Chapter IX: The Master Printer (2)

We will now suppose a fount of type delivered over to the compositors to be laid in the cases, an operation requiring much more care than in the present day, on account of the numerous double letters and combinations. One result of the combinations would be to equalise the size of the boxes, as the letter “e” for instance, which now requires the largest box, would then most frequently occur in combination with one of the consonants, and not be used alone oftener than many other letters. Counting the respective numbers used of each sort throughout many pages of different books, the fact is ascertained that single vowels and single consonants were more often required than any one particular combination. Arranging a case on the basis that the sorts most in use should be placed before the compositor in the position most accessible to his fingers, and remembering that in all the old representations of a “case” there is no division into upper and lower as now, we arrive at the accompanying plan, which is doubtless a tolerably exact representation of a compositor’s case as used by Caxton. There are 209 boxes, which would lead to some little difficulty in keeping “clean cases;” and one need feel no surprise at finding wrong letters so often making their appearance in Caxton’s pages. The combinations of _in_, _ni_, _un_, _nu_, _nn_, _im_, _mi_ were often found in the wrong boxes, and have brought down to the present day the strongest evidence against the usefulness of logotypes.

_The oldest known representation of a Printing Press. Paris, 1507._

_Luther’s Press. Augsburg, 1522._]

In the earliest representation of a printing office the press is always made the most prominent object; very often, however, as in Plate VII, with a compartment for the compositor. Figure 1 is the earliest instance, and we there see a compositor at work. Before him is the case divided into even boxes, and raised on a cleft stick is the copy. The composing-stick is in his _right_ hand, doubtless owing to the engraver not having reversed the drawing from which he copied: it is held correctly by the man in Plate VIII. We have already noticed the use of a composing-stick and setting-rule, and the evenness of lines consequent thereon. It was not adopted at Westminster until 1480, although Caxton must often have seen the improved appearance which lines of an even length gave to the page in the numerous works previously issued from all the Continental presses. He would, doubtless, have imitated them had his mechanical appliances permitted; but we do not find evenness of page until the arrival of type No. 4, in the year 1480; and then, probably for the first time, composing-sticks, setting-rules, and chases were seen in the Westminster printing office. Before this the types were no doubt, as M. Bernard has shown to be the case in the later block books and the early examples of Dutch printing, taken straight from their boxes, and placed side by side in a sort of coffin, made of hard wood, with a stout bottom, and screws at the foot to tighten the page when completed. The width of the page could not be extended beyond the internal measurement of the “coffin,” but might be reduced at pleasure by placing down either side a straight piece of wood. The length of the page would be regulated in a similar manner, by varying the thickness of the foot-block against which the screws worked.

_The “Prelum Ascensianum.” Paris, 1520._]

Let us, then, imagine the workman with his wooden box before him. The further end would be slightly raised, to keep the types from falling forward. He begins at the left-hand corner, and adding, from the case, letter to letter, soon gets to the end of the first line, and, not having room for the next word, makes it quite tight with quadrats or spaces. Then comes the second line, and this, as well as all the rest, would not be so easy. Placing rough types _upon_ rough types admits of very little shifting or adjustment, and to this fact, I imagine, we must attribute the practice of leaving the lines of an uneven length in early books. Any attempt to push along the words of a line in order to introduce more space between them, without some plan of easing the friction, would be certain to break up the line altogether--and so the lines were left just as they happened to fall, whether full length or short. Sometimes, when a word would come into the line with a little reduction of the space between the last two words, the space was reduced accordingly; but more often a syllable at the end of the line was contracted, such as “men” into “mē,” or “vertuous” into “vertuoꝰ.” Most often the compositor, knowing the practice to be understood by his readers, would finish his line with just so many letters as his measure would take, and accordingly it is common to find words divided thus:--why-|che th|at w|ymen w|iche m|an. But when once the “setting-rule” was brought into use all that was altered, and the various words of a line could be pushed about, and the spaces between them augmented or reduced with ease. Having completed his proper number of lines, the foot-piece would be placed after the last line for the foot-screws to work upon, and the “form” would be ready for press. There being a bottom to the box, nothing could fall out, and, although doubtless not very tight in some parts, the sloppy ink then used would not, like modern stiff ink, draw up any loose letters.

