Produced by MWS, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries.)

Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and ^ precedes
a superscript (x^2).

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

The “Westminster” Series.

THE BOOK

[Illustration: Golden Binding of “The Gospels of Charlemagne,” with
Jewels and Enamels, 11th or 12th Century. [_Frontispiece._]

THE BOOK

  ITS HISTORY AND DEVELOPMENT

  BY CYRIL DAVENPORT, V.D. F.S.A.

  _ILLUSTRATED_

  LONDON
  ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO. LTD.
  10 ORANGE STREET LEICESTER SQUARE W.C.
  1907

  BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS
  LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I. EARLY RECORDS.

  Rock inscriptions--Marks on wood--Quipus--Wampum--Modern
    ideographs--Indian palm-leaf books--Ideographs and
    alphabets--Diptychs                                        _p._ 1

  CHAPTER II. ROLLS, BOOKS AND BOOKBINDINGS.

  Papyrus and vellum rolls--Quaternions--The sewing
    of books--Headbands--The rounding and backing of
    books--Mediæval books--Irish cumdachs--Byzantine
    bindings--Oriental books--Modern methods of sewing and
    binding                                                   _p._ 26

  CHAPTER III. PAPER.

  Paper--Watermarks and quiring                               _p._ 62

  CHAPTER IV. PRINTING.

  Assyrian bricks with printed inscriptions--Oiron
    ware--Chinese types--Block books--Costeriana--Types and
    stereotypes--Printing presses                             _p._ 85

  CHAPTER V. ILLUSTRATIONS.

  Wood engraving--Line
    engraving--Etching--Stipple--Mezzotint--Aquatint--Lithography
    --Photography                                            _p._ 102

  CHAPTER VI. MISCELLANEA.

  Book edges and their decoration--Embroidered books--Cloth
    bindings--Account books--End papers--Small metal-bound
    books--Books bound in tortoiseshell--Chained books--Horn
    books                                                    _p._ 141

  CHAPTER VII. LEATHERS.

  Vellum--Calf--Pig skin--Sheep skin--Goat skin--Seal skin,
    etc.                                                     _p._ 169

  CHAPTER VIII. THE ORNAMENTATION OF LEATHER BOOKBINDINGS
    WITHOUT GOLD.

  Blind tooling and stamping--Panel stamps--Cut
    leather--Stained calf--Cut vellum--Transparent vellum    _p._ 181

  CHAPTER IX. THE ORNAMENTATION OF LEATHER BOOKBINDINGS WITH
    GOLD.

  Gold tooling in leather introduced from the East to
    Venice--Early Italian gold tooled work--The spread of
    gold tooling in Europe--Modern work--Gold tooling in
    leather--Early Venetian gold tooled bindings--The work
    of Thos. Berthelet, John Day, John Gibson, Mary Collet,
    Samuel Mearne, Suckerman, Eliot and Chapman, Roger Payne,
    Richard Wier, Charles Hering, Kalthœber, Staggemeier,
    Walther, Charles Lewis, T. J. Cobden-Sanderson, Sir Edw.
    Sullivan, Douglas Cockerell, E. M. MacColl, S. Prideaux,
    Adams, Woolrich, Etienne Roffet, Geoffrey Tory, Nicholas
    and Clovis Eve, Le Gascon, Florimond Badier, Macé Ruette,
    L. A. Boyet, Padeloup le Jeune, J. le Monnier, Derome le
    Jeune, Capé, Duru, Thouvenin, Bauzonnet, Trautz, Lortic  _p._ 205

  INDEX                                                      _p._ 245

LIST OF PLATES.

  1. GOLDEN BINDING OF “THE GOSPELS OF CHARLEMAGNE,” WITH
      JEWELS AND ENAMELS, 11TH OR 12TH CENTURY. (_See_ p. 54)
                                                       _Frontispiece_

  2. PAGE FROM WILLIAM CASLON’S “SPECIMEN OF PRINTING TYPES.”
      (LONDON, 1766)                                 _To face p._  98

  3. PAGE FROM THE “HYPNEROTOMACHIA POLIPHILI.” (VENICE, 1499)
                                                     _To face p._ 104

  4. PAGE FROM CAXTON’S “MYRROUR OF THE WORLDE.” (LONDON, 1481)
                                                     _To face p._ 108

  5. “THE PEACOCK.” WOOD ENGRAVING BY THOS. BEWICK, FROM THE
      “HISTORY OF BRITISH BIRDS.” (NEWCASTLE, 1797-1804)
                                                     _To face p._ 110

  6. TITLE-PAGE OF GRIMM’S “GERMAN POPULAR STORIES.” (LONDON,
      1824)                                          _To face p._ 124

  7. FRENCH SEVENTEENTH CENTURY BINDING BY LE GASCON. RED
      MOROCCO, INLAID WITH OLIVE AND CITRON MOROCCO AND GOLD
      TOOLED IN THE POINTILLÉ MANNER                 _To face p._ 238

THE BOOK: ITS HISTORY AND DEVELOPMENT.

CHAPTER I. EARLY RECORDS.

  Rock inscriptions--Marks on wood--Quipus--Wampum--Modern
  ideographs--Indian palm leaf books--Ideographs and
  alphabets--Diptychs.

The idea of making records by means of marks cut on stone or wood did
not originate in any one place, for signs of it are found more or less
all over the world wherever primitive man has existed. It was not until
a comparatively late period that the various kinds of record keeping
were unified after a fashion and true writing evolved itself out of the
chaos.

There are some forms of record keeping that have been largely used
by the human race which, as far as we can at present tell, have not
influenced our present form of book except negatively; but indirectly
they may still have done so in some manner that we cannot distinguish.

Mankind is naturally imitative, and among his early efforts in this
direction are the scratchings on bones and antlers. They comprise
outlines of deer, mammoths, reindeer, seals, bears, horses and other
animals. Several instances of these early drawings have been found in
the caves of the Dordogne in France. These, however, are not records,
they are only pictures of what the artist saw, and a large proportion
of rock and stone markings come into the same category. But there is
no doubt that many of the latter are intended to commemorate certain
events; they show groupings of marks, animals and men in positions and
attitudes which are clearly intended to mean something, and now and
then it has been possible to make a good guess at their interpretation.

The earliest marks made by man that still exist are to be found
among the rock markings or carvings, as these are often in protected
places where the weather has not worn them away. Prehistoric caves
and tombs are prolific in such treasures, and the marks, ideographs
or hieroglyphics are always of the greatest interest. There seems to
be some analogy between the great megalithic temples like that on
Salisbury Plain and many of the rock inscriptions, but little is at
present known on this point.

Cup and ring markings on rocks or stones are among the most remarkable
of rock inscriptions because they are not isolated as to their design.
From Ireland to India these marks are found possessing the same radical
forms, and it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that they have been
made by tribes of men who had some thought or idea in common. What this
idea was is still a disputed point among archæologists.

Cup and ring markings are held by some authorities to be astronomical,
sun signs, but these speculations, especially in Scandinavian examples,
soon land us in pure symbolism, ring crosses, swastikas, triskeles and
the rest.

Apart from these, marks are found in the British Isles and in India
particularly through which a dominant idea is clearly present. It seems
likely that some common religious symbolism is really the key to the
mystery, and this belief, disavowed by Sir J. Simpson, is strongly
held by Col. J. H. Rivett-Carnac, as well as by many others. By these
archæologists the cup and ring markings are considered to be the
ideographic expressions of one of the primitive religions of the world
which was very widely spread, and the remains of which exist in India
at the present day.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--Stone cist with ring marks. Found at Coilsford
in Ayrshire.]

But even admitting the possibility of this interpretation, there are
still many points left unexplained. For instance, in the drawing, it
will be seen that the cups with their rings are cunningly attached to
each other, and the whole design appears as if it “means something.” No
doubt some day further light will be thrown upon this curious form of
record.

The Assyrian and Babylonian sculptures both in the round and in
bas-reliefs are commonly covered with cuneiform inscriptions, and
these are also plentifully found inscribed on stone stelæ and bronze
figurines. The famous Rosetta stone is a familiar example of a
tri-lingual inscription that will probably last as long as the world
lasts. It is now in the British Museum, and bears an inscription in
Hieroglyphic, Demotic and Greek. The Greek being understood, it gave at
once the key to the interpretation of the Hieroglyphic. The date of
the cutting of this stone is about the beginning of the second century
before the birth of Christ. An earlier stone of a similar kind is known
as the tablet of Sen; it contains a decree of the priests at Canopus in
honour of Ptolemy Evergetes I. It was made in B.C. 238, but has not yet
got to England.

The ten commandments were engraved on stone, and instances of
inscriptions on small stones are very numerous. From Egypt to North
America amulets bearing mystical sentences have been commonly made.
Familiar to most of us are the turquoises engraved with Arabic words
run in with gold, and the curious “Garuda” and other stones, with
magical inscriptions and credited with magical powers, have been common
in the East from time immemorial.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--Garuda amulet.]

In India inscriptions, holy names, invocations and quotations are cut
on small flat pieces of jasper, agate, onyx, carnelian, amethyst,
hematite, jade, and materials of less value like coral or glass, some
of the old and some new. Musulman amulets of similar kinds are also
sometimes found on gold, silver, iron, and even on small bricks of
baked clay.

Many of these amulets have pierced ears for suspension, and they were
worn as jewellery on the neck or ears or sewn on girdles. They were
also fixed on weapons of war and horse furniture. Some of the stones
are engraved in reverse so as to make impressions. These are seal
stones, but the greater number are engraved simply so as to read
straightforwardly. They are in Arabic, Persian, and rarely Turkish.

Greek and Roman cameos and intaglios are often found bearing short
inscriptions as well as the names of their engravers. Even the diamond
has not escaped, but inscriptions on this stone are very rare because
of the difficulty of engraving it. Numbers of inscriptions, names and
mottoes can be found on ring stones of all times as well as on real
stones.

Curious Chinese books are made of leaves of jade, and in these
inscriptions are cut in the decorative Chinese character, run in with
gold.

It should be noted that the forms of letters have always been much
influenced by the manner in which they could be most easily made. It
is easier to cut a square form of letter on stone than a cursive form,
so we find that the majority of rock or stone inscriptions favour the
square form rather than the rounded form of letter. We derive our
angular forms of letters from the distant past, but the rounded forms
are adapted from the later times of papyrus or vellum, when reed or pen
writing was understood.

Writings on metal have been made from time to time, but never very
largely. In India inscribed plaques of bronze, kept together by
metal rings, have been often used. Tablets of lead are recorded as
having been used by ancient peoples, and Oriental as well as European
talismanic formulæ have been engraved on small plates of silver,
bronze, brass or lead, the letters being now and then damascened with
gold and silver. In ancient Rome name-brands were cut in bronze, and
impressions could have been printed from them. They were beautifully
cut.

The Nicene creed was cut in silver by order of Pope Leo III., and in
the East strips of metal have constantly been substituted for the long
thin pieces of palm leaf which formed the normal books. The metal
leaves are found of gold, silver, or gilded copper particularly. The
plates are quite thin, and the characters upon them are generally
engraved, but sometimes they are chased with tracer and hammer. Such
records are not only very permanent but they are also very decorative.
The modern engraving of inscriptions on metal has mainly found refuge
in monumental brasses, and in this case the letterings are usually run
in with some pigment.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--Runic calendar on bone.]

Another primitive form of record is found in the case of notches cut in
wood. A savage warrior of a literary turn of mind would naturally wish
to keep some record of the number of his enemies that he had killed
and perhaps eaten, and an obvious way of doing this would be to cut or
scratch marks on his war club. Such records would, no doubt, become
customary among war-like tribes. The handles of war axes or spears
would offer excellent ground for such marks, and presently, especially
in peace times, similar marks may well have kept tallies of the numbers
of game killed.

From such personal notes the transition to others of wider interest
is not difficult, and so we find the notches used, on bits of wood or
sticks, for almanacks and calendars.

Ogham and Runic inscriptions follow the ancient idea of notches cut
along an angular edge, and these notches and rods are the very distant
ancestors of our modern types of metal; the German word “Buchstab,”
meaning type, is etymologically “a wooden rod.”

In Denmark and Sweden in ancient times almanacks were cut on flat
pieces of metal, bone, horn, box, fir or oak. The majority of them
are of wood, but the other materials were sometimes used. They are
variously known as Rune staves or stocks, Prime staves, Messe dag
staves or Brim stocks, and they are generally hinged along one side by
cords run through holes, several slabs being thus fastened together.
Wooden calendars are also often found among the records kept by
primitive peoples; they have been found in Sumatra and in many other
places.

Similar almanacks were used by our Saxon ancestors, who no doubt
borrowed the idea from the Scandinavians. One side was kept for the
summer and the other for the winter, and notches for the days were made
across the edges.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--Staffordshire clog almanack.]

During the reign of Queen Elizabeth a modification of the Scandinavian
Rune staves was largely used in England, chiefly in Staffordshire, but
not exclusively. These are known as “clog almanacks,” and Dr. Plott
says that “Clogg may mean Logg, or that they are like the cloggs with
which we restrain our doggs.”

English clog almanacks are squared pieces of wood, measuring from about
two feet to nine or ten inches in length, and the larger ones are
sometimes as much as three inches square. They are notched along the
angles, small notches without ornamentation indicating week days, big
notches stand for Sundays, and Saints days have all kinds of ornamental
flourishes, which now and then show familiar forms such as Saint
Catherine’s wheel and Saint Lawrence’s gridiron.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.--Modern hop-tally of wood.]

