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Rh Sub-Committee appointed for that purpose, and by the examiner. These distinctions will have a practical value also by raising the approved teachers in the estimation of the native community, and thereby increasing their emoluments.

Other rewards to be bestowed according to the progressive qualifications of the teachers and scholars, such as eligibility to a course of instruction in the Normal School of the district, to a course of instruction in the English School of the District and ultimately to the possession of a permanent endowment, will be detailed hereafter.

Having with every necessary explanation and encouragement distributed books to all teachers of good character desirous of receiving them, the examiner will next proceed in the beginning of the following month to some central point of some two or three other thanas of the same district. There, according to previous invitations and arrangements, he will meet the native school-masters of those thanas, and will go over precisely the same ground with them as in the preceding instance. Thence he will proceed in the beginning of the next month to another set of thanas, so as to traverse the whole district in six months. If the district contains twelve or a smaller number of thanas, the arrangement may be made with one or two per month; if more than twelve and not more than eighteen, with two or three per month; and if more than eighteen, an arrangement adapted to the peculiarity of the case may easily be devised. In Moorshedabad, which contains in all thirty-seven thanas, it will be advisable to assign one examiner to the city and another to the district; and in like manner one to Calcutta and another to the 24-Pergunnahs. If the district is too large to be traversed by the examiner, with the requisite delays in six months; or if the book distributed is too large or too difficult to be mastered by the teachers in the same period, a twelve month may be allowed. No good will arise from prematurely urging to completion any part of the process. The plan must be allowed to work into the minds of the native community and to obtain gradually a firm place in their confidence.

I will now suppose that after the lapse of six or twelve months the examiner has returned to the point from which he set out, having in the previous month by a formal notice reminded the school-masters who had received books of their engagement to attend for examination. Distrust, indolence, sickness, death, will doubtless cause the absence of some. Others who do attend will be badly prepared for examination, and the best but indifferently. But under every discouragement the plan should be steadily and kindly prosecuted, the school-masters being treated as grown-up children, now needing reproof and now encouragement. The examiner will find that he has much to learn from them as to the best modes of giving effect to the intentions of Government. The style of the book may be too high or too low; the matter


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 in aid of the homeless exiles. From Dantzig as much as 3000 thaler was contributed to the fund, and in England it was even suggested that a grant of land should be made to them in Ireland. For Comenius, Silesia was but a temporary refuge, and on leaving it his first movements were unfortunate. His effort to settle at Frankfort on the Oder was frustrated by an outbreak of the plague, and in Hamburg, his next resting-place, the old man, worn out by the fatigues to which he had been subjected, underwent a severe illness.

As regards money he had no cause for anxiety. Laurence de Geer, the son of his former patron, came to the rescue and insisted that he should settle permanently in Amsterdam, under his immediate protection. Laurence had long been a passionate admirer of Comenius, though more from the religious and philosophical than from the educational standpoint. The hard-headed old merchant, his father, had refused to listen to Pansophic schemes and prophetic rhapsodies, and had sternly insisted that school-books and nothing else were what he wanted for his money; but the younger de Geer would place no such restriction upon his friend. Comenius might still dabble in education, if he wished; but he was to be left free to rewrite the Pansophic works that had been destroyed by the flames, and thus to complete what he regarded as the great work of his life.

As soon as he was well enough to travel, he set out with his family to Amsterdam, and here he found himself in the midst of friends. “Mr. Drury has returned to Amsterdam,” writes Hartlib to Pell, “and promises with all speed to hasten unto us, and it is very like Mr. Comenius will come along with him.” But the invitation to England was not accepted. Comenius’ time was fully occupied in getting together a library to replace that lost at Lissa, and in arranging for the publication of his collected works on education, and of the prophecies of Kotter, Poniatowska, and Drabik. At the printer’s

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278 of the book may be too copious, or not sufficiently explanatory; the time allowed for preparation may be too short, or unnecessarily long; the rewards held out may require to be modified or extended. The attention of the examiner will be alive to every circumstance likely to convey a useful hint and will place it on record for his own guidance or for suggestion to his superior authority. According to the greater or less degree of zeal excited among the body of school-masters will be the strictness or laxity of the examinations. If the competition is general and active, the examination will be searching and the rewards bestowed on those only who have made themselves thoroughly competent. If the number of competitors is small and their efforts feeble, the examination will be less strict, and the rewards bestowed on a lower standard of excellence in order to encourage others to appear as candidates. As the plan gains ground throughout the country in public confidence, the rewards will be gradually limited to the highest standard of excellence, consisting in a perfect acquaintance with the contents of the work forming the subject of examination. When on these or similar principles the examiner will have completed the examination of the school-masters of two or three thanas, he will proceed to the next set of thanas, and so on until he has a second time completed the tour of the district. At this period the examiner should be required to make a report containing the results of his experience as to the working of the plan, his opinion of its advantages or disadvantages, and the improvements of which it is susceptible. My expectation is that, by these means judiciously employed in a given number of districts, in a period at the farthest of two years, a body of school-masters would be formed incomparably better instructed in what they all at present profess, more or less, to teach than any equal body of school-masters of the same class now to be found throughout Bengal.

The preceding details contemplate the employment of the first volume only of the proposed series of school-books containing complete instruction in all the branches of a native vernacular education. I assume that this instruction must be at the foundation of all real improvement, for unless the people have a competent knowledge of the forms of composition and accounts universally practised in native society, whatever else they may be taught, they cannot be deemed to have received a practical education, and without that knowledge no native teacher should be recognized as qualified to act in such a capacity. If it should be supposed that the great body of the people do not need and cannot be expected to acquire more than this amount of instruction, and that, therefore, we should be contented with it in their teachers without seeking to carry them any farther, the advantage will still be great of carrying both teachers and people thus far. With the increased attainments of the teachers, and with the respect and


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 de Geer seems to have given him unlimited credit. Indeed, his literary renown was so great, that a profit was actually expected from the sale of the Didactic Works, and with this his patron offered to finance a new translation of the Bible into Polish.