If the sides of these coffins, or wooden boxes, were equal in height with the types they enclosed, they would, like them, leave their mark on the paper. This was the case in some of the early Dutch block-books, where the sides of the chase appear occasionally printed in the margin. I have searched in vain for any marks of the chase in the margins of Caxton’s books. But whatever method he used--whether he screwed up the types in wooden boxes, or whether he used iron chases,--one thing is very plain in nearly every book he issued, either the “justification” was bad, or the pages were “locked up” very loosely, for quadrats and spaces are continually “working up” and showing themselves.

The composing-sticks were originally of hard wood, without any sliding adjustment; one set, all the same, were for folio pages, another for quarto, another for octavo.

“Reglets,” or thin pieces of hard wood the length of a line, appear never to have been used. When a “white” line was wanted under a chapter head or over a colophon, em quadrats were ranged side by side for the purpose, and very often capital letters which had been reduced in height for the purpose, although often not sufficiently. These low capitals would often work up while at press, and make undesirable appearances in very conspicuous places. For examples the reader may examine the “Royal Book,” and “Speculum Vitæ Christi,” in the British Museum.

The “balls” with which the page was inked before taking an impression appear to have undergone no change in shape or make from the earliest times until the very beginning of the present century. When, however, the flexible composition now in use was invented it soon entirely superseded the old plan, and now it is a matter of great difficulty to find an old pair of balls. These balls were hollow hemispheres of wood with a handle. Wool was fitted into the hollow, upon which the skin, or “pelt,” was nailed on the side more than half-way round; then more wool was pushed in till the skin was quite tight: the last nails were then hammered in, and the balls fit for use.

The page having been completed by the compositor, it went to press in its chase or wooden box without any further operation. The business of “reader” as yet was not. All the workmen’s blunders and errors, the turned letters, the wrong sorts, and the numerous literal mistakes were left uncorrected. Even whole lines were occasionally omitted by the workman, and the omission remained throughout the edition, affording indisputable evidence that “proof sheets” after composition were quite unknown. At page 125 of Lewis’s “Life of Caxton,” we read concerning our printer--“As he printed long before the present Method of adding the _Errata_ at the End of Books was in Use and Practice, so his extraordinary Exactness obliged him to take a great deal more Pains than can easily be imagined; for, after a Book was printed off, his way was to revise it, and correct the Faults in it with red Ink, as they then used to correct their written Books. This being done to one Copy, he caused one of his Servants to run through the whole Impression, and correct the Faults he had noted with a Stanesil or Red-lead Pencil, which he himself afterwards compared with his own corrected Copy, to see that none of the Corrections he had made were omitted.” A most laborious task indeed, had so foolish an idea ever entered the mind of so practical a man as Caxton; but the whole assertion is a mere fiction, started by Bagford, adopted by Lewis, and repeated by every subsequent writer, without a shadow of evidence to support it. The only books in which manuscript additions were made at the time of publication were the “Polycronicon” and “Mirrour of the World.” The former, in the majority of copies, has the year of the world and the regnal year engrossed in red ink on the side margins; and the latter, in the woodcut of the seven concentric circles which represent the astronomical heavens, has the names of the celestial spheres written in black ink between each circle. But although I have examined about five hundred of Caxton’s books, I have never seen anything approaching to a grammatical correction coëval with the date of the book.

Many people have been puzzled by the abnormal punctuation in Caxton’s books. As a rule he employed three points, the comma, the colon, and the period or full point. Notwithstanding these three varieties, Caxton appears to have been entirely ignorant of any, even the most archaic, principle of punctuation. Nor indeed could we expect anything else unless we suppose him, in a literary sense, far in advance of his age.

In order to place ourselves as level as possible with the ideas of the fifteenth century regarding punctuation, it will be necessary to trace the use of points to their origin.

Like everything else, including the invention of printing, punctuation was no sudden discovery: on the contrary, it had a most feeble and protracted infancy. The earliest known manuscripts are without points, and all the words run on without spaces between them. The confusion which resulted led to the plan of separating the words by a single dot. Then a space between the words superseded the dot, which was turned to another use, viz., to show the end of a phrase or sentence. The Greek grammarians were the first to notice that sentences might be divided into parts or limbs. They called a complete sentence a period, a limb was a colon, and a clause a comma. But these divisions were for centuries but theoretical, the most careful writers paying but little attention to them, and the scribes, commonly, none. Ælius Donatus, who lived in the fifth century of the Christian era, and wrote a grammar which served as a text-book for all Europe until long after the invention of printing, was the first to distinguish by points the three divisions of the Greek grammarians. He did not, however, get beyond the dot, which he placed at the bottom of the line to designate the comma, in the middle of the line for the colon, and at the top of the line for the period.