Some of the clogs show a hole at the lower end, evidently so that they
could stand upright upon a peg, others, and these are the most usual,
have a flat pierced handle so that they can be suspended by a loop.
They were commonly kept in churches. Details of several well known
examples of clog almanacks will be found figured in _The Reliquary_ for
January, 1865, in illustration of an excellent article on the subject
by Mr. John Harland. Exchequer and other wooden tallies were common
in England in the 14th century, and in modern days a certain survival
of them exists in the form of hop-tallies. These are two strips of
wood which fit closely together with a tongue, and when in contact
notches are made across the two edges in apposition, so that when the
two pieces are apart, neither party can falsify the notches without it
being at once apparent when the slips are finally brought together.
The principle is exactly the same as that utilised in the old legal
“indentures,” by virtue of which a piece of vellum was cut in two
by an indentured, or toothed line, and if these did not exactly fit
whenever they were brought together it became evident that they had
been tampered with. In parts of France tallies like these are still
used by bakers.

Wooden tallies are also found among the inhabitants of Torres Straits,
where they use them made of short sticks tied together at their tops.

Curious inscriptions, as yet undecipherable, have been found at Easter
Island; they are cut in thick slabs of wood and are ideographic.

Bones have been from very early times the recipients of men’s marks;
the earliest of these, however, were only copies of things seen. But
inscriptions and symbols were presently scratched on them, and the
blade bones of buffaloes in North America as well as the shoulder
blades of sheep used by the Arabs are equally convenient for writing
upon. In Sumatra inscriptions are commonly cut in flat pieces of bone.
Instances of inscriptions in ivory are very numerous, and the finest
examples of these occur in the case of the Roman consular diptychs
which are described a little further on.

Information as to direction is still often given by means of marks
or “blazes” on trees, a survival of a primitive method, and American
lumbermen or “loggers” cut hieroglyphic marks of ownership on their
logs when they send them down stream.

In times of trouble it often happens that primitive methods of
communication are resorted to, like that received by a Cavalier from
his lady love who heard that the Roundheads were after him--she sent
him a feather, and he flew away and escaped.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

Such symbolical messages are common enough among savage tribes, but
without some key it is almost impossible to interpret them. They are
so various in their composition that no useful analysis of them can
be made. On one such message from West Africa, strung on a string of
flat fibre knotted at each end, are a bit of shell, a bit of fur, a
bean, a cylindrical stick, a piece of leather, a mass of frog’s eggs
or something like it, a flat piece of bark, a feather, a tooth and a
shell. In another are two pieces of flat glass kept together with red
thread, and two teeth on each side of it, all strung on fibre, and so
on.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

The Battas of Sumatra use different and probably more elaborate
messages, as they consist of carefully cut strips of wood, resembling
the old spillikins with which our childhood’s days were made happy.
These strips of thin wood, about three inches in length, are cut into
various shapes which have no obvious collective meaning. In one of
them is a capital model of a little broom, accompanied apparently by a
series of little clubs and spikes. Such a message might have been sent
by an absent brave to his squaw at home, and may have meant that if
she didn’t sweep up the wigwam before his arrival she would experience
the effect of one or other of the clubs.

The Incas of Peru had a regular system of keeping records by means of
coloured pieces of string knotted in a peculiar way.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.--Peruvian Quipu.]

These knotted records, or Quipus, had special keepers who held office
in the provinces, and the results of their energy were forwarded
annually to the capital city for examination and preservation. The
provincial keepers were called “Quipu Camayas,” and the records they
kept were mainly statistics concerning the people of their districts.
The knots were arranged either on a strong piece of cord or upon a
stick, and formed a sort of fringe; the word “Quipu” means a knot.
According to the position of the knot a certain number was probably
indicated, and the class of person referred to is shown by the colour
of the bit of string which represents it.

But it is also likely that more elaborate interpretations could be
made by skilled interpreters of Quipus. Little is really known as to
that, but it is suggested by competent observers that, for instance,
red meant war, yellow meant gold, white meant peace, and silver. But
this is probably guess work. The same idea has been utilised in the
case of a rare Chinese book, the leaves of which were of differently
coloured silks. Each colour was supposed to convey a certain emotion
to the student, and when he had exhausted the emotion caused by one
colour, he turned over the leaf so as to experience the effect of
another.

[Illustration: FIG. 9.--Cardinal’s hat.]

The use of knots as reminders is not quite obsolete, as it is common
enough even now to make a knot in one’s handkerchief, if anything easy
is to be remembered. It is curious if this custom is really a survival
of the Peruvian Quipu!

A form of knotted record is used among several of the tribes in the
Pacific Islands, and the Jewish “Taleth,” or scarf, has fringes which
imply certain facts.

The ordinary rosary with its ten beads for Ave Maria’s and single ones
for Pater Nosters has also something in common with knots, and possibly
the abacus of the Greeks and the Chinese may have a similar origin. But
probably these last are only used as aids in mathematical calculations.

Something analogous to the Peruvian knots is to be found in the
tasselled and knotted fringes which adorn the ceremonial hats of
dignitaries in the Romish church.

The hats themselves are always of the same shape, round shallow crowns
with broad brims. The fringes, however, differ in size and colour
according to the rank of the wearer. The master cord is drawn through
the brim of the hat at its inner edge, at a point over each ear, and
kept in place by a large ornamental knot on the outside.

The tassels start from one, and from this two others depend, and from
these three, and so on, one more in each row. An abbot wears a black
hat with six green tassels on each side; a bishop wears a green hat
with six green tassels on each side on a gold cord; an archbishop has
a violet hat with ten violet tassels on each side on a gold cord, and
a cardinal has a red hat with fifteen red tassels on a gold cord,
depending on each side.

[Illustration: FIG. 10.--Portion of North American wampum belt.]

The wampum belts of North America were primarily used as money, but
they were also made sometimes in such a way that they formed historical
records.

The true “Six Nation” wampum belts were made of little white and
purple cylinders of shell very laboriously cut, and the purple ones
very difficult to get. “Wampum” means white, and there is generally
a preponderance of this colour. The short beads are strung upon long
threads or strips of leather, and the design shows sometimes in purple
on a white ground and sometimes in white on a purple ground.

The designs are sometimes easy to decipher, like the belt which
typifies the Iroquois League, showing the one heart of the ruling
nation in the centre, and the allied nations, each shown by a square,
united together in one bond.

A very fine and interesting wampum belt was given as a record of
friendship to William Penn at the Great Treaty in 1682, by the Sachems
of the Lenni Lenape. It is now preserved by the Historical Society
at Philadelphia. It is made of eighteen rows of white and purple
cylindrical shell beads, the ground white and the designs in purple.
The beads are laced upon nineteen parallel “horizontal” strips of
leather by means of thinner strips running vertically across them and
brought twice through each bead, one running being above the horizontal
strip and the other below it. It is a curious way of stringing
beads, and was practised in England some sixty or seventy years ago
in the making of small bead ribbons. In the centre of the belt is a
conventional figure of Penn shaking hands with the chief Sachem.

Many of the wampum belts seem to have only geometrical designs upon
them, but doubtless, without exception, these fine white and purple
shell belts, cut with infinite patience and skill, and put together
with the greatest care, always have some meaning. The Iroquois could,
until recently, interpret them at once, but now they are less able to
understand the work of their ancestors.

There are plenty of imitation wampum belts, usually made of small
shells or ordinary beads. The genuine belts are flat and strong, and
the little shell cylinders nearly all of the same size. The imitations
are much more irregularly and carelessly made, and they are often
without any colour but white.

A common form of book in Oriental countries consists of long narrow
strips of palm leaf, kept together by two strings run through holes
near each end. The writing upon the leaves is carried right along the
length of each leaf in successive lines, and is scratched in, and
usually strengthened by means of lamp black rubbed over it so as to
stick in the scratches.

[Illustration: FIG. 11.--Oriental palm-leaf book.]

This form of book rests by itself. Apparently it has never altered
materially, neither has it in any way affected the production of the
book as we know it. The palm leaves are brittle, they are troublesome
to turn over, and are likely to split and break where the cord touches
them. But the leaves are frequently made of stronger materials than
palm leaf, some of them being of gold, silver, or gilded copper, and in
these cases the lettering is engraved or punched. Others are written on
plates of ivory, the letters being gilded, others again on plates of
lacquer with letters inlaid with mother-of-pearl; indeed, the variety
is large.

The leaves are always enclosed between two covers of stronger make
but of the same shape, and these covers are often very elaborately
ornamented. Some of them have exquisite carved work and inlaid work
and others are painted. In the case of Indian examples they are often
messed over with red stains. When this is found the manuscript has
belonged to some shrine, and worshippers have daubed it with rice and
red paint as a sort of peace offering. The strings with which the
leaves are bound together are also sometimes handsomely ornamented.

Ancient rock inscriptions, tallies, quipus and wampums are all more or
less ideographic, and among trade signs there are still many ideographs
in common use, some of them of considerable antiquity. There are the
three golden balls of the pawnbroker, which mean that money can be
borrowed there. They are derived from the coat of arms of the Medici of
Lombardy. The Lombards were mediæval bankers and money lenders, and for
their badge they took three of the golden balls, or pills, out of the
Medici coat.

These balls varied in number and colour, they were sometimes red, and
sometimes blue, and three blue balls upon a white ground was one of the
mediæval signs used by money lenders, but the three golden balls have
proved more lasting.

Another old ideograph is the white barber’s pole, with its red spiral,
the image of the red bandage used to tie up an arm which had just been
bled. It was originally the mark of a barber surgeon, but the barber
still uses it although he no longer bleeds his clients. An old sign for
a barber is also a shaving dish. This is oftener seen on the continent
than it is here.

The embowed arm holding a hammer is an old sign of a gold beater,
and is generally itself gilded. It is clearly an ideograph, as is
also the fishing rod with a golden fish, which is a usual sign over a
fishing tackle maker’s shop. A modern instance of the same kind is a
gilded ham which is not uncommonly seen over provision shops, quite
a modern sign. The rapidly disappearing Highlander taking snuff is
another modern ideograph. There are plenty more of such signs, most of
which tell their story directly and simply, while others, the older
ones particularly, may at first seem arbitrary, but often a little
examination will reveal a simple origin.

The curious hieroglyphics still used by gypsies are no doubt derived
from Egyptian hieroglyphics, and although most of them have changed
considerably, a certain resemblance in some of the forms can still be
traced.

Ideograms are still used in North America in out of the way places. A
common mark for a cheese is a circle, and this sign was found opposite
a farmer’s name, but he had never had one. He did, however, owe for
a grindstone, and the draughtsman clerk had forgotten to put in the
centre dot which would have marked the difference between the stone and
the edible.

In common use more or less all over the civilised world is the pointing
hand, meaning either “Look there” or “This way.”

Some signs are also ideographic in character; among these are certain
of the deaf and dumb signs, and also some of the arm signals used
in the navy. In the army some of the bugle calls imitate as far as
possible the sounds to which they refer. For instance, the “prepare for
cavalry” has some resemblance to horses galloping.

Ideographs used in written languages soon change in character. No
longer do they mean simply what they portray, but the sound of its
name, and then by degrees they represented the first syllable, and
eventually only the first letter of its name. These changes of meaning
are accompanied by changes of form, and it is very curious to trace
how an apparently arbitrary letter form is really only the survival
of the main lines of an ancient ideogram. There are several most
interesting instances of these changes given by Dr. Isaac Taylor in his
classic “History of the Alphabet,” as well as by other writers on the
subject, particularly Sir E. Maunde Thompson and Mr. Falconer Madan.

Egyptian inscriptions show both ideographs, hieroglyphics and
alphabetic signs, as there is usually a word spelt out in syllables
or letters, and at the end of it the complete word shown as a little
picture. The hieroglyphics altered into a style of writing which was
not so pictorial about the nineteenth century B.C., and although
alphabetical symbols were actually used as early as 4,000 B.C., yet it
was very many years later than this that they became of general use.
The earliest piece of hieroglyphic known is cut upon stone on a tablet
now preserved in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. It is supposed to have
been made about 4,000 B.C., and on it the name of King Send is written
alphabetically.

Our present alphabetic writing is by no means final, as it is even
now undergoing a remarkable change, in which neither ideograph,
hieroglyphic, nor alphabet plays any part. Shorthand will in time
supersede our comparatively cumbrous process, and it is purely phonetic.

Chinese writing is still in the syllabic state, but the Japanese, which
is formed from it, has advanced many steps towards the alphabetical
stage.

The earliest handwriting known is that on the Papyrus Prisse, now in
Paris. It is in Egyptian hieratic writing, and is supposed to date
perhaps from about 4,000 B.C. The hieratic is a cursive form of
hieroglyphic, and was used particularly by priests.

We derive our present letters “longo intervallo” from Egyptian
hieroglyphics, and the history of their evolution is full of interest.

It may be well here to review rapidly how it is that we have acquired
an alphabet for printing purposes which is clear, though not beautiful.
Our present type shows two alphabets; one, the capital letters, are of
Roman origin, the other, the small letters, are a modification of what
are called Carolingian minuscules, and both alphabets have reached us
through the Latin, Greek, Phœnician and Semitic.

