Chapter XX: Part 20

[105] The engraver or the printer of the book published it, as all other books of this kind were published, without a printed title. It has been described by different authors under these titles: _Types and Antitypes of the Old and the New Testament_; _The Histories and the Prophecies of the Old Testament_; _The Typical Harmony of the Bible_; _Typical Illustrations of the Old Testament, and Antitypical Illustrations of the New, or the Story of Jesus Christ as told by Engravers_. Chatto calls it the _Bible for Poor Preachers_, and claims that it was written especially for their use. He objects to the title, _Bible of the Poor_, as leading to the erroneous opinion that the book was bought by the poor of the laity, who, he says, were unable to read in their own language, much less in Latin. This observation is true, yet Chatto’s addition to the old title is not really needed. He overlooks the fact that the charm of the book was in its pictures, which could be appreciated by the poor of the laity as well as by poor preachers. In this sense, it was truly the _Bible of the Poor_.

[106] The British Museum has a French manuscript, entitled _Figures de la Bible_, in which the illustrations occupy nearly all the page, leaving room for little more than the text that describes the cuts. The same library has two copies in Latin verse of an abridgment of the Bible, in which the text occupies nearly all the page, while the illustrations are in miniature. These manuscripts of the fourteenth century are not _Bibles of the Poor_, but they show the fondness for books with biblical pictures.

[107] 1. An edition in Latin, of fifty pages, and supposed to have been engraved and printed by Melchior Wohlgemuth of Nuremberg, between the years 1450 and 1460. Only one copy of this book is known. 2. An edition in German, of forty pages, by Friedrich Walther and Hans Hürning, at Nordlingen, 1470. 3. An edition in German, attributed to Sporer, at Erfurth, in 1475.

[108] Fifteen copies are known of the edition here specified as the first. Heineken, noticing little dissimilarities of design and engraving in many of these copies, says that they prove the existence of five distinct editions. For similar reasons, Sotheby says that there are six editions. The weight of authority favors the classification of these fifteen copies in one edition.

[109] Jackson and Chatto, _Treatise on Wood Engraving_, pp. 78–80.

[110] The Bible of the Poor has always been considered as one of the most valuable of block-books, but copies have been sold at widely varying prices, as may be seen in the annexed statement, compiled from Sotheby’s _Principia Typographica_:

Willet copy, 1813 245 guineas. Inglis copy, 1826 36_l._ 15_s._ Willet copy, 1833 36_l._ 15_s._ Lucca copy, 1848 89_l._ 5_s._ Stevens copy, 1849 11_l._ 12_s._ Sykes copy, 1824 18_l._ 17_s._ 6_d._ Rendorp copy, 1825 17_l._ 8_s._ 6_d._ Devonshire copy, 1815 210_l._

[111] Three typographic editions of the _Bible of the Poor_ have been printed:—1. An edition by Albert Pfister, at Bamberg, in 1461. In this edition, the engravings are small and coarsely cut. 2. An edition by Anthoine Vérard, in Paris, about 1500. This edition is a close imitation, beautifully printed, of the first xylographic edition, with explanations in French on the back of the engraved pages and on supplementary leaves. 3. An edition of very different arrangement, having 118 small wood-cuts, printed by Giovanni Andrea Vavassore detto Vadagnino of Venice, between 1515 and 1520. Berjeau, _Biblia Pauperum_, p. 17.

[112] The great prices paid for copies of the book seem to show that this is a very general belief. Sotheby has wisely put some of them on record in his _Principia Typographica._

Gaignat copy 300 francs. La Vallière copy 800 francs. Crevenna copy 510 florins. Wilks copy, 1847 74_l._ Brienne-Laire copy 600 francs. Lang copy, 1828 45_l._ Verdussen copy 240 florins. Corser copy, 1873 (Quaritch) 550_l._ Inglis copy 47_l._ 5_s._ British Museum copy, 1845 160_l._ Quaritch’s, 1873 200_l._ Stowe copy, 1849 91_l._

[113] A section consists of two or more sheets folded together, so that one leaf will be within another, as sheets of folded letter paper are nested. If five quarter quires of letter paper were sewed together, and bound, the book so bound, in binders’ phrase, would have five sections.

[114] _Bibliotheca Spenceriana_, vol. I, p. 4, as quoted by Ottley, p. 99.

[115] This book is sometimes described as _The History of the Virgin Mary, or The Prefiguration of the Virgin Mary from the Song of Songs_.

[116] It is probable that the cowled farmers represent the lay brothers, then very numerous in nearly every thrifty monastery. The farmers, butchers, bakers, carpenters and useful mechanics were often permitted to wear the dress and share some of the privileges of the monks, on condition that they should do the servile work, and accept as a full reward the rich blessings of monastic prayers and masses.

[117] These devices give us no certain clue to the engraver or printer of the book, but they are of value in assisting us to ascertain the purpose for which the book was made. There are no old manuscript copies of the book, but there are many evidences that it was designed and produced for the first time in the fifteenth century. It would seem that this pictorial version of the _Canticles_ was designed, not so much to illustrate the prefiguration of the Virgin Mary, as the termination of a great schism which had divided the Catholic church between the years 1378 and 1449. Christendom had been scandalized by the rule of two, and, for a short period, of three rival popes. It was believed that this schism in the church would have been closed by the action of the Council of Constance, which terminated in 1418; but this result was not accomplished until 1449, when Nicholas V became the only pope. The designer of the pictures has treated the return of Christendom to the rule of one pope as the reconciliation of Christ with the church. To give special significance to the subject, he has introduced the armorial shields of the magnates at the councils. It may be that the engravings were made in 1420, but it could be maintained with plausibility that they were made after the dissolution of the Council of Basle in 1448.