In the ninth and tenth centuries the oblique stroke as a comma, and the double dot for a colon, came into use by careful writers; the majority, however, used either no points at all or the dot in all its positions without discrimination. Often the dot at the top of the line was the only division for all parts of a sentence. The remembrance of these various practices among the writers of books will serve to explain many of the peculiarities of punctuation in our early-printed books.

The multiplication of books by the printing-press brought out strongly the anomalies of punctuation, but it was half a century later before any general system was adopted. The first printers were not grammarians, nor can they be expected to show a knowledge of punctuation in advance of their age. Even those learned printers, Aldus, Manutius, and Henry Stephens, were quite ignorant of systematic punctuation, as their books plainly show; so that we need not think any the worse of Caxton or our other early printers if in this respect they too were very faulty. When, however, system at last was developed, it was to the printers and not to the authors that the improvement was due.

Turning now to the books of Caxton, we find, as already stated, that he employed three points. His commas were long (/) or short (⸝) strokes; his colon was like ours, one dot over another; and his period was a lozenge-shaped dot at top. All these were used very capriciously; in fact, Caxton made very little distinction between them, nor did his workmen. Each compositor seems to have kept his points all in one box, and to have used them at haphazard. We find even a head line with one comma before, and another after it. Full points are commonly used in the same way. The full point at top often shows the middle of a sentence, and not seldom we see a dance of all the points used thus .:.//˙:˙/⸝ celebrate the conclusion of a book or chapter, the compositor apparently regarding them as ornamental devices.

Some of Caxton’s books are entirely without points, notably those in poetry or in Latin. In others the full point or the colon is used exclusively. In “Paris and Vienne” only the long comma is seen. His long and short commas are used without any variation of meaning. The semicolon did not exist for Caxton, although something like it appears once in his great heading type. The paragraph mark (¶) as showing the commencement of a fresh sentence, and the coloured initial which answered the same purpose, did good duty for the full point. The hyphen is frequently met with, and where the line was crowded, Caxton often employed the colon, which was half the thickness, in lieu of it.

Not until we are well into the sixteenth century do we find printers adopting an acknowledged system of graduated points; and our surprise that standard authors like Chaucer and Lydgate should have ignored all systematic punctuation must be greatly modified when we remember that, after four centuries of the printing-press, modern authors and printers have their vagaries, and that even now no two authorities agree as to the correct usage of the points of punctuation.

PRESSES, PRESSMEN, AND PRINTING-INK.

The method adopted by the earliest printers to obtain impressions from their blocks was to lay the sheet to be printed on the already inked block, and to rub it carefully. Wood-engravers of the present day take proofs in the same manner. The plan was continued for block printing many years after the invention of moveable types. The method of obtaining an impression by a direct pressure downwards is generally supposed to have been synchronous with the use of moveable types. Mr. Ottley, however, describes several of the earliest wood-blocks, which he had no doubt were printed by means of a press. Of one he states, “I am in possession of a specimen of wood engraving, printed in black oil colour on both sides the paper by a downright pressure, which I consider to have been, without doubt, printed in or before the year 1445.” There can be no question, therefore, that the earliest type-printers found a press ready to their hands; but as we have no description of the mechanism of the early presses, we must, as in the instance of typefounding, have recourse to the first dated engravings. The earliest representations of a printing-press are found in the works of Jodocus Badius Ascensius, the celebrated printer of Paris. Two of these are delineated in Plates VII and VIII, whereof the earlier is found as a printer’s device in the title of a work dated 1507. The large press, Plate IX, having upon its basement the date 1520, was taken from the Bagford collection, and has hitherto been generally considered as the earliest representation of a printing-press. The small press was taken from a tract of Luther’s dated 1522. The other comes also from the Bagford fragments, and appears to be about the middle of the sixteenth century, as the mechanism of the spindle is evidently improved. It is represented here, however, principally on account of the figure of a typefounder seen through a door in the background, a feature very rarely pourtrayed: I have not been able to trace the work for which this woodcut was designed. In all these presses the principle is the same. There is a simple worm screw, with a long pin for a lever; the head of the press and the table bear the pressure, and the “hose,” as the transverse piece between the screw and the platen was called, served to steady the downward pressure. The girths, drum, and handle served to run the table out and in, and the tympans and frisket were identical in principle, if not in appearance, with those now used. In Plate IX we see some of the pressman’s appliances exposed to view. There is the shears for cutting out his tympan-sheet, and for general purposes; next to it is a pick-brush for cleaning out picks in the type; a pair of compasses for accurately testing the “furniture” between the pages; and, lastly, a screw point for making “register.”