It is impossible to say if the magnificent folio, in which the Didactic Works appeared, sold as well as was anticipated. The edition must have been a small one, as the book was very rare a few years after Comenius’ death. To the modern student it is invaluable on account of the numerous autobiographical notices of the author that it contains; but there is no doubt that it can have done little to further Comenius’ renown as a theoretic educationist. The school-books, that appear in chronological order, were already well known, and their collected mass is so great that it quite swamps the Great Didactic. Had this work been published separately it could scarcely have failed to go through several editions, and might have been the means of rescuing the Comenian method from the oblivion into which it afterwards fell.

In itself the volume is a fine one, over 1000 folio pages in length, well printed and well bound. Under the title The Complete Didactic Works of J. A. Comenius, it comprises works written, in Part I., between 1627 and 1642; in Part II., between 1642 and 1650; in Part III., between 1650 and 1654; in Part IV., between 1654 and 1657.

With the contents of the first three parts the reader is already acquainted. Part IV., which is comparatively short, consists of works written in Amsterdam. A collection of sentences based on the Vestibulum, arranged in alphabetical order and entitled Vestibuli Auctarium, is the only section of it that forms an essential part of the Comenian series of school-books. It is dedicated to a Dr. Rulice of Amsterdam, with whom Comenius was in daily


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, count of Rousillon, had newly come to his title and estate, by the death of his father. The king of France loved the father of Bertram, and when he heard of his death, he sent for his son to come immediately to his royal court in Paris, intending, for the friendship he bore the late count, to grace young Bertram with his especial favour and protection.

Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed countess, when Lafeu, an old lord of the French court, came to conduct him to the king. The king of France was an absolute monarch, and the invitation to court was in the form of a royal mandate, or positive command, which no subject, of what high dignity soever, might disobey; therefore though the countess, in parting with this dear son, seemed a second time to bury her husband, whose loss she had so lately mourned, yet she dared not to keep him a single day, but gave instant orders for his departure. Lafeu, who came to fetch him, tried to comfort the countess for the loss of her late lord, and her son's sudden absence; and he said, in a courtier's flattering manner, that the king was so kind a prince, she would find in his majesty a husband, and that he would be a father to her son; meaning only, that the good king would befriend the fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu told the countess that the king had fallen into a sad malady, which was pronounced by his physicians to be incurable. The lady expressed great sorrow on hearing this account of the king's ill health, and


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 said, she wished the father of Helena (a young gentlewoman who was present in attendance upon her) were living, for that she doubted not he could have cured his majesty of his disease. And she told Lafeu something of the history of Helena, saying she was the only daughter of the famous physician Gerard de Narbon, and that he had recommended his daughter to her care when he was dying, so that since his death she had taken Helena under her protection; then the countess praised the virtuous disposition and excellent qualities of Helena, saying she inherited these virtues from her worthy father. While she was speaking Helena wept in sad and mournful silence, which made the countess gently reprove her for too much grieving for her father's death.

Bertram now bade his mother farewell. The countess parted with this dear son with tears and many blessings, and commended him to the care of Lafeu, saying, "Good my lord, advise him, for he is an unseasoned courtier."

Bertram's last words were spoken to Helena, but they were words of mere civility, wishing her happiness; and he concluded his short farewell to her with saying, "Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her."

Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she wept in sad mournful silence, the tears she shed were not for Gerard de Narbon. Helena loved her father, but in the present feeling of a deeper love, the object of which she was about to lose, she had forgotten the very form and features of her dead father, her imagination presenting no image to her mind but Bertram's.

Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always remembered that he was the count of Rousillon, descended from the most ancient family in France. She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at all.


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 intercourse. Of greater interest is the work that follows, An Apology for the Latinity of the Janua. On his arrival in Amsterdam, Comenius had been asked by some influential citizens to open a small school, and try the efficacy of his method on the Dutch boys. This suggestion seems to have made the established schoolmasters of the town apprehensive that the stranger, with his new methods, would make a bid for their teaching connection, and thus render their position insecure. They therefore brought against him the only charge that would hold water, namely, that his scholarship was poor and likely to lead boys astray. To this Comenius replied in his Apologia Latinitatis, and, anxious to leave his enemies no case against him, he followed this up by his Ventilabrum Sapientiæ, in which he subjects his own method to a critical examination and points out his own shortcomings so unsparingly as to leave nothing for the ill-disposed to say.

He had now finished with the Latin school-books, “from which he had so often turned in disgust,” and was free to devote himself to the Pansophia. “Mr. Comen,” writes Hartlib to Pell, “to retire himself to give himself wholly to his Pansophia goes this spring to be at Monsieur de Gerre’s house for a certain time, where he is provided for as a prince, but nobody knows he is there but we three and one of Comen’s amanuenses.” It would have been well had de Geer’s sympathy stopped short at the Pansophia. Unfortunately he took quite as much interest in the Revelations and in the cognate doctrine of Chiliasmus, or the one thousand years’ reign of peace on earth to be inaugurated by Christ at His second coming, and even invited Drabik to come to Amsterdam. The year 1656, so fateful to the Unity, had been foretold as that in which


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 His ancestors all noble. And therefore she looked up to the high-born Bertram as to her master and to her dear lord, and dared not form any wish but to live his servant, and so living to die his vassal. So great the distance seemed to her between his height of dignity and her lowly fortunes, that she would say, "It were all one that I should love a bright particular star, and think to wed it, Bertram is so far above me."

Bertram's absence filled her eyes with tears and her heart with sorrow; for though she loved without hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her to see him every hour, and Helena would sit and look upon his dark eye, his arched brow, and the curls of his fine hair, till she seemed to draw his portrait on the tablet of her heart, that heart too capable of retaining the memory of every line in the features of that loved face.

Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other portion than some prescriptions of rare and well proved virtue, which by deep study and long experience in medicine he had collected as sovereign and almost infallible remedies. Among the rest, there was one set down as an approved medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said the king at that time languished: and when Helena heard of the king's complaint, she, who till now had been so humble and so hopeless, formed an ambitious project in her mind to go herself to Paris, and undertake the cure of the king. But though Helena was the possessor of this choice prescription, it was unlikely, as the king as well as his physicians was of opinion that his disease was incurable, that they would give credit to a poor unlearned virgin, if she should offer to perform a cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of succeeding, if she might be permitted to make the trial, seemed more than even her father's skill warranted,


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 though he was the most famous physician of his time; for she felt a strong faith that this good medicine was sanctified by all the luckiest stars in heaven to be the legacy that should advance her fortune, even to the high dignity of being count Rousillon's wife.