Up to the seventh or eighth centuries in Europe the various styles of
writing were in a mixed condition, but about that time the different
forms of letters began to arrange themselves, and to follow distinctive
lines of development in different countries.

Charlemagne interested himself in the matter, and saw that the time
had arrived when something could be done towards clearing away the
many difficulties which cropped up by reason of the different forms of
letters which then existed. He caused careful studies to be made of
existing styles so that some sort of common ground could be found. At
Tours the Emperor set up a sort of Royal Commission to enquire into the
matter, and at the head of it he placed a learned Englishman, Alcuin of
York, who was known as a great student and was himself a calligraphist.
Alcuin was trained in the beautiful Hiberno-Saxon hand, of which so
many magnificent examples still remain--the Book of Kells, the Gospels
of Lindisfarne, and several more.

At Tours the Carolingian minuscules, which are the direct ancestors of
our small, or lower-case letters, were developed.

Our capital letters have developed themselves on different lines. They
are like the ancient Roman types, which in the twelfth century had
modified themselves somewhat and become very clear, and these forms
commended themselves to the scribes of the Renaissance period, and
underwent still more improvement in details. The early type cutters who
formed their letters directly after the shapes of letters written by
hand, soon saw that these capitals were not only easy to cut but were
in every way the best they could find to copy.

[Illustration: FIG. 12.--Roman diptych.]

During some excavations at Pompeii in 1875 a large collection of small
wax writing tablets or Pugillaria was found. These tablets resemble
small slates; they are of wood, and one side is slightly hollowed
out so as to receive a filling of blackened wax. Generally two of
the tablets were hinged together, hence their name of diptychs, but
sometimes they were in threes or even more, like a tail or “Caudex,”
from which it is said we derive our word Codex. Diptychs are the direct
prototypes of our modern books.

The writing was marked on the wax by means of a style in the same way
that writing was formerly done in England on the curious sand tables.
These styles are usually of iron, sometimes inlaid with brass, but they
were also made of bronze, brass, wood or bone. They always have one
end pointed to write with and the other flat to erase with. A space was
often left in the thickness of the wooden edge of a diptych to keep
the style in. The erasing in the case of the diptych was effected by
rubbing the flat end of the style over it, and in the case of the sand
writing-tablet by a plasterer’s level or a good shake. Sand tablets
have been used up to quite recent times in elementary schools. But
the sand writing was always temporary, whereas the wax writing is
very lasting, one of those found at Pompeii bearing the date A.D. 55.
It records a payment to Umbricia Januaria, and is the earliest Latin
manuscript known.

[Illustration: FIG. 13.--Roman diptych stylus.]

Diptychs of similar form were widely used. They have been found in
Egypt, and in England--remains of the Roman occupation--together with
numbers of the styles used for writing with.

Diptychs were kept together at the back by means of metal rings or
thongs of leather, run through holes made in the wood, so that they
are true prototypes of our modern books both as to form and manner
of keeping together, the “stabbed” form of binding, that is to say,
threads or bands or wires run through holes pierced along the back edge
of the sections of a book, having been in continual use ever since
rolls were first turned into books.

When the diptychs were used as private letters they were further
fastened with a tie or clasp in front, and this tie was often sealed
with the sender’s signet in wax or clay.

The Pompeian and all the other small wooden diptychs are unornamented,
but at a later period, particularly from the second to the seventh
century, Roman diptychs became of much importance and were often
decoratively treated, being made of ivory and elaborately carved.

Labarte, Gori, Westwood and Maskell have all written valuable works
concerning these ornamental diptychs, and specimens of more or less
excellence can be found in most museums that have any collection of
carvings in ivory. The earlier examples are the best; later specimens
rapidly decline in art value, although they are always of great
historical interest.

[Illustration: FIG. 14.--Byzantine diptych of ivory.]

One leaf of one of the finest diptychs in existence is fortunately in
the British Museum; it shows a full-length figure of an archangel with
globe, cross and long-staff, and is supposed to have been made in the
third or fourth century. A curious point about this leaf is its unusual
size, about 16 by 6 inches, and it is said that such a piece could not
be cut from any known elephant tusk. It is possibly mammoth ivory.

For a long time the supreme power at Rome was vested in the consuls
who held office for one year. Naturally anyone elected to this high
position was anxious to inform everyone holding any high place or
office of his accession to the dignity, and the usual way of doing
this was to send round diptychs of ivory announcing the event, as well
as subsequent ones concerning any other important matters which might
occur during the consulate.

[Illustration: FIG. 15.--Ivory diptych, of the consul Valentinian, A.D.
380.]

Not only was the communication inscribed upon the wax, all of which is
now gone, but the outside ivory was carved with invaluable portraits,
scenes and inscriptions. By examining these carvings we can frequently
ascertain who was the consul that issued them, and often enough we can
find his portrait carefully drawn. In one of the many excavations made
in the Forum at Rome, tablets containing a list of Roman consuls were
found, and these serve as an official check upon our interpretation of
the records existing upon the consular diptychs.

Consular diptychs were generally larger than the wooden pugillaria,
which were always small. Ivory diptychs are rarely less than six or
seven inches in length.

The privilege of giving away finely carved ivory diptychs was highly
esteemed, and in the fourth century the Emperor Theodosius issued an
edict forbidding any but one of the two consuls, one at Rome and the
other at Constantinople, to issue them.

In the matter of consular and official costume the Roman carved ivory
diptychs are of great importance.

Figures often appear on coins or gems, but they are always very small.
On the diptychs, however, they are sufficiently large to show full
details. The subjects depicted on them are various. There are games,
combats in the circus, scenes from the Passion, boys emptying sacks of
prizes, figures of Saints, Adam and Eve, busts and portraits of consuls
both in medallions and full length. The best collections of consular
diptychs are to be found at Rome, Milan, Monza, Paris, Munich, Berlin,
Liverpool and London.

Besides the consular there are also ecclesiastical diptychs, the
majority of which were probably only diverted from their original
intention and altered and adapted to a new use. The original wax was
removed and new inscriptions engraved on the ivory, mostly lists of
martyrs or benefactors to the particular church which had possession of
the diptych.

There is one at Liège on which the names of the bishops of Tongres are
written, and there is another similar one at Novara. It is probable
that the liking for ivory carvings on books arose from the lead given
by the ivory diptychs. Indeed in several instances the sides of ivory
diptychs are actually inlaid in late bindings of MSS.

WORKS TO CONSULT.

AGLIO, A.--Antiquities of Mexico. _London_, 1830-48. (Vol. 4, at end.)
(Quipus.)

BERGER.--Histoire de l’ecriture dans l’antiquité. _Paris_, 1891.

GORI, A. F.--Thesaurus reterum diptychorum consularium et
ecclesiasticorum. _Florentiae_, 1759.

HARLAND, J.--_The Reliquary_, Jan., 1865. (Clog almanacks.)

LABARTE, J.--Histoire des Arts Industrielles au moyen age. (Diptychs.)
_Paris_, 1864-66.

LACROIX, P.--Les arts au moyen age. (Diptychs.) _Paris_, 1809.

LUBBOCK, SIR J.--Prehistoric Times. _London_, 1865.

MADAN, F.--Books in Manuscript. _London_, 1893.

MASKELL, W.--Ivories Ancient and Mediæval. _London_, 1875.

MASKELL, A.--Ivories. _London_, 1904.

PLOTT, R.--Natural History of Staffordshire. (Clog almanacks.)
_Oxford_, 1686.

PRESCOTT, W. H.--History of the Conquest of Peru. (Quipus.) _London._

REINAUD.--(Description des monumens Musulmanes du cabinet de M. le Duc
de Blacas.) (Indian amulets.) _Paris_, 1828.

RIVETT-CARNAC, J. H.--Prehistoric Remains in Central India. _Calcutta._

RIVETT-CARNAC, J. H.--Ancient Rock Sculptures in Kamaon. _Calcutta_,
1877.

SIMPSON, SIR J. Y.--Archaic Sculpturings. _Edinburgh_, 1867.

SMITHSONIAN REPORT, 1879, p. 389. (Wampum.)

TAVERNIER, J. B.--Voyages. _Paris_, 1810.

TAYLOR, I.--The Alphabet. _London_, 1883.

THOMPSON, SIR E. M.--Handbook of Greek and Roman Palæography. _London_,
1893.

WESTWOOD, J. O.--Cat. of Fictile Ivories. _London_, 1876.

CHAPTER II. ROLLS, BOOKS AND BOOKBINDINGS.

  Rolls of papyrus and vellum--Quaternions--The sewing of
  books--Headbands--The rounding and backing of books--Mediæval
  books--Irish cumdachs--Byzantine bindings--Oriental books--Modern
  methods of sewing and binding.

The length of ancient rolls of vellum has often puzzled bibliophiles.
Rolls of narrow breadth are found 16 or 17 feet or more in length. A
learned scholar on being asked how he accounted for this extraordinary
length was quite puzzled, never having realised that the roll was in
one piece. The neck of the giraffe seemed the only possible solution.

[Illustration: FIG. 16.--Egyptian papyrus roll, with mud seals.]

The writer however consulted a clever leather worker and gave him a
skin measuring about 3 feet by 2, suggesting certain ways of cutting
it. He produced eventually, by wetting, pulling and pinning, a
beautiful roll of nearly 4 inches in breadth and 16 feet 9 inches in
length.

Mediæval leather workers were no doubt more skilled and practised in
this particular art than anyone now is, and the experiment showed that
there is really nothing out of the way in the very long rolls which at
first sight seem so surprising.

Rolls were written upon in three ways. In the oldest rolls the usual
way was to write lines across the breadth of the roll, which was held
upright before the reader, and unrolled from the top downwards.

[Illustration: FIG. 17.--Roll written upon across its shorter diameter.]

A rare form of writing upon rolls is that found in the prayers written
on the strips which are rolled up inside Buddhist prayer wheels. Such
prayers, however, are never read, but are counted as being read through
on each revolution of the wheel. Each line of manuscript runs along
the entire length of the roll, which is unrolled sideways. The prayer
wheels vary immensely in size, the best known being the little hand
ones chiefly used in Thibet; they are variously ornamented.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--Roll written upon longitudinally.]

The form of writing in rolls that is of most interest so far as books
is concerned is a modification of the Thibetan form. Instead of each
line running the whole length of the roll, a space limit is now fixed,
and the lines of writing follow under each other, so that the page form
is at once apparent. This form, a late one, can be seen in the case of
the Jewish scrolls of the law. The roll is unrolled sideways, and the
rollers at each end are often very handsomely decorated.

[Illustration: FIG. 19.--Thibetan prayer wheel.]

But writing of this last kind on rolls has suggested another
arrangement in which the reading is more easy, and the re-rolling of
the roll itself avoided.

It will be seen that a blank space is left between each of the written
“pages.” Now if the vellum, bark, or paper be folded across these
vacant spaces, one after the other, backwards and forwards, like
accordion pleating, we shall find that we get a form of book well known
in the East and also among primitive nations.

[Illustration: FIG. 20.--Roll written upon in page form.]

Curious examples of such converted rolls can be seen in most museums,
and they are generally kept flat by means of two boards front and back,
but not otherwise fastened.

The Chinese and Japanese have taken this particular form of evolution
from the roll to the book a step further, and by help of the ancient
device of “stabbing” the flattened roll along one of its sides, they
produce a form called an “Orihon,” easy to consult, strong, and the
blank back of the roll so hidden up that its existence is frequently
not realised. But if some of the leaves of an Orihon are cut, its real
structure becomes at once evident, and a book will be produced with
letterpress and blank paper alternately in pairs. A similar kind of
alternation shows now and then in the case of MS. rolls that have been
cut up, but they are oftener arranged letterpress and blank alternately.

[Illustration: FIG. 21.--Sumatran bark book in the form of a folded
roll.]

[Illustration: FIG. 22.--Orihon.]

Without realising it we still preserve this blank and letterpress
sequence, found in the converted roll, in official and legal
manuscripts as well as in those intended for the printer.

When the printing press took the place of the scribe, the blank leaves
had no further _raison d’être_, so they dropped out for good.

Following the rule that the forms of binding have always followed
tolerably closely the forms of the manuscript they have covered, we
find that rolls were kept in cylindrical boxes, called “scrinia.” Each
roll was usually provided with a little tag, so that if there were
several of them in one box they could easily be distinguished. The same
sort of tags are used to-day in the case of rolled maps kept on shelves.

Until a late period the term parchment must be understood to mean
vellum. Now we call sheep skin “parchment” and calf skin “vellum,” and
they are prepared in the same way with lime, so that not being tanned
they are not strictly “leather.” The finest vellum is prepared from
the very youngest and smallest calves, and it is the most beautiful
and suitable material for writing or printing upon that has ever
yet been found. The surface is singularly even and offers little or
no resistance to a pen, so that every sort of handwriting, square or
round, is put upon it with equal ease. Vellum has one fault alone,
particularly when bound in book form as distinct from a roll, and this
is that the edges are apt to cockle, and by so doing they not only make
the pages look ugly, but they also admit the dust. Often and often
magnificent vellum books, especially at the top, show large vandykes
of dust-stained spaces due to this cockling, and all such books should
be provided with a close fitting cardboard cap, to be kept upon them
whenever they are not in use.

Parchment and vellum were both well-known to the ancients, but their
value as materials for writing upon does not seem to have been fully
acknowledged until the second century B.C., until which period papyrus
had held undisputed pre-eminence for that purpose. At that time for
some reason the supply of papyrus from Egypt ran short, and Eumenes
II., King of Pergamum, successfully introduced parchment in its stead.
Parchment is so called because it was first produced at Pergamum.

