The Continental Palm, The Length of The Hand
In various parts of Europe and the Mediterranean, the palm was based on the length of the hand rather than the width. Greaves in 1647 gives equivalents for three kinds of palm, the Roman palmo di Architetti or architect's palm, the Roman palmo del braccio di mercantia or commercial palm, and the Genoa palm. In 1795 (and again in 1815) these values were reported by Charles Hutton:
| City | Inches | Metric equivalent |
|---|---|---|
| Rome | 87⁄24 | 211 mm |
| Naples, as reported by Riccioli | 8 | 203 mm |
| Naples, as reported by others | 87⁄12 | 218 mm |
| Genoa | 93⁄4 | 248 mm |
| Morocco and Fez | 71⁄6 | 182 mm |
| Languedoc and some other parts of France | 93⁄4 | 248 mm |
| Metric equivalents are approximate, and do not take account of possible regional variations in the inch | ||
Palaiseau, writing in 1816, gives these metric equivalents for the palme or palmo:
| City | Lignes | Metric equivalent |
|---|---|---|
| Florence (for silk, p.146) | 131.63 | mm |
| Florence (for wool, p.146) | 128.38 | 289.6 mm |
| Genoa (cloth measure, p.148) | 106.9 | 241.1 mm |
| Genoa (linear measure, p.91) | 107.43 | 242.3 mm |
| Livorno (for silk, p.157) | 128.41 | 289.7 mm |
| Livorno (for wool, p.157) | 130.08 | 293.4 mm |
| Malta (cloth measure, p.160) | 114.49 | 258.3 mm |
| Malta (linear measure, p.98) | 115.28 | 260.0 mm |
| Palermo (cloth measure, p.168) | 107.16 | 241.7 mm |
| Portugal (p.109) | 96.36 | 217.4 mm |
| Rome (cloth measure, p.173) | 109.52 | 247.1 mm |
| Rome (linear measure, p.111) | 99 | mm |
| Metric equivalents in the source here rounded to 0.1 mm | ||
According to a sign displayed in Pernes-les-Fontaines, Vaucluse, France, a palme or palm of 246.1 mm was in use there in the 17th century, and was one eighth of a canne. The same proportion applied in Malta, at Rome and at Palermo.
Read more about this topic: Palm (unit)
Famous quotes containing the words length and/or hand:
“The man who, from the beginning of his life, has been bathed at length in the soft atmosphere of a woman, in the smell of her hands, of her bosom, of her knees, of her hair, of her supple and floating clothes, ... has contracted from this contact a tender skin and a distinct accent, a kind of androgyny without which the harshest and most masculine genius remains, as far as perfection in art is concerned, an incomplete being.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867)
“My love—my faith—should instil into your bosom a praeternatural calm. You would rest from care.... You would get better.... And if not, Helen,... if you died—then at least would I clasp your dear hand in death, and willingly—oh, joyfully ... go down with you into the night of the Grave.”
—Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)