Part 7

The _Lindisfarne Gospels_ is where I start my illuminated pilgrimage. It takes me back to the seventh century, when the world was shrouded in darkest ignorance, and is a reminder that except for the development in the Irish monasteries, as typified by early illuminated volumes such as this, knowledge of books might have almost wholly disappeared. It recalls the asceticism of those early Irish monks carried even to a point of fanaticism; their toilsome pilgrimages to Rome, visiting the different monasteries and collecting, one by one, the manuscripts to bring back to form those early libraries that kept alive the light of learning.

The Irish school of writing and painting passed over to England through the monasteries established by the Irish monks in Scotland, and the earliest of the English settlements was Lindisfarne. It was here that the _Gospels_, one of the most characteristic examples of the Celtic School, as translated to northern England, was produced. Such knowledge of its date and origin as exists rests upon a colophon added at the end of the manuscript, probably in the tenth century, which would seem to place the date of the execution of the work at about the year 700. For nearly two centuries it remained as the chief treasure of Lindisfarne. In 875, so the tradition runs, in order to escape from the invasion of the Danes, it was decided to remove the body of Saint Cuthbert and the most valued relics to the mainland, and the _Gospels_ was included. When the attempt was made to cross over to Ireland, according to the legend, the ship was driven back by storm, and the chest containing the precious volume was lost overboard. Here is the quaint chronicle:

_In this storm, while the ship was lying over on her side, a copy of the_ Gospels, _adorned with gold and precious stones, fell overboard and sank into the depths of the sea. Accordingly, after a little while, they bend their knees and prostrate themselves at full length before the feet of the sacred body, asking pardon for their foolish venture. Then they seize the helm and turn the ship back to the shore and to their fellows, and immediately they arrive there without any difficulty, the wind blowing astern.... Amidst their lamentations in this distress, at length the accustomed help of their pious patron came to their aid, whereby their minds were relieved from grief and their bodies from labor, seeing that the Lord is a refuge of the poor, a helper in time of trouble. For, appearing in a vision to one of them, Hunred by name, he bade them seek, when the tide was low, for the manuscript...; for, perchance, beyond the utmost they could hope, they would, by the mercy of God, find it.... Accordingly they go to the sea and find that it had retired much farther than it was accustomed; and after walking three miles or more they find the sacred manuscript of the_ Gospels _itself, exhibiting all its outer splendor of jewels and gold and all the beauty of its pages and writing within, as though it had never been touched by water.... And this is believed to be due to the merits of Saint Cuthbert himself and of those who made the book, namely Bishop Eadfrith of holy memory, who wrote it with his own hand in honor of the blessed Cuthbert; and the venerable Æthelwald, his successor, who caused it to be adorned with gold and precious stones; and Saint Billfrith the anchorite, who, obeying with skilled hands the wishes of his superior, achieved an excellent work. For he excelled in the goldsmith’s art._

This quotation from Mr. Eric George Millar’s Introduction to the facsimile reproduction of this famous manuscript, published by the British Museum, is given at such length to emphasize at the very beginning of this pilgrimage the important place given to these manuscripts in the communities for which they were prepared. The fact that such a legend exists at all attests the personality the manuscript had assumed. It was my very great pleasure, the last time I studied the _Gospels_, to have Mr. Millar, who is an Assistant in the Department of Manuscripts at the British Museum, explain many things in connection with it which could not be gleaned without the exhaustive study which he has given to it.

The _Gospels_ includes 258 leaves of heavy vellum, measuring about 13 by 10 inches. The Latin text is written in beautifully designed, _semi-uncial_ characters. These differ from the capital letters only by their relatively greater roundness, inclination, and inequality in height. This style of lettering obtained until the eighth or ninth century, when the semi-uncial character became the transition to the minuscule. There are five full pages of decoration, in cruciform design of most extraordinary elaboration; six pages of ornamented text; four full-page miniatures of the Evangelists, in which the scribes are drawn in profile, seated, with cushion, desk, and footstool; sixteen pages of Canon tables, decorated in pure Celtic style; and numerous initials of various sizes.

The great interest in this manuscript lies in the cruciform pages. When I first saw them I thought the work a marvelous example of the amount of intricate design an artist could devise within a given area of space. Then, as I studied them, came the realization that, complicated as they were, there was a definite plan the artist had established and followed which preserved the balance of coloring and design.

