bear the marginal notation "Table 6.2 here."

Vertical lines require special handwork, so try to design your tables using only horizontal lines. Again, please do not hesitate to call on your editor for assistance.

A sample table is shown in Figure 2.

We have in type a number of mathematical tables available for your use. Please consult us about the tables you will need.

## 3.4 Front and Back Matter

Front matter and back matter (usually appendices) should be prepared along with the text and submitted with the final manuscript. Like everything else, they should be

[3.4] THE MANUSCRIPT • • 13

typed double-spaced, with two carbons. The Index, of course, must be prepared later.

**Title and Copyright Pages.** The title page bears the name of the book, the name of the author, the name of the publisher, and the city of publication. As a rule, it also shows the college or university with which the author is affiliated; it does not show the author's rank.

The copyright page, which must immediately follow the title page, is the responsibility of the publisher; it carries the copyright notice, in the publisher's name, the Library of Congress Catalog Card Number, and the book's stock number.

**Dedication.** Most authors use no dedication. When one is used, it should be concise and dignified. "Cuteness" loses its flavor in print.

**Preface.** The Preface of a college textbook is usually the book's most important selling device. Your Preface should state what your book sets out to do, how it differs from other books in the field, and what are its general approach and organization as well as its special features. Sometimes acknowledgments to colleagues and institutions are included in the text of the Preface or placed as an informal addendum to it. It usually is only necessary—and certainly is more effective—to keep the acknowledgments to just a few. The Preface precedes the Table of Contents.

**Foreword.** The Foreword is a combination of preface and endorsement, written by an authority in the field and explaining the significance of your book and its relation to other books and to the work being done in your field. If you feel that a Foreword would be useful, consult with your Acquiring Editor about including one. Your own Preface is usually all that is necessary.

**Table of Contents.** Your manuscript as sent to your editor should include two tables of contents. One of these should list chapter titles and primary heads; this is the form that will usually appear in the finished book. The other should list chapter titles and *all* heads, for guidance in the editing process itself. Of course, it is impossible to guess at pages at the manu-

14 • • HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

script stage; pagination may be omitted, as pages listed according
to the manuscript are valid for so short a time.

**Lists.** Lists of illustrations, tables, or maps are sometimes desirable. If there are only a few items, however, a list is superfluous. It is particularly important that an informal list, for editorial use, be submitted with your manuscript, whether or not it will appear in your book.

**Introduction.** The Introduction to your book should be an integral part of the text rather than a part of the front matter. Its chief audience is the student, just as the chief audience of the Preface is the teacher. The presence or absence of an Introduction is determined by the type of book and the author's individual preference; do not feel that your book is incomplete without one.

**Appendixes.** Bibliographies, questions and problems, footnotes (occasionally), and tabular matter are sometimes treated as appendixes, following the text proper. More often, appendixes will include glossaries, documents, or supplementary material on a particular point. In any case, copy for the appendix or appendixes should be submitted along with the manuscript of the text, typed according to general rules.

Use of an appendix as a catchall for interesting but not integral material should be avoided. Again, your editor will be available for consultation.

**Index.** Almost every college textbook needs an Index. Some textbooks need more than one, but this is rare. As the making of an Index needs special techniques and is contractually the responsibility of the author unless specifically stated otherwise, we have devoted a separate section (Section 12) to the subject.

## 3.5 Quoted Material

If you quote more than several sentences from the work of a recent author, you must secure written permission from the copyright owner, usually the publisher. Ordinarily you can assume that anything published in the United States more

[3.6] THE MANUSCRIPT • • 15

than fifty-six years ago is out of copyright and in the public
domain. News stories that do not carry a specific credit by-line
are in the public domain, but you may wish to extend the cour-
tesy of a request for permission to the newspaper source. Details
on need to obtain permissions to quote and reproduce are dis-
cussed in Section 5.

As noted earlier and in Figure 1, quotations
should be typed double-spaced, in the same way as the rest of
the text. Short quotations (four or five lines or less) should be
run in with the context, set off only by quotation marks and fol-
lowed by a footnote reference to the source, if necessary. Longer
quotations should be typed as a separate section, indented 3
spaces. After you have typed the extract exactly as it appears
in its original source, please draw a single vertical line alongside
it in the left-hand margin. No quotation marks are necessary.

You are responsible for the accuracy of the quo-
tation as it appears in the printed book. We urge you to double
check the quote after it is set in type.

Permission letters, carbons of your requests as
well as the replies, and your copies of completed forms should
be sent to us along with the finished manuscript.

3.6 Sending the Manuscript

The U.S. Post Office Department allows a special
postal rate for educational material, and you will find it efficient
and economical to take advantage of this category. Your manu-
script and one carbon should be marked "Educational Material,
Special Handling" and insured for the maximum, $200. This
valuation is based on the cost of retyping your material from
your own carbon, not on the actual value of the manuscript.
Notify us in a separate letter that you have mailed the manuscript.