_From a German Book of Trades, A.D. 1568._]

To each press is assigned two workmen; one is pulling lustily at the bar, while the other is distributing ink upon the balls previously to beating the form. The two heaps of printed and white paper, in Fig. 2, appear to our modern notions very awkwardly placed, being both on the _off_ side of the press, so that the workman had to reach over the form whenever he took up or laid down a fresh sheet of paper. As however this peculiarity is represented continually, and so late as the seventeenth century, it was doubtless a common custom.

_Scheme of Caxton’s Type Case._]

No doubt the ink was better and the impression harder in the time of these presses than in Caxton’s time. His ink was of the weakest description, and the amount of power required for a “pull” of the press proportionately weak, the one necessitating the other. His presses, in the earlier part of his printing career, did not take more than a post folio page; and, with a very sloppy ink, the pull, if strong, would have made a confused mass of black instead of a legible impression. As it is, the ink has been almost invariably squeezed over the edge of the letters, and has contorted their shape. Few indeed, although practical men, would imagine the deceptive nature of an impression taken from new types with weak ink and light pressure. In such a case the type appears at one time much thicker than it is, from the “spuing” of the ink--at another time battered, with some portion of it broken--and again, to use a technical term, as if it were all “off its feet.”

The representation of the “Printer” in the “Book of Trades,” 1569, shows that the presses then were fitted with both “tympans” and “frisket;” and many signs lead to the belief that similar appliances were used by Caxton’s workmen. In short pages we often find a few lines of matter put at the bottom, which was blocked out by the frisket, and answered the purpose of a “bearer.” Several instances occur in the “Godfrey,” at the Public Library, Cambridge; also in the “Life of Our Lady,” at the British Museum. In “Speculum vitæ Christi” we actually find “a bite,” half of the bottom line remaining unprinted.

We have already noticed that only one page at a time was worked in the earlier part of Caxton’s career, although later, at the probable introduction of Wynken de Worde, two pages were managed. This necessitated great care in getting the unsigned pages in their right places, and that such care was needed is proved by several instances of transposition.

Before leaving this portion of our subject, a peculiarity probably connected with the mechanism of the press must be noticed. A small hole at the four corners of each sheet appears in every book printed with type No. 1. Such holes (first noticed by Mr. Tupper) have not been observed in any books printed with the later types, except “Quatre derrennieres choses.” The employment of points by modern pressmen to obtain accuracy of register, and the punctures (called “point holes”) in the paper, consequent upon the use of them, are well known. The holes under notice certainly suggest a similar practice.

After due time allowed for the ink to dry upon the paper, the printed sheets passed into the hands of the binder, whose operations come next under consideration.

THE BOOKBINDER.

The art of bookbinding had not in England, in the fifteenth century, reached the perfection seen in the beautiful Continental specimens of the same period. Nor indeed was any uncommon binding required for the cheap productions of Caxton’s press. His sheets were not, as in modern practice, pressed between glazed boards after being printed, but went, without further process, from the press side to the hands of the binder. The few specimens which have reached us in a pristine state show the indentation, more or less distinct, made by the types. The edition of “Eneydos,” 1490, was hurried through the binder’s hands so soon after the first section (which, containing the prologue and table, necessarily went to press last) was printed, that all the leaves of that section, in every copy I have seen, show a very bad “set-off” from the type on the opposite pages.

To enable the binder to collate the sheets of each section correctly, it was the custom, as well with the scribes as with the printers, to place distinguishing marks on the first page of each sheet; these were called signatures, and as Caxton used only 4ns for his books, the binder (as a rule) was sure that when he had got sheets ~a j~, ~a ij~, ~a iij~, ~a iiij~, together his section was complete. Some printers, who were irregular as to the number of sheets in a section, adopted the plan of signing the centre sheet of every section upon the third as well as the first page, so that the binder by this distinguishing mark might directly see the number of sheets intended for each section, however great the irregularity. In such cases the 4n would be signed on the first five rectos, leaving only three unsigned. Caxton, however, never adopted this plan, his sections always containing the same number of unsigned as of signed leaves. The sheets having been collected into sections, the signatures served again to collate the sections into volumes, the only use for which they are now retained. All the early books from Caxton’s press are described as unsigned, because the signatures were not printed, but inserted in manuscript at the extreme bottom of the page.

