Tagsalumnae/i Andrew Jackson Archbishop Ritter Ben Halliburton Bible Billiken Club bindings canon law Charles Guenther Cotton pamphlets Digital Scriptorium emblems exorcism Ezra Pound facsimiles Firecracker Press George Washington gifts Jesuitica John Waide legend of Troy letterpress library renovations Mary Bruemmer medieval manuscripts Moore Carpenter Recusant History Collection Parks College Pius XII Memorial Library poetry Postcards Prefect Diaries printed ephemera rare book inventory project rare books Roman law SLU history SLU Library Associates Soviet posters students Susan L'Engle teaching collection Verhaegen Walter Ong witchcraft woodcuts
Paper or session proposals are invited for the 43rd Saint Louis Conference on Manuscript Studies, organized by the Vatican Film Library and to be held at Saint Louis University in St. Louis, MO, 14–15 October 2016. The guest speaker will be Madeline H. Caviness (Mary Richardson Professor Emeritus, Tufts University), speaking on Medieval German Law and the Jews: The Sachsenspiegel Picture-Books.
Proposals should address the material aspects of late antique, medieval, or Renaissance manuscripts. Papers are twenty minutes in length and a full session normally consists of three papers. Submissions of papers may address an original topic or one of the session themes already proposed. Submissions of original session themes are welcome from those who wish to be organizers.
Patterns of Exchange: Manifestations of Cross-Cultural Practice and Production in Medieval and Renaissance Hebrew Manuscripts
Every year we try to have a panel that parallels the topic explored by the keynote speaker. To complement Madeline Caviness’s “Medieval German Law and the Jews: The Sachsenspiegel Picture-Books,” we welcome papers that will explore/discuss medieval and Renaissance Hebrew manuscripts that reflect cultural interactions between Christian and Jewish communities in diverse geographical locations.
Manuscripts for Travelers: Directions, Descriptions, and Maps
This session focuses on manuscripts of travel and accounts of places and geographies intended for practical use: perhaps as guidance for a journey; descriptions of topography and marvels, or as travel accounts of pilgrimage, mission, exploration, and commercial or diplomatic expeditions. They could constitute itineraries, guidebooks, narratives, surveys, chorographies, or practical maps such as city plans, local maps, or portolan charts. We invite papers that examine any of these aspects of manuscripts associated with travel, with particular attention to their production, illustration and decoration, use, transmission, or preservation.
Pages with Extended Pedigree: Second-Hand Manuscripts and Their Owners
The names of famous manuscripts come quickly to mind, especially because of their association with wealthy and celebrated figures: the Bedford Hours; the Très Riches Heures of Jean, Duke of Berry; the Bible of Borso d’Este, for example. Less well-known are their subsequent owners, who may have been equally notable but have been eclipsed by the aura surrounding the first. This panel seeks papers that examine the cumulative ownership history of extraordinary manuscripts, before they entered their present holding institutions.
Here is your chance to propose and assemble, or propose and contribute to a panel that speaks to a manuscript theme that you have long been wishing to see explored, or investigated from a particular standpoint. We are open to proposals on all manuscript genres, from any geographical locale, on all aspects of manuscript study: transmission and reception, codicology, local practices of production, collecting, library history, cultural influence, and scholarly use.
Please submit a paper or session title and an abstract of not more than 200 words by 15 March 2016 via our online submission form. Those whose proposals are accepted are reminded that registration fees and travel and accommodation expenses for the conference are the responsibility of speakers and/or their institutions. For more information, contact Erica Lauriello, Library Associate Sr for Special Collections Administration, at 314-977-3090 or email@example.com . Conference information is posted at http://lib.slu.edu/special-collections/programs/conference.
If you have read my previous posts, you may have noticed my slight preoccupation with books not as texts, but as artifacts. I get excited about the physical evidence of how people made and interacted with books in the past, and the greatest excitement of my working hours comes from the discovery of authors’ signatures, bits of laid-in ephemera, and decorative papers so vivid and intricate in their design that it seems hardly possible for them to be centuries old. Old and rare books hold a wealth of information about the time of their production – in their written content, yes, but also in the physical craftsmanship of their papers and bindings.