Until about the fifth century A.D., vellum MSS. were in the roll form,
but then came a change to the book form as we now know it. This change
was probably due to the fact that stabbed binding, the only sort then
used, was not suited to vellum. The few papyri that exist in book
form were stabbed, that is to say, the rectangular pages were kept
in position by a binding cord laced through holes pierced sideways
right through the entire thickness of the back of the book. The marks
of these holes can often be seen along the inner margins of ancient
papyri, and they also show in many instances of rebound copies of our
early English printed books. To-day plenty of examples of this form of
sewing can be seen in the Chinese and Japanese books, “Orihons,” which
are really links between the roll and the book form. It is also largely
used for thin books of little value, and a modification of it can be
seen in numbers of magazines, books of advertisements, and the like,
which are kept together by abominable little clamps of wire attached
on the same principle. When such books have to be properly bound the
little clamps have to be carefully removed, and it is generally found
that they have made an indelible stain of rust on the paper, even if
they have not also torn it considerably.

[Illustration: FIG. 23.--Stabbed binding.]

In mediæval libraries or monasteries when a book was to be made,
vellum leaves were cut into the required size and folded once across
the middle. The folded leaves were then fitted inside each other in
groups of four (quaternions) or five (quinternions), or whatever other
number seemed good to the bookmaker. The leaves were then marked in
some slight way so that their order might not be lost, and sent to the
scribe to be written upon.

The books count as folios because each original sheet only forms two
pages; the fact of their being arranged in groups is accidental,
and does not theoretically alter the size of the book. For this the
original skin of vellum would have to be folded with certain further
divisions, and in the case of early manuscripts this was never done.

Vellum shows a different surface on the flesh side to that on the hair
side, and the scribe usually made his rule marks with a blunt style
to guide his writing on the hair side, so that on this side the ruled
lines are slightly indented, whereas on the flesh side they show as
little ridges.

This point is apparently trivial, but if, as seems likely, both Greek
and Latin scribes were really very particular and consistent in the way
they alternated the two sides of the vellum, then the matter becomes
one of much critical importance. Indeed, it has already been of the
utmost value in deciding questions as to whether new pages had been
added or not to an old book.

[Illustration: FIG. 24.--Quaternion threaded together.]

When the scribe had made his rulings he then doubled up his sheets
once, and arranged them as he desired with regard to the hair or flesh
sides. When a section of four sheets were fitted into each other,
so that when pressed together they made a solid gathering, such a
gathering is called a “Quaternion,” from which term we derive our word
“Quire.” This is a normal state of things, but it is obvious that
abnormal arrangements might easily be made, from the insertion of a
single leaf to that of an entirely additional section.

Now the question arose of how best to fasten the quaternions together,
not only as to themselves but also as to the other quaternions, which
together formed the entire book.

As to the quaternion itself, it must have been evident at once that
a stitch of thread or fibre run from the innermost fold right through
to the outermost would hold the leaves firmly together. It is likely
enough that this was done separately at first, and then the binder
would have looked at a small heap of such gatherings wondering how best
to keep them together, and it would soon occur to any constructive
mind to knot the loose ends of the threads together, or else to supply
a supplementary cord or cords laid at right angles to the back of the
sections on which the projecting ends of the threads might be tied or
sewn.

[Illustration: FIG. 25.--Four threaded quaternions ready to be tied
together.]

[Illustration: FIG. 26.--Four threaded quaternions tied on to
transverse bands.]

This, in fact, was done, and very shortly the best way of fastening the
sections on to such cords or threads was hit upon--a method indeed that
we have never bettered, and which can still be found in the work of
many of our best modern binders.

At first this fastening together of the sections of a book was no doubt
done uncomfortably and roughly by hand, but it soon became evident
that some simple device in the form of a skeleton frame might be
contrived which would render the operations of sewing and binding much
easier. Not only easier to execute but also giving a more regular and
workmanlike result.

The earliest known sewing frames were the same as are used now. There
are two strong columns of wood fixed on a broad platform, with a slot
between their bases. From capital to capital extends a bar, and the
strips of leather, vellum, or hempen cords which are to form the bands
of the book are looped upon it, and are kept taut by means of metal
keys attached to the other end, which lock into the slot at the bottom.
The bands can be quite easily adjusted to any space the worker desires.

[Illustration: FIG. 27.--Modern hand-sewing press.]

The book, ready for sewing and in proper order of sections, is laid
near the worker’s hand, and he, or she, takes it up by sections, one at
a time. The section to be worked upon is laid downwards on the little
platform, with its back close against the bands, and the worker’s left
hand keeps the section open in the middle, while with the right hand a
thread is drawn through the back fold, from the inside to the outside,
round the band, and then back from the outside to the inside, and so
on until all the bands have been caught round. Then to end up, the
thread is passed through near the extreme end of the fold and knotted,
forming what is called a “kettle stitch,” and from this point the whole
operation is repeated, backwards, with the next section. It sounds
complicated, but is not so really, and several sections could have been
sewn together in the time that it has taken me to describe the sewing
of one of them.

[Illustration: FIG. 28.--Faulty sewing over a band.]

Now comes an interesting point, and that is the exact way in which the
threads are passed over the bands. We will first see that if the thread
is drawn through the back fold of the section, round a hand and back
again through another hole, that there is a weak construction, inasmuch
as the thread will have a strong tendency to cut through the paper at
_a_ and _b_, because there is in each case a side strain. It therefore
seemed necessary that the thread should make its return journey by the
same hole through which it emerged, but if simply done, this did not
mend matters much, as the strain still tended to pull this hole open
wider. A line of exit and entrance without any side pull was needed,
and this was found by means of a very clever device. A broad band of
leather or vellum was cut through lengthways, leaving a solid piece at
each end.

[Illustration: FIG. 29.--Mediæval sewing round double band.]

Now when the sewer came to this band he ran the thread straight through
the slot, then brought it round the entire band, under it, between it
and the back of the book, and down again, back through the slot, and
in at the same point from which it emerged. The result of this is that
there is no strain at all on the needle hole through which the thread
passes, as the pull is quite straight both coming and going. This is
undoubtedly the best form of sewing a book on bands, and a book so
treated is said to be sewn on “double bands.” But our recent work is
not always true, although from the outside it appears correct, because
in numbers of cases such double bands are simply glued on the outside
of the back, the real sewing, of a very inferior kind, possibly even
done by machinery, being hidden underneath the leather. Few great
binders except Charles Lewis have ever used sham bands.

Flexible sewn books can be had now if wanted, but the sewing on the
bands is not quite the same as the fine mediæval double bands I have
described. It is, however, practically nearly as good, and the bands
themselves can be made smaller.

[Illustration: FIG. 30.--Modern sewing round single band.]

The modern method is to bring the needle and thread through the back
of the section as usual, then give it one turn onwards over the band
and back again through the same hole. It will be seen that this is a
thoroughly sound principle, and brings no strain upon the back of the
section.

The ends of the bands of limp vellum books have always been treated in
the same way; they are drawn straight through the vellum at the joint
and then back again and fastened inside by means of the end paper.

The manner of drawing the bands of a “limp” vellum bound book through
the limp vellum cover is of much interest, and it survives in many
instances where boards are used.

In principle it is the same process as is described further on with
regard to boarded books, but in the case of the limp vellum bindings
the ends of the bands are normally visible for a short length, but in
the case of boarded books they are always covered up with the exception
of some vellum-covered boarded books in which the limp vellum
peculiarity is preserved.

Another small point of interest about the old limp vellum bindings is
that the head and tail bands are made of the same sort of thin vellum
strip as the main bands and carefully drawn diagonally through the
vellum at the corners and fastened inside. Dealt with in this way the
head band becomes of real structural value, much of which is lost if it
is cut off short as is done in the large majority of cases.

William Morris liked limp vellum bindings and often used them, but
without head bands. Instead of the short strips of vellum used for
bands in old books Morris used specially prepared silk tapes, and
brought them through the vellum at the joint in the old-fashioned way.
Instead of being cut short and pasted down as the old limp vellum
bands were, Morris continued his tapes and brought them out again near
the front edge of the vellum, where they could be tied. This is an
excellent arrangement and keeps such a book together in an admirable
and effective way.

Vellum bindings required flat backs because the material would not
yield sufficiently to be tucked round the projecting bands of a normal
flexible bound book, in which the leather back is firmly fixed over the
bands. Nevertheless in several instances old vellum books, in boards,
which have been sewn on raised bands show traces of these bands in low
relief across the back. In such cases it is common to find that some
padding has been put in the spaces between the bands so as to level
the back up. Books treated in this way are usually stiff to open and
uncomfortable to consult.

The flat back, which was necessary for the same reason in the case
of books bound at a later date in velvet, cloth, silk or canvas,
necessitated some modification of the thick projecting bands of the
ordinary book, and the requisite flatness was attained by using strips
of vellum or tape instead of cords of hemp. Then it was found that it
was not necessary to fasten the back of the cover to the back of the
sections, so the “hollow back” came into existence.

[Illustration: FIG. 31.--Book bound with “open” or “hollow” back, and
modern headband, cut off at each end.]

The majority of modern books are bound with hollow backs; it can be
recognised by opening a book to the full and seeing if the back is
separate, and it has one real virtue as well as several vices. If a
book should happen to be printed too far back, a hollow back binding
will enable it to “throw up,” and show the printing right down to the
inner edge of the paper, whereas a flexible binding always tends to
open less freely, especially in the middle.

For books that are likely to be much used hollow backs are unadvisable
as they are sooner worn out, but for small light books there is no
doubt much to be said in their favour.

[Illustration: FIG. 32.--Back of book prepared with cut trenches to
hold the bands.]

Among English binders of note I think Charles Lewis was the first to
use hollow backs extensively. But for fine books there is no doubt that
the old-fashioned flexible sewing on raised bands is the best in the
long run. Books bound with hollow backs often have the bands “sawn in,”
that is to say, a trench is cut for each band across the back of the
sections. In these trenches the bands are laid, and the sewing is of a
simpler and quicker sort than it is when the thread is brought round
each band as it is in the flexible style. Moreover, there is a weak
point where the thread touches the edge of the saw cut, and at this
place the paper is always apt to give. It is obvious that to cut away
paper from the back of a section must always be not only a barbarism
but also structurally wrong. Such a method of sewing a book can only
be excused on the score of cheapness, and it may be urged that in this
case it does not matter.

Towards the end of the fifteenth century it was found that the extreme
tops and bottoms of the backs of the sections of bound books not only
looked untidy and unfinished, but also that they tended to gape, in
fact they were weak points both structurally and artistically. When it
was once realised it was soon rectified, and a small additional band
was made of a strip of leather or vellum, to fit along the outer edge
of the top and bottom at the back. This slip was then sewn on by means
of thread and button-hole stitching, being caught in at intervals by a
long stitch drawn through the centre of one or other of the sections
of the book. The loose ends of the headband itself were drawn in to
the boards, forming in fact an additional band. The headband is a
point in the forwarding of a book which has not received much notice
as yet, but it is of some importance, as there is no doubt that much
attention has been paid by binders to the ornamentation of headbands
from mediæval times until now, and it is the first point in the binding
of a book in which ornament is considered.

[Illustration: FIG. 33.--French sixteenth century headband.]

[Illustration: FIG. 34.--Italian fifteenth century headband.]

[Illustration: FIG. 35.--German fifteenth century headband.]

[Illustration: FIG. 36.--English seventeenth century headband.]

[Illustration: FIG. 37.--English eighteenth century headband, by Roger
Payne.]

[Illustration: FIG. 38.--English nineteenth century headband, by
Charles Lewis.]

Some of the early headbands are sewn over with strips of soft leather,
and at a later time they are cut in distinctive ways, flat or round,
and sewn over with silks of particular colours or combinations of
colours.

Of late years the vice of cutting off the ends of the headband has
come into being; these ends ought to be drawn properly into the boards,
as Mr. Douglas Cockerell has indeed done for me in several instances.
But no words can adequately condemn the miserable ready-made coloured
slips which are often found simply _stuck on_ in the proper place.

[Illustration: FIG. 39.--What a book may do if the back is not properly
rounded.]

Vellum books were the first to be properly bound. The papyri which were
stabbed are so rare that they may be passed by. As I have already said,
vellum is apt to be curly; for this reason the boards used for binding
in early days were made of thick wood, the heaviness of which, even
when unaided by clasps, tended to keep the vellum flat.

[Illustration: FIG. 40.--Book with flat back.]

Beech wood was largely used for these old covers, and from the German
word “Buch,” meaning beech, we derive our word “book.” Beechen boards
were light, decorative, and very carefully dried and seasoned. It is
remarkable how flat such old boards are, and they were no doubt very
highly valued as they often have upon them the stamp of the monastery
in which they were used.

The edges of the boards are sometimes bevelled, from the upper side in
English or French books, and from the under side in German books--but
such a distinction must not be taken as invariable. Boards often show
signs of having been used more than once, and it is rarely that any
decoration shows on the wood. In a few cases of German books may be
found outline drawings of an heraldic nature.

[Illustration: FIG. 41.--Book with flat back falling in.]

The first bound books were made with flat backs, and the boards fitted
close upon the outer sheets of vellum, papyrus or paper. In this
formation, however, it was found that there was a strong liability for
the back to fall in and the foredge to project outwards.