Bertram had not been long gone, when the countess was informed by her steward, that he had overheard Helena talking to herself, and that he understood from some words she uttered, she was in love with Bertram, and thought of following him to Paris. The countess dismissed the steward with thanks, and desired him to tell Helena she wished to speak with her. What she had just heard of Helena brought the remembrance of days long past into the mind of the countess; those days probably when her love for Bertram's father first began; and she said to herself. "Even so it was with me when I was young. Love is a thorn that belongs to the rose of youth; for in the season of youth, if ever we are nature's children, these faults are ours, though then we think not they are faults." While the countess was thus meditating on the loving errors of her own youth, Helena entered, and she said to her, "Helena, you know I am a mother to you." Helena replied, "You are my honourable mistress." "You are my daughter," said the countess again: "I say I am your mother. Why do you start and look pale at my words?" With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, fearing the countess suspected her love, Helena still replied, "Pardon me, madam, you are not my mother; the count Rousillon cannot be my brother, nor I your daughter." "Yet, Helena," said the countess, "you might be my daughter-in-law; and I am afraid that, is what you mean to be, the words mother and daughter so disturb you. Helena, do you love my son?" "Good madam, pardon me," said the affrighted Helena. Again the countess repeated her question.


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 the reign of peace was to commence, and, this expectation falsified, 1671 or 1672 was the next date to which Comenius, inspired by Drabik, had given his entire confidence. The alliance of Rakoczy with Charles Gustavus, and the death of Ferdinand II., had given a passing air of plausibility to Drabik’s ravings, and poor Comenius finally threw common-sense scruples to the wind and definitely identified himself with the party of prophecy. The publication by him of Lux in Tenebris, or the collected prophecies of Kotter, Poniatowska, and Drabik, may have been largely due to de Geer’s influence, but it must be borne in mind that men like Thomas Burnet and William Whiston were staunch adherents of the doctrine of Chiliasmus, and that both on the continent and in England a large number of Protestants had no doubt whatever that Drabik was directly inspired from heaven. “This last week I have twice read the book of Drabicius,” writes Beale to Hartlib, “and cannot doubt but, in the main, God is in it.” Comenius was now leaving the legitimate paths of Churchmanship and pedagogy, and entering upon the trackless maze of vaticination. Revelation succeeded revelation. “About three weeks ago,” writes Hartlib to Pell in 1658, “Mr. Comen did impart unto me a copy of the last three visions of Drabicius from March 8th to September 1st, wherein he says again that the king of France is to be the German emperor.” In the following year appeared the History of the Revelations; in 1663, the more recent visions of Drabik were given to the public; and, two years later, a complete illustrated edition of all the prophecies up to date, under the title Lux e Tenebris, was issued.

In spite of the popularity of these works, murmurs of disapproval were heard in many quarters. Nicholas Arnold, a professor at Franecker, gave vent to his feelings in his Discursus Theologicus contra Comenium, and Samuel Des Marets, Professor of Theology at Groningen, published several brochures, in which, however, he was careful to state that the object of his attack was not Comenius, but the Revelations fathered by him. Even in his own


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 "Do you love my son?" "Do not you love him, madam?" said Helena. The countess replied, "Give me not this evasive answer, Helena. Come, come, disclose the state of your affections, for your love has to the full appeared." Helena on her knees now owned her love, and with shame and terror implored the pardon of her noble mistress; and with words expressive of the sense she had of the inequality between their fortunes, she protested Bertram did not know she loved him, comparing her humble unaspiring love to a poor Indian, who adores the sun that looks upon his worshipper, but knows of him no more. The countess asked Helena if she had not lately an intent to go to Paris? Helena owned the design she had formed in her mind, when she heard Lafeu speak of the king's illness. "This was your motive for wishing to go to Paris," said the countess, "was it? Speak truly." Helena honestly answered, "My lord your son made me to think of this; else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, had from the conversation of my thoughts been absent then." The countess heard the whole of this confession without saying a word either of approval or of blame, but she strictly questioned Helena as to the probability of the medicine being useful to the king. She found that it was the most prized by Gerard de Narbon of all he possessed, and that he had given it to his daughter on his deathbed; and remembering the solemn promise she had made at that awful hour in regard to this young maid, whose destiny, and the life of the king himself, seemed to depend on the execution of a project (which though conceived by the fond suggestions of a loving maiden's thoughts, the countess knew not but it might be the unseen workings of Providence to bring to pass the recovery of the king, and to lay the foundation of the future fortunes of Gerard de Narbon's daughter), free leave she gave


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 family he met with opposition. We learn from letters of Figulus to Arnold, that his son-in-law had disapproved of the publication of Lux in Tenebris in 1657.

It is difficult to understand how Comenius found it possible to do much more work at his Pansophia during these years, since to edit the prophecies and fight their battles with the sceptical must have taken up nearly as much time as to write school-books at Elbing. De Geer, however, seems to have made every arrangement in his power to ensure that the Universal Knowledge should be carried to a successful issue. “I still more and more admire the zeal and piety of that admirable man,” wrote Rulice to Hartlib in 1658. “I must tell you in aurem, if Comen do not mention it, he hath called also Figulus, with his family, hither, and will maintain him only to assist his father-in-law and to know all concerning Pansophia, that if Comen should die or be carried away, he may finish it.”

De Geer, in fact, was willing to spend his money on any object that commended itself to his evangelical friends. The Rakoczy family had refused to finance the translation of the Bible into Turkish, but he came to the rescue with his inexhaustible purse. The work was undertaken by a certain Warner, who had travelled in Turkey, and was to be revised by Golius, the well-known orientalist. Hartlib announces this in triumph to Boyle and Worthington. At last the Deus ex machina, destined to interpose and strike the final blow at Catholicism, would be instructed in the part that he was called upon play.

With the publication of the Opera Omnia Didactica, Comenius had not entirely ceased to take an interest in matters educational. In 1658 we find him giving practical instruction in his method to Jacob Redinger, master of the Latin School at Frankenthal. Redinger had heard of him from afar, and was not satisfied till he came to Amsterdam to consult the great oracle of school-craft. Comenius’ magic influence, that enthralled every schoolmaster with a disinterested love for the profession of education, made a deep impression on him. He became


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 to Helena to pursue her own way, and generously furnished her with ample means and suitable attendants; and Helena set out for Paris with the blessings of the countess, and her kindest wishes for her success.

Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance of her friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained an audience of the king. She had still many difficulties to encounter, for the king was not easily prevailed on to try the medicine offered him by this fair young doctor. But she told him she was Gerard de Narbon's daughter (with whose fame the king was well acquainted), and she offered the precious medicine as the darling treasure which contained the essence of all her father's long experience and skill, and she boldly engaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to restore his majesty to perfect health in the space of two days. The king at length consented to try it, and in two days' time Helena was to lose her life if the king did not recover; but if she succeeded, he promised to give her the choice of any man throughout all France (the princes only excepted) whom she could like for a husband; the choice of a husband being the fee Helena demanded if she cured the king of his disease.

Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she conceived of the efficacy of her father's medicine. Before two days were at an end, the king was restored to perfect health, and he assembled all the young noblemen of his court together, in order to confer the promised reward of a husband upon his fair physician; and he desired Helena to look round on this youthful parcel of noble bachelors, and choose her husband. Helena was not slow to make her choice, for among these young lords she saw the count Rousillon, and turning to Bertram, she said: "This is the man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, but I give me and my service ever whilst I live into your guiding power." "Why, then," said the king,


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 "young Bertram, take her; she is your wife." Bertram did not hesitate to declare his dislike to this present of the king's of the self-offered Helena, who, he said, was a poor physician's daughter, bred at his father's charge, and now living a dependent on his mother's bounty. Helena heard him speak these words of rejection and of scorn, and she said to the king, "That you are well, my lord, I am glad. Let the rest go." But the king would not suffer his royal command to be so slighted; for the power of bestowing their nobles in marriage was one of the many privileges of the kings of France; and that same day Bertram was married to Helena, a forced and uneasy marriage to Bertram, and of no promising hope to the poor lady, who, though she gained the noble husband she had hazarded her life to obtain, seemed to have won but a splendid blank, her husband's love not being a gift in the power of the king of France to bestow.

Helena was no sooner married than she was desired by Bertram to apply to the king for him for leave of absence from court; and when she brought him the king"s permission for his departure, Bertram told her that he was not prepared for this sudden marriage, it had much unsettled him, and therefore she must not wonder at the course he should pursue. If Helena wondered not, she grieved when she found it was his intention to leave her. He ordered her to go home to his mother. When Helena heard this unkind command, she replied, "Sir, I can nothing say to this, but that I am your most obedient servant, and shall ever with true observance seek to eke out that desert, wherein my homely stars have failed to equal my great fortunes." But this humble speech of Helena's did not at all move the haughty Bertram to pity his gentle wife, and he parted from her without even the common civility of a kind farewell.


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Scholarly Communications and Social Justice

The Open Access Movement has disrupted academic publishing, convincing academics and policy makers that research should be published in venues without paywall barriers. Academic institutions across the globe, including Harvard University and the University of Nairobi, have passed open-access policies that require faculty to make their work openly accessible, whether or not they are directed to do so by funding agencies. National governments in the United States, Japan, Argentina, and elsewhere have used legislation and regulatory policies to mandate that taxpayer-funded research be made publicly accessible through open-access publication. Influential nongovernment and private agencies—such as the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization, the Gates Foundation, and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation—have followed. For many, the moral argument for this is straightforward: important and useful research, like education itself, is a public good to which everyone should have access, particularly when it is paid for with public money.

This fundamental social justice message of the Open Access Movement— that knowledge is a public good—connects the field of scholarly publishing to other social justice concerns. Yet, the universal impact of open access cannot simply be assumed or asserted. Access does not necessarily mean equality, and sometimes does not even mean equality of access. In the words of Safiya Noble, “the gatekeeping function of publishing is fundamental to issues of social justice … the classification and dissemination of knowledge has never been a neutral project, and is often working in a broader context of nation-building, and to a larger degree, cultural domination. Knowledge and its dissemination are social constructs, with a variety of attendant values that are privileged.”

Academic publishing, or scholarly communication as it is now called, finds its home and values in academic institutions that reflect and reinforce colonialist structures of power. These systems must themselves be transformed if open access is to make good on its promise as a project of justice and equity.

Rooted in Colonial Privilege
In the United States, works authored by federal government employees are in the public domain, but the idea that government-funded research should be open to the public is relatively new. Western scholarly publishing began as the correspondence of gentlemen who had the leisure and wealth to indulge their intellectual curiosities, whose letters evolved into the journals and monographs that are now seen as traditional and inevitable. In order to access academic newsletters and journals, scholars paid membership fees to scholarly societies or subscribed to lending libraries, as Aileen Fyfe and Stuart Lawson explore further in this volume.

As Western colonialism expanded, so did universities and their presses. Oxford University Press is a clear example of how knowledge production and dissemination emerged as an aspect of the colonial project. According to its website, “Oxford University Press is the world’s largest university press with the widest global presence,” an acclamation that is consonant with British plans to govern the globe. Further, the Press describes its growth in alignment with conquest: “from the late 1800s OUP began to expand significantly, opening the first overseas OUP office in New York in 1896. Other international branches followed, including Canada (1904), Australia (1908), India (1912), Southern Africa (1914).” These branches were all built in places where the British Empire had established a strong colonial foothold. The claim that the Oxford University Press is the largest university press in the world may well be because the sun never set on the British Empire.

Similarly, Elsevier’s success as the largest academic publisher in the world can be correlated with the success of the Dutch Empire. In addition, Elsevier’s parent company, Reed Elsevier, was involved in the arms trade through conference services until outrage from its medical publishing clients forced divestiture in 2007. It is no coincidence that the largest, most lucrative, and most influential academic publishers are headquartered in the Global North (Springer in Germany, Wiley in the United States). The power to shape scholarly communications on a global scale—facilitated by the legacy of colonial extraction and the imposition of systems and knowledge from those in power—continues to this day. Regardless of the subject matter, the academic publishing system, structured and controlled by commercial and university presses headquartered in Europe and North America, has produced a scholarly record dominated by scholarship from the Global North.