[118] The full title of the book is, as given by Heineken, _The Story of the Blessed Virgin Mary, collected from the Evangelists and the Fathers, and Illustrated by Engravings_. Dibdin calls it, _The Defense of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary_.

[119] The reading should be, _Mon cœur avez_,—you have my heart,—the word heart being represented not by letters, but by a drawing.

[120] The following synopsis of the work is condensed from the translation of the text of the book, as given by Sotheby in his _Principia Typographica_, vol. II, pp. 38–45:

Antichrist is born in Babylon. He yields himself to lust of women at Bethsaida. He is circumcised, and announces himself as the Messiah. He is instructed in magic and all sorts of evil. Elias and Enoch come down from Heaven and preach against him. Antichrist deceives the world by superior eloquence; he performs miracles; his apostles preach to the kings of Lybia and Ethiopia, and “the queen of the Amazons, and the Red Jews.” All the kings of the world are converted to Antichrist; he condemns unbelievers to strange tortures; he kills Elias and Enoch. He repeats the history of the resurrection; he bids the whole world witness his ascent to Heaven from the Mount of Olives. The Almighty then gives the order—“Michael, strike him dead; I will no longer bear with the unjust.” Antichrist is carried to Hell, where he is received by the Devil and his allies. Antichrist being dead, princes and people become Christians, and there is only one faith. But the people fear the Day of Judgment. These are some of the signs of the great and terrible day: The sea shall rise forty ells above the mountains; it shall then sink away and vanish. The sea shall burn. Trees and plants shall sweat blood. There will be earthquakes. Buildings and trees shall fall down in hopeless ruin. Stones shall fly up in the air. Wild beasts grow tame with fright, and run to men for help. The dead arise. Stars fall from Heaven. Heaven and earth are burnt up and chaos comes again. At this point the imagination of the designer was exhausted: he had done his best. The page following, which should have been filled with an illustration, is judiciously left blank. The last engraving is that of the resurrection of the blessed.

[121] The central figure in the lower illustration, the meek and priestly personage who, surrounded by gamboling devils, and with a monkey perched upon his back, walks with measured pace and uplifted eyes, is the Antichrist. This is the introduction to the explanatory text:

Antichrist is instructed by adepts, who teach him to make gold, the art of magic, and all sorts of evil. And this takes place at the city named Corosaym. And this stands also written in the _Compendium Theologiæ_. And our Lord curses the said city in his gospel, and says thus: “Woe to thee, Corosaym!”

Here, we see Antichrist goes from Capernaum to Jerusalem, and he there announces himself as holy. And hereof is also written in the book _Compendium Theologiæ_. And our Lord, in the gospel, also curses this city, and speaks thus concerning it: “Woe to thee, Capernaum!”

[122] The Latin title is _Ars Memorandi, notabilis per figuras evangelistarum_.

[123] The bibliographic title is _Ars Moriendi_, or, literally, The Art of Dying, but the work is more clearly described by the paraphrase _How to Die Becomingly_. It is also known as _The Temptations of Demons_.

[124] John of Gamundia was a mathematician and professor of astronomy. At his death, in the year 1442, he was chancellor of the University of Vienna. The calendars made by him were highly esteemed, and were engraved and printed for many years after his death. In his researches after old prints, the late R. Z. Becker, of Gotha, discovered one of the original blocks of a placard or poster edition of the _Calendar of John of Gamundia_. He describes it as about 10-3/4 inches wide, 15-1/4 inches long and 1-1/2 inches thick. The block was engraved on both sides.

[125] Chatto says that the practice of distributing pictures or prints of a religious character at monasteries and shrines to those who visit them is not yet extinct in Europe.

In Belgium it is still continued, and, I believe, also in France, Germany and Italy. The figures, however, are not generally impressions from wood blocks, but are, for the most part, wholly executed by means of stencils. One of the latter class, representing the shrine of _Notre Dame de Hal_, colored in the most wretched taste with brick-dust red and shining green, is now lying before me. It was given to a gentleman who visited Halle, near Brussels, in 1829. It is nearly of the same size as many of the old devotional wood-cuts of Germany, being about four inches high by two and three-quarters wide. _Treatise on Wood Engraving_, pp. 57, 58.

[126] The Brotherhood of the Life-in-Common may, perhaps, be regarded as an exception. Madden in his _Lettres d’un bibliographe_ has shown that this fraternity were much interested in the production of books, and that they had a printing office in a monastery at Cologne; but he has not yet made it appear that they did the manual labor.

[127] Southey says that, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, many educated men complained that the reputation of learning, its privileges and rewards, were lowered when it was thrown open to all men. It was seriously proposed in Italy to prohibit the publication of any book costing less than three soldi.

The amusing insolence manifested by authors, scholars and readers toward the early development of literature in any new field, or by a new method, is a subject that could be amply illustrated. The city of New-York furnishes a comparatively recent example in the field of journalism. The daily newspapers of 1835, which were then sold for six cents each, refused to recognize the rightful existence of the new daily then sold for one cent. So strong a prejudice was created against “the penny paper,” that many timid men were afraid to be seen with the despised sheet in their hands: the six-penny papers were respectable, and the penny paper was vulgar. The same contemptuousness was manifested when duodecimos supplanted the folios and quartos—when books bound in cloth took the place of books bound in leather. The despised forms of printing have had their revenge. The rod of Aaron has swallowed its rivals.