As early as the fifteenth century, in the case of printed books on
paper, this fault of the back falling in led some few binders to
neutralise it by giving the back of the book a rounded form by means
of hammering, and this quite prevented the falling in of the back. The
exact extent of the rounding can easily be seen by looking at the front
edge of a book, because the curves of the back and front correspond.
The boards, however, remained in their first position, flat on the
outer sheets.

[Illustration: FIG. 42.--Book with rounded back.]

But another trouble was apparent in both these cases, namely, that
when such books were opened, the joint between the boards and the back
showed a tendency to pull up the few pages next adjacent. In time these
pages became torn and injured, and constructively there was something
wrong with the principle of attachment.

Paper is soft, and when a “rounded” book was fitted with hard boards
and strongly pressed there would be a certain tendency for the boards
to sink into the mass of the paper and to throw up a small ridge along
the edge of the back. Such a small accidental ridge is often found on
old paper books.

[Illustration: FIG. 43.--Book with back rounded and backed.]

[Illustration: FIG. 44.--Book rounded and backed, before the boards are
put on.]

But there is no doubt that the actual process of making an intentional
groove for the boards to fit in was practised by a few fifteenth
century binders in England. This groove is made by an extension of the
process of rounding the back, and it is produced by hammering the back
over two hard boards carefully placed in the proper position. The shape
of a back thus treated is theoretically as shown in Fig. 44, and it
will be seen that the actual joint now falls away from the body of the
book and is removed to the artificial line along the outer edge of the
groove, and from this line the projecting bands are drawn in to the
boards. If this operation of “backing” is properly done it is almost
impossible for the back of a book to fall in. It will always open
easily and return to its original form, and if the bands are properly
attached to the boards, the latter will never fall off.

Although the principle of backing was known at the early time
mentioned, it was not universally understood and practised until quite
recent times. Now, however, it is fully recognised as one of the most
important processes in the binding of books, especially large ones.

We have seen that the book sewn in leather bands has the ends of these
bands left loose, projecting in the case of a large book some two or
three inches. Holes were now carefully cut along the back edge of the
board to fit the ends of the bands, sloping upwards, and some little
way in other slots were cut from the upper surface of the board to meet
them. Into these holes the ends of the bands were drawn, and when in
proper position they were pegged down with one or more small wooden
pegs. Sometimes the bands were drawn right through the boards and
fastened inside. Numbers and numbers of instances of this work exist
and are quite sound to-day. But such books do not open satisfactorily,
as there is a disagreeable pull upon the outer sections when the book
is opened. In fact, the junction between the bands and the boards is
not scientifically correct, because the backs are not rounded.

[Illustration: FIG. 45.--Half-bound book.]

The vulnerable part of the binding will now be seen to be the soft
threads which cover the bands where they adjoin the back of the
sections of the book, and to protect these delicate threads a strip of
leather was cut, damped and pressed over the bands so as to fit quite
closely, and fastened on with glue, projecting a short way over on to
the board itself so as to cover up the holes used for the bands. This
is called a “half-binding.” On the leather of such half-bindings there
is usually some blind tooling, lines or rolls or even small cameo
stamps.

Mediæval bindings are commonly provided with clasps. The original
reason of this was to help to keep the vellum leaves flat, but of
course artistic binders saw that clasps might be made very ornamental,
and so many of them are. They have survived as ornamental adjuncts to a
binding until the present day, although there is no necessity for them.

[Illustration: FIG. 46.--Mediæval book with bosses, corner pieces and
clasps.]

Bosses in the centre and at the corners of mediæval bindings were of
structural use, as they protected the actual boards of the book from
wear. In early days books were kept upon their sides and probably
had flat boards between each volume. So the bosses took the wear and
preserved the books. Many of the mediæval bosses and corners have
ornamental settings; they are generally of brass, but sometimes of
silver or wood. The titles of such books were sometimes written on the
front edges and sometimes on a slip of paper fastened under horn on
the upper board, and in the late fifteenth century they were sometimes
lettered in gold or blind, also on the boards.

It happened that the art of Byzantium was in its prime just about
the same time that vellum began to be arranged in sections--in book
form--in contradistinction to the roll form. So we find some of the
finest examples of Byzantine art on bookbindings. Of course it must be
understood that these richly worked covers are only ornamentally added
to the true binding underneath, and the actual work of the binding is
more or less as I have already described it. But the decorative art
in these cases is so predominant that they are generically known as
“Byzantine” bindings.

[Illustration: FIG. 47.--German binding of about the eleventh century,
with cabochon crystals.]

The large majority of the known specimens of this kind are no longer
in company with their original manuscripts. Many of them are preserved
simply as loose covers, and alien manuscripts have been inserted in
others. I expect that there are still considerable numbers of these
bindings preserved in remote churches and monasteries in Central
Europe, and some day perhaps some traveller with sufficient knowledge
and time at his command will make search for them. But for the present
fine and genuine examples of Byzantine bindings are of great rarity. It
is said that there are not more than about three hundred of them known.
The life history of many of these is well known, and so are many of
the additions and alterations to which they have been subjected during
their long life. Luckily some of the finest are now safely housed in
our London museums, and others are, or are likely to be, safe in a
great local museum.

To be able to judge whether these bindings are genuine, a librarian
must be an antiquary, a goldsmith and silversmith, skilled both in
repoussé work, engraving and cast work, a gem cutter, an enameller,
a skilled bookbinder, and an artist, and if he fails in one of these
knowledges his judgment cannot be relied on. An ordinary art critic who
possesses “Flaire” can pick up a certain amount of knowledge by reason
of having made many mistakes and profited by them, and if he has been
fortunately able to associate himself only with true and known fine
examples for a long time, he may eventually be a good guesser. But no
true judgment can be given without actual technical knowledge.

[Illustration: FIG. 48.--French binding of the thirteenth century with
enamels.]

The result of all this is, that collectors of such bindings have been
freely victimised. It is not really difficult to copy or to imitate a
Byzantine binding--it is not nearly so difficult as to counterfeit a
fine Le Gascon or a fine Roger Payne. It does not so much concern the
binder as the metal worker, and in metal a little skill goes a long
way, and so it does in the cloisonne enamel work which alone is found
in these bindings. The present market price of a very fine Byzantine
binding--a known one--will run into five figures, so it is little to be
wondered at that it pays the clever _faussaires_ of the Continent to
direct their attention to covers of this kind. They need not even take
the trouble to provide manuscripts for the inside; loose covers will
sell with equal readiness.

Ivory carving played an important part on early bindings. Apart from
diptychs, the earliest known decorative binding consists of plaques
of ivory carved with Biblical scenes, and having in the centre a lamb
within a wreath of cloisonne work, with inlays of coloured glass. It
is now kept in the cathedral treasury at Milan, and is without its
original inside; it is attributed to the fifth century.

Early Irish manuscripts were usually bound in quite simple limp leather
covers, but these were kept in book boxes or “Cumdachs,” all of which
still existing are of the greatest interest.

[Illustration: FIG. 49.--The upper cover of the Cumdach of the Stowe
Missal.]

One of the finest is that of the Stowe Missal, dating from about the
eleventh century. It belonged originally to the monastery of Lorrha in
Tipperary, whence it was taken to the Irish monastery of Ratisbon. In
1784 it was found by Mr. John Grace in Austria, and afterwards belonged
to the Stowe Library, and Lord Ashburnham, from whom it was purchased
by the nation in 1883 with the rest of his library, and then deposited
in the museum of the Royal Irish Academy.

The lid is ornamented with a large cross set with pearls and metal
bosses, having in the centre a large oval crystal over a pink ground,
and enclosed with recent enamels, no doubt replacing old ones. At each
end of the cross is a large jewel. The spaces between the arms of the
cross contain silver gilt plates engraved with figures of Saints, and
on the silver edge plates is an inscription in Irish inviting the
reader to “Pray for Dunchad descendant of Taccan of the family of
Cluan who made this.” This may therefore be called the earliest signed
binding in the world, if a cumdach can be considered a binding. No
doubt much of the work now on this lid, as well as some of the jewels
and their settings, have been added since the original work was made.

The base of the box has a similar ornamentation upon it, but the jewels
and enamels are all gone, the spaces between the arms of the cross
being filled with silver plates cut into an open pattern set over
bronze gilt.

The sides of the box are much destroyed, but they have fortunately
not been restored. The ornamentation consists of enamelled bosses or
curious castings in the centre of each side, flanked by panels of open
designs cut out of thin silver over gilt, and corner ornaments of cast
work. There are small bosses of blue enamel.

The remarkable open work over gilt bronze occurs again in the base of
the cumdach containing Molaise gospels, it also belongs to the eleventh
century, and this sort of ornamentation seems to be characteristic
of Irish work of that time. The lid of the box is ornamented in a
modification of the same idea, but in this case the bronze showing
through the silver is beautifully worked. The main idea is a cross,
and between the arms are the evangelistic emblems, and with their
names, Leo, Aquila, Homo, Taurus. An inscription asks us to “Pray for
Cenn, for the successor of Molaise for whom this case was made by
Gillabaithain the artisan.” It is possible that this may be a little
earlier than the Stowe cumdach.

A few more cumdachs are known, about ten of them altogether, and others
are recorded only.

There is that of Dimma’s book, of the Cathach of the O’Donnells, and
several others, some of which are quite plain.

Other book cases were made of beautifully worked leather. The satchel
of the Book of Armagh is one of these, and leather cases or “Forels”
were made of cuirbouilli in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,
particularly in Italy. These forels were in the shape now known as
“slip off” cases, and they generally had attachments for a strap. They
are always charmingly chased, and often bear heraldic ornamentation.

Cuirbouilli was calf or hide, worked with knife, style, or hammer, and
then probably boiled in oil, but the exact process that was used is now
unknown. It is very strong, and its value was known in England, where
it was used to make wrist guards for archery, but as far as I know it
was never used here for bindings or covers for bindings. I have heard
the calf or sheep bindings of the early sixteenth century, bearing
panel stamps, described as cuirbouilli, but they are not so.

The earliest cover still containing its original manuscript is probably
that given with other treasure to Theodelinda, Queen of the Lombards,
by Pope Gregory the Great, in the seventh century. It is now kept in
the cathedral treasury at Monza.

The manuscript is described in a contemporary document as being “theca
persica inclusam,” and, so far, its cover resembles the Irish cumdachs.
The case is of gold, ornamented with a large cross, outlined with lines
of small flat garnets, with sapphires and emeralds, set in cloisons.
The body of the cross is richly jewelled with cabochon cut stones and
pearls, and at the extremity of each arm is a curious glass bead of
millefiori glass, green with a little red flower in the centre.

Between the arms of the cross are four gamma shaped ornaments, each set
with small flat jewels. Across the sides are bands of gold on which are
engraved the words DE DONIS DEI OFFERIT THEODELENDA REG. GLORIOSISSIMA
SANCTO JOANNI BAPTISTE IN BASILICA QUEM IPSA FUNDAVIT IN MODICIA
PROPE PALATIUM SUUM. A handsome border with flat garnets enclosed the
whole, and the four cameos set near the gammas are a recent addition.
Byzantine art is generally considered as a decadent form of Roman art,
but in this particular instance there is much Greek feeling, and it is
in all respects, excepting perhaps the inscription, a magnificent piece
of work.

[Illustration: FIG. 50.--The binding of the Gospels of Lindau, the
older side.]

The binding of the Gospels of Lindau has now two sides of different
dates, each of which has been repaired and added to in recent times.
The earlier of the two, far the finer, is probably contemporary with
the manuscript, having been made about the later half of the ninth
century, as the Abbey of the Noble Canonesses at Lindau was founded by
the Emperor Lewis the Pious in A.D. 834. A large golden cross pattée is
the chief motive of this beautiful piece of work, and it is ornamented
with rare enamels showing bust figures wearing stoles, and jewels in
great variety, the borderings being inlaid with small flat pieces of
garnet. The spaces between the arms of the cross are filled with bronze
plaques elaborately ornamented with Celtic interlacings in chiselled
work. The workmanship is probably Irish, and was most likely done
abroad, possibly enough at Lindau itself, by some Irish artists who
had emigrated. Irish jewellers and enamellers of this early time were
justly celebrated, and their services were secured whenever possible.

The later side of the binding is one of the finest existing specimens
of Carlovingian art. It is radically different from the earlier side
and was probably added about the eleventh or twelfth century.

[Illustration: FIG. 51.--The binding of the Gospels of Lindau, the more
recent side.]

In the centre is a large cross on which is a gilt figure of our Lord in
the attitude of the crucifixion. The cross is outlined by a structure
of open work of gold ornamented with filagree work and thickly set with
jewels. Between the arms of the cross are angels worked in repoussé,
and rich bosses of gold and jewels, raised on arcades of open work. The
border is of great richness, and is thickly sown with large jewels cut
“en cabochon,” many of them pierced longitudinally, betraying in all
probability an Oriental provenance. No doubt this was originally made
for some valuable manuscript now lost, and it was used to replace the
original simple lower cover of the Gospels of Lindau at some unknown
time.

The book was formerly in the possession of the Earl of Ashburnham, but
now it is gone to America.

