Chapter X: On Bindings Old and New

Books cannot live long without being bound, and the more expensive and artistic the appearance of the binding, the greater the chance of preservation for the whole. A book is sometimes handled gently, not because of any merits of its own, but simply on account of its cover, which thus becomes its protector in a double sense. Like those old earthen boxes, which on being broken are found to contain the clay tablets of Assyria, many of which run as far back as 1500 years before the Christian era, bindings were doubtless originally intended to act the part of preservatives; beauty of design and even neatness would be after-considerations, and entirely subservient to the sole object, that of protection. By degrees the book lover made demands upon art, and, in obedience to an universal law, the supply answered to his call. Cicero, we are told, was a connoisseur of bindings, and himself employed famous workmen to glorify his rolls of papyrus and vellum, or to bind up his diptychs in the manner of our modern books, but more expensively, if the tastes of the old Roman are not belied, than the majority of book lovers can afford to do in these latter days.

In the palmy days of Rome, art in all its varied forms was probably as advanced as it is now, and we cannot doubt that Virgil and Homer, the representative poets of Rome and Greece, were to be found in a score of palaces, dressed as befitted their high reputation, in the most noble and expensive of coverings. Two thousand years have, however, made a clean sweep of Roman artist and Roman bookman alike, and we have nothing to guide us beyond the casual remarks of one or two diarists and historians of the day, whose chronicles have happened, almost by chance, to come down to us. The names of none of the ancient binders survive, and not a trace of their workmanship remains; we know only that there were such beings, who occasionally threw into their work great taste and skill, and that bibliophiles vied with each other in gaining possession of their choicest examples.

When, therefore, the question is asked, Who was the first binder known to fame? we cannot look to Greece or to Rome for an answer, nor yet to Italy. Curiously enough it is to Ireland that we must turn, for there the monk Dagaeus practised the art so long ago as 520 A.D. One example only of his handiwork has survived to our own day, and is now to be found in the library of the British Museum along with the _Textus Sanctus Cuthberti_ bound by the first English workman, one Bilfred, a monk of Durham, who flourished nearly 1200 years ago. This _Textus_, so the old legend says, was once swallowed up by the sea, which, respectful of the merits of the saint, gracefully retired fully three miles of its own accord, and so restored the cherished volume to its owners. As the monks were the sole multipliers of books, so also they were, until the invention of printing in 1450, the only binders. Manuscripts of the ninth century are extant, heavily encased in ivory-carved covers or confined between gold and silver plates studded with precious stones. More often than not these expensive coverings were destined to be their ruin, for, to say nothing of private peculation, the sumptuous bindings were ripped off at the time of the Reformation for the sake of the metal or stones, and the manuscripts thrown in thousands upon the tender mercies of the vandals into whose hands they fell.

In the fourteenth century Petrarch was knocked down by one of his own tomes, and was within an ace of breaking his leg, but this was at a period when monastic bindings ordinarily consisted of wood, covered with leather and protected by metallic bosses, corner plates, and massive clasps of iron. Bulk and weight were then the great desiderata, though every now and then the richest materials were still employed in binding, as when a king's library was added to, or some rich monastery gave orders for a sacred volume to be covered with the enamels of Limoges, ivory, gold or silver, and encrusted with jewels.

From the end of the fifth to the middle of the fifteenth century, books were excessively rare and costly, and comparatively few bindings illustrative of the art during the dark ages have been preserved. The few that have survived are wonderful specimens of art, and in every way worthy of the illuminated manuscripts they enclose.

The period of the Renaissance, which is usually assigned to the Pontificate of Leo X., was witness of another change. The ponderous tomes, whose weight was alone a protection, gradually gave way to smaller-sized volumes, and these were often bound in velvet or silk, beautifully embroidered by lady amateurs, perhaps also by professed binders. At other times the monastic covering of wood and leather is observable, and often the leather gave way to seal and shark skin without any tooling or other ornamentation.

These different styles of binding continued in vogue side by side until the introduction of typography, when the Venetians introduced morocco from the East and found out the virtues of calf. Books now became bound in oak boards covered with these leathers or in thick parchment or pig skin, old manuscripts often being cut up and of course destroyed for the purpose: boards, clasps, and bosses became obsolete, while silken embroidery maintained a precarious existence, dependent solely on the spasmodic efforts of accomplished amateurs whose tastes and inclinations were swayed by fashion. Finally, parchment disappeared and leather bindings held universal sway, and have so maintained it to our own time, though the English cloth-bound book is now employed whenever expense is an object.