The modern binder begins by folding all his sheets into quarto, octavo, &c., according to the size of the book, each folded sheet making a section; they are then collated and bound. In Caxton’s books the collation of the sheets preceded the folding. It has been already observed that the quarto sizes were treated, both in printing and binding, as folio, the paper being cut in half before going to press. The type was so arranged that when three, four, or five sheets were folded one inside another, quirewise, the pages should be in their proper sequence. The open sheets of each section being gathered were knocked even, and folded in the middle. This adoption of one plan for books of all sizes was in accordance with the old usage of the scribes, who necessarily cut their vellum sheets to the intended size before the manuscript was commenced, and varied their sections from three sheets, if very thick, to six or seven, if very thin. The section of three sheets was called “ternio”--of four sheets “quaternus”--of five sheets “quinternus”--and so on. Caxton adopted the “quaternus” or “quaternion” for all his books, using a larger or smaller section only if the beginning or end required it. Wynken de Worde, however, made frequent use of the ternion.

From the foregoing remarks we see that the ternion and quaternion must necessarily be arranged in the order of the following diagrams, by consulting which the reader may easily know the pages belonging to any given sheet.

A TERNION--Three sheets of paper folded in half, quirewise, or one inside another. This gives six leaves, or twelve pages.

A QUATERNION--Four sheets of paper folded in half, quirewise, or one inside another. This gives eight leaves, or sixteen pages.

If this arrangement be kept in mind it will be found very useful in many ways. For instance, it is often important to know whether a leaf preceded the first printed page, and, if so, whether the blank leaf found in many volumes is that leaf. It is plain that if a quaternion was adopted for the first section, then the first and the eighth leaf would belong to the same sheet of paper; and therefore if sig. ~a~ 8 had a watermark sig. ~aj~ should not have any; if ~aij~ had a watermark, ~a~7 should be without, and so on with ~aiij~ and ~a~6, and with ~aiiij~ and ~a~5, where we arrive at the middle sheet of the section, and where a careful examination in the fold will certainly show the thread of the binder, always a true sign of the centre. These indications are often the only decisive evidence of the completeness or incompleteness of a volume, and enable us to decide, even where printed signatures are wanting, the true collation of a book.

Catchwords are not found in any of Caxton’s books, although here and there a word by itself at the foot of a page may look very like one; but in every instance this word will be found to form an integral part of the text, and therefore in no sense a catchword, which by its very nature must be treated as the first word of the next page.

In paper manuscripts of the fifteenth century it is not uncommon to find vellum used for the inmost sheet of each section, or to find a slip of parchment pasted down the centre of each section. This was to give an increase of strength to the back where the binder’s thread would be likely to tear through the paper. Instances where these slips are used are common in “unwashed” specimens from Caxton’s press. The manuscript volume at Althorp, containing “Propositio,” is treated so throughout, and in the quarto poems at Cambridge the marks of the paste, where the slip was torn away at the rebinding of the volume, are very visible.

The earliest pictorial representation of a binder at work is displayed in the little “Book of Trades,” to which reference has already been made; but as there is nothing in it peculiar to the age we will pass on to the material of the covers. This was very frequently only a stiff piece of parchment, with the edges turned in, and a blank leaf pasted down inside as a lining. A few books still remain in this state, just as issued from the “Red-pale” by Caxton. Such are the copies of “Tully de Senectute” in Queen’s College, Oxford; the “Art and Craft,” “Directorium,” and the “Game and Play of the Chess,” in the Bodleian; and the “Godfrey of Boloyne” in the library of Mr. Holford. If intended to be more durable, Caxton used “boards” sometimes made of oak, or beech, and sometimes (fortunately for bibliographers) of waste sheets from the press pasted together. These were covered with brown sheepskin, upon which was a simple pattern of circles, or crosses, or dragons, &c. Instances may still be seen in the 2nd edition of the “Festial” at the British Museum; in the “Servitium de Transfiguratione,” lately purchased for the same library; in the 2nd edition of the “Mirrour of the World,” at Bristol; and at other libraries. In the last-mentioned volume four leaves of the unique “Fifteen Oes” were used as linings for the inside of the boards. An account of a “Boethius,” of which the interior of the covers was composed entirely of “waste sheets,” is given in the description of that work.