For example, a 2013 study of economics papers found that only 1.5 percent of economics articles in top-tier journal articles were about countries other than the United States, while only about three papers about the poorest 20 countries were published every two years. While many point to the impact of the digital divide, contributions to the scholarly record from scholars in the Global South are hampered by more than unequal access to digital technologies. Systemic obstacles include the perceived importance of global and local knowledge, language, and negative perceptions of research from the Global South, as covered by Packer, Babini, and others in this volume.

When selecting research topics, scholars from South America, Africa, and Asia often have to choose between focusing their research on a topic of local interest or choosing topics that are more likely to be published in the top journals in their field. Journals with high impact factors have editorial boards composed primarily of researchers in North America and Western Europe, which means the scope of these journals is evaluated by the criteria of the Global North. When scholars from other parts of the world choose to research topics of local importance, whether poverty, tropical diseases, or local folklore, they risk relegation to the periphery of the scholarly record. Richard Horton, an editor of medical journal The Lancet, noted that “we editors seek a global status for our journals, but we shut out the experiences and practices of those living in poverty by our (unconscious) neglect. One group is advantaged while the other is marginalized.” The marginalization of non-Western topics spans disciplines. Francis Nyamnjoh, former head of the Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa, pointed out that “in the social sciences, where objectivity is often distorted by obvious or subtle ideology, African scholars face a critical choice between sacrificing relevance for recognition, or recognition for relevance.” These choices for publication relevance have real impact on lives. Jean-Claude Guédon and Alain Loute have pointed out that Zika was first discovered in 1947 but largely ignored by those outside the equatorial belt—including scholarly publications—until it threatened the United States in 2015–2016.

Researchers also have to make a choice between writing in a language that will be accepted by journals published in the Global North or using their local language. Because English is the lingua franca of research, scholars must produce scholarship in English if they wish to be published in the “top” international journals. Portuguese scholars Vieira Santos and Nunes da Silva describe the power held by English-fluent scholars, writing that “researchers and reviewers from core Anglophone countries are in a position to dictate parameters to their less-privileged ‘peers,’ thus imposing not only standard research criteria, but also standard genre models, writing parameters, and publishing guidelines.” Ghanaian folklore scholar Kwesi Yankah shared a similar perspective, noting that “African scholars have lamented the marginalization of their manuscripts by Western publishers, who complain of ‘intrusive’ African vocabularies in titles and texts, intrusive because they are not mainstream languages [and therefore] could pose problems for marketing and smooth reading.” Lack of English fluency can also shape a reviewer’s perception of submissions, and may be used as a shortcut to judge the overall quality of the paper. As Yankah continues, “Other times, manuscripts and contributions have been rejected for being rather ‘descriptive,’ ‘too data-oriented,’ ‘lacking theoretical grounding,’ or ‘not in tune with global jargon and metadiscourse.’” The reliance on Western academic English language and its norms excludes valuable content that does not fit its container, and shapes what counts as legitimate research, from the questions that can be asked to how they can be answered.

Scholarship from the Global South is too readily dismissed by researchers in the Global North, due to a publishing system whose standards of quality have been developed for academics in the Global North. Jeffrey Beall, who until recently maintained a list of publishers and journals he considers predatory, has been criticized for unfairly labeling publishers from developing countries predatory. In 2015, Beall called the Latin American publisher SciELO a “publication favela.” Many commentators called out the cultural bias implicit in his use of the term “favela,” stressing the importance of local and regional publishers and the indexing of SciELO in Web of Science and Scopus. In using the term “predatory publishers” to describe publishers in the Global South, Beall tainted the publishers with a conceit of ill-intent, foreclosing the possibility of developmental or capacity issues, rather than examining the problematic capitalist infrastructure of traditional commercial publishing that asks scholars to give away their intellectual property and to pay for the privilege. His inconsistent, and at times factually incorrect, criteria revealed the fallacy of having a checklist that failed to consider context, causing “irreversible reputational damage to authors, editors and publishers. … [Blacklists] can stigmatize researchers by being associated with them and can be used in a discriminatory manner.” The fallout from Beall’s blacklist goes on as the academic community continues to refer to its principles and conclusions to educate and make decisions on the legitimacy of publications.

The importance of a more nuanced and contextual approach to publication, as well as an understanding of access to the means of production rather than simply the output, cannot be overstated. For example, the publication of sustainable journals that meet the standards established by Northern scholars requires an understanding of Northern scholarly publishing, and a pool of scholars who have the time and resources to volunteer to serve on editorial boards and as peer reviewers, luxuries that are in short supply in many parts of the Americas, Asia, and Africa. An understanding of Northern scholarly publishing is also difficult for those left out of the process entirely—a study by Publons reported that the majority of peer reviewers are overwhelmingly from the United States. As Moore et al. describe, these exclusions are amplified in the context of contemporary neoliberal commitments to “excellence” that reify peer review rather than making room for other possible norms of quality. Western frameworks for academic publishing, however, do not preclude the value of scholarship. The old adage “don’t judge a book by its cover” takes on new meaning on the internet, where physical containers and formats have even less relevance and content is—or rather should be—king.

Replicating Representation: Race, Ethnicity, and Gender
In addition to geographical and linguistic biases, several studies have shown troubling gender gaps in publishing output. Studies have examined the JSTOR corpus, Web of Science, and Scopus and Science Direct to find that, although gender representation has improved in the last 20 years to include more women across all areas of study, authorship is still shockingly imbalanced, particularly for single and lead-authored publications.

Women are even underrepresented in the peer review process: a recent study by Lerback and Hanson examined the journals from the American Geophysical Union (AGU), the largest publisher of Earth and space science, and showed that authors and editors suggest women as reviewers less often. While this may be unsurprising in contemporary scholarly publishing, historians have demonstrated that this has not always been the case, and therefore does not have to be. The AGU has since made an effort to include more women in its reviewer pool, which has resulted in an increase in female-authored papers.

While editors may be aware of the gender gap in authorship and peer review, it is important to point out that this imbalance exists within the scholarly publishing industry as well. It has been pointed out that publishing professionals are 60 percent female, but at the highest levels women represent less than a third of CEOs and fewer than one in five board chairs. There is also a gender pay gap across the industry, as reported in the UK in 2018. This is attributed to the differing roles men and women play in publishing institutions, but it also reinforces the reality that systemic injustices exist in publishing, too.