This is why I – and, more importantly, Saint Louis University Libraries Special Collections – am so pleased to announce the opening of a new exhibit of rare books, The Binder’s Art: Techniques in the History of Decorative Bookbinding, focused on books as physical objects skillfully made and adorned by (often anonymous) craftspeople. The exhibition opens on Wednesday, October 28th with a reception from 3:30 to 5:00 in the Rare Books Reading Room (Room 307 of Pius XII Memorial Library). I will begin the reception with a brief curator’s talk, which will be followed by refreshments and a chance to speak with the local book artists whose work will be on display. This is your chance to explore decorative trends in bookbinding over the centuries, to focus on the book as (art)ifact, and to take a break from reading to enjoy a display of beautiful materials from the SLU Rare Books collection.
We will have a range of European bindings on display, from elaborately tooled leather (popular in the sixteenth century) to decorated cloth publishers’ bindings (first produced in the mid-nineteenth century and continuing in popularity into the twentieth). The books are grouped by binding material and by decorative technique, and each of our displays provides background information on the history and process of each technique. Some featured topics include leather finishing, textile covers, and the use of gold in bookbinding (particularly dazzling – if for nothing else, come to see our examples of edge gauffering). A selection of brightly colored marbled, paste, printed, and Dutch Gilt decorative papers, which are well-represented in our eighteenth-century book collection, will also be on display.
Just as exciting, we have invited some local book artists to attend the opening reception with examples of their own bindings and decorative papers. Bookbinding is a craft alive and well in the Midwest, as the examples of modern bindings laid out in the Rare Books Reading Room will attest. The names and faces of most of the binders whose work is represented in our exhibit have been lost to the passage of time, so this is your opportunity to connect with bookmakers. Our rare books will be on exhibit through March 11, 2016, but this pop-up exhibit of modern binding will only be available during the reception, so don’t miss it!
If you can’t make it next Wednesday, but are interested in bindings, don’t despair – The Binder’s Art is free and open to the public Mondays through Fridays during regular reading room hours (9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.). The books will be on display in Room 307 through March 11, 2016.
We look forward to seeing you soon!
Autumn: “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” – but also of crafts and harvest festivals. Growing up in New England, I placed fall festivities like Old Deerfield Craft Fair and the Eastern States Exposition right up there with Halloween on the list of Major Events of childhood importance. Now, transplanted to the Midwest, I both take comfort in the familiarity of local seasonal festivals and see them as a means to acquaint myself with the region through the distinct output of its creative community. At last month’s St. Louis Small Press Expo, for example, I came across a stunning print of the St. Louis skyline that speaks volumes about the city it depicts. In this image, produced by Westminster Press on Cherokee Street, we see a colorful, urban landscape, modern and undergoing constant improvement (see the construction equipment silhouetted on the right), but defined by its history. Here, references to the past are embodied not only by the symbolism of the Arch or the riverboat in the foreground, but by the artists’ choice of a traditional – and fascinating – form: the woodcut.
Woodcuts – prints made from designs carved along the grain of a block of wood – have been around for centuries, and are well-represented in SLU’s rare books collection. Woodcutting is the oldest method of relief printing, and – like paper-making, printing, and marbling – it originated in the East. The earliest known woodcut, depicting two Buddhist charms, was commissioned in Japan by Empress Shotoku sometime between A.D. 762 and 769, while the first woodcut-illustrated book, the Diamond Sutra, was produced in China in 868. It wasn’t until the fifteenth century – hand-in-hand with the adoption of Gutenberg’s moveable type – that woodcutting became common in Europe. There, the first woodcuts were printed not in books, but as broadsides catering to (somewhat contradictory) popular pastimes: pilgrimage and gambling. Devotional prints flooded the market (the survival of even some of these ephemeral documents attests to their popularity) and hand-colored decks of playing cards became available to wealthier customers. It was in 1460 that woodcuts made their European book debut in the workshop of printer Albrecht Pfister, the first German to send woodblocks through the press with movable type.