When bound, we may consider that the book was generally ready for delivery to the purchaser. It was so with all Caxton’s later publications, but the earlier books still required the services of the rubrisher.

THE ILLUMINATOR, THE RUBRISHER, AND THE WOOD-ENGRAVER.

It has already been noticed that, in the latter half of the fifteenth century, the great development of book manufacture led to a corresponding division of labour. Thus in Bruges we find there were _Scrivers_, or persons who wrote the text only of books, _Verlichters_, or Rubrishers, who probably confined their attention to illuminated capitals, and _Vinghette makers_ (miniatores), who were artists capable of designing and painting subjects. In only one instance do the books of Caxton suggest the idea that the services of the _Vinghette maker_ were to have been employed. At the commencement of his edition of Gower’s “Confessio Amantis” (sig. 1, 4), the prologue of the author is begun more than half-way down the page. The blank was evidently intended for a design of some sort, possibly for a large woodcut, after the fashion of Colard Mansion, who printed all the great cuts to his “Ovid” by a separate working. As a rule, however, Caxton’s books required no help from the vinghette maker, although he certainly employed, so late as 1485, the services of a rubrisher, to insert the initial letters at the beginning of chapters, and to make paragraph marks in appropriate places. For this purpose a vermilion ink was nearly always used, although occasionally a light blue alternated. For the initial of the first chapter a square space was left equal to the depth of four or five lines of type: for succeeding chapters a space of two lines was generally considered sufficient.

The first use of woodcut initials was in 1484, after which year they were never (except on rare occasions when a sort ran short) omitted. Caxton had only two or three of each letter, and sometimes only one, as may easily be seen by the recurrence of a particular initial. Some of them have their heavy blackness relieved by a few white dots punctured in the face of the letter, a practice frequently adopted by the German school to lighten the groundwork of early woodcuts. Caxton’s initials are varied in shape, and often elegant in design, but with the exception of the floriated ~A~ at the beginning of the “Order of Chivalry,” and “Æsop,” and perhaps the ~B~ in “Eneydos,” they demand no especial notice. A few of them are given here.

The woodcut illustrations to Caxton’s books have not received much attention from the writers on the early history of wood engraving. Strutt, Singer, and Ottley in his “Enquiry” have omitted to notice them. Dibdin and Jackson have devoted a few pages to their consideration; and Ottley, in the posthumous work on the “Invention of Printing,” has some interesting remarks on the early use of the art in England. His opinions are enforced by a facsimile of some rude woodcuts in his own possession, which he believed to have been executed as early as the celebrated S. Christopher of 1423. From his arguments we may conclude that although no great amount of vitality can be attributed to the art of wood engraving in England in the early part of the fifteenth century, it nevertheless was known and practised by native artists; and that the use of native talent for Caxton’s books was therefore possible.

At the same time it requires no artistic education to see that there is a great similarity in general appearance between the illustrations in some of the early Dutch books, and the woodcuts of Caxton’s “Chess Book,” “Golden Legend,” and others. In the “Troy Book,” folio, printed at Augsburg in 1483, and the French-printed “Æsop,” 1476, the broad outline and heavy black feet of the figures at once suggest a similarity of style if not identity of artist. But whether Caxton’s cuts be native or foreign, there can be little doubt of the origin of the designs. His artist merely copied the outlines found in the manuscript from which the book was being (or to be) printed. At that period there were a certain number of standard works always in demand, and for each of these the illuminators had a conventional treatment, which appears repeated over and over again in different books. To those who have examined the illuminated manuscripts of the fifteenth century, executed in the Low Countries (of which there are numerous examples in the Royal Collection of the British Museum), the identity of design and treatment in Caxton’s engravings will be evident.

It is somewhat remarkable that woodcut illustrations preceded the use of woodcut initials in Caxton’s books by about four years. In the “Fables of Æsop,” 1484, we meet with printed initials for the first time, while woodcuts, illustrative of the text, had been used in great abundance for the “Golden Legend,” the “Chess Book,” the “Mirrour of the World,” 1st edition, and “Parvus et Magnus Catho,” the last dating about 1481.

The following is a list of all the books printed by Caxton with woodcut illustrations:--

Parvus et Magnus Catho, 3rd ed. 1481? Two designs.

Mirrour of the World, 1st ed. 1481 Numerous designs.