It is clear that gender biases exist at every level of publishing, alongside other biases in representation, including race, ethnicity, class, language, national origin, and ability. The academic publishing industry is, to put it bluntly, painfully white, much like the rest of the publishing industry. Unfortunately, ethnicity in authorship is difficult to disambiguate, but the Cooperative Children’s Book Center at the University of Wisconsin–Madison has been keeping track of authorship since 1985, when they found that only 18 books were authored by African Americans. That number has since risen to 122 books authored by African Americans, which comes nowhere near to representing the percentage of African American children in the United States. It is not difficult to see a correlation between the lack of representation in editorial voices and the lack of representation in authorship, for both mainstream and scholarly publishing, particularly when there are concrete examples of race-based missteps in peer review and publication.

As Inefuku and Roh have argued, “If the editorial board, representing the master narrative, selects reviewers who from their perspective are qualified, the results are likely to reflect the same perspectives. This result is even more likely when one considers that the pool from which editorial board members and peer reviewers are drawn consists of tenured and tenure-track professors, who are, as mentioned previously, 84 percent white.” These demographics and the resulting biases should be more directly confronted in the composition of editorial boards and the selection of reviewers in order to disrupt the inequities of race, ethnicity, and gender inclusion in traditional scholarly publishing.

This lack of representation affects not only the diversity of books and other publications that are produced and made available, but individuals, whose careers are at stake because publication is central to tenure and promotion. Voices that are not represented in the scholarly canon are not just a loss for readers of that one book or article. Lack of publication causes an erasure of voices from our academic institutions, our scholarly record, and our culture and knowledge at large, as April M. Hathcock shows in her chapter.

Inequalities in Production
We have explored the impact of race, gender, national origin, and language on the scope of scholarly communication, arguing that the transformation to open-access publishing—often framed as a justice-based intervention— will fall short unless these fundamental issues of power are addressed. Understanding scholarly communication as a material practice can help identify points of potential leverage and resistance. Scholarly communication requires the input of many forms of labor, from the inception of a research project to the dissemination of findings and analysis. This work includes defining the scope of a journal, soliciting and selecting articles, conducting the sometimes many rounds of peer review necessary to make an article ready to publish, and the production tasks of copyediting, layout, proofreading, and the task of ensuring that all metadata are correct. In addition, scholars must read, research and write in the first place, generating the text upon which all this work is applied. Some of this work—assigning DOIs, formatting text, and so forth—is invisible to scholars who are rarely asked to perform it. In turn, the work of research and writing is often understood not as labor, but as a calling higher than the maintenance work that sustains the work of scholarship.

Regardless of the affective relationship scholars have to this work, the work exists and must be remunerated. Unlike the research, writing, reviewing, and editing that are largely dominated by white men from the Global North, production work is a race-to-the-bottom sector as companies outsource the dotting of i’s and the crossing of t’s to the cheapest, most disposable workers. Paid work in scholarly communications continues to be available, but at increasingly lower rates, disadvantaging workers globally.

For scholars in the academy, the economic structure on the individual level remains much the same as it has. Scholars gain access to academic society journals through memberships, and university libraries subscribe to journal databases in order to make publications available to their patrons. The scholars themselves (except in the case of a small percentage of monographs or textbooks that sell quite well) do not profit monetarily, as it is assumed that their labor is paid by external sources—either their university salaries or through grants. This is true not only for authors, but for editors and reviewers as well. Some editors and reviewers are paid a small stipend, but generally it is a gift economy, and scholars see these duties as necessary to being engaged and responsible members of the academic community. While the gift economy works for scholars located at centers of power, it disadvantages those who work outside of them, including scholars who live and work in the Global South, write from nondominant race, gender, or class perspectives, or who are part of the growing academic “precariat,” some of the 50 percent of college and university professors who teach without stable employment and for whom the work of scholarship cannot be expected to lead to the tenure and promotion that can make volunteer work on journals make sense as a use of professional time.

The challenge of developing open-access models that compensate knowledge workers drives much of the conversation around this transformation of scholarly communications. Inequities in that labor are unevenly distributed: the work of reading and writing is reserved for a narrowing band of elite US- and European-based scholars publishing in English on topics of interest to that elite in prestigious journals headquartered in the Global North. The piecework of production is increasingly outsourced to workers in other parts of the world, who watch their pay plummet as profits are transferred to corporate publishers. Meaningful resistance to dominant forms of scholarly publishing relies on making connections between workers who are disenfranchised at every level of this process. Seeing links between the scholar whose line of inquiry is insufficiently white or Western to be published in top journals and the Indian production worker impoverished by those same systems can lead to productive points of solidarity and shared concern.

Conclusion
Ria DasGupta has argued that “when we see that university diversity programs grow out of corporate and capitalist notions of progress, we can begin to understand why universities are perhaps only putting a band aid on injustice rather than challenging the deeply-rooted structural inequities which make the university welcoming for some and not others.” Scholarly research is complicit in the production of social inequalities that academic universities have perpetuated across the globe. Recently, many publishing institutions have begun to pay more attention to the “problem” of diversity, though this attention has not resulted in the kind of fundamental change that would result in the redistribution of opportunity and access. The kind of change called for by the current system requires deep-rooted, radical shifts in how knowledge is produced, how it is valued, and whose voices are authorized to speak in the academy. This calls for revolution rather than progression.

What does it mean to create a new environment, a new ecosystem of scholarly communication? While open-access publishing advances equitable access to reading scholarly work, it does not automatically reverse the biases and norms of scholarship itself. Without self-reflection and organized efforts to shift power in publishing, open-access efforts risk simply replicating biases and injustices endemic to the traditional scholarly communication system. Social justice in scholarly communications requires more than the provision of access to materials through the open web. It requires true global participation—from authorship, to the tools and means of production, and to the indexing of and access to the end product. Social justice in scholarly communication requires more than representation. It requires reckoning with the labor conditions of workers whose work facilitates the scholarly conversation. Beyond the tasks described here, an ethical scholarly communications practice would also engage in fights for the wages and working conditions of all laborers along the production chain, from the ivory tower intellectual typing on their computer in Cambridge to the factory worker in China whose labor produced that computer in the first place. An ethical scholarly communications practice would consider both the Nigerian scholar who is recognized throughout Africa, as well as the environmental and labor practices around the metals that create our publishing tools. Scholarly communications is a series of material practices that could be constructed otherwise—rooted in equity and justice rather that colonization and dominance. Sustaining that radical vision and advancing toward it are critical to an Open Access Movement that can transform the world.


