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LECTORI BENEVOLO S. by James Russell Lowell

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This is a mock-serious Latin preface by James Russell Lowell, written in his youth, where he humorously pretends to be an arrogant scholar detailing the failure of his first book on entomology.

Poet
James Russell Lowell
Themes
art, growing-up, identity
The PoemFull text

LECTORI BENEVOLO S.

James Russell Lowell

Toga scholastica nondum deposita, quum systemata varia entomologica, a viris ejus scientiæ cultoribus studiosissimis summa diligentia ædificata, penitus indagassem, non fuit quin luctuose omnibus in iis, quamvis aliter laude dignissimis, hiatum magni momenti perciperem. Tunc, nescio quo motu superiore impulsus, aut qua captus dulcedine operis, ad eum implendum (Curtius alter) me solemniter devovi. Nec ab isto labore, [Greek: daimonios] imposito, abstinui antequam tractatulum sufficienter inconcinnum lingua vernacula perfeceram. Inde, juveniliter tumefactus, et barathro ineptiæ [Greek: ton bibliopolon] (necnon 'Publici Legentis') nusquam explorato, me composuisse quod quasi placentas præfervidas (ut sic dicam) homines ingurgitarent credidi. Sed, quum huic et alio bibliopolæ MSS. mea submisissem et nihil solidius responsione valde negativa in Musæum meum retulissem, horror ingens atque misericordia, ob crassitudinem Lambertianam in cerebris homunculorum istius muneris coelesti quadam ira infixam, me invasere. Extemplo mei solius impensis librum edere decrevi, nihil omnino dubitans quin 'Mundus Scientificus' (ut aiunt) crumenam meam ampliter repleret. Nullam, attamen, ex agro illo meo parvulo segetem demessui præter gaudium vacuum bene de Republica merendi. Iste panis meus pretiosus super aquas literarias fæculentas præfidenter jactus, quasi Harpyiaram quarundam (scilicet bibliopolarum istorum facinorosorum supradictorum) tactu rancidus, intra perpaucos dies mihi domum rediit. Et, quum ipse tali victu ali non tolerarem, primum in mentem venit pistori (typographo nempe) nihilominus solvendum esse. Animum non idcirco demisi, imo æque ac pueri naviculas suas penes se lino retinent (eo ut e recto cursu delapsas ad ripam retrahant), sic ego Argâ meam chartaceam fluctibus laborantem a quæsitu velleris aurei, ipse potius tonsus pelleque exutus, mente solida revocavi. Metaphoram ut mutem, _boomarangam_ meam a scopo aberrantem, retraxi, dum majore vi, occasione ministrante, adversus Fortunam intorquerem. Ast mihi, talia volventi, et, sicut Saturnus ille [Greek: paidoboros], liberos intellectûs mei depascere fidenti, casus miserandus, nec antea inauditus, supervenit. Nam, ut ferunt Scythas pietatis causa et parsimoniæ, parentes suos mortuos devorâsse, sic filius hic meus primogenitus, Scythis ipsis minus mansuetus, patrem vivum totum et calcitrantem exsorbere enixus est. Nec tamen hac de causa sobolem meam esurientem exheredavi. Sed famem istam pro valido testimonio virilitatis roborisque potius habui, cibumque ad eam satiandam, salva paterna mea carne, petii. Et quia bilem illam scaturientem ad æs etiam concoquendum idoneam esse estimabam, unde æs alienum, ut minoris pretii, haberem, circumspexi. Rebus ita se habentibus, ab avunculo meo Johanne Doolittie, Armigero, impetravi ut pecunias necessarias suppeditaret, ne opus esset mihi universitatem relinquendi antequam ad gradum primum in artibus pervenissem. Tune ego, salvum facere patronum meum munificum maxime cupiens, omnes libros primæ editionis operis mei non venditos una cum privilegio in omne ævum ejusdem imprimendi et edendi avunculo meo dicto pigneravi. Ex illo die, atro lapide notando, curæ vociferantes familiæ singulis annis crescentis eo usque insultabant ut nunquam tam carum pignus e vinculis istis aheneis solvere possem. Avunculo vero nuper mortuo, quum inter alios consanguineos testamenti ejus lectionem audiendi causa advenissem, erectis auribus verba talia sequentia accepi: 'Quoniam persuasum habeo meum dilectum nepotem Homerum, longa et intima rerum angustarum domi experientia, aptissimum esse qui divitias tueatur, beneficenterque ac prudenter iis divinis creditis utatur,--ergo, motus hisce cogitationibus, exque amore meo in illum magno, do, legoque nepoti caro meo supranominato omnes singularesque istas possessiones nec ponderabiles nec computabiles meas quæ sequuntur, scilicet: quingentos libros quos mihi pigneravit dictus Homerus, anno lucis 1792, cum privilegio edendi et repetendi opus istud "scientificum" (quod dicunt) suum, si sic elegerit. Tamen D.O.M, precor oculos Homeri nepotis mei ita aperiat eumque moveat, ut libros istos in bibliotheca unius e plurimis castellis suis Hispaniensibus tuto abscondat.' His verbis vix credibilibus, auditis, cor meum in pectore exsultavit. Deinde, quoniam tractatus Anglice scriptus spem auctoris fefellerat, quippe quum studium Historiæ Naturalis in Republica nostra inter factionis strepitum languescat, Latine versum edere statui, et eo potius quia nescio quomodo disciplina academica et duo diplomata proficiant, nisi quod peritos linguarum omnino mortuarum (et damnandarum, ut dicebat iste [Greek: panourgos] Guilielmus Cobbett) nos faciant. Et mihi adhue superstes est tota illa editio prima, quam quasi crepitaculum per quod dentes caninos dentibam retineo. * * * * *