Such is a short history of the development of the art of bookbinding, as necessary to be understood and remembered as any other branch of our subject.

Some of the better-known and more valuable descriptions of ornamental bindings, whether Italian, French, or English, derive their entire importance by reason of their having come from the libraries of noted collectors, who bound their books after a model pattern. Many of these specimens are of the greatest rarity and often of great value. As works of art, too, they are frequently far superior to anything that can be, or at any rate is, produced at the present day. A really well bound book by Le Gascon, or one of the Eves, for example, is a beautiful object. The covers, of the choicest calf or morocco, are tooled in patterns, _i.e._, hand engraved, in gold; the edges are of gilt, _gauffre_, that is to say, designs are impressed on them also; the whole is a splendid specimen of bibliopegistic skill. Such artists as these disdained blind tooling, where the patterns are worked out and left without their meed of gold. Half-bound volumes with their back and corners of leather and their sides of vulgar paper or boards they were either ignorant of or despised.

All this excellence of course cost money, which then, as now, was in the hands of the few, and it must not for a moment be supposed that examples of high-class binding were at all common even during the era in which they were produced. They are scarcer now, for time and fire have claimed their share of spoil, but it was only the great collectors of almost unlimited means, popes, kings, and cardinals, and their favourites, who could afford at any time to furnish a library where beautiful bindings predominated.

These collections have for the most part been dispersed over the world, and an amateur of the true old-fashioned type will not allow himself to be looked upon as fortunate, if his shelves do not contain one or two examples at least from the magnificent libraries of brother amateurs long since passed away.

The Italians were the first to awake to the enormity of binding their books in pig skin, or encasing them between clumsy wooden boards; and readily profiting by the teachings of the great master painters, who made Italy their peculiar home, they began to use calf and morocco, elaborately tooled to geometrical patterns. Leo X. (1513-21) had a good library, and one book at least is extant, bound by an Italian artist in red morocco, with the Papal arms on the sides. Some years previously to this, Aldus Manutius had bound his own books at Venice, and he took as much care of their dress as he did of the text. Some of these bindings appear to be imitations of the designs sculptured on the walls of mosques, and it was from the East therefore that the great Venetian school obtained its first instruction in the art. The book lover rejoices exceedingly when he meets with any of these ancient Italian bindings, but if he can only possess a Maioli, his cup of happiness literally overflows.

This Maioli--who or what he was are alike unknown--this Maioli had an extensive library, and all his books were sumptuously bound in the choicest leathers and tooled in gold on the backs and sides. On an embossed shield was the title of the work, and underneath, that inscription afterwards imitated by Grolier, "Tho Maioli et Amicorum". Let not the collector be deceived however:--there were two Maiolis: Thomasso, above mentioned, whose choice bindings are sought after all the world over, and Michel, whose artistic tastes were less fully developed, and who perhaps knew better than to invite his friends to borrow from his store.

Cardinal Bonelli (1541-98) and Canevari, the physician to Pope Urban VIII. (1559-1625), were both enamoured of costly bindings, the latter especially, for on the sides of his books appears a gorgeous object representing Apollo in gold, driving his chariot in blue or red over a silver sea.

Lorenzo de Medici, Prince of Florence, scholar and patron of art and literature, called the Magnificent, who died in 1492, stamped his books with the Medici arms, together with a laurel branch and the motto _Semper_. Others of the Medici family had splendid libraries, and their books were often covered with silver and gold beautifully inlaid, after the designs of painters of the highest eminence.

Amongst other Italian collectors whose fondness for calf and morocco carried them perhaps just a little too near the border line of extravagance, were Pietro Accolti, Cardinal of Ancona (1445-1532), Antonio Alemanni, the poet (1500), and Pasqual Cicogna, Doge of Venice, who died in 1595. Specimens from the libraries of any of these, and others besides, are sometimes worth far more than their weight in gold.

The Italian bookbinders were the instructors of the French, who subsequently rivalled and finally eclipsed their masters. At first the French merely imitated, but towards the close of the reign of Francis I. (_cir._ 1540), they struck out fresh lines of their own.