Beautiful Byzantine work of the twelfth century is to be seen upon the
carved and jewelled binding of the Psalter of Melissenda, daughter of
Baldwin II., King of Jerusalem, and wife of Fulk, his successor. The
ivory covers measure eight by six inches, and are elaborately carved in
bas relief with Biblical scenes. On each side are six circles, and in
each circle a little figure group, on one side representing episodes in
the life of David and on the other works of mercy. There is lettering
run in with red, giving the names of each of the personages shown, and
their eyes are set with tiny rubies or emeralds cut “en cabochon” like
coloured grains of sand. The spaces between the circles are filled
with other Biblical or symbolical figures, scrolls and animals, and a
beautiful interlacing border encloses the whole, set with turquoises
and rubies.

The carver’s name, “HERODIUS,” is cut in the lower cover. The
workmanship on these ivories is extremely fine, and there is no doubt
they were made to be used as a binding. The majority of ivory carvings
found on mediæval bookbindings appear to have been simply added, having
been originally made for some other purpose. But there are notable
exceptions, particularly in the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris. The
shape in which the plaque of ivory is cut will often give a valuable
indication in this matter.

The finest Byzantine binding now in England is probably that known as
the Gospels of Charlemagne, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
It is nearly square, and the upper side is overlaid with gilt metal,
enamels and gems. In the centre is a seated figure of Our Lord in
the attitude of Benediction, in repoussé work. Round this is a band
of white and green enamelled lettering, restored, on which are two
hexameter lines: “MATHEVS ET MARCVS LVCAS SCSQ JOHANE VOX HORV QVATVOR
REBOAT TE XPE REDEMPTOR.” The outer border is made up of rectangular
plaques of enamels, gold work and jewels.

The work here is also largely restored, but it is, as a rule, admirably
done, and where the old work remains, especially in the gold, it is of
a high excellence. The jewels have, for the most part, been restored.
As the book is now it is a splendid and dignified example of its kind;
the under side is simply covered with strong red leather, with a cross
marked by small studs. Like many of these splendid altar books, this
one is said to have served as a Pax.

The manuscript itself is of the tenth century, and belonged to the
Abbey Church of St. Maurice d’Agaune, and from here it was stolen in
the fourteenth century. It afterwards found a home at Sion, and was
purchased for the Victoria and Albert Museum at the Spitzer sale in
1893.

No doubt examples of rich monastic bindings did exist in England,
but none of them are now known. It is likely enough that their value
condemned them, and that they were entirely destroyed in the earlier
half of the sixteenth century to swell the revenues of the king. The
manuscripts belonging to these destroyed covers have, luckily, been
kept, and numbers of them came to the British Museum by gift of George
II.

Two ornamental bindings only of English origin now remain; these are
both simple, they are the St. Cuthbert’s Gospels and the English
coronation book of Henry I. These are described in Chapter VIII.

There were plenty of leather bindings ornamented with blind tooling or
cut leather work in mediæval times, and these also are described later
on.

The idea of ornamenting bindings with sunk panels is of Arab origin.
The fashion came to Europe by way of Venice, and the Venetians
themselves quickly saw that the possibilities of decorating bindings
were largely increased by this device. It is done by means of two
boards, the upper of which is pierced, then the whole is covered
with leather and ornamented with painted work or stamped work as the
case may be. In inferior bindings of this sort, the sunk panels are
sometimes produced simply by hard pressure, but the state of the edges
of the panels will soon show how they are made. If they are steep
there are the double boards, if very sloping there may only be one.

Queen Elizabeth had some of these Venetian sunk bindings presented to
her and she liked them. Consequently there were a few examples of it
made in England in the sixteenth century. At a later time Charles Lewis
bound several large books with double boards in this way, and I think
he was the only important English binder who has ever done so to any
great extent.

The double boards have left a trace of their existence in the form of
a trench which is frequently found along the edges of the boards of
sixteenth century bindings of English, Italian, and French workmanship.
The trench, however, is merely a survival and does not necessarily
imply the actual existence of double boards. It is a distant tribute to
our indebtedness to the East.

In some of the double-board books bound for Queen Elizabeth, with
sunk panels, the headband is curiously produced away from its normal
finishing point and is carried right round the entire edge of the
boards in the trench between the boards. It is a decorative and curious
peculiarity, and I have never met with it in any foreign books.

Wooden boards were used for bindings until about the end of the
fifteenth century, when the idea of using several layers of paper
pasted together--paste boards--was thought of. In fact, paste boards
may be considered to have been introduced about the same time as
printing, and waste printed matter was often used for making them with.

There are many instances in which valuable printed matter has been
found hidden up in binder’s boards, and as these can generally be
soaked apart and cleaned, we already owe the preservation of several
unique fragments to the fact of their having been used for bindings.

[Illustration: FIG. 52.--Painted Persian binding (Nadir Shah at the
battle of Karnul).]

Persian manuscripts of the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries are
often ornamented in a manner which is of considerable interest. They
are bound in paste boards like all other Oriental bindings known to
me, and are covered with some sort of gesso applied in a thin layer.
On this gesso are paintings of varied merit; some of them, especially
the historical and hunting scenes, are extremely well done, and others,
mostly floral, are of a commonplace character. The boards are sometimes
painted inside and out.

The painting is done in water-colours, and is of the same sort as is
found with the manuscript inside, but generally by an inferior artist.
When finished the painting was thickly varnished, and this varnish
has darkened by time into a mellow golden colour which improves the
appearance of the colour work underneath.

The darkening of this varnish has, however, had a remarkable result:
the photographic ray cannot pierce it except here and there--in fact,
the painting is covered by a non-actinic curtain. A photograph will
only show the surface of the varnish with here and there a patch where
the blue colour underneath succeeds in making itself felt.

Ornamental though these painted and varnished bindings are, there is
unfortunately a great and inherent delicacy about them, and it is that
the varnished surface is badly given to chipping off. It is difficult
to say what the best remedy for this chipping or flaking off is; it is
probably due to the discrepancy in hardness between the hard varnish
and the soft boards; it seems to be radical.

Experiments are needed in this matter, but owners of fine specimens,
even if chipped, are naturally chary of allowing experiments which may
do harm as well as good. I should say that probably much good might be
done by dropping a little collodion so as to make it run down between
the loosened surfaces; it will act as a cement and strengthen as well
as fasten them together. It is also likely that thin glue applied
several times might also do good used in the same way, but I believe
collodion is better and penetrates weak places more readily.

The same styles of ornamentation are used on mirror cases and other
small objects, so that although many bindings are so treated, yet the
method is not one exclusively used for such purpose. But no doubt the
finest work was put on bindings, some of which are large.

Another Persian manner is that of using large metal stamps impressed
with elaborate arabesques. The impressions from these stamps of course
give a design in relief. The whole impression is generally gilded in
various tints, and the small design itself is often picked out with a
little colour. Many of these arabesque panel stamps are of wonderful
beauty.

Arabic and other Oriental bindings have a curious flap projecting from
one of the boards, which covers and protects the front edges. The flaps
are ornamented in the same way as the rest of the binding.

The sewing and the paper of all these books is weak and light, but
there is always work of much interest on the bindings. The backs are
flat and the paste boards are thin and covered with very thin leather.
They are usually ornamented inside and outside with blind and gilt
work, stamped and cut work, and hand painting, in much variety.

[Illustration: FIG. 53.--Oriental binding with flap.]

The open work cut with a knife from thin leather is remarkable for
its extraordinary precision and delicacy; it is usually in arabesques
with small flowers, and often coloured by hand. It is always set on a
background of colour, either painted or a bit of coloured paper. But
the work is very frail, and panels of it are rarely found perfect.

Oriental bindings are altogether weak, and they will not stand hard
wear.

Now we have, chiefly from America, machines that will do almost every
one of the hand-operations for binding a book. There are sewing
machines that only want to be fed with thread and the books to be sewn;
there are casing machines of wonderful speed and accuracy, backing
machines and binding machines. The only one thing that cannot yet be
done by a machine is the pasting down the ends of the bands or tapes
inside the boards. I rather think that many of these machines strain
the paper badly, and also they require setting elaborately to a certain
size. They are very useful for large, cheap editions, but little
use for good miscellaneous work. Nothing is really so good as the
old-fashioned sewing on raised bands by hand.

BOOKS TO CONSULT.

COCKERELL, D. Bookbinding. _London_, 1901.

DAVENPORT, C. Cantor Lectures on Decorative Bookbinding. _London_, 1898.

DAVENPORT, C. (Encyc. Brit. Article Bookbinding). _London_, 1902.

DU SOMMERARD, A. Les arts au Moyen Age. _Paris_, 1838-46.

GORI, A. F. Thesaurus vet. Diptychorum. _Florentiæ_, 1759.

LABARTE, J. Hist. des Arts au Moyen Age. _Paris_, 1864.

LIBRI, COUNT G. Catalogue. _Paris_, 1857.

MADAN, F. Books in Manuscript. _London_, 1893.

CHAPTER III. PAPER.

  Paper--Watermarks--Quiring.

Although we get our word “paper” from “papyrus,” this latter was not
a paper at all. The essential characteristic of a true paper is the
matting or felting together of small fibres, whether these be of wood,
linen, or other substance. Papyrus was the inner bark of a beautiful
reed, which grows along the banks of the Nile, and from a very remote
period strips of this bark were laid over each other at right angles,
fixed together with gum, or perhaps a little Nile mud, and used for
writing upon with a soft pen. The right-angular lines of the two layers
of papyrus bark can easily be seen on any papyrus MS.

Papyrus is not a good substance for writing upon; it is at first too
soft, and then it gets brittle and is apt to crumble away. By sticking
successive strips of papyrus to each other ancient scribes produced
long rolls of manuscript, and from these rolls we derive many of the
book terms which are still in use. The most obvious is “volume,” which
is from “volvere,” “to roll up”; and “Bible” comes from the Greek
“βυβλοἱ,” meaning the inner bark of papyrus.

In China the possibility of making thin feltings with silk fibre was
probably known at a very remote period, and it is likely enough that
from some such unsatisfactory production the better and usable kinds
made of vegetable fibres evolved itself. We cannot now say when the
possibility of felting together fibres of wood or grass first became
known to the Chinese, but it was certainly well understood in the fifth
or sixth centuries, because specimens of it still exist.

In the middle of the eighth century, in 751 A.D., there were certain
tribal disturbances on the Chinese frontier of Persia, and one of the
combatants called in the help of the Chinese. These, however, suffered
defeat at the hands of the Arab governor of Samarkand, who brought back
some Chinese prisoners to his town. These men were acquainted with the
Chinese methods of making paper.

From these Chinese prisoners the Arabs and their friends the Persians
learnt the art of paper-making with vegetable fibres, but the supply in
this particular very soon gave out, and because enough suitable fibres
were difficult to get they mixed them with pulped rags. Eventually
the Samarkand paper-makers used rags only, and these they easily got
in sufficient quantities from old linen clothes, and also the mummy
wrappings from Egypt were made use of in the same way.

From the Arabs the knowledge of paper-making passed rapidly to Europe,
and by the middle of the tenth century it had entirely superseded the
use of papyrus.

The researches of Dr. J. Wiesner and Dr. J. Karabacek, both professors
of the University of Vienna, have been of incalculable value as
regards the composition and history of ancient paper, and they were
fortunate enough to have the opportunity of examining the papers in the
collection of the Archduke Rainer, among which are specimens of very
early work. The professors have examined these and other old papers
microscopically and chemically, and found that from the beginning it
was considered necessary to load papers with some binding or filling
substance; they found starch, starch flour, probably from rice, and
among the Chinese papers a dressing of powdered gypsum. Without some
such dressing the papers would have resembled our blotting paper, and
it would have been almost impossible to write upon them.

Professor Wiesner found that Chinese papers of the eighth century were
really mixed papers; they contained fibres of mulberry bark, hemp and
rags. Rags of fishing nets themselves would contain fibres of flax,
hemp, and China grass. But the main constituent of ancient Chinese
paper is fibre of mulberry-bark, and I believe it is so still, although
China grass fibre is also much used.

Specimens of Chinese papers from the eighth century onwards can be seen
at the British Museum. They are soft, but have lasted fairly well, and
do not appear to show any wire marks. The colour of these papers is
much the same as Chinese papers made now, but in some instances they
have certainly darkened as modern wood pulp papers also do.

One of the later specimens, a bank note issued during the reign of the
Emperor Hung-wu, A.D. 1368-1399, is made of a darkened pulp, probably
due to admixture with a little lamp black, and on it are lighter
impressions from large stamps bearing the square seal letters. It is
just possible that these marks may be of the nature of watermarks, and
were impressed while the pulp was soft and wet, but it is not possible
now to take the bank note up from the cardboard on which it has been
pasted, as to do so would probably cause it to fall to pieces, so it
cannot, for the moment, be properly examined.

Corean and Japanese papers were the same as Chinese, and they all look
as if there are no wire marks or watermarks upon them, with the one
exception I have mentioned, but Dr. Wiesner says that by the ninth
century marks show in many instances which prove that papers were made
in moulds or sieves with network bottoms, the impression of which
remains like our “chains” or laid marks. In the King’s Library at the
British Museum is shown a piece of Oriental paper, an official letter
in Coptic, dated A.D. 1048. It does not look so strong or good as the
Chinese paper, but resembles thin blotting paper, and shows no wire
mark.

[Illustration: FIG. 54.--Watermark used by John Tate in 1495.]