Public domain

Sourced from Project Gutenberg

§01Quick summary

What this poem is about

This is a mock-serious Latin preface by James Russell Lowell, written in his youth, where he humorously pretends to be an arrogant scholar detailing the failure of his first book on entomology. He recounts the rejections from publishers, his decision to self-publish at a loss, pawning the unsold copies to his uncle for tuition, and later inheriting those same unsold copies back after his uncle passed away — a perfectly circular disaster. The entire narrative serves as a self-deprecating joke, all wrapped in the grandest academic Latin.

§02Themes

Recurring themes

§03Line by line

Stanza by stanza, with notes

  1. Toga scholastica nondum deposita, quum systemata varia entomologica...

    Editor's note

    Still wearing his student gown, Lowell mentions that he researched all the current entomology systems and found a notable gap in the literature. Compelled by some mysterious inner drive, he earnestly committed himself to addressing it — humorously likening himself to the Roman Curtius, who jumped into a chasm to save Rome. This self-importance is both intentional and amusing.

  2. Inde, juveniliter tumefactus, et barathro ineptiæ [Greek: ton bibliopolon]...

    Editor's note

    Puffed up with youthful pride and completely unaware of how publishers operate, he thought people would gobble up his manuscript like fresh pastries. After submitting it to publishers, he received nothing but firm rejections. His reaction is remarkable: he attributes the publishers' lack of interest to their stupidity, claiming it’s a sort of divine curse, a thick-headedness inflicted by the wrath of the heavens.

  3. Extemplo mei solius impensis librum edere decrevi...

    Editor's note

    He chooses to self-publish at his own expense, fully convinced that the scientific community will reward him generously. Instead, they don't. The only gain from his small endeavor is the empty pride of having contributed to the Republic of Letters. His efforts, thrown confidently into the literary market, return to him spoiled within days—tainted, as he puts it, by the Harpies of those unscrupulous booksellers.

  4. Et, quum ipse tali victu ali non tolerarem, primum in mentem venit...

    Editor's note

    He can't survive on unsold books, and he realizes that the printer still needs to be paid no matter what. Instead of giving in to despair, he pulls his paper Argo back from its unsuccessful quest for the golden fleece — having been completely fleeced himself. He switches metaphors mid-sentence to a boomerang, which he’s reeling in to throw harder when the time is right. This self-awareness about the mixed metaphor adds to the humor.

  5. Ast mihi, talia volventi, et, sicut Saturnus ille [Greek: paidoboros]...

    Editor's note

    While he was lost in thought about all this, another disaster hit. Like Saturn devouring his own children, he had been consuming his own intellectual creations — but now his first creation (the book itself) turned against him, attempting to engulf its living, struggling father entirely. He doesn’t reject this ravenous creation; he sees its hunger as a sign of vitality and seeks out money to nourish it without losing a piece of himself.