[128] The full title of the book is _Donatus de octibus partibus orationis_, or Donatus on the Eight Parts of Speech. It is sometimes designated as _Donatus pro puerilis_, or the Donatus for Little Boys.

[129] This extract is from the chapter entitled, “When, where, and by whom was found out the unspeakably useful art of printing books?” It contains statements of value, which will be quoted at greater length on an advanced page.

[130] There can be no doubt whatever about the genuineness of these blocks. They were bought in Germany, about two hundred years ago, by Foucault, the minister of Louis XIV of France.

[131] Van der Linde says that the _Donatus_ and _Abecedarium_, a religious primer hereafter to be noticed, are used in all the religious schools of Italy to this day.

I look with melancholy respect at an _Abecedarium_, a little octavo of four leaves, _Il Sillabario_, printed in our time in 1862, at Asti. Beneath the heading, Jesus Maria, the Alphabet follows, and after that the _Pater noster_, _Ave_, and _Credo_. Beside the _Sillabario_, I have a little grammar entitled _Donato ad uso delle scuolle secondarie. Nuova editione accresciuta e riformata._ Pinerola, &c., 1865. . . . The esteem in which these Catholic school-books, those foul springs from which, for instance, Erasmus drew the first elements of Latin, were held, was so great that the first efforts of the humanists to improve them were regarded as heresy, and heaven and earth were moved against such dangerous destroyers. . . . Donatuses were printed in every place where schools were established, and where the art of printing was introduced. _The Haarlem Legend_, p. 3.

[132] Sometimes described under the title of _Speculum Humanæ Salvationis_.

[133] Jackson and Chatto, _Treatise on Wood Engraving_, p. 83.

The book was written for the instruction of the traveling mendicant friars who had, since the thirteenth century, gradually monopolized preaching and the pastoral work of the settled clergy. Provided with nothing but a little Church Latin, and therefore too ignorant to derive their discourses from original sources, they felt the want of homiletic and catechetical assistance as an aid to their understanding and memory. Picture books, with a brief explanatory text, were the best means of supplying this want. Hence originated representations of the mystic relation between the Old and the New Testament, of which the _Biblia Pauperum_ is the first fruit. Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend_, p. 3.

[134] There is an edition, with a text in Latin and in German, which was printed at Augsburg in 1471; there are many editions in German only, some without dates, and others with dates of 1476, 1492, and 1500; a Flemish edition by Veldener in 1483; and various editions in French.

[135] There are two copies of the book which exhibit the blemish of a leaf made up of two distinct pieces of paper, each piece printed by a different impression, but so pasted together as to constitute one perfect page. We do not certainly know the cause that made this patchwork necessary, but it would seem that a gross blunder had been made in the printing-office; perhaps a transposition of lines by the compositor, or illegible presswork by the pressman. It was necessary that the sheet containing the error should be canceled and replaced. But the frugal printer refused to destroy the entire page for an error confined to but half a page. He tore off the lower half of the leaf, and replaced it by attaching a piece of white paper to the bottom of the upper half, which contained the engraving in brown ink. On this pasted piece of white paper, he took a corrected or perfect impression from the types. In this copy, the impression, which deeply indented the paper in the double thickness where it was pasted, proves that the types were printed after the engravings. There is another copy in which the illustration on the upper half of the sheet was canceled, and replaced by the same method.

[136] Ottley, selecting one letter for examination from a great number of letters of the same kind, found that it was always the same where-ever it occurred, not only in the first, but in the second edition. Koning and Enchedé, pursuing a badly cast or defective letter, found that the peculiar blemishes of this letter re-appeared in other letters on many pages. This precision of form is the peculiarity of typography: it proves that the letters of unvarying uniformity could not have been made by any engraver on wood, but must have been produced by a mould.

[137] The Latin and Dutch editions of the _Speculum_ maintain such a remarkable conformity with each other in the engravings, in the types, in the quality of the paper, in the presswork, and in every typographic feature, that it is evident that the four editions were published in the same country and by the same printer. As all bibliographers, whatever theory they may have concerning the origin of printing, attribute, without hesitation, the Dutch edition of the _Speculum_ to Holland, the Latin editions should also be attributed to Holland. Guichard, _Notice sur le Speculum_, pp. 118 and 119. This is the opinion of all bibliographers except Heineken.

[138] The fac-simile given by Holtrop in his _Monuments typographiques_ presents the following measurements, in American inches: In the Latin edition, described in this book as the first, 25 lines measure 5-1/2 inches. In the Dutch edition, here described as the third, 27 lines measure 5-1/2 inches. In the Dutch edition, here described as the fourth, 26 lines measure 5-1/2 inches. As we find no indication of the use of leads or thin blanks to increase the distance between lines, it would seem that the types of the three editions were cast in different moulds. Sotheby’s fac-similes, which seem to have been made with equal care, do not exactly agree with those taken from Holtrop’s book. There are, no doubt, differences of size, not only in the fac-similes, but in the original copies of the book. Allowance must be also made for the unequal shrinkage on different leaves of the very thick paper, which may have been unequally dampened, and unequally extended before printing.