An early example of European paper is preserved in the Record Office in
London. It is a letter from the Count of Toulouse to Henry III., and is
dated A.D. 1216. In France, however, by this time, the making of paper
had been understood for some time, as it was made there in 1189. In
Belgium it was not made until 1551, in which year a paper mill was set
up at Tourneppe by Henri de Nevere.

By the end of the fifteenth century paper-making in Europe was
perfectly understood, and the papers of that date, and for some time
after it, are frequently excellent in every way, and as sound, strong,
and good now as they were when first made.

The first English book printed on English paper is Bartholomaeus, _De
Proprietatibus Rerum_, published 1495-6. The paper is of high quality,
it shows a fine wire mark, and a watermark of a double circle enclosing
an eight-pointed star. The paper was made at Hertford by John Tate, who
was afterwards Lord Mayor of London; the title page is cut in wood, and
the book is illustrated with outline wood-cuts.

At the end are some verses, and among these occur the lines:--

  “And John Tate the younger Joye mote he broke,
  Which late hath in England doo make this paper thynne,
  That now in our Englysch this boke is prynted Inne.”

It is paper to be proud of, and John Tate the younger would
unquestionably look upon the large majority of our modern papers with
the utmost scorn, and he would be perfectly justified in doing so.

The early method of making paper was to allow the pulp to settle at the
bottom of a trough like a sieve, with a wire bottom, in which the wires
were arranged in a certain way, thick and thin, the trade mark of the
maker also being outlined in wire. The faint marks these wires cause
in the paper are called watermarks, and although at first they were
makers’ marks, they eventually denoted the size of the sheet of paper
on which they were shown.

The present method of making paper from rags is to pulp them thoroughly
in water, and let the white particles become so thoroughly diffused
that the liquid in which they float looks like thin milk.

This thin mixture, however, if left quiet, very quickly resolves itself
into a sediment of white fibres with clear water above them. If now
the superambient water can be drawn off, and the sediment pressed
flat, paper is the result. But it is not so easily done as said. In
order to catch the sediment in the most satisfactory way, the milky
fluid containing the rag fibres is allowed to flow in a thin stream
over a long, shallow trough, which is kept moving onwards and is also
so arranged that it has a sideways tremble, backwards and forwards as
well. The effect of this is that when the further end of the trough
is reached, on its floor there is a thin continuous film of slightly
matted fibres, the water from which has flowed away along the sides of
the trough. Now another device comes into play; a thin light roller of
wire presses lightly on the wet film, and by this pressure the little
fibres are pressed upon each other so that they mat, interlace, and
cohere together. The paper in this state is of course very delicate,
but by reason of a quick drying and carrying off on light rollers it
soon acquires the strength necessary to enable it to hold together
until it is quite dry. Then it goes through several other stages,
the most important of which is pressing. The various processes can
obviously be modified easily enough so as to make a thin paper or a
thick one. Paper made in this way with a vibratory trough is called
“machine made,” and by reason of its fibres laying more or less in
a uniform direction the resulting paper is more easily torn in one
direction than in the other. If a circular piece be cut out of such
pulp and laid on water it will tend to fold up two of its opposite
sides.

But ancient paper was made in a trough held by hands and given a
lateral movement, then pressed and dried in some simple way. By such
a procedure the fibres are thoroughly mixed, and do not lie in one
direction more than in another, so that if a circular bit of such
paper be laid in water it will turn upwards at the edge evenly all
round, and look like a little saucer.

I have mentioned a light wire roller which presses the wet film more
or less into shape just before it leaves the long trough to be dried.
As long ago as the thirteenth century in Europe the fact that devices
could be impressed upon the undried film by thinning it and making it
more transparent where touched appears to have been known, and from
about that time onwards “watermarks” have fortunately been applied in
the same manner, namely, so as to come in the middle of the first leaf
of the pair forming a folio. It is also fortunate that the “chains” or
wires forming the rollers have always been laid in the same way; it is
certainly the obvious one, but obvious ways are not always adopted. The
result is that by observing the direction of the strong chain marks
and the fine “laid” marks between them much information concerning the
folding of the original sheets can be obtained.

In very early papers these rules cannot be safely followed, because
early chain marks as well as early watermarks were not produced in the
same reliable way. The paper being made in moulds with wire netting at
the bottom, the impression came below the paper instead of above it as
in the case of the roller, and also the sizes of the sheets were more
likely to differ.

Watermarks are the semi-transparent devices which show on certain pages
of a printed book. They are to be seen on most papers of the fourteenth
to the eighteenth centuries, and there has been a good deal written
about them, especially abroad. The devices were outlined in wire and
set in the bottom of the trough or on the wire roller I have just
described, so that the lines are impressed upon the pulp just when it
is in its most sensitive condition. The pressure from the wire device
thins the pulp wherever it is touched, and so when dry the device shows
lighter than the rest of the paper.

These marks should be called wire marks rather than watermarks, and
the French word for them, “Filigranes,” is more correct than ours. The
difference in tint between a watermark and the rest of the paper is so
distinct that a photographic negative placed under one will render a
capital photograph of it, far better than any drawing, but it needs a
long exposure.

Watermarks are already of considerable value to Bibliographers, and
it is likely that in the near future they will be much more noticed,
especially in English books. Many frauds have already been detected by
reason of the watermarks, as it is a point that _faussaires_ have so
far paid little attention to. The marks are, however, not to be relied
on after about 1750, as they do not run reliably in machine made or
wove papers.

Armorial devices have been largely used as watermarks. Many of the
earlier marks show the arms of towns, especially continental ones, and
among others there are the arms of France, Portugal, William and Mary
and Queen Anne, shown in full heraldic outlines.

[Illustration: FIG. 55.--English “hand” watermark, 1512.]

The Holbein family of Ravensburg bore a bull’s head as their armorial
badge, and they were paper makers, so the bull’s head shows on their
paper as a watermark. It was afterwards much copied, and during the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries it became a favourite mark on German
papers. There does not seem to have been any strict copyright in any of
the devices used as watermarks. They were freely used by any one who
cared to do so, but the copies were never very carefully made, they
were always variants of the original. They were moreover generally
accompanied by another mark, that of the maker, on another part of the
paper. The same privilege of using a “maker’s” mark was also allowed to
the silversmiths in addition to the official hall mark.

To some slight extent watermarks on paper made for particular books
have followed the subjects of those books, and in accordance with a
loyal feeling there are instances of a crown watermark being used on
paper prepared for special copies of books intended for presentation to
reigning sovereigns.

[Illustration: FIG. 56.--English “crown” watermark, 1745.]

On papers used for early English printed books we find the favourite
German bull’s head, bunches of grapes, unicorns, dogs, hands with
stars, and shears. These appear in several sizes, and show many
varieties and modifications of their original designs.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a greater variety occur;
on English paper there is found the post horn and the fool’s cap,
sometimes showing as a cap only and sometimes as a fool’s head with
cap and bells. A similar design was largely used abroad. In the time
of Charles I. a crown was a usual watermark on official folio paper,
but the Rump Parliament ordered that the foolscap should be in future
substituted for it, which was done. “Double foolscap” is still used
as a designation for a certain size of printing paper, so also is
“double-crown.”

[Illustration: FIG. 57.--English “foolscap” watermark, 1661.]

[Illustration: FIG. 58.--English “Britannia” watermark, 1907.]

The foolscap itself shortly gave way to a figure of Britannia or a lion
rampant. The post horn was another common watermark here; it gave its
name to its paper about 1670, when the mail carrier was accustomed to
announce his approach by a blast from his horn. The name “Post” still
designates a certain size of printing paper. The smallest folio paper
of the seventeenth century was marked with a watermark of a “pot,” and
hence the name.

For specially printed books it is a pretty fancy to have a coat-of-arms
set as a watermark, and it is now and then done, but I fear few readers
notice it. Many papers are now made without watermarks, and it is
likely enough that, except for trade terminology, they will gradually
die out altogether as being unnecessary.

[Illustration: FIG. 59.--English “post” watermark, 1679.]

[Illustration: FIG. 60.--English “pot” watermark, 1640.]

The possibilities of artistic watermarking have not yet been fully
realised. At the St. Louis Exhibition in 1904 there was a German
exhibit which showed the remarkable effect which could be made by
impressing paper pulp by means of a photographic plate in relief.

The papers which had been so treated were set up in a frame with a
light behind them, and they looked like most delicate paintings in
monotone. Those exhibited were portraits of celebrities, and they
were not only excellent but possessed the quality of permanence in a
remarkable degree.

Printing papers are generally white, but sometimes they have been used
in colour, green, pink, blue or yellow. Such papers are now and then
found in Italian, German, and English books, more rarely in French.
Silk and satin have both been used for printing on in England from the
seventeenth to the nineteenth century. Vellum has also been largely
used for special copies of fine printed books.

A recent French book of prayers is entirely woven in white and black
silk. It looks like a beautifully printed book with monotone borders.

[Illustration: FIG. 61.--“Chain lines” thick, and “laid lines” thin, on
paper.]

An original sheet of paper can of course be made and cut to any size,
and the terms folio, quarto, octavo, and duodecimo do not indicate
any actual size except in bookbinders’ specifications. The terms only
indicate the number of times the original sheet has been folded, and
this obviously is a matter which is subject to as much variation as the
printers choose. But fortunately such foldings do not vary much, and
so we may safely mention those that are most commonly used. There are
several ways of finding this out, the most obvious being to count the
leaves which follow any one letter in the white line at the bottom of
the leaf. This letter is called the “signature.” If there is an A or
A 1 at the bottom of the first leaf, and when eight leaves have been
turned over a B or B 1 appears, then the book is an octavo, and so on.
Another way of determining the same thing is by means of the direction
taken by the chain or wire marks all over the paper, and yet another
is to be found by studying the position of the watermark. But neither
of these tests are conclusive, and often enough there are neither chain
marks nor watermarks to be found at all, and the sheets are not always
rightly or carefully cut, which brings the watermark all wrong, so the
following notes are only what may be expected in normal books.

If a piece of paper or page of a book printed before 1750, and possibly
in later work, be held up to the light, certain lines may be seen all
over it in a lighter tint than the rest of the page. These appear as
long thick lines crossed at right angles by short thin ones. The long
thicker lines are known as “chain” lines, and the shorter ones “laid”
lines, and they are of some value when they exist for helping to
determine the “size” of the book.

[Illustration: FIG. 62.--Fol.]

--Fol. If the original sheet is folded once it is called a folio, and
in this case the chain marks are perpendicular and the watermark is in
the middle of the first leaf. In a folio there is one fold, two leaves
or four pages, and nothing to cut. Most of Caxton’s books are folios
although they are quite small.

[Illustration: FIG. 63.--4^o.]

--4^o in size. If the once folded sheet be folded again across the
other way we get a gathering with four leaves, or eight pages, called
a quarto. The chain lines are horizontal, and the watermark in the
middle of the back of pp. 4 and 5; there are two foldings and two tops
of leaves to be cut.

--8^o. If the quarto be again folded we get a gathering of eight
leaves, or 16 pp., called an octavo, which is the commonest size for
English books. In an octavo there are three foldings, the chain lines
are perpendicular, the watermark is quartered at the tops of pp. 3, 4,
11 and 12, and there are two tops and two fronts to be cut.

The further foldings of 16^o, 32^o, and 64^o are the same operations
carried further, but although such sizes do exist they are so uncommon
that a further description of them is not necessary.

--12^o. In the case of a duodecimo a different initial folding is
followed. The original sheet instead of being folded once across the
middle, as in the case of a folio, is now folded into three equal
divisions. The parallelogram thus formed is folded across its shorter
diameter, and this again along its longer diameter. There is now a
gathering of twelve leaves, or 24 pp., with four foldings, the chain
marks perpendicular, the watermark halved at the tops of pp. 3 and 9,
and there are two tops and four fronts to be cut. It is the commonest
size of the smaller French books.

[Illustration: FIG. 64.--8^o.]

[Illustration: FIG. 65.--12^o.]

As to sizes, folios run from the great Atlas of Charles II., measuring
five feet nine inches and a half by three feet two inches and a
half, and requiring eight skins of morocco for its binding, to the
tiny _Galileo a Madame Cristina de Lorena_, 1615, “imprimé en 1897,”
measuring one half by one quarter of an inch. A folio cannot be
recognised by its shape.

The sizes of quartos and octavos are also very varied, but, roughly
speaking, they can be recognised by their shapes, especially in the
case of modern books. A quarto is generally squarish in outline, nearly
as broad as it is long; an octavo is an elongated rectangle, its
breadth considerably less than its length. A duodecimo is always much
longer than its breadth.

As curiosities, books have been made in many forms, circular,
heart-shaped, octagonal, flower or animal forms, but they are of small
importance, and have been chiefly made as Christmas cards, valentines,
and such ephemeral publications.

The rules as to quiring of books printed on paper do not apply to books
printed on vellum. Such books are always folios, and they are generally
quired in gatherings of ten leaves, following the fashion used in the
ancient manuscripts, but, of course, they can equally well be gathered
together in any even number that may be preferred. There is no rule.

In Europe, until the nineteenth century, paper was always made from
triturated rags, but the demand for cheap literature which has become
so urgent in recent years has compelled paper manufacturers to find
some commoner material from which to make their paper.

It is possible that the way out of the difficulty was suggested by an
analysis of Japanese paper. This has been known here for some time. It
is strong, soft, and valuable for many reasons, and is cheaply made of
fibres from plants of the mulberry tree species. Japanese paper is hand
made and has a certain amount of dressing, its surface is dull, but
takes impressions from engraved plates or type easily. It appears to
last fairly well, but would probably not stand much wear at the joints.