Jean Grolier is the representative collector of the early French school, but he was, at the same time, the most famous judge of bindings that the world has yet seen. He was born at Lyons in 1479, and died in 1565, having spent nearly the whole of his life in the collection of books. His opinion of French binders appears to have been the reverse of complimentary, for he went to Italy to find a workman after his own heart, and one who could be relied upon to satisfy his fastidious taste. Many people think that Grolier was by trade a bookbinder, but this is a mistake--he was merely an enthusiastic amateur who allowed his passion for bindings to become his master. Some of his designs he prepared himself; others are undoubted imitations of those adopted by Maioli, whom he so greatly admired, that even his motto is reproduced, with of course the necessary variation, "Io Grolierii et Amicorum". This appears on the sides of most of his books, and there is consequently no difficulty in identifying them. Others bear an emblem, and in a scroll, "AEque difficulter," and others again the words of the Psalmist arranged so as to form a triangle, "Portio mea Domine sit in terra viventium".[12] Most of Grolier's books were printed by Aldus at Venice, and they are generally found lettered on the back, a practice which was not in vogue before his day. But however bound, and whatever device, maxim, or motto he employed, the name of Grolier invariably causes great excitement among amateurs. The value of any of his books is proverbial, and their scarcity equally so. A rare book may occasionally be snapped up for a hundredth part of its worth, not so a magnificent specimen of binding, which courts further inquiries on the part of the vendor, and, as we all know, "further inquiries" are usually fatal to the would-be snapper-up of unconsidered valuables.

Louis de Sainte-Maure was a contemporary of Grolier, and like him an enthusiastic book hunter. His bindings are said to be even rarer still. They too are tooled with geometrical figures, and on the side, in the centre, is the inscription, "Invia virtuti nulla est via".

Diana of Poitiers, the mistress of Henri II. of France (_cir._ 1540), was another famous collector, who spent vast sums on binding her books. The designs were made in all probability by Le Petit Bernard, one of the most famous engravers of his day, and her books, like those of Grolier, were gold tooled on both back and sides. Diana's device consisted of a bow and a crescent, sometimes with a sheaf of arrows. Those books which the infatuated Henri sent to his mistress bear the H. surmounted by a crown and flanked by the _fleur-de-lys_. Henri was himself a collector of no mean order, and his volumes, like those belonging to the fair Diana, have their countless worshippers. The king, whatever the laxity of his morals, was a stickler for etiquette, and drew a wide distinction between a mistress and a wife. Some of his books are stamped with the interwoven initials H. and D., and ornamented with the usual emblems of the chase, but no crown is observable. That makes its appearance over a solitary H., banished, so to speak, to the remoter regions of the cover. Sometimes the initials are changed to H. C., interwoven and surmounted by the crown, and then we know that Henri chose to honour his wife Catherine de Medicis with notice.

Diana's library at the Chateau d'Anet was dispersed by auction in 1723: it contained volumes of the most varied descriptions, lives of the saints and lewd songs jostling one another with impudent familiarity.

Catherine de Medicis herself had the taste of Diana for beautiful bindings, and kept a staff of workmen, who vied with each other in the production of beautiful specimens of ornamentation. She had the mania of the true book collector, for on the death of the Marechal de Strozzi, she laid violent hands on his choice and valuable library, promising to pay for it sometime, but ultimately dying herself without doing so.

The books of Francis I. (1515-47), if bound for his use while Dauphin of France, are marked with a dolphin, in addition to the ordinary kingly stamps of the Royal Arms, a salamander, and the letter F. The motto in each case is the same: "Nutrio et extinguo". Specimens of binding having the dolphin are extraordinarily rare.

Henri III. (1574-89) did much to reduce the extravagant cost of bookbinding, for, in 1583, he made a decree that ordinary citizens should not decorate any single book with more than four diamonds, or the nobility with more than five; he himself and a few other scapegraces of the Royal House were under no restriction. The same King instituted the order of the "Penitents" as some little compensation for a life of shameless vice and crime, and celebrated the occurrence by the invention of a new binding, the originality of which is undoubted. On black morocco, and sometimes with the Arms of France, appear a death's head, cross-bones, tears, and other emblems of woe, including a joke in the form of a motto, "Spes mea Deus". Henri, when Duke of Anjou, loved Mary of Cleves, and subsequently consoled himself for her untimely death by binding a quantity of books in his library. Skulls, tears, and _fleurs-de-lys_ are thrown about in profusion; the motto, "Memento mori," looks out at you from among floreated ornaments; Jesus and Marie are placed on a level. When ordered to attend the Court after the death of his beloved Mary, he made his appearance in a black robe, embroidered all over with the usual funereal emblems.