[139] When a new engraving on wood, in imitation of an old one, is desired, the modern engraver does not redraw, but transfers the subject, substantially by the following process: The back of the print to be copied is moistened with a solution of alkali, or of benzine, which, soaking through the paper, forms a new combination with the oil in the ink. The black of the ink is thereby liberated, so that it can be completely removed by firm pressure. The print so treated is then laid, face downward, on the block, and the free black is transferred to the block by the pressure of a burnisher, or of a press. The black re-appears on the block, but in a properly reversed position, ready for the tool of the engraver.

[140] The neglect of engraving on wood by the early typographers has frequently been noticed as a strange fact. It was, no doubt, induced by the difficulties encountered in trying to print wood-cuts with types. The blocks would warp and crack in spite of all precautions. The evil was but partially checked by diminishing the size of the blocks. To evade the annoyance produced by warped blocks, some printers engraved large illustrations on separate pieces of wood, which were roughly fitted to each other, but not conjoined. Other printers printed the wood-cuts of their books by a separate impression. As these illustrations were printed in the same black ink which was used for the text, the double impression is rarely ever noticed, not even by the practical printer.

[141] The Dutch folio of Jan de Mandeville, placed by Holtrop about 1470, as a work of printing, is so bad that the earliest editions of the _Speculum_ are masterpieces by the side of it. The work of an unknown Schiedam printer of the latter part of the fifteenth century is equally bad. The Brussels incunabula of the Brotherhood of the Life-in-Common are bad; those of Arnold ter Hoorne at Cologne (1471–83) are sometimes barbarous. Heineken mentions a book printed in Augsburg in 1557, and says: “If the name of the engraver on wood and the date had not been found, one might think that this was the oldest book in the world.” In the series of the different Dutch incunabula of this kind, the _Speculum_ presents itself very favorably; it is not badly, but well printed; it is not a first experiment, but the fruit of practice. Dr. Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend of the Invention of Printing_, p. 37.

[142] The frisket of the modern hand-press is a light frame-work of iron, which is covered like a kite, with a sheet of paper pasted to the edges. Just before the act of impression, this frisket is placed between the form of inked types and the sheet of paper prepared to receive the impression. The office of the frisket is to prevent the sheet from being blackened by anything but the face of the types. For this purpose, every part of the page to be printed is neatly cut out of the paper mask pasted on the frisket. Every part of the sheet that should remain unprinted is masked or covered by the uncut paper of the frisket. When the impression is taken, the sheet receives only the impression from the type, and is unsoiled by the ink that accumulates about the types and their fixtures.

[143] Veldener, who was a German, and, probably, a pupil of Ulric Zell of Cologne, began to print at Louvain in 1473. Like many printers of the Netherlands, he moved his printing office from place to place. He printed at Louvain in 1473; at Utrecht in 1478; at Culemburg in 1483. The last book bearing his imprint is dated 1484.

[144] For a fac-simile (from Holtrop) of this face of type see page 277.

[145] A fuller notice of Cornelis the binder will be given in the chapter on the Legend of Coster, in which his relations to early printing will be described. Attention may be called to the significance of the fact that no fragments of any book in the types of the _Speculum_ have been found in the covers or binding of any manuscript book of earlier date than 1467.

[146] This work was in use as late as the reign of Charles V. It was enjoined by him that a printer should furnish without alteration “the little book commencing with the alphabet, the little book which directs how to bless the table (grace at meals), and the little book which directs how to answer at the holy mass.” Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend_, p. 2.

[147] Hessels does not describe this as Type VIII, but as the _Type of the Enschedé Abecedarium_. He thought it “advisable to separate these two little works [the _Donatus_ and the _Abecedarium_, which are printed in this face], to a certain extent, from the others” but he admits that the types of these books bear the family likeness and cannot be omitted.

[148] Berjeau, who accepts this _Abecedarium_ as one of the first products of the invention, says that impositions of eight pages seem more complex than they really are—that the printer had but to fold a sheet, to mark the pages and then unfold the sheet, to see the method at a glance. This reasoning is specious, but it is inconclusive. It was the argument of the courtiers with Columbus after he had stood the egg on its end. Anybody can do it. Simple as the process may seem, the imposition of eight pages of type in one form was not done by any of the early printers, and we have to infer that they did not know how to do it.

[149] Caxton, who printed thousands of pages in folio, made use of but eight fonts. Blades, _Life and Typography of Caxton_, vol. II, p. xxvii. Gutenberg, who practised printing for thirty years, did his work with not more than six fonts of type. Schœffer, who was a printer and publisher for forty-three years, made use of but six fonts.

[150] Leon De la Borde, _Debut de l’imprimerie à Strasbourg_, pp. 70, 72.

[151] Leads are very thin pieces of metal which are inserted between the lines of types to increase the distance between the lines, and to give the printed page a more open and inviting appearance.

[152] This apparently easy method of demonstrating the practicability of types of wood has been attempted by many writers. Wetter, the author of a valuable history of printing, published in his book a page printed from types of wood, which he offered as conclusive evidence that types of wood could have been made and were made by the early printers. But his types of wood are larger than those of the _Speculum_, and they are also provided with leads to keep them in line. Notwithstanding these precautions, they are more out of line than the types of the _Speculum_. Meerman, in his _Origines Typographicæ_, printed a few words from types of wood with a similar result; but he showed a practical disbelief in his own theory, by engraving all the fac-similes of the alleged types of wood upon plates of copper. The substitution of copper for wood was, virtually, an acknowledgment of the impracticability of wood types. Schinkel, a Dutch printer, was more successful than either Meerman or Wetter in obtaining a good impression from small types of wood, but he subsequently admitted that his success was but a trick, and that it did not prove that they could be used in the ordinary practice of printing. Léon De la Borde afterward conceded that types of wood would be impracticable.