Early woodblocks were usually the creative work of two individuals: the artist who drew the design and the carver who transferred it to wood. In Germany, the craftsmen who produced woodblocks were called “Formschneiders,” (“cutters of forms”) and were classed with carpenters in the guild system. These craftsmen did not engage in original artistic expression, but accurately reproduced artists’ work in a widely distributable format, pre-copy machine. This role is made clear in Jost Amman’s 1568 book of trades, where the image (a woodcut) of a Formschneider at work is accompanied by verse that translates, “I cut so well with my knife every line on my blocks, that when they are printed… you see clearly the very lines that the artist has traced, his drawing whether it be coarse or fine reproduced exactly line for line.” This skilled partnership between artist and woodcutter facilitated the duplication and distribution of such great work as Albrecht Dürer’s, and it was only in the nineteenth century, with the rise of the Arts and Crafts Movement, that woodcutting became the work of one person rather than two.
Woodblocks are resilient and take considerable time and skill to craft, so historically, a block was used until it no longer printed a clean image. French woodcutter Papillon used a cut of the Virgin Mary carved in pear wood by his grandfather for ninety years at an estimated rate of 500-600 pulls per year, and only at the end of its life did he note that “the wood looked a little worn” (Bliss 7). Ornamental woodcuts with generalized designs, including decorative initials, printer’s devices, headpieces, and tailpieces, were reused by and even circulated among printers for decades, with the result that their designs don’t always logically complement the text. (Pagan gods, for example, might adorn the initials of a Christian text.) Some thrifty printers even “edited” old woodblocks through a process called “plugging.” The carver would bore a hole through the offensive section of the woodblock, drive in a plug of fresh wood, sand down the surface, and re-carve the newly blank slate. This practice had mixed, often amusing results, as in a 1494 edition of Launcelot du Lac in which a knight wearing a bishop’s mitre was re-carved wearing a crown, but with the pendants of his old hat still hanging down over his shoulders (Bliss 4).
While woodcuts are still used today, they gradually fell out of common use in the eighteenth century as a new form of illustration, wood-engraving, rose in popularity. Wood-engravings, made with gravers rather than knives and carved into the end grain of a piece of wood (a horizontal rather than a vertical section of a tree’s trunk), could be produced more efficiently than woodcuts. The new form enabled artists to instill full-blown illustrations with more sophisticated detail and subtlety of design, and woodcuts were, for the most part, relegated to the sole role of ornamentation.
Today, a variety of materials are available for making prints stylistically similar to early woodcuts. Many vendors offer beginning print-making kits containing the necessary cutting tools (at minimum, a sharp knife and a scrive – a v-shaped tool used to cut a channel in a single stroke), ink, a roller to apply the ink, and a piece of the material into which you will carve your design. Some artists still use blocks of wood, as evidenced by the Westminster Press print pictured above. Linoleum, a softer, more malleable (and thus more forgiving) option, is also widely available. You can purchase plain sheets of linoleum cheaply at your local hardware store, but can also find sections cut to size and pre-mounted on wood blocks at most art supply stores. (Rip up your floor tiles, folks – it’s time to make some art!) Since linoleum is easier to cut than wood, it’s the better option for beginners, and, according to wood-engraver John R. Biggs, offers more “freedom of line” (Biggs 38).
Short of the apples and potatoes you used in kindergarten, however, the least intimidating medium for a novice printmaker is rubber. This is the material I turned to in making my first print (baby steps, people). Rubber offers a soft, springy surface, freeing you to become acquainted with your tools (the same set of tools you will use to cut linoleum or wood) before facing off with a more obstinate canvas for your design. The printmaking process is relatively simple (albeit time consuming): you sketch a design on paper, transfer it to the surface you plan to carve, and cut away the background surrounding the design you want to print. (You can also sketch your design directly on the surface of your block, but this is trickier, as the sketch must be a mirror image of the desired print.) Then, you apply ink to your design with a roller and either lay a piece of paper over the inked block, burnishing it evenly, or flip the block over and press the inked side into a piece of paper. And voilà! You’ve made a print in relief.
… Now all you have to do is sign up for a booth at next fall’s craft fair.
The Knights of Columbus Vatican Film Library announces the opening of the exhibition “Medieval Connections: Linking Body and Mind.”
Whom can you marry? How can you stay healthy? What forces regulate the universe and daily life? How do you express religious, scientific, juridical, philosophical, and familial concepts? Curated by Susan L’Engle, Assistant Director of the Vatican Film Library—with collaboration from graduate research assistants Benjamin Winter, Theology, and Keven Dumke and Benjamin Halliburton, History—this exhibition explores the many interrelationships between ideas and activities that occupied body and mind in the Middle Ages.