The Game and Play of the Chess, 1481? Sixteen designs.
2nd ed.

Golden Legend 1484 Very numerous designs.

Canterbury Tales, 2nd ed. 1484 Very numerous designs.

Æsop 1484 Very numerous designs.
Initials first used.

Order of Chivalry 1484 Large floriated ~A~.

Royal Book 1487? Seven small designs.

Speculum vitæ Christi 1488? Numerous designs.

Doctrinal of Sapience 1489 Two designs.

Horæ, 3rd ed. 1490? A fragment, with one design.

Servitium Transfiguratione 1490? One small design.

The Fifteen Oes 1490? The Crucifixion cut and
borders.

Mirrour of the World, 2nd ed. 1490? Old cuts reprinted.

Divers Ghostly Matters 1490? One small design.

Had Caxton’s opportunities allowed, he would probably have used the wood-engraver’s art to a much greater extent. The above table shows that in 1481, when he first employed woodcuts, he also discontinued them; that in 1484 he again, for one year only, used them; and that in 1487 they took a permanent position in his typography. This seeming capriciousness was probably owing to the difficulty experienced in obtaining the services of a wood engraver.

The engravings in 1481, 1484, and partly in 1487-8, appear to have come from the hand of the same artist. In the last year, however, we find considerable improvement, as shown in the illustrations to the “Royal Book,” and “Speculum Vitæ Christi;” but Caxton’s best specimen of the wood-engraver’s art, and one which has been much praised by Dibdin, and especially Jackson, for its composition and feeling, is the well-known “Crucifixion.” This design is frequently seen in the books of Wynken de Worde, who received great credit for it until its earlier use was discovered as a frontispiece to Caxton’s “Fifteen Oes.”

The largest woodcut known to have been used in Caxton’s books is the Assembly of Saints, at the beginning of all the editions of the “Golden Legend,” and the smallest, of which there are four, are found in illustrations to the text in the “Speculum vitæ Christi.”

This portion must not, however, be dismissed without a few words upon that most interesting of all Caxton’s woodcuts, the large device. Caxton used but one; the small device, of a similar design, which is commonly attributed to him, and which is first seen in the “Chastising of God’s Children,” being certainly not earlier than 1491, in which year he died.

The interpretation of the device offers a question by no means of easy solution. We may dismiss, as unworthy of serious notice, the suggestions that the figures should be reversed to read 1447, or that the 74 or 47 refers to Caxton’s age and not to a particular year. The problem to be solved is, does the design mean 74, and if so, why did Caxton use the year 1474 on his device? Bibliographers have hitherto assumed that it must be in reference to the introduction of printing into England, and quote the colophon to the 1st edition of the “Chess Book” in support of the argument. But, as already shown, the date of the “Chess Book” refers to the translation of the work, the printing having been certainly accomplished later at Bruges, and probably in 1476, Caxton’s settlement at Westminster not having occurred until late in that year, or in 1477.

The first to suggest that this mark had no reference whatever to Arabic figures was Mr. Bradshaw of Cambridge; and his opinion has of late received an interesting and curious confirmation. Mr. Adin Williams of Kempsford, in the course of some antiquarian researches, took a rubbing of a monumental brass in Standon Church, Herts, and was struck by the resemblance which a part of it bore to Caxton’s well-known mark. The brass is in bad condition, but it is easily deciphered, and is in memory of John Felde, alderman of London, who, like Caxton, was a mercer. The alderman is represented kneeling, with two sons and a daughter behind him. Above, on one side, are the family arms; on the other is his trade mark as a mercer. The surrounding legend is:--“~John Felde, Alderman of London, Merchaunt of the Staple of Caleis. Dyed m. cccc. lxxvij.~”

The mark of Felde is here given, the dotted line only being imaginary; and beside it, for the sake of comparison, is a reduction of Caxton’s mark. It will be seen that if the top pennant of Felde’s mark were cut away, and the loop added, we should then have a close resemblance to the so-called figures in Caxton’s device. That Felde’s mark is a combination of conventional forms then commonly used by merchants is undeniable; and Caxton’s device is doubtless of a similar character. It is his personal seal, and the central part is probably the very same mark as that used by him when, as Governour of the English Nation, he stamped every bale of British goods which entered or issued from the city of Bruges.