[153] The impracticability of types of wood is cleverly stated by Enschedé:

“I have exercised printing for about fifty years, and I have cut letters and figures for my father’s and my own printing office in wood of palm, pear, and medlar trees; I have now been a type-founder for upwards of thirty years; but to do such things as those learned gentlemen [Junius and Meerman] pretend that Laurens Coster and his heirs have done, neither I nor Papillon [the most clever wood-engraver of France] are able to understand, nor the artists Albrecht Durer, De Gray, and Iz. Van der Vinne either; but such learned men who dream about wooden movable letters make Laurens Janzoon Coster use witchcraft, for the hands of men are not able to do it. To print a book with capitals of the size of a thumb, as on placards, _House and Ground_, which are cut in wood, and which I have cut myself by hundreds, would be ridiculous; to do it with wooden letters of the size of a pin’s head is impossible. I have made experiments with a few of a somewhat larger size. I made a wooden slip of Text Corpus [a body about the size of Long-primer], and drew the letters on the wood or slip; thereupon I cut the letters. I had left a space of about the size of a saw between each letter on purpose, and I had no want of fine and good tools; the only question now was to saw the letters mathematically square off the slip. I used a very fine little saw, made of a very thin spring of English steel, so cleverly made that I doubt whether our Laurens Janszoon had a saw half as good; I did all I could to saw the letters straight and parallel, but it was impossible; there was not a single letter which could stand the test of being mathematically square. What now to do? It was impossible to polish or file them. I tried it, but it could not be done by our type-founder’s whetstones, as it would have injured the letters. In short, I saw no chance, and I feel sure that no engraver is able to cut separate letters in wood, in such a manner that they retain their quadrature, for that is the most important part of the work of type-casting. If, however, I wished to give my trouble and time to it, I should be able to execute the three words, _Spiegel onzer Behoudinis_, better than the Rotterdam artist has done in the Latin works of M. Meerman; but it is impossible, ridiculous, and merely chimerical, to print books in this manner.” Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend_, pp. 72, 73.

[154] This taste for variety in the shape of letters was more clearly exhibited in Greek and German than in Roman types. The Greek types of the sixteenth century are so full of ligatures and variants, that they are undecipherable to the scholar who has been taught the language only in modern text books. So far from trying to make letters readable, the literati of that period tried to make them obscure: they were evidently determined not to make the acquisition of the language easy for their successors. When Francis I of France established the royal printing office, he engaged a skillful Greek penman to design additional varieties of contractions. Two centuries afterward, Pierre Fournier, the younger, a type-founder of Paris, commended the Greek types of his own manufacture as much less complicated than any Greek types then in use. But I count 776 characters in the font. More than 300 of Fournier’s contractions, once esteemed as admirable graces, have been rejected by modern type-founders. Blades, who has made a careful analysis of the characters used by Caxton, shows that in the face described by him as 1 there are at least 167 distinct characters. But 24 of these are capitals and 81 are double letters. In faces 2 and 2* there are 380 characters, exclusive of figures, spaces and marks of punctuation.

[155] Blades, in his _Life and Typography of William Caxton_, has given a practical illustration of these changes in Plate IX B, which also illustrates the feasibility of types of pure lead, for a notice of which see next page.

[156] The most approved process in the modern art of stereotyping is that in which the mould is made of calcined gypsum or plaster. The same material is used by type-founders in the manufacture of the largest types of metal. The cheapness of sand, and the ease with which it can be worked, make it the most serviceable of materials for all founders who wish to produce cheap castings.

[157] To satisfy his own doubts as to the feasibility of casting small types in moulds of sand, Bernard, of Paris, gave to a brass-founder the types of a few Roman capital letters as the models from which he requested founded duplicates. He charged the founder not to dress nor finish the face of the founded letters, nor to give them more than ordinary care. The founded letters so made were printed by Bernard in his history as practical illustrations of the feasibility of sand moulds. They lack the finish of types made by the professional type-founder; they look like badly worn types, but they are legible. The brass-founder assured Bernard that a workman could make one thousand similar types in one working day. Bernard then gave to this founder separate types of a word in Gothic letters and requested him to furnish duplicates of these types founded on one body. The duplicates returned showed the very defects of the types of the _Speculum_; the thick lines were spotted, and the letters were out of line. Bernard’s impression shows that the movable types which made the word were jostled or trivially disturbed at the instant of moulding. A disturbance of this nature would explain the irregularity of line and the rounding of the edges. The spotted and ragged edges of the founded word were probably caused by the roughness of the moulding sand, or by the sticking fast to the mould of bits of metal. It is a proper inference that in both cases the defects were the imperfections of the same process. The experiment of Bernard fully proved the feasibility of making small types in sand moulds.

[158] In the sand mould, the hot metal is poured in; in the metal mould, whether worked by hand or machine, the hot metal is forced or cast in. The phrase “casting type,” which implies a sudden throw or violent jerk, has entirely supplanted the older phrase of “founding type.”

[159] Didot, _Essai sur la typographie_, p. 607.