The gloomy bindings of Henri III. brought on a reaction, giving rise to a style of decoration known as _a la fanfare_. No sooner was the King gathered to his fathers than his sister, Margaret of Valois, exchanged the death's heads for a fanciful decoration, consisting of a profusion of foliage, sprinkled with daisies. Bindings of this period are very choice, but not so elaborate as the development of the _fanfare_ eventually made them. The foliage became much more delicate, and the clusters of leaves and flowers at last resembled lace work, under the magic touch of the great binder Le Gascon.

We now leave Royal personages, and descend to a lower level, meeting at the very threshold the historian Thuanus, better known as De Thou (1553-1617). This celebrated amateur and patron of bookbinding was an intimate friend of Grolier, and president of the Paris Parliament in the reign of Henri IV. All his books, of which he possessed a large number, were bound in morocco or gilded calf skin in a style which varied with the different periods of his life. His bachelor's library was embellished with his arms in silver, between two branches of laurel, with his name below. After his marriage in 1587, his wife's escutcheon is stamped alongside his own with the initials J. A. M. below, and also on the backs of his volumes. During his life as a widower, a wreath of twining-stems tipped with red berries, and his own and dead wife's initials interlaced, take the place of other ornaments. After his second marriage in 1603, his new wife's escutcheon appears in conjunction with his own, but the initials are changed to J. A. G.

This splendid library remained intact for more than 200 years, and it was not until 1677 that it was sold almost as it stood to the Marquis de Menars. At his death in 1718, it was purchased by Cardinal de Rohan, but in 1789, his heirs, impoverished by legal proceedings, were compelled to disperse the collection. The binders principally employed by De Thou were the Eves (Nicholas, Clovis, and Robert), whose splendid workmanship is a model for such of our modern binders as follow the higher branches of the art.

Le Gascon, the binder to the Duke of Orleans, who seems to have flourished between the years 1620 and 1640, was another workman of the first rank. The Duke was a great collector, whose shelves were covered with green velvet, garnished with gold lace and fringe, and whose bindings by Le Gascon were similarly ornamented.

Among the large number of French bibliophiles who now appeared on the scene, and competed with each other in the beauty of their bindings, one or two must necessarily be mentioned, since the modern collector envies or admires their taste.

Chancellor Seguier, at the end of the seventeenth century, employed Ruette to make the bindings _au mouton d'or_, which graced his shelves; and a little later still, the Baron de Longepierre utilised the well-known ornament of the Golden Fleece, which, when found on any book, no matter how intrinsically worthless, greatly enhances its price. These are the prizes of book collecting, seldom met with, and always strongly competed for.

The Colberts stamped the sides of their books with their crest, in which the climbing adder is always conspicuous. There were no less than seven members of this family who loved books, and all embellished them with the adder in a shield surmounted by a crown.

Nicholas (1680) and Charles Louis Fouquet (1684-1761) each adopted the coat of arms with a squirrel--looking for all the world like a lion--and the motto, "Quo non ascendam". Cardinal Mazarin, who died at Vincennes on the 9th of March, 1661, had many devices, the most common of which is the coat of arms, consisting of an axe bound up in a bundle of fasces, and surmounted by a cardinal's hat. These and many other figures which generations of bibliophiles have caused to be tooled on their books, point conclusively to what library any given specimen formerly belonged, though, as might be expected, it is sometimes a matter of great difficulty, or even impossibility, to identify particular volumes. Some amateurs discarded their own crests, and adopted others, for reasons which are not apparent, while women, as, for example, the Duchesse du Maine, who decorated her books at Sceaux with a golden bee-hive, appear to have possessed the most intricate armorial bearings, or to have been guided by mere caprice, in their choice of emblems. Many books bearing crests or coats of arms cannot, therefore, be identified, and for this reason, amongst others, the few books which have been written on this branch of the art of binding are necessarily incomplete. One of the best--which, moreover, contains some hundreds of woodcuts illustrative of various devices--is Guigard's _Armorial du Bibliophile_, 2 vols., 8vo, Paris, 1870-3, but this is strictly confined to French devices. Even Hobson's choice, however, is often better than none.[13]

Although the sixteenth century was _par excellence_ the era of ornamental bindings, it cannot be said that England made much progress in the art. Up to the reign of Elizabeth we seem to have persisted in the use of clumsy oak boards or stiff parchment covers, and when a really choice and expensive binding was required, it took the form of embroidered silks and velvets. Queen Elizabeth herself was very expert in this method of ornamentation, which continued to exist, in all probability, simply because it was fashionable.