The debate upon Caxton’s device has until lately been confined to the central portion, the surroundings having been by general consent considered merely as ornamentation. In all probability this view is correct; but, as hidden meanings have been discovered in these side ornaments, no apology is needed for their introduction here, however fanciful they may be. Mr. Madden, of Versailles, a well-known writer upon all matters of palæotypography, says in one of his letters[12] that the ornament to the left of the ~W~ is clearly the letter S, while that on the opposite side is a C.

These initials, he feels sure, refer to the words _Sancta Colonia_, the city in which he supposes Caxton to have learned his art. Not so, says another critic; S. C. must surely mean the Staple of Calais, that great wool-mart of which, like Felde, Caxton was a merchant; the freedom of which was a privilege he might well be proud of, and which would give him certain important rights in the importation of books.

Ah! says critic No. 3, but Caxton held an important post in the city of Bruges, and had to place his official seal on all English goods imported or exported, so that, in remembrance of this, S. C., or “Sigillum Caxtoni,” would be very appropriate initials on his trade mark.

These guesses are more amusing than instructive, and it should be remembered that Roman capitals were not used by Caxton in any of his works, nor indeed in those of his English contemporaries.

The opinion that the interlacement is only a trade mark is much strengthened by the discovery of its original use. In 1487, Caxton wishing to print a Sarum Missal, and not having the types proper for the purpose, sent to Paris, where it was printed for him by W. Maynyal, who in the colophon states plainly that he printed it at the expense of William Caxton, of London. When the printed sheets reached Westminster, Caxton wishing to make it quite plain that he was the publisher, engraved his design and printed it on the last page, which happened to be blank. This is the first occasion on which it is known to have been used. The unique copy of this Missal is in the possession of Stephen Legh, Esq., M.P., and was exhibited at the Caxton celebration in 1877.

The following list of books in which the device is found shows that it was not until the end of Caxton’s typographical life that he adopted this distinguishing mark.

Missale ad Usum Sarum 1487
Speculum vitæ Christi _circa_ 1488
Doctrinal of Sapience 1489
The History of Reynard the Fox, 2nd edition _circa_ 1489
Directorium Sacerdotum, 2nd edition _circa_ 1489
Eneydos 1490
The Dictes and Sayings, 3rd edition _circa_ 1490
The Mirrour of the World, 2nd edition _circa_ 1490
Divers Ghostly Matters _circa_ 1490
The Festial, 2nd edition _circa_ 1490
Four Sermons, 2nd edition _circa_ 1490
St. Katherine of Senis _circa_ 1491

The _magnum opus_ of Caxton was undoubtedly the edition of “The Golden Legend,” 1484. The translation alone of this great work must have been no slight task, while, as to number of leaves and size of both paper and printed page, it far exceeded his edition of “King Arthur,” which was the next largest. The smallest pieces of his printing now extant are “The Advertisement” and the “Indulgences.”

The commercial results of Caxton’s trade as a printer are unknown; but as the fees paid at his burial were far above the average, and as he evidently held a respectable position in his parish, we must conclude that his business was profitable. The preservation of the “Cost Book” of the Ripoli press has already been noticed, and some extracts of interest translated therefrom. We may presume that Caxton also kept exact accounts of his trade receipts and expenditure, and if such were extant the many doubts which now surround the operations of his printing-office would be definitely solved. We should then know the price at which he sold his books, how many pence he asked for his small quarto “quayers” of poetry, or his pocket editions of the “Horæ” and “Psalter,” how many shillings were required to purchase the thick folio volumes, such as “Canterbury Tales,” “King Arthur,” &c. That the price was not much dearer than that paid for good editions now, we may infer from the rate at which fifteen copies of the “Golden Legend” sold between 1496 and 1500. These realised an average price of 6_s._ 8_d._ each, or about £2 13_s._ 4_d._ of modern money, a sum by no means too great for a large illustrated work. This, however, would depend on the number of copies considered necessary for an edition, which probably varied according to the nature of the work. On a blank leaf in the 1st edition of “Dictes,” at Althorp, is written, apparently by Bagford, “N.B.--Caxton printed 44 books, 25 of which were with Dates, and 19 without.” One would imagine that so definite a statement must have had some foundation, but it appears to rest entirely on the writer’s bare assertion. Some foreign printers issued so many as 275 or 300 copies of editions of the “Classics,” but it is not probable that Caxton ventured upon so large an impression, as the demand for his publications must have been much more restricted.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Lettres d’un Bibliographe, Quatrième Série. Paris, 1875. P. 23.

APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHY.

ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF WILLIAM CAXTON.