[160] The process seems impracticable, but whoever carefully studies the British and American patent reports, will find specifications of inventions in typography that are much more absurd. There can be no doubt of their use. Koning cites one M. Fleischman, who had not only seen conjoined matrices in the type-foundry of C. Hardwich, of Nuremberg, but had experimentally cast types from them in an old mould that appears to have been made for this express purpose. Speckelinus, Paul Pater, Meerman, Schoepflin, Spiegel, and other early chroniclers, have specifically mentioned types pierced with a hole, and bound together with wire. These so-called types were either punches or matrices. Koning, _l’Origine, etc., de l’imprimerie_, p. 12.

[161] Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography, has given a curious description of his attempt to supply his defective printing office with types cast in matrices of lead:

“Our printing house often wanted sorts, and there was no letter-foundry in America; I had seen types cast at James’s in London, but without much attention to the matter; however, _I contrived a mould_, and made use of the letters we had as puncheons, _struck the matrices in lead_, and thus supplied in a pretty tolerable way all deficiencies. I also engraved several things on occasion; made the ink; I was warehouse-man, and, in short, quite a factotum.”

[162] _Dissertation sur l’origine, l’invention, etc., de l’imprimerie_, p. 18.

[163] It has been shown that book types must be on square bodies. As a necessary consequence every form of types must be squared. If the lines of types in any page are not of uniform length in the metal, and the page is not truly squared, the form cannot be handled nor printed. But although the lines are of uniform length in the metal, they do not always appear so in print. The last line of a paragraph is frequently short; lines of poetry are always of an irregular length. To make the form square, and yet produce this desired irregularity at the end of every short line, the compositor inserts metal blanks, technically known as quadrats. As these blanks are about one-third shorter than the letters, they are not touched by the inking roller; they receive no ink and take no impression, and are consequently invisible to the reader. Quadrats are now regarded as an indispensable part of every font of types, but the appearance of the _Speculum_ shows that the printer of the book had to do his work without them. That he knew the utility of quadrats is apparent, for he used low types as spaces between words. His imperfect press compelled him to reject quadrats at the end of short lines, and to fill the blanks with bearers.

[164] To protect types in places similarly exposed, stereotypers insert at the extreme ends of short lines types of flat face expressly designed for this object, which are usually known as guards. When the plates have been made perfect in other points, the guards are no longer needed, and are cut away. When books were printed on hand presses during the first half of this century, pressmen sometimes pasted on or tacked on thin strips of wood around the forms of types to shield the ends of lines from injury. It is a strange surprise to encounter this modern method of protecting types from injury in one of the earliest books.

[165] A paper-mark is an opaque design on the web of the paper, placed there to enable the buyer to identify a particular manufacture. It is made by bending the wires on which the moist pulp is couched in some peculiar shape which leaves its impression on the paper when it is perfected. Certain sizes of paper are even now known by the names of marks that are no longer used. Foolscap once bore the mark of a fool’s head with cap and bells; Post once had the mark of a post-boy’s horn. Paper-marks are now made chiefly for the finer qualities of writing papers. The illustrations of old paper-marks, on the following pages, were taken from Koning, and are about one-eighth of the original size.

[166] Water-marks have much less weight in bibliography than some writers have attributed to them. In very few instances can a prime limit be fixed for their use; and, as the marks might be repeated, and the paper itself kept for any length of time, and imported to any place, they cannot be used as evidence either of the date when, or place where, they passed through the press. Blades, _William Caxton_, vol. II, p. XVIII.—The results of the examination of the paper-marks are, for the present, mostly negative. Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend_, p. 86.

[167] Hessels, _Haarlem Legend_, p. xvii.

[168] _Haarlem Legend_, p. 35.

[169] Bernard, _De l’origine et des débuts de l’imprimerie_, vol. I, pp. 97 and 98.

[170] Bernard, _De l’origine et des débuts de l’imprimerie_, vol. I. p. 98.

[171] The phrase could be applied to the forms of the letters in the books, without regard to the quality or any peculiarity of the printing or the binding. Two forms of writing were then in use: one, a black angular, and somewhat condensed form of Gothic character, which is defined in Fournier’s _Manuel typographique_ as _lettres de forme_, or letters of precision; the other, a round, light-faced, more careless and more popular form of letters, named by him as _lettres de somme_. To this day, carefully written but disconnected letters, whether upright or inclined, are colloquially known as _print_ letters. The doctrinal which was put in form may have been written in _lettres de forme_. The phrase _getté en molle_ could have been fairly applied to these precise letters, in contradistinction to the more careless shapes of the _lettres de somme_.

[172] Leon de Bubure, in a paper published in the _Bulletins de l’académie royale de Belgique_, 2d series, vol. VIII, No. 11, shows that printing was practised at Antwerp as early as 1417. He submits an extract from the records of the city in which it appears that one Jan the printer publicly acknowledged, August 5th, 1417, that he was indebted to William Tserneels, manufacturer of parchment, in the sum of 2 pounds 12 shillings 4 pence, for which he bound himself and his chattels. It seems that this Jan the printer received a very liberal credit, for there are other acknowledgments of obligations for larger amounts, all incurred in 1417. After this date his name does not again appear on the record.

[173] Van der Meersch, _Imprimeurs Belges et Neèrlandais_, vol. I, p. 92.