The idea of using pulped vegetable matter for paper was, however, not
new, even to the Japanese, as there was such a thing as paper made from
papyrus, but it does not seem to have been much employed, because it
was not necessary in view of the fact that the papyrus did quite well
by itself without any further manipulation.

For reliable papers, the Committee on the Deterioration of Paper
appointed by the Society of Arts in 1898 give in their report a
statement that 70 per cent. should consist of fibres of cotton,
flax, or hemp, but about the middle of the nineteenth century it was
found that passable paper could be very cheaply made from straw and
from esparto grass, and this paved the way for the disastrous use of
mechanical wood pulp for cheap newspapers and books.

Many sorts of wood pulps are now made for this purpose, and there is no
doubt that the industry of breaking up wood for the purpose of paper
making is a large and increasing one. In Norway there are several large
establishments already working at this output. The fibres of spruce,
pine, birch, poplar, jute, and manilla are all extensively used. The
wood is cut up into small pieces and triturated until it is in a state
of fine dissemination, a mass of small fibres, in which condition it
is mixed in certain proportions with the other materials of which the
paper is to be composed. In spite of the warnings of the Society of
Arts Committee, there is no doubt that the use of “mechanical” wood
pulp for paper is increasing, and this regardless of the fact that
there is no lasting quality in such material, for the fibres of the
wood are invariably brittle, and they also darken rapidly under the
influence of light.

The dressing of such papers with resin or gelatine effects a certain
improvement; gelatine particularly adds to the life of a paper and
increases the elasticity of the wood fibres, but this good effect tends
to die out in time. Resin is of less use.

One particularly troublesome result of having to deal with wood pulp
papers is that it will not hold the threads used in ordinary binding;
the thread cuts right through the paper because of the shortness or
brittleness of the fibres, and if a book printed on such paper has to
be bound, the only safe way to do it is to frame each page in a border
of sound rag paper, and then have it sewn as usual. Wood paper will not
stand bending, but breaks off short if there is anything like a joint
or fold in it, and the framing or mounting prevents this. The process
of mounting every leaf of a book is, however, a very expensive one; a
couple of pounds may well be spent on a comparatively small book for
this operation alone, so that the prospect before owners of libraries
who wish to keep their books in good order is not brilliant. No amount
of dressing can make such paper really strong, as it is the fibres
themselves that are in fault.

But there is another form in which the use of wood is not so harmful,
and in this case the fibres are no longer there to be found fault with.
“Chemical” wood pulp is a form of cellulose, and it is likely that it
is destined to play an important part in the paper of the future, in
conjunction with fibres of various sorts.

Chemical wood pulp is prepared from the wood fibres by “digesting” with
caustic soda or bisulphide of lime, as reducing agents. The process is
one of much interest, and moreover a good deal of wood has to be used
to make a comparatively small amount of wood cellulose. Esparto and
straw celluloses are not so good as wood cellulose.

The invention of the “half-tone” process, by which a dotted block can
be produced from a toned drawing, print, or photograph, can be made, is
responsible for much dangerous procedure with regard to the paper upon
which the prints from the dotted blocks are to be made.

In itself the invention of the half-tone process is a wonderful and
beautiful one, but it has done more to ruin the already decadent modern
paper than anything else, because it has made the dressing of the paper
of greater importance than the paper itself.

Incidentally, the half-tone block has given the death-blow to the old
and beautiful art of wood engraving, which is now only found in quite
exceptional instances. But the half-tone block has, nevertheless,
provided some small solace for the dispossessed wood engravers, because
the soft metal blocks go wrong in light places and themselves need
careful revision with a graver. This touching-up is so general, and
so much technical skill is required for its proper execution, that it
has already become a recognised profession, and the engraver’s name is
often enough recognised in the lettering of the prints made from such
blocks, especially in American publications.

The dots of half-tone blocks were at first of an easily visible size,
but as the method of production became better understood it was found
that they could be made so small that they were no longer visible as
separate dots to the unaided vision, but that the effect produced was
really that of a tone-wash.

But the very finely grained blocks were difficult to print from, the
ink stuck too readily between the dots, where it was not wanted,
and the surface of the paper was not even enough to give a clear
impression, even if it was calendered and super-calendered. So
something had to be done to give the paper a more level surface, and
the needed material was found in china clay mixed more or less with
barytes. It is laid down in the _Society of Arts Report_ that the
amount of this dressing should in no case exceed 10 per cent. in any
paper, but modern “art” papers have for a long time much exceeded this
fair proportion.

From the beginning some kind of dressing has always been found
necessary in the manufacture of paper, but nothing so dangerous as
china clay has ever been used. The net result is that almost all modern
editions-de-luxe, and fine illustrated books generally, either having
half-tone plates or colour plates done by the three colour process,
consist of little else but thin sheets of china clay supported by the
smallest possible skeleton of wood or other cheap fibres.

It must be at once granted that the impressions from delicate half-tone
blocks made on clay paper are admirable, and it is also true that the
printing ink makes the clay insoluble in water wherever it touches it.
But the clay has a certain affinity for damp, and books printed on clay
paper very readily show damp stains, and if left for any time in a
really damp place they are liable to become solid bricks of white mud,
quite impossible to repair.

If very dry the non-cohesive clay will turn to a white powder.
Moreover, this clay-laden paper will not hold binding threads, so again
it has to be preserved. A book printed on such material has to be
treated in the same way as I have described in the case of wood pulp
paper.

There is, however, a plan of preserving prints on clay, and this is
to fasten down the printed portion on a piece of sound paper from
the beginning. This is already done to some extent, and it should
be universal in the case of isolated plates, but when a book is all
printed on clay paper, as many fine and valuable books unfortunately
are, it is difficult to say what is best to be done. The only real
remedy seems to be a refusal on the part of purchasers to buy such
books. But purchasers do not always know when they are buying clay
instead of paper. It is, however, not difficult to tell, as the
clay-laden paper feels very smooth and soft to the touch of a dry
finger. This peculiarity can be easily detected in one or other of the
American magazines, Harper’s or Scribner’s, and the difference between
the feel of a page holding an impression from a fine half-tone block,
and that having only text, will at once be evident.

If a mark may be made on a suspected sheet, a drop of water should be
put upon one corner, left a second or two, and then dried off with
blotting-paper. Now a light scrape with a knife over the damped place
will remove a layer of white clay if it is there.

There is no doubt that the large majority of our modern books will not
be in readable condition in about a hundred years’ time from the date
of their publishing.

BOOKS TO CONSULT.

PAPER.

ARTS, SOCIETY OF.--Report on the Deterioration of Paper. _London_, 1898.

BLADES, W.--(_Athenæum_, March 30th, 1889, p. 409. Paper on Watermarks).

BLANCHET, A.--Essai sur l’histoire des Papier. _Paris_, 1890.

BREITKOPF.--Versuch die Einfuhrung des Leinenpapieres. _Leipzig_,
1784-1801.

BRIQUET, C. M.--La Legende Paléographique du Papier de Coton. _Genève_,
1884.

BRIQUET, C. M.--Recherches sur les Papiers du x^e au XIV^e siècles.
_Paris_, 1886.

CAMPREDON, E.--Le Papier. _Paris_, 1901.

CHARPENTIER, P.--Le Papier. 1890. (Frémy, E.)

DUNBAR, J.--Notes on the Manufacture of Wood Pulp Papers. _Leith_, 1892.

ERFURT, J.--The Dyeing of Paper Pulp. _London_, 1901.

EVANS, L.--Ancient Paper Making. _London_, 1896.

GIRARD, A.--Le Papier. _Lille_, 1892.

GOODCHILD, G. F., and TWENEY, C. F.--A Technological and Scientific
Dictionary. _London._

GRIFFIN, R. B., and LITTLE, A. D.--The Chemistry of Paper Making. _New
York_, 1894.

HERRING, R.--Paper and Paper Making. _London_, 1855.

HOERNLE, A. F. R.--Who was the inventor of Rag Paper? (_Royal Asiatic
Society Journal_, October, 1903).

HOYER, E.--Die fabrikation des Papiers, 1886. (Bolley, P. A.)

KARABACEK, J.--Mittheilungen aus der Sammlung der Papyrus Erz. Rainer.
Bd. II., III., 1887.

KAY, J.--Paper. _London_, 1893.

KLEMM, P.--Handbuch der Papierkunde. _Leipzig_, 1904.

LLOYD, E.--Account of a sort of Paper made of Linum Asbestinum found in
Wales. (Phil. Trans., Abr. III., p. 105, 1684).

MIERZINSKI, S.--Handbuch der Praktischen Papier Fabrikation. _Wien_,
1886.

PAYEN, A.--La fabrication du Papier. _Paris_, 1873.

PIOT, G. J. C., and PINCHART, A.--Specimens des Papiers recueillis dans
les diverses coll. de documents qui composent les archives générales du
Royaume de Belgique. _Bruxelles_, 1872.

SARTORI, L.--L’Industria della Carta. _Milano_, 1897.

SCHAEFER, J. C.--Attempts towards making Paper from Plants and Wood.
(German.) _Regensburg_, 1765.

STONHILL, W. J.--Paper Pulp from Wood and other fibres. 1885. (Rattray,
J.)

VALENTA, E.--Das Papier. _Halle_, 1904.

WATT, A.--The Art of Paper Making. _London_, 1890.

WIESNER, J.--Mikroskopische untersuchung alter ostturkestanischer und
anderer asiatischer Papiere. _Wien_, 1902.

WATERMARKS.

BRIQUET, C. M.--De la valeur des Filigranes du Papier comme Moyen de
determiner l’age de documents. _Genève_, 1892.

BRIQUET, C. M.--Papiers et Filigranes des archives de Gêves 1154 à
1700. _Genève_, 1888.

BRIQUET, C. M.--Les Filigranes. Dict. Hist. des Marques du Papier. 4
vols. _Paris_, 1907.

CASTAN, A.--Catalogue des Incunables. _Besançon_, 1893.

DEL MARMOL, F.--Dictionnaire des Filigranes. _Paris_, 1900.

DENNE, S.--Observations on Paper Marks, 1796. (_Archæologia_, XII., p.
114).

HEITZ, P.--Les Filigranes avec la crosse de Bâle. _Strasbourg_, 1904.

HEITZ, P.--Les Filigranes des Papiers contenus dans les archives de la
ville de Strasbourg. _Strasbourg_, 1902-04.

HEITZ, P.--Les Filigranes des Papiers de la Bibliothèque de Strasbourg.
_Strasbourg_, 1903.

LEMON, R.--Collection of Water Marks. 1891.

MIDOUX, E., and MATTON, A.--Etudes sur les Filigranes des Papiers
employés en France au XIV^e et XV^e siécles. _Paris_, 1868.

PIOT, G. J. C., and PINCHART, A.--Specimens des Papiers recueillis dans
les diverses coll. des documents qui composent les archives générales
du Royaume de Belgique. _Bruxelles_, 1872.

SERMA SANTANDER, C. A. de.--Supplément au Catalogue des livres de la
Bibliothèque de M. C. de Serma Santander. _Bruxelles_, 1803.

SOTHEBY, S. L.--Principia Typographica (with examples of foreign
watermarks). _London_, 1858.

SOTHEBY, S. L.--Typography of the fifteenth century (with examples of
watermarks). _London_, 1845.

CHAPTER IV. PRINTING.

  Assyrian bricks, with printed inscriptions--Oiron ware--Chinese
  types--Block books--Costeriana--Types and stereotypes--Printing
  presses.

There are numbers of instances of impressions from small devices,
cyphers and letterings cut on blocks of wood or soft metal and made
on pieces of pottery. These stamps are the forerunners of the types
with which our modern books are printed. Among these impressions those
which are made on the tablets or cylinders of baked clay, many of which
have been found among the ruins of Babylon and Nineveh, are by far
the earliest. They are covered with inscriptions printed in cuneiform
characters, and contain records of sales of slaves, loans of money,
sales of land and the like, and on the larger bricks and cylinders are
longer inscriptions of greater interest, among them stories of the
Flood. Many of these records are contained within an outer shell of
the same shape, in which is either a short title with seal or even a
duplicate inscription. These outer cases are the earliest examples of
anything in the shape of a cover or binding over written or printed
matter. Some of the cuneiform bricks are said to date from the third
thousand years B.C., and many of the later examples belonged to the
libraries of Sennacherib and Ashurhani-Pal, Kings of Assyria.

[Illustration: FIG. 66.--Assyrian tablet of clay, impressed with
cuneiform inscription. With outer case.]

Similar bricks, impressed with inscriptions, have been found in North
America. The letters on these bricks, tablets, or cylinders were
printed letter by letter by hand upon the clay when it was wet and
soft, without ink, then the brick was dried either in an oven or in the
sun, so that this earliest method of printing is diametrically opposite
to the modern process, in which case the letters are inked and kept
rigid, while the paper or other substance on which the impression is to
come is lightly pressed upon them.

In the eleventh century the Chinese made types of clay or porcelain,
and set them up in a frame and printed from them, and afterwards they
cut the original types in wood and made impressions, or stereotypes
from them in porcelain, and when this had been baked they cast leaden
types from it. Chinese and Japanese letters are always most decorative,
whether in the cursive or square seal characters.