To the medieval mind, the body was full of contradictions. Christian doctrine encouraged people to deny their bodies through fasting and abstinence, while some of the central images of Christianity, especially the Eucharist and the Passion, referred to the body as a locus of spiritual feeling. Death and disease were seen as natural phenomena but with supernatural origins; thus the practice of medicine became a blend of reason and superstition. The forces of nature and the universe could also cause changes in human health; the seasons of the year, meteorological events, air and the environment, and the positions of the stars and planets could affect bodily conditions.
In this period of intellectual and spiritual transition, one’s sense of identity was defined by rules of church and secular law, and represented in diagrammatic configurations derived from those used to convey religious and scientific relationships. In this manner, the circular format used to portray the genealogy of Christ was also utilized to present the dynastic history of a noble family such as the Este of Ferrara.
On display are facsimiles of medieval and Renaissance manuscripts that present essays and treatises composed by medieval scholars to describe and explain events and experiences that affected human life—and also to provide guidelines for dealing with them. This information is filtered through various viewpoints: medicine and health; astronomy and astrology; religion and law; philosophy and superstition. The authors of these works also enlisted images to assist in the comprehension of complex concepts and procedures, many of them in the form of schema or charts; others providing explicit visual illustrations. As the Spanish monk Maius (ca. 945) who illustrated an early copy of Beatus of Liébana’s Commentaries on the Apocalypse, explained: “… I have painted in series pictures for the wonderful words of its stories, so that the wise may fear the coming of the future judgment of the world’s end.” In like fashion, the diverse stories interpreted through diagrams and illustrations in this exhibition demonstrate how medieval individuals articulated their understanding of their bodies, their thoughts, and the world around them.
The exhibition is free and open to the public and will be on display through 31 October 2015 in the 2nd floor gallery of Pius XII Memorial Library. For further information, contact Susan L’Engle, Assistant Director of the Vatican Film Library, at 314-977-3084, firstname.lastname@example.org.
Are you attending Friday’s lecture by Ronnie Hsia on “Confucian Christianity” in the Matteo Ricci Speakers Series? Then you will be interested in today’s installment of “Students in the Stacks” by doctoral student Ben Halliburton, in which Ben gives the background on an important Jesuit work in our holdings, the 1687 Confucius Sinarum philosophus.
The examples in history of one culture meeting another for the first time are few, but they come easily to mind. We think of Columbus stepping off the Niña onto the shores of Hispaniola, of Livingstone laying eyes on Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, of Marco Polo traveling a continent to the court of Kublai Khan. These are moments of discovery, but they aren’t the only way that two cultures come into contact. Sometimes it’s more subtle, through the written word.
This book, the Confucius Sinarum philosophus, has a century-long story behind its creation, going back to the arrival of the Society of Jesus in China during the late sixteenth century. When Michele Ruggieri and Matteo Ricci started educating other missionaries on the language and culture of China, they did it through the translation of the Four Books, the foundational texts of Confucianism. At first, these works were chosen because they were part of the civil service examination that dictated the Chinese sociopolitical hierarchy, which the Jesuits sought entry into, but Ricci especially came to see Confucianism also as a philosophical framework, within which Christianity could make itself part of Chinese culture. In the years before his death, he began to encourage more formal translations of Confucian works, in the hopes of producing an authoritative collection for distribution and analysis.
However, after Ricci’s death, the purpose of the translation project quickly changed. Dominican and Franciscan friars, who had begun to arrive in China by the mid-seventeenth century, challenged the Jesuit policy of accommodation and assimilation of Confucian ritual into Christian theology. They argued that Confucianism was superstition among the lower classes and atheism among the upper classes, both of which were antithetical to Christian missionary work. To refute these claims, the translations of the Four Books, well over half a century old by this point, now had to go about proving their own orthodoxy instead. Several promising young Jesuits, among them Philippe Couplet, worked feverishly on the manuscript, which was finally sent to publishers in the Netherlands and Rome in 1670.