[174] Some of the evidences that have been adduced to prove the priority of typographic printing in the Netherlands are really ludicrous. In 1777, Desroches, a member of the Academy of Brussels, published a pamphlet, in which he undertook to prove that the art of printing books was practised in Flanders in the beginning of the fourteenth century. His authority was an old rhymed chronicle of Brabant, written by Nicholas, clerk of the city of Antwerp. In that part of the chronicle which narrated events before 1313, it is stated of one Ludwig, that “He was one of the first who discovered the method of Stamping which is in use to this day.” Desroches construed the word _Stampien_ as printing. But the context shows that this Ludwig was a fiddler, and that he had invented nothing more than a method of beating time by stamping with the foot. In other examples which might be adduced, it is plain that the word translated as printing does not mean printing with ink. This word has been made to serve in notices of embossing, stamping, stenciling and moulding.

[175] Hessel’s translation, as given in _The Haarlem Legend_ of Van der Linde, p. 8.

[176] Van der Linde takes exception to this part of the chronicle. He says that Zell’s knowledge of geography was confused, and that he wrote Holland where he should have written the Netherlands. His reasons for suggesting this correction are, that the manufacture of block-books and the prints of images, and the cultivation of literature and of literary arts, during the first half of the fifteenth century, were in their most flourishing condition in the cities of Bruges, Antwerp, Brussels and Louvain, all of the Southern Netherlands, while they were comparatively neglected in Haarlem, Leyden, Delft and Utrecht, of the Northern Netherlands. At that period Holland had not taken its place as the foremost state of Europe, in its championship of liberty and civilization.

[177] Van der Linde, _Haarlem Legend_, p. 66.

[178] Behold what favor is due to the writing! Compare work with work and examine copy with copy [i. e. notice the uniformity of the letters]. Consider how clearly, how neatly, how handsomely, John Brito, a citizen of Bruges, prints these works, having discovered a very wonderful art, nobody having instructed him, and the very astonishing implements also, not less praiseworthy.

[179] Van Praet says that the word _imprimit_, or printed, was frequently used by the scribes and copyists of that period as the equivalent of _scripsit_, or wrote. It was also used to describe painting by stencils. _Notice sur Colard Mansion_, p. 11.

[180] The same face of types was used by Machlinia of London. It would seem that Veldener was not only working as a printer, but that, even at this date, he was doing business, to some extent, as a manufacturer of types for the trade.

[181] The date usually assigned for the introduction of printing in Cologne is 1466, but some authors suppose, and Hessels and Madden say it is probable, that Ulric Zell began to print there as early as 1462.

[182] We have in this country two remarkable illustrations of attempts to make types by men who had no experience in type-founding. Benjamin Franklin’s experiment is mentioned in the note on page 303. In 1794, Wing and White of Hartford, men entirely ignorant of type-founding, undertook to make type, never having seen a type-mould.

[183] Hessel’s translation as given in the _Haarlem Legend_, p. 50.

[184] The comments of a modern critic on the strange omissions of this positive statement are to the point:

“This forgetfulness of Coornhert has always seemed to me one of the most striking peculiarities of the Haarlem legend. How can it be! Here is a man, very learned, very patriotic, who appreciates the importance of the discovery, who contends with zeal to establish for his country the honor of being the cradle of the greatest of modern inventions. He knows the name, the family name and the family of the inventor, and he does not divulge them to his fellow-citizens! This surpasses belief. And what shall we say of the burgomaster Van Zuren? He writes a special treatise to retrieve the glory of the invention to the honor of the city of which he is a magistrate, but it never occurs to him that he should honor the memory of the inventor—I will not say by a monument of some kind, for that might be demanding altogether too much—but at least by a mention, by some souvenir, by giving his name to some street, or still less, by a simple record in a book. It is not possible to find another example of a forgetfulness so incredible.” C. Ruelens, _Bibliophile Belge_, vol. III, 1868.

[185] Ottley’s translation as quoted in Johnson’s _Typographia_, vol. I, 12.

[186] An attempted play or pun on the Latin _faustus_, happy. But the German printer’s name was not Faust, but Fust. This pun was the origin of the error.

[187] In Junius’s description of the thief, there is a strange confusion of singular and plural. Beginning with the specification of one John as the thief, the story ends with an intimation that there were two thieves. This substitution of _they_ for _he_ is not a typographical error, nor is it a slip of the pen. It seems to have been intended to sustain the insinuation of the complicity of Fust in this theft.

[188] The full title of the book from which this translation was made is _Hadriani Ivnii Hornani, Medici Batavia. In qua præter gentis & insulæ antiquitatem, originem, decora, mores, aliaque, ad eam historiam pertinantia, declaratur quæ fuerit vetus Batavia. Ex. offic. Plantiniana,_ 1588, 4to. Hadrianus Junius was born at Hoorn, in the year 1511. His education, as a boy, was received at a grammar school in Haarlem; as a young man at the university of Louvain. In 1537, with one Martin Costerus, he made a tour in foreign countries. In 1540 he obtained from the university of Bologna the degree of doctor of medicine. Two years afterward he was living in Paris. In 1543 he went to England, and for six years succeeding, he was employed as physician to the duke of Norfolk. Soon after the death of the duke, he published in London a Greek lexicon, which enhanced his reputation as a scholar, but did not mend his fortunes. In 1559 he returned to Haarlem, where he married a lady of wealth. Three years after his marriage he accepted the appointment of tutor to the crown prince of Denmark, but finding finding that the position or the climate was disagreeable, he resigned the office. In 1563 he was appointed town physician, and rector of the Latin grammar school at Haarlem, which appointments he held until 1569. About this period he wrote _Nomenclator_, a lexicon in eight languages, and _Batavia_, a description of Holland. At various times he was formally invited to enter the service of the kings of Hungary, Poland and Denmark. William of Orange sent front Delft for his services as a physican: at a meeting of the deputies from the States, he nominated Junius as the historian of Holland. In 1574 he was made town physican at Middleburg, with a liberal salary and a free living. When Haarlem was captured in 1573 by the Spaniards, the library of Junius was plundered, and many of his manuscripts were destroyed. He took this calamity greatly to heart, and died at Arnemuiden in 1575. Justus Lipsius said he was the most learned Netherlander after Erasmus.