Your illustrations should be sent separately. The
maximum insurance here, too, is $200, and you may wish to
send several packages in order to increase your insurance.
Express has no maximum insurance but is more expensive.

16 • • • HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

[Lc]

# Editorial

## 4 Style

### 4.1 Authorities

In order to ensure consistency of style and up-to-date correctness, we prefer the usage recommended in the following books:

* Webster's New International Dictionary, 2d ed. Springfield, Mass.: G. & C. Merriam Company, 1961.

* A Manual of Style. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1949.

* MARJORIE E. SKILLIN, ROBERT M. GAY, AND OTHERS, Words into Type. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1948.

Supplementary to these books are Webster's Biographical Dictionary, Columbia-Lippincott Gazetteer of the World, and Margaret Nicholson, A Dictionary of American-English Usage, Oxford University Press. Often, professional societies publish suggested style sheets, and these, too, offer helpful hints.

Holt, Rinehart and Winston follows some house usages not to be found in the reference works cited above. They will be noted in succeeding sections.

### 4.2 Grammar, Spelling, Punctuation, Usage

**Grammar.** Conservatism in matters of grammar offends no one and usually ensures precision. Therefore, we tend to follow the old-fashioned customs of keeping prepositions away from the ends of sentences, of distinguishing between restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses and between "shall" and "will" (see Nicholson under "that, rel. pron." and under "will, v."), of observing the clarity of antecedents, of generally "writing by the book." Except in rare and special cases contractions ("I'll,"

[4.2] EDITORIAL STYLE · · 17

"won't," and so on) and colloquialisms are not suitable for a textbook. Our standards are stricter than those of Webster's third edition.

Editorial changes and recommendations in matters of grammar are based on accepted usage and have as their aim clarification and tightening of style.

**Spelling.** Webster's is our general guide in matters of hyphenation, capitalization, accents, and italicization of foreign words and phrases. The trend is toward the combining of prefixes and suffixes with roots; hyphens are less often used than they once were. If you plan to use a form not given by Webster's, please note the form you are using in a memorandum accompanying the manuscript; such deviation might result from reference to an authority in a specific field, such as the MLA *Style Sheet* or the American Standards Association.

Use American spelling, rather than British.

Our house style follows this spelling for these words: archeology, cooperate, esthetic, manpower, nonflammable, percent, wavelength, worthwhile.

Sometimes quoted material is taken from British sources. If the material is not literary and is being used in a beginning or intermediate text that is not an anthology, we prefer to Americanize the spelling (see also Section 9).

**Punctuation.** Although modern editorial style tends to dispense with all but the essential marks of punctuation, in textbooks fairly tight use is recommended for clarity. For example, we prefer to retain the comma before "and" in a series. Where confusion is unlikely, however, we do modernize—the form "July 1961" is preferred to "July, 1961" but we use "July 1, 1961."

Commas are never used before parentheses, except when parentheses are used around numbers in lists or as mathematical expressions.

Commas and periods go inside quotation marks; colons, semicolons, question marks, and exclamation points fall outside quotation marks unless they are a part of the quoted material. We use double quotes, changing British source material to conform to American practice. Quotation marks are used for titles of articles, essays, and short stories, poems, and songs.

18 * * HOLT • RINEHART • WINSTON

[L]

Titles of books, periodicals, plays, and long poems and musical selections (usually printed separately) are italicized.

In quoted material, omissions within sentences are indicated by three ellipses; omissions at the end of sentences are indicated by the period and three ellipses. Your own insertions into quoted material should be set off by square brackets, drawn in if necessary, rather than by parentheses.

**Usage.** Abbreviations are used more often in scientific and engineering books than in those in other subject fields, but they may be used in any text for which they seem appropriate. B.C. and A.D. are always used. In special cases it is advisable to state clearly in the text the proposed use of particular abbreviations, for example, the use of NT in a work on the Bible. Conventional signs, such as %, should be eschewed. Section 7, "Mathematics, Science, and Engineering," has further details.

If your professional society customarily follows certain usages in abbreviation, please note that fact; we shall gladly adopt its style.

Unless they begin a sentence, numbers over one hundred are usually set in figures. Numbers preceding abbreviations, percentages, and measurements are set in figures even when they are small. In engineering and scientific books, slightly different rules apply; they are given in Section 7. If the number before a measurement is approximate, it is spelled out (about fifteen acres). If comparable numbers in the same paragraph are both less and more than one hundred, they are all set in figures. With two adjacent numbers, one should be spelled out, for example, twenty-five 6-foot cabinets and 150 four-cent stamps. Round numbers of a million or over use the word instead of zeros, for example, 1 billion, not 1,000,000,000 (but 1,250,000,000). Spelled-out fractions are not hyphenated when used as nouns; they are hyphenated when used as adjectives. In continuing numerals, we repeat the full number, for example, 1960-1961, pages 248-250.

Italic type, indicated in manuscript by drawing a line beneath the word or words to be so set, may be used for emphasis. Overuse, however, destroys the original purpose.