As the rites controversy escalated, Couplet made the long and dangerous journey from China to Europe in order to make the case for an expansion of the Jesuit mission. When he arrived in 1684, he found that the manuscript still hadn’t been published. Couplet decided to revise it himself, mostly by removing “digressions” that he found to be too heretical on reflection, and then went looking for someone to publish it. He’d hoped to have it published in Rome by a papal press, as a way of demonstrating its orthodoxy, but that didn’t work out. Instead, he appealed to the French royal court. King Louis XIV had just revoked the Edict of Nantes, restoring his status as “most Catholic” king, and was the next best thing to the pope for Couplet. Luckily for him, Louis was eager to enjoy the prestige that came with having a piece of the Far East with his name on it. He gave Couplet five thousand livres to finish the work and had it published by the Bibliothèque Royale in 1687. And that’s how we get the book in front of us today.
When you open the book, the front page immediately makes you aware of the king’s hand in it. The device on the title page is three fleurs-de-lis, the French royal emblem, after all. An unknown but apparently huge number were printed, all opening with a dedication praising the king of France for his wisdom and generosity. As far as public relations go, it was a victory for Louis.
The content of the Confucius Sinarum philosophus has just as much of an agenda, namely defending its use by the Jesuits, but it isn’t any less impressive for that. The hundred-page introduction presents Confucius as a philosopher somewhere between Cicero and Aristotle in terms of importance, but also with a relationship to the Chinese like Moses for Hebrews and Muhammad for Muslims. Even the biography of Confucius, which mostly repeats the traditional account from the Spring and Autumn Annals, ends with a comparison to St. Paul using pagan Greek philosophy to spread Christianity. You can see how anxious the Jesuits were to defend Confucius as an ally in their missionary efforts.
Still, there are many exciting places in the text where we can see Eastern philosophy and culture being transmitted to the West for the first time. For instance, Couplet explains the basic principles of Taoism, another philosophical and religious tradition in China, in his introduction, including a description of yin, yang, and how they combine to form the eight elements of Chinese cosmology. In the back of the book, there’s even a chronology of the “kings” of China along with a map of East Asia. All in all, it was a complete work that represented the sum knowledge of the hundred years the Jesuits had spent there.
More than anything, the Confucius Sinarum philosophus represents a truly epic clash of cultures, not with swords but with words. For perhaps the first time in the history of Western civilization, the philosophical tradition of one culture was used to provide context and interpretation for the philosophical works of another culture. What’s more, the Jesuits did it in plain and simple Latin that had been refined over a century of work and that could be read by anyone in Europe. In fact, many people did read it, helping to spark what has been called the Sinomania of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. It wasn’t just common people who caught the bug while drinking tea out of porcelain for the first time. It spread even among intellectuals like Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, who developed an obsession with Confucius and the I Ching.
And we have here the work that started it all. If you’re interested in seeing the Confucius Sinarum philosophus for yourself, come visit it right here in Rare Books!
When I was eight years old, I spent hours combing through a clover patch in my parents’ backyard, searching determinedly for an elusive specimen: the four-leafed clover. At length, persistence paid off, and when I ran inside, it was with a lucky clover clasped in my hand. My mother told me that the best way to preserve my find was to press it between the pages of a book and let it dry, so I immediately set off in search of the biggest, heaviest tome in my bookcase. I shut the four-leafed clover firmly in the middle of my children’s illustrated bible before moving on to whatever business next consumed me. Book and clover both were soon after donated to a library book sale, and I never got to see the result of this early attempt at botanical preservation.
After my initial disappointment over losing the clover had passed, I began to imagine some other child flipping through the bible and serendipitously finding my treasure. Working in, borrowing from, and generally frequenting a number of libraries, I myself have made many such discoveries of ephemera, or, as defined by life-long ephemera-hunter Maurice Rickards in The Encyclopedia of Ephemera (yes, there’s a whole encyclopedia devoted to ephemera), “the minor transient documents of everyday life” (Rickards v). In books donated or returned, I’ve uncovered countless improvised bookmarks, from postcards and scrap paper to playbills and family photos. Each tells its own unique, often strange story within the story of the text. Not that the story is always easily deciphered — without a first-person explanation of the original reader’s intentions (which could very well have been nothing more than to mark his place with anything near to hand), we can often only speculate about ephemera’s significance. Sometimes – as with my strangest discovery to date, a pair of women’s underwear sandwiched in a chemistry textbook – its significance is not something I care to consider too deeply. Usually, however, uncovering a relic of past readership feels like a gift from the owner who laid some piece of herself, her time, or her culture into a book. Like annotations, bookplates, and ownership stamps, ephemera can be a reminder of the many human hands an old book has passed through, and give us insight (albeit sometimes fanciful) into how those men and women interacted with a single volume, each one making it their own.