The first English bookbinder of any repute was John Reynes, a printer, who lived in the reigns of Henry VII. and VIII. Specimens of his work are very rare, though, when compared with the French bindings of the same date, they appear miserably inferior. The truth is that England was--and, indeed, is--much behind some other countries in everything relating to bibliography, and binding in particular.

Robert Dudley, the great Earl of Leicester, was the first English book collector who was possessed of any degree of taste. His cognisance of the "bear and the ragged staff" appears on the sides of a (generally) quite plain binding, although sometimes a rough attempt at ornamentation is found. Archbishop Parker, and Burghley the Lord Treasurer, had good libraries of well-bound books, and one specimen from Bothwell's collection is known to exist. This, the _Larismetique et Geometrie_ of La Roche, _Lyon_, 1538, was in the possession of the late Mr. Gibson-Craig, and is mentioned by him in his _Fac-similes of Old Book-Binding_. It is in the original calf gilt, with gilt _gaufre_ edges, and on the sides are the arms of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. Although Bothwell is known to have possessed literary tastes, books from his library are excessively rare. This fine book belonged originally to the family of Forbes of Tolquhon, and a signature and date 1588 written on the title-page show that it had been acquired by them a few years after the outlawry and death of the original proprietor. At the Gibson-Craig sale this fine specimen was knocked down for L81.

James I. was a bibliophile, as well as a reputed _savant_, and paid much attention to the binding of his books, some of which, now to be seen in the British Museum, are ornamented with thistles and _fleurs-de-lys_. Lord Clarendon, who died in 1674, had a very fine collection of books, many of which were bound by Notts, the most experienced English workman of that day, and who was, it appears, also patronised by Pepys, the diarist.

It was not, however, until the eighteenth century that we made in this country any real advance in bookbinding. Robert Harley, the first Earl of Oxford (1661-1724), had established a library, and this had not only been added to by his son, but bound in a most expensive manner, by two workmen named Elliott and Chapman, who seem to have attained a certain amount of proficiency, and whose efforts gave rise to a new style of ornamentation known as the "Harleian". Though much inferior to the Continental designs, this had a beauty of its own, and was a vast improvement upon anything hitherto attempted by English binders.

Thomas Hollis, the _litterateur_ and antiquary, who died in 1774, bound his extensive collection in calf, adding, in each instance, a device suitable to the contents of the work. Thus, as the owl is the symbol of wisdom, his scientific books bear the figure of an owl stamped on the covers. Military works have the short Roman stabbing sword, and so on.

If we except, perhaps, the French emigrants who made their home in this country at the end of the eighteenth century, there really was no binder of any note until the advent of Roger Payne (1739-1797). This workman, though dissolute, had, nevertheless, a reputation in his line second to none. In person, he is stated to have been dirty and untidy, but certainly neither of these defects appear in his bindings, which, though not, as a rule, heavily gilt, are tooled to neat classical or geometrical designs after the Venetian style. Where Payne made his mark was, perhaps, in the _appropriateness_ of his bindings. His judgment, in this respect, appears to have been sound and popular.

After Payne followed Walther, Charles Hering, and Charles Lewis, all of whom, the last particularly, did very good work. In more recent times still we have Hayday, Riviere, Francis Bedford, Ramage, and last, but by no means least, Zaehnsdorf, whose son yet carries on business in London.

The ordinary cloth bindings, such as we see every day in the booksellers' shops, are purely English, and have been in use since 1823, when they were invented by Lawson, and adopted by Pickering, the publisher. In Continental countries they use paper covers, and even the most expensive works are issued originally in this form. There they bind their books after publication if they are found to be worth binding. In this country cloth is now largely used, and is certainly a great improvement on the old clumsy covers of a bygone age, or on the paper wrappers of this.

Bookbinding in the higher styles is now done fairly well in England, though, in the opinion of many, the workmanship is not equal to that of the French artists of three hundred years ago.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] See Guigard, _Armorial du Bibliophile_, vol. i. p. 248.

[13] Mr. Quaritch, the bookseller, has in preparation a _Dictionary of English Book Collectors_, somewhat after the scheme of M. Guigard's book.