  6. Rebus ita se habentibus, ab avunculo meo Johanne Doolittie, Armigero...

    Editor's note

    He convinces his uncle, John Doolittle Esquire, to help fund his university education so he can complete his degree. In return, he pawns all the unsold copies of the first edition, along with the copyright forever, to his uncle as collateral. From that grim day onward, the constant burden of family expenses meant he could never afford to buy them back.

  7. Avunculo vero nuper mortuo, quum inter alios consanguineos testamenti...

    Editor's note

    The uncle dies. During the reading of the will, Lowell hears himself described as perfectly suited — thanks to his long experience with poverty — to handle wealth wisely. The inheritance is revealed to be: the five hundred pawned copies of his own book, along with the copyright, accompanied by a pious suggestion that he store them safely in the library of one of his many Spanish castles. The humor hits just right: the uncle's loving belief in him is shown entirely through returning his own worthless possessions.

  8. His verbis vix credibilibus, auditis, cor meum in pectore exsultavit...

    Editor's note

    His heart races, but then he decides that since the English version didn’t work out, he’ll go ahead and publish a Latin translation. He figures his academic training and two diplomas should count for something, even if it’s just mastering dead languages. He wraps up by mentioning that he still has the entire first edition, kept like a teething ring he chewed on as a child. This final image brilliantly deflates any lingering pretension.

§04Tone & mood

How this poem feels

The tone is consistently self-mocking, wrapped in the most formal Latin Lowell could conjure. The contrast between the lofty scholarly style and the painfully ordinary tale — a young man's book that nobody bought — drives every joke. There's a real warmth beneath it, the kind that comes from someone who can laugh openly at their younger self. It never veers into bitterness, even when recounting genuine embarrassments like rejection letters and an uncle's backhanded inheritance.

§05Symbols & metaphors

Symbols & metaphors

The unsold books
The five hundred copies that move from self-published dreams to pawnshops to inheritances capture the entire comic journey of literary ambition: the hard work, the setbacks, and the relentless persistence of your creation, which won’t fade away no matter how unwelcome it may be.
The paper Argo
Lowell likens his manuscript to Jason's ship on its journey for the golden fleece — only to find that he ends up being the one fleeced. This joke cleverly highlights the contrast between a grand literary self-image and the harsh truths of the publishing industry.
The boomerang
Switching from classical to colonial metaphor mid-paragraph, the boomerang represents a work that keeps coming back to its sender without any reward. Lowell points out the mixed metaphor himself, adding to the humor—he's fully aware of what he's doing.
Saturn devouring his children
The myth of Saturn devouring his children is flipped here: the child (the book) attempts to consume the father. It illustrates how a failed creative project can exhaust the creator — in terms of finances, emotions, and reputation.
The teething ring
The final image — the first edition preserved like a crepitaculum, a rattle for cutting milk teeth — shrinks the entire ambitious entomological project down to a childhood memory. It suggests that Lowell has moved beyond this youthful whim, even though the proof of it remains on his shelf.
The Spanish castles
The uncle's idea to stash the books in one of Homer's numerous Spanish castles is a clever play on words: *castles in Spain* is a well-known expression for unattainable dreams. He's subtly reminding his nephew, even from the afterlife, that the book is more about wishful thinking than reality.

§06Historical context

Historical context

Lowell wrote this mock-Latin preface as a young man at Harvard in the late 1830s, attached to an early and largely forgotten work on entomology. It’s part of a tradition of learned self-parody that stretches from the Renaissance to the 18th-century mock-heroic style — think of Swift or Fielding crafting pompous prefaces while clearly having a laugh. Even then, Lowell was displaying the satirical instincts that would later make *A Fable for Critics* (1848) one of the sharpest literary satires in American literature. The Latin itself is a performance: it shows off his membership in the educated class while poking fun at its pretensions. The Greek references in brackets, the comparisons to Roman mythology, and the legal formality of the will-reading scene all add layers of irony. This piece also offers a refreshingly honest look at how the American literary marketplace operated — or failed to operate — for young writers in the early 19th century.

§07FAQ

Questions readers ask

That’s the joke. Lowell is poking fun at the style of scholarly prefaces, which were still occasionally written in Latin during the early 19th century. By employing the most elaborate academic language to detail a series of humiliating failures, he amplifies the contrast between the formal style and the content to make it as amusing as possible. He even concedes at the end that the sole benefit of a university education appears to be the ability to learn dead languages.

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