A recent project to process and record the ephemera housed in SLU’s rare books has enabled me to acquaint myself with some of the strangest things in our books. As I processed each piece of ephemera, I began to think of our books not only as texts that can be studied for their intellectual content or as artifacts to be appreciated for their craftsmanship and artistic value, but also as presses, containers, and scrapbooks for preserving the assorted miscellania of life. Our collection, I found, is a veritable curiosity cabinet brimming with information in all media and from all periods. What follows is a mere taste of what I found.
Among the printed ephemera tucked away in our pre-1820 collection is this early-twentieth-century newspaper clipping featuring a photograph of married couple Jean and Inez Bregant. The couple, a pair of little people whose claim to fame (according to this article) was that their adult heights were “seven and forty” and “two and forty” inches respectively, shared a colorful life. They met as vaudeville performers on Coney Island in 1904, opened their own grocery business in Council Bluffs, Iowa in 1912, and became (quite successful) demonstrators for John G. Woodward’s local candy company. This clipping appears to be an advertisement from their sales days, and is one of those rare (and rewarding) pieces of ephemera that serves as a clue to a traceable, documented story.
Another example of printed ephemera is this advertisement for Hall’s Corn Cure. (Remember how Capulet goads his young female guests into dancing during the fateful opening ball of Romeo and Juliet, taunting, “she that makes dainty, she, I’ll swear, hath corns” [Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene V]? Well, in twenty-first century translation, a corn is a painful beast of a callous.) The small brochure, distributed by druggist H.H. Ink of Canton, OH, not only provides an amusing glimpse into past advertising practices (it comprises mainly dramatic testimonials by clients who wax poetic on this miracle cure), but also provides us with a sense of place in the quest to learn more about the book’s past owners.
One of my favorite pieces of printed ephemera, however, is this typewritten note to future readers. The author emphatically beckons to us to “LOOK AT THIS BOOK!!,” and outlines the features that, in his or her opinion, make the volume noteworthy. The letter was written in either 1929 or 1932, when the book was probably still in the main stacks at SLU, and, to me, represents the birth of a bibliophile in our library.
Standing in for the manuscript ephemera in our collection is a letter found in a book about heaven’s court. The writer celebrates celibacy, particularly for women, and includes the line, “Let the ungrateful world sneer at the maiden aunt, but God has a throne burnished for her arrival…” (Austen’s Miss Bates, finally vindicated!). Unlike the other ephemera listed here, this written meditation seems to be inspired by — and naturally connected to — the text.
Some of our most charming examples of ephemera are neither printed nor manuscript, and, in fact, carry no written information at all. Since ours is a predominantly paper collection, these alternative materials tend to stand out. One such example is a simple swatch of patterned fabric. As cloth goes, it is fairly unremarkable, but it retains its original deep-hued colors, and it speaks to me of the life of the reader who folded it into the book. This fabric is a standard cotton print, and I imagine that the bulk of the material was used to make a garment for everyday use. Because day-to-day needlework so often fell to the women of past centuries, I picture the previous owner who handled this swatch as a woman. Women’s stories so often go unspoken in the written record that any scrap of historical textile – the most lasting medium through which everyday women were able to express themselves – seems significant.
Even more evocative of women’s lives and work is this tiny sampler, tucked away in a text for safekeeping. Despite the aging of the fabric, which has browned over time, this small piece of work continues to demonstrate the skill and precision of the girl who began to sew it.
Finally, there are the pressed plants, including this delicate – but astonishingly still intact – bouquet of edelweiss (that snowy alpine flower lifted to fame by Christopher Plummer and co. in The Sound of Music). There are a number of pressed leaves hidden among the pages of our collection, their veins growing lacy with age, but this bouquet, accompanied by a handwritten note about its symbolism, is the most remarkable botanical specimen I’ve found. The care with which the flowers have been picked, bound together, documented, and preserved makes me feel truly connected to the reader who placed them here so tenderly, for I remember how the same impetus to preserve drove my eight-year-old self. Looking at these flowers — and all the other odds and ends of life stashed away in our books here at SLU — I feel glad that that long-ago clover passed prematurely from my hands. I can only hope that it sits patiently within its bible on a child’s bookshelf, waiting to become someone else’s adventitious (and perhaps even lucky) discovery.