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Author talk:Robert Boyle (1627-1691)

Resources/Misc

 * Robert Boyle Project, pagescans of (some) Robert Boyle papers at the Royal Society
 * Robert Boyle's workdiaries
 * The Philosophical Works of the Honourable Robert Boyle Esq. Volume 2
 * Of a Degradation of Gold made by an anti-elixir: a strange chymical narrative. (1678) 1739 edition, no pagescans
 * Sceptical Chymist in latin

Moved here from the author page. --Jan Kameníček (talk) 18:24, 19 October 2023 (UTC)

title: Author talk:Robert Boyle (1627-1691)


text: Talk:Scholarly Communications and Social Justice


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Page:The Great Didactic of John Amos Comenius (1896).pdf/108

 the most devoted adherent of the new method, and, in his young enthusiasm, brought out an edition of the Vestibulum and a German translation of the Schola Ludus. A follower of Comenius in one direction, he soon became his disciple in another, embraced the doctrine of Chiliasmus, and joined the crowd of Protestants who, throughout Europe, were eagerly awaiting the fulfilment of the Drabician prophecies.

That the Pansophia made but slow progress need cause little surprise, as, in addition to his occupations of a purely theological nature, Comenius had undertaken the task of managing the finances of the Bohemian Brethren. The sympathy of friends in England had not been confined to words, but had led to collections on a large scale. In 1658 £5900, and in the following year £3000, were sent to the Continent in aid of the exiled victims of Catholicism. At the same time, collections were made in Holland and in Switzerland, and the whole sum of money had to pass through Comenius’ hands. Applications for assistance poured in from every side, and the aged Bishop had to tear himself from his philosophic labours and undertake the duties of a paymaster-general. From England supplies continued to come in until, in 1661, Charles II., alarmed at the removal of so much money from the country, put a stop to the collection, and impounded the money that was ready for transmission. Needless to say, an indignant letter from Amsterdam remained ineffective and unanswered. In the midst of so many distractions it is remarkable that Comenius, whose health was rapidly failing, found time to conduct some physical experiments on the nature of heat and cold, and to correspond with Robert Dalgarno in England on the subject of a complicated clockwork construction that the latter was devising.

Of the last ten years of Comenius’ life our information, never very direct or very full, is extremely scanty. His correspondence with Hartlib ceases in 1662, and we are


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Page:Tales from Shakespeare - Lamb C and M, Rackham A (1908).djvu/194

 Back to the countess then Helena returned. She had accomplished the purport of her journey, she had preserved the life of the king, and she had wedded her heart's dear lord, the count Rousillon; but she returned back a dejected lady to her noble mother-in-law, and as soon as she entered the house she received a letter from Bertram which almost broke her heart.

The good countess received her with a cordial welcome, as if she had been her son's own choice, and a lady of a high degree, and she spoke kind words to comfort her for the unkind neglect of Bertram in sending his wife home on her bridal day alone. But this gracious reception failed to cheer the sad mind of Helena, and she said, "Madam my lord is gone, for ever gone." She then read these words out of Bertram's letter: When you can get the ring from my finger, which never shall come off, then call me husband, but in such a Then I write a Never. "This is a dreadful sentence!" said Helena. The countess begged her to have patience, and said, now Bertram was gone, she should be her child, and that she deserved a lord that twenty such rude boys as Bertram might tend upon, and hourly call her mistress. But in vain by respectful condescension and kind flattery this matchless mother tried to soothe the sorrows of her daughter-in-law.

Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter, and cried out in an agony of grief, Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. The countess asked her if she found those words in the letter? "Yes, madam," was all poor Helena could answer.

The next morning Helena was missing. She left a letter to be delivered to the countess after she was gone, to acquaint her with the reason of her sudden absence: in this letter she informed her that she was so much grieved at having driven Bertram from his native country and his home, that to atone for her


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Author:Charlotte Roh

Works

 * Scholarly Communications and Social Justice, with Harrison W. Inefuku and Emily Drabinski (2020)

title: Author:Charlotte Roh


text:
Author:Harrison W. Inefuku

Works

 * Scholarly Communications and Social Justice, with Charlotte Roh and Emily Drabinski (2020)

title: Author:Harrison W. Inefuku


text:
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Author:Emily Drabinski

Works

 * Scholarly Communications and Social Justice, with Charlotte Roh and Harrison W. Inefuku (2020)

title: Author:Emily Drabinski


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Page:Tales from Shakespeare - Lamb C and M, Rackham A (1908).djvu/195

 offence, she had undertaken a pilgrimage to the shrine of St Jaques le Grand, and concluded with requesting the countess to inform her son that the wife he so hated had left his house for ever.

Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, and there became an officer in the duke of Florence's army, and after a successful war, in which he distinguished himself by many brave actions, Bertram received letters from his mother, containing the acceptable tidings that Helena would no more disturb him; and he was preparing to return home, when Helena herself, clad in her pilgrim's weeds, arrived at the city of Florence.

Florence was a city through which the pilgrims used to pass on their way to St Jaques le Grand; and when Helena arrived at this city, she heard that a hospitable widow dwelt there, who used to receive into her house the female pilgrims that were going to visit the shrine of that saint, giving them lodging and kind entertainment. To this good lady, therefore, Helena went, and the widow gave her a courteous welcome, and invited her to see whatever was curious in that famous city, and told her that if she would like to see the duke's army, she would take her where she might have a full view of it. "And you will see a countryman of yours," said the widow; "his name is count Rousillon, who has done worthy service in the duke's wars." Helena wanted no second invitation, when she found Bertram was to make part of the show. She accompanied her hostess; and a sad and mournful pleasure it was to her to look once more upon her dear husband's face. "Is he not a handsome man?" said the widow. "I like him well," replied Helena, with great truth. All the way they walked, the talkative widow's discourse was all of Bertram: she told Helena the story of Bertram's marriage, and how he had deserted the


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 poor lady his wife, and entered into the duke's army to avoid living with her. To this account of her own misfortunes Helena patiently listened, and when it was ended, the history of Bertram was not yet done, for then the widow began another tale, every word of which sank deep into the mind of Helena; for the story she now told was of Bertram's love for her daughter.

Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced on him by the king, it seems he was not insensible to love for since he had been stationed with the army at Florence, he had fallen in love with Diana, a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this widow who was Helena's hostess; and every night, with music of all sorts, and songs composed in praise of Diana's beauty, he would come under her window, and solicit her love; and all his suit to her was, that she would permit him to visit her by stealth after the family were retired to rest; but Diana would by no means be persuaded to grant this improper request, nor give any encouragement to his suit, knowing him to be a married man; for Diana had been brought up under the counsels of a prudent mother, who, though she was now in reduced circumstances, was well born, and descended from the noble family of the Capulets.

All this the good lady related to Helena, highly praising the virtuous principles of her discreet daughter, which she said were entirely owing to the excellent education and good advice she had given her; and she further said, that Bertram had been particularly importunate with Diana to admit him to the visit he so much desired that night, because he was going to leave Florence early the next morning.

Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram's love for the widow's daughter, yet from the story the ardent mind of Helena conceived a project (nothing


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 discouraged at the ill success of her former one) to recover her truant lord. She disclosed to the widow that she was Helena, the deserted wife of Bertram, and requested that her kind hostess and her daughter would suffer this visit from Bertram to take place, and allow her to pass herself upon Bertram for Diana; telling them, her chief motive for desiring to have this secret meeting with her husband, was to get a ring from him, which he had said, if ever she was in possession of he would acknowledge her as his wife.

The widow and her daughter promised to assist her in this affair, partly moved by pity for this unhappy forsaken wife, and partly won over to her interest by the promises of reward which Helena made them, giving them a purse of money in earnest of her future favour. In the course of that day Helena caused information to be sent to Bertram that she was dead; hoping that when he thought himself free to make a second choice by the news of her death, he would offer marriage to- her in her feigned character of Diana. And if she could obtain the ring and this promise too, she doubted not she should make some future good come of it.

In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was admitted into Diana's chamber, and Helena was there ready to receive him. The flattering compliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena were precious sounds to her, though she knew they were meant for Diana; and Bertram was so well pleased with her, that he made her a solemn promise to be her husband, and to love her for ever; which she hoped would be prophetic of a real affection, when he should know it was his own wife, the despised Helena, whose conversation had so delighted him.

Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena was, else perhaps he would not have been so regardless


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Page:The Great Didactic of John Amos Comenius (1896).pdf/109

 thus deprived of an important source of information. In 1665 death took from him his wife, his friend Dr. Rulice, and his patron Laurence de Geer, and, though the place of the latter was, to a certain extent, supplied by his brother Gerard, who continued to support him in comfort, he must have led but a forlorn existence, an exile from his native land, and the survivor of most of his friends. In his loneliness he devoted himself to his metaphysical writings with all the energy that a feeble old man, whose life had been a perpetual hoping against hope, could muster. His Janua Rerum appears to have been completed in 1666, though, if this was identical with a work of the same name that he mentions previously as being in print, it is impossible to say. The only edition known was published at Leyden in 1681. Of this treatise it suffices to say that it is a deductive metaphysic, totally unlike the Janua Rerum that he anticipated in his younger days, and that it bears no trace of Bacon’s influence. The same may be said of his Pansophic writings, some of which were completed in the same year. Under the title of A general deliberation for the improvement of the human race were comprised six parts, named respectively, Panegersia, Panaugia, Pantaxia or Pansophia, Panpadia, Panglottia, and Panorthosia, concluded by a seventh consisting of a general exhortation. If the first two were published during Comenius’ lifetime, the editions must have been limited to a few copies, as Buddaeus, in 1702, had to edit the Panegersia from the original manuscript, and of the Panaugia there only exists one copy—in the museum at Prague. The Panegersia excited the admiration of Herder, but it is unnecessary


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 of her; and seeing her every day, he had entirely overlooked her beauty; a face we are accustomed to see constantly, losing the effect which is caused by the first sight either of beauty or of plainness; and of her understanding it was impossible he should judge, because she felt such reverence, mixed with her love for him, that she was always silent in his presence: but now that her future fate, and the happy ending of all her love-projects, seemed to depend on her leaving a favourable impression on the mind of Bertram from this night's interview, she exerted all her wit to please him; and the simple graces of her lively conversation and the endearing sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram, that he vowed she should be his wife. Helena begged the ring from off his finger as a token of his regard, and he gave it to her; and in return for this ring, which it was of such importance to her to possess, she gave him another ring, which was one the king had made her a present of. Before it was light in the morning, she sent Bertram away; and he immediately set out on his journey towards his mother's house.

Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to accompany her to Paris, their further assistance being necessary to the full accomplishment of the plan she had formed. When they arrived there, they found the king was gone upon a visit to the countess of Rousillon, and Helena followed the king with all the speed she could make.

The king was still in perfect health, and his gratitude to her who had been the means of his recovery was so lively in his mind, that the moment he saw the countess of Rousillon, he began to talk of Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by the folly of her son; but seeing the subject distressed the countess, who sincerely lamented the death of Helena, he said, "My good lady, I have forgiven


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 and forgotten all." But the good-natured old Lafeu, who was present, and could not bear that the memory of his favourite Helena should be so lightly passed over, said, "This I must say, the young lord did great offence to his majesty, his mother, and his lady; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of all, for he has lost a wife whose beauty astonished all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her." The king said, "Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. Well—call him hither"; meaning Bertram, who now presented himself before the king: and, on his expressing deep sorrow for the injuries he had done to Helena, the king, for his dead father's and his admirable mother's sake, pardoned him and restored him once more to his favour. But the gracious countenance of the king was soon changed towards him, for he perceived that Bertram wore the very ring upon his finger which he had given to Helena: and he well remembered that Helena had called all the saints in heaven to witness she would never part with that ring, unless she sent it to the king himself upon some great disaster befalling her; and Bertram, on the king's questioning him how he came by the ring, told an improbable story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window, and denied ever having seen Helena since the day of their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram's dislike to his wife, feared he had destroyed her: and he ordered his guards to seize Bertram, saying, "I am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of Helena was foully snatched." At this moment Diana and her mother entered, and presented a petition to the king, wherein they begged his majesty to exert his royal power to compel Bertram to marry Diana, he having made her a solemn promise of marriage. Bertram, fearing the king's anger, denied