[189] The publication of _Batavia_, the work upon which the fame of Junius rests, seems to have been suggested to William of Orange by Junius himself, who expected to receive from the States a salary for his services as historian. In 1565, the question of salary, first named at 200 pounds of 40 groots, was put to vote. The prudence of the Dutch character is shown in the deliberations of the deputies. Haarlem, Delft, Leyden, and Gouda assented; Dordrecht and Amsterdam requested time for its consideration. Dordrecht afterward consented, but on condition that the money should be paid out of the taxes; that Junius should publish a volume every year; and that he should publish nothing without the approval of the States. In the meantime other States receded from their action, saying that the publication was ill-timed during a period of general distress. After some influences had been used, the States gave a grudging and qualified assent. In 1570, Junius petitioned for the payment of 200 guilders, as he had then finished the first book of the history. The petition was not favorably received, and its consideration was postponed for one year, at which time it was finally decided by the deputies to pay Junius 300 guilders, to prohibit him from publishing the first volume of the book with a dedication to the States, and to release him from all obligation to continue the work. This disparaging treatment of the author prevented the publication of the book with the completeness and at the time Junius had proposed. After his death the manuscripts of _Batavia_ were collected and transcribed by his son Peter, who, with Peter Douza, undertook the publication. The book was published during 1588, from the office of Christopher Plantin, at Antwerp. The selection of a printer in a neighboring city shows that there was then no competent printer at Haarlem. It is another evidence of the indifference of the people of Haarlem toward typography.

[190] He relates not as a legend, but as veritable history, that the virgin Soter, who possessed but three pennies, gave them for the building of a church in Dordrecht. Other three pennies were miraculously and regularly found in her purse, and were as regularly bestowed, until the church was built. He repeats, with simplicity, the story of the eleven thousand virgins of Cologne, who came from England to the now unknown port of Verona in Holland. He says that a certain stone in a church in Leyden was once a loaf of bread, and that the transubstantiation was made by a curse. He formally records the delivery by one Margaret, countess of Hennenberg, of 365 babies—a miracle, writes Van der Linde, “that makes you think of an upset pot of shrimps.” Junius adds that this would be a miracle beyond belief, if it had not been attested by the authority of public monuments . . . . but he accepts the common belief. These examples of the credulousness of the author of _Batavia_ warn us not to accept his criticisms on other traditions. Junius begins his description of printing at Haarlem with a solemn declaration of his intention to tell the truth. The declaration of candor is not needed: what the reader of _Batavia_ does need is, not the protestation of the intention of the author to tell the truth, but some convincing evidence of his ability to distinguish the true from the false. His preface is long, pedantic, and in every way irrelevant, as may be inferred from a glance at the following classical names which he has sprinkled in the first paragraph: Carneades, the Daughter of Time, Democritus, Phœnicians and Egyptians, Cadmus, Athenians, Greeks and Thebans, Cecrops, Philostratus, Linus, Tacitus, Palamedes, Hyginus, Carmenta, Evander, Crassus, Scævola and Plutarch!

[191] In the year 1630, Adrien Rooman, of Haarlem, published a print which contained the engraved representation of a printing office, to which he put the words—“Invented at Haarlem about 1430;”—but “The magistrates and citizens of Haarlem, in everlasting remembrance of the event and the man,” erected a monument in front of the Coster house, with an inscription on it, which fixed the date at 1440.

[192] Lambinet caustically observes that the romance of Junius obeys the dramatic law of unity, in time, place, and hero; the typographic art is invented complete in one day. The vague language of Junius has been used as a proper warrant for a very liberal construction of the date. When Van Lennep objected, in 1823, to the chimerical year of the invention, 1423, fixed upon by a Haarlem committee, the synod enjoined him: “If he will again carefully read the account of Junius, and not forsake, out of his prejudice, all common sense, he will plainly see himself, and be obliged to acknowledge, that Junius said not a single word about the time of the invention.” Van der Linde, _The Haarlem Legend_, p. 68.

[193] There has been much dispute concerning the functions of this keeper. Junius says that this Lourens Janszoon was the keeper of a church; that this keepership was an honorary office which belonged to Coster’s family by hereditary right. The duties of the office seem to have been those of a church trustee. Some writers say that this custos was nothing more than a sexton, but it is of no moment whether custos means sexton or trustee. The care with which Junius introduces evidences of the respectability of Coster’s house and the dignity of his family implies his fear that there might be, on the part of a heedless reader, some doubt concerning the social position of a custos. Nothing is said of the ancestors of Coster. Probably, there was reason for this omission. Coster’s distinction in Haarlem was not that of patrician blood. His wealth was not, so far as we can learn, derived from any inheritance, nor could it have been acquired through the emoluments of a custos, which was an honorary but not a lucrative office. He had been engaged in some occupation which Junius considered derogatory to his dignity. Of this occupation we shall hear more hereafter.