Have you ever wondered what’s in the Vatican Film Library? Have you ever held a real medieval manuscript in your hands? Are you mystified by the arcana of paleography and sigillography? Are you a student in search of a dissertation topic, or a faculty member seeking manuscript research advice or curious how to incorporate medieval manuscripts into your class? Come to the VFL’s Open House to find your answers!
29 September, 2pm to 5pm, Pius Library Rm 105
Medieval manuscripts, manuscript facsimiles, and other resources will be on display. See the new exhibition “Italian Manuscripts: Codicology and Decoration.” Learn about our latest digitization projects and collaborations with the Center for Digital Humanities. Come explore, ask questions, and discover new resources. Don’t be wary! Don’t be hesitant! All are welcome!
In addition to its 40,000 medieval and Renaissance manuscripts on microfilm from the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana and other libraries, the VFL has a comprehensive reference collection in manuscript studies, comprising catalogues, repertories, facsimiles, journals, and works on paleography, codicology, illumination, library history, and text editing, as well as other tools that aid the identification and analysis of manuscripts and the works they contain. We also have thousands of incunabula and early printed titles on microfilm and microfiche in collections such as Incunabula: The Printing Revolution and the Bibliotheca Palatina. The VFL’s own collection of medieval manuscripts is now online through Digital Scriptorium and can also be browsed through the VFL LibGuide. With its repertories of sermons and incipits, indices of Middle English prose, dictionaries of medieval Latin, bio-bibliographical guides to authors and commentators from antiquity onward, and more, the VFL is an essential resource for medieval and Renaissance studies.
For further information, contact Erica Lauriello, Library Associate Sr for Special Collections Administration, at 314-977-3090, email@example.com.
The Knights of Columbus Vatican Film Library – part of Special Collections in the Saint Louis University Libraries – announces the opening of the Fall 2015 exhibition “Italian Manuscripts: Codicology and Decoration.”
Curated by Susan L’Engle, Assistant Director of the Vatican Film Library, the exhibit focuses on physical characteristics that distinguish Italian manuscripts from those produced in northern Europe, among them script, decoration, and illumination. The items are displayed in two cases, separated into books produced for sacred and secular use, and are drawn from the VFL’s Teaching Collection of medieval and Renaissance manuscripts.
Among the examples produced for sacred use are two leaves from the famous Llangattock Breviary, a richly illuminated manuscript written in Ferrara, Italy for Leonello d’Este (1407–1450), Duke of Modena and Marchese of Ferrara. In the same case are examples from books of hours, from a hymnal, and a large leaf from a choir book. The case with secular manuscripts includes leaves from a veterinarian’s manual on the cure of equine diseases, and from textbooks of Roman and canon law.
The exhibition is free and open to the public and will be on display Monday through Fridayfrom 9:00 am to 5:00 pm, through 31 January 2016 in the Vatican Film Library of Pius XII Memorial Library (Room 105). For further information, contact Susan L’Engle, Assistant Director of the Vatican Film Library, at 314-977-3084, firstname.lastname@example.org.
Saint Louis University Libraries Special Collections — Rare Books and the Vatican Film Library — houses the rare book and medieval manuscript studies collections of the University Libraries and provides a laboratory for learning and research that enables students, faculty, and visiting scholars to engage directly with unique, rare, and original materials. Visit Special Collections in Pius XII Memorial Library or online or follow our blog.
Our books like to keep many secrets (from centuries-old flowers pressed carefully among their pages to the carcasses of bookworms who gorged to death on words), but among my favorites is their hidden cache of vibrant, marbled papers. The art of marbling, which most likely originated in Japan (read about Japanese marbling, or “suminagashi,” here), but first made its book arts debut in sixteenth-century Persia, has always had an air of mystery. This mystique stems in part from the magical quality of the technique, which (counterintuitively) uses a fluid process to imitate stone. Colorful droplets of paint floated on thickened water are combed into a design that is then applied to fabric or paper laid onto the surface of the water. Manipulation of this “floating ink” (as the Japanese aptly name it) is mesmerizing to watch (seriously — check out this video of the process used to make a nonpareil pattern), but easy to replicate. In fact, the basic process of marbling is so simple that early commercial marblers safeguarded their craft by veiling it in mystery. They kept the ingredients used to treat paper, thicken water, and produce certain effects from the public, and doled out the secrets of the art to new craftsmen only sparingly. Guild masters would teach their apprentices only one or two marbling techniques apiece, enabling them to produce a handful of designs without posing the threat of serious competition in a tight-lipped industry working to produce such high-demand art (Loring 17).
The secrecy surrounding the production of marbled paper also affected its spread from east to west. While it appears to have spread naturally (albeit gradually) from Persia, through Turkey, and into continental Europe by the end of the sixteenth century, its initial foray across the Channel to England was just as clandestine and somewhat underhanded. Duties on imported paper were so high at the time that the first marbled papers acquired by bookbinders were imported under-the-radar as wrapping paper for Dutch toys (Loring 19). (If only Amazon packages came wrapped in marbled paper…)
By the seventeenth century, however, what had been a closely guarded decorative technique unknown outside of Japan and Persia had come into widespread use in Europe, and marbling was used to adorn endpapers, both board and leather book covers, and the edges of text blocks. An array of decorative styles and techniques (all of which are pictured in either this handy style guide from the University of Washington or in Iris Nevins’s book Traditional Marbling) developed regionally before coming into wider use. Some common designs in our collection are Turkish Stone, French Snail, Stormont, French Shell, and Fine-combed (or “Nonpareil”).
The most technically basic marbling design is Turkish Stone, a pebbled pattern achieved by dropping paint on the water and applying it to paper without further manipulation. This technique was popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Variations on the pattern include Stormont and Shell, both of which involve mixing additive into the dye to produce specific effects. Stormont, a design technique of the mid-eighteenth century, uses turpentine, which, when mixed with the body color (the color applied last to the water solution and therefore most prominent on the finished paper), produces a lacy effect. Shell, on the other hand, is achieved when the marbler mixes his dyes with oil. The oil prevents the dye from spreading far across the size (the thickened water), and creates patterns of concentric circles in which the body color nests.
Spanish Marbling is another design that begins as a simple stone pattern. A striped overlay effect is created by rocking the paper gently back and forth as it is laid on the size. (Interestingly, legend has it that the first Spanish Marbled pattern was a mistake, resulting when one marbler jostled the trough of another just as the second was a laying his paper onto the size. I’ll stick with my favorite story, though, which attributes the pattern to a hung-over seventeenth-century craftsman whose shaky hands prevented him from transferring paint cleanly from size to paper [Loring 27].)
The French Snail pattern has been used on endpapers since the mid-seventeenth century, and, browsing through our seventeenth- and eighteenth-century books, its popularity is apparent. “Snails” – small, curled waves drawn at intervals to further embellish another design – crawl across numerous pages in our pre-1820 collection.
Finally, Fine-combed patterns, created when the teeth of a comb are run through a stone design, have been popular since the introduction of marbling into Europe. The earliest designs are in light, whimsical pastels, while older, nineteenth-century revivals of this classic design favor a dark palette of predominantly deep red.
I don’t know about you, but the beauty and vibrancy of these old patterns, combined with the seeming simplicity of the process used to make them, left me with the hankering to try marbling myself. Now that the art is no longer a closely guarded secret, marbling kits for beginners are available in most art supply stores. I found my Jacquard Marbling Kit on Amazon, but you can find a number of options from numerous vendors. The kit contains alum (which, when dissolved in water, is used to treat paper so that paint adheres to it) and carrageenan (or “Irish moss,” a seaweed derivative used to thicken water so that paint floats on its surface), as well as several paint colors. The set-up was as simple as expected: I simply soaked paper in an alum solution, mixed the carrageenan with water, and went crazy with the colors! Clearly, I have a natural talent for marbling. See how closely my pattern mimicked the intended fine-combed design?
Better luck next time, I suppose – and there will definitely be a next time! For now, I invite you to come see some fine examples of marbling in SLU’s collection (there’s so much more than what is pictured here) and, hopefully, to take inspiration for your own marbling adventures.