In the illustration here given (_page 124_), Mr. Millar showed me how he has ingeniously unraveled the knots. It is peculiarly interesting as it demonstrates the methods by which the expert is able to understand much that the casual observer fails to see. He pointed out that the background of the page is occupied by a design of no less than 88 birds, arranged in a perfect pattern, with 7 at the top, 7 at the bottom, 9 on each side, 12 in the gaps between the outer panels, four groups of 10 surrounding the rectangular panels, and 4 single birds in the gaps between the points of the cross and the T panels. The necks and the bodies are so cleverly balanced that even when at first the scheme seems inconsistent, further examination shows that the artist adhered religiously to his plan. The color arrangement is carried out with equal thought and care.

The four miniatures of the Evangelists show Byzantine influence, but in the features, and the hair, and in the frames, the Celtic style prevails. Gold is used only on two pages.

The _Lindisfarne Gospels_ cannot be called beautiful when compared with the work of later centuries, but can we fully appreciate the beauty we are approaching without becoming familiar, step by step, with what led up to it? In this manuscript the precious Gospels were enriched by the labor of devoted enthusiasts in the manner they knew best, and with an ingenuity and industry that staggers us today. Taking what the past had taught them, they gave to it their own interpretation, and thus advanced the art toward its final consummation and glory.

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Taken merely as an example of illumination, few would share my interest in the _Alcuin Bible_, a Carolingian manuscript of the ninth century; but to any one interested in printing, this huge volume at the British Museum cannot be overlooked. In the eighth century the Irish and Anglo-Saxon missionary artists transplanted their work to their settlements on the Continent, out of which sprang the Carolingian School in France,--so named in honor of Charlemagne. Sacred compositions, derived largely from Latin and Byzantine sources, were now added to the highly ornamental letters. Solid backgrounds were abandoned, and handsome architectural designs were used to frame the miniatures.

If you will examine the _Alcuin Bible_ with me, you will note what a tremendous advance has been made. The manuscript is a copy of the Vulgate said to be revised and amended by Alcuin of York to present to Charlemagne on the occasion of that monarch’s coronation. Some dispute this tradition altogether; some claim that a similar Bible, now in Rome, is entitled to the honor; but the controversy does not detract from the interest in the book itself. This Alcuin of York was the instrument of Charlemagne in establishing the reform in hand lettering, which has been of the utmost importance in the history of printing. Starting with the foundation of the School of Tours in 796, the _minuscule_, or lower-case letter, which is the basis of our modern styles, superseded all other forms of hand lettering. By the twelfth century the clear, free-flowing form that developed from the Caroline minuscule was the most beautiful hand ever developed, and was never surpassed until the humanistic scribes of the fifteenth century took it in its Italian form as their model and perfected it.

The volume is a large quarto, 20 by 14¼ inches in size, splendidly written in double column in minuscule characters with uncial initials (_opp. page_). There are four full-page illuminations, and many smaller miniatures, with characteristic architectural detail that show Roman influence, while the decorations themselves are reminiscent of the Byzantine and the Celtic Schools.

It is the hand lettering rather than the illumination or the decoration that particularly interests me. When I first began my work in designing my Humanistic type, I was amazed that the humanistic scribes of the fifteenth century, upon whose letters I based my own, could have so suddenly taken such a stride forward. The mere fact that there was a greater demand for their work did not seem to explain the phenomenon. Then I discovered that these fifteenth-century artists, instead of adapting or copying the Caroline minuscule, set about to perfect it. They mastered the principles upon which it was based, and with the technical advantages that had come to them through the intervening centuries, brought the design to its fullest beauty.

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To supplement my study of the _Alcuin Bible_, I turn to the masterpiece of the Carolingian School in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. _The Golden Gospels of Saint Médard_ belongs to the same period as the _Alcuin Bible_, and its hand letters are of the same beautiful design, but more brilliant in that they are written throughout in gold. In spite of the crude and unnatural figures, I am always impressed with a feeling that the artist is, for the first time, making a definite effort to break away from past tradition toward more natural design. The Byzantine atmosphere still clings to the work as a whole (_opp. page_), but in the frames and the backgrounds there is an echo of the ivory carving and the architecture of the new Church of San Vitale at Ravenna, and the powerful influence of the early Christian symbolism asserts itself in the miniatures.

The hand-lettered pages are enclosed in plain borders of green or red tint, with outside rules of gold. Each picture page covers the entire leaf. Every now and then, superimposed upon the solid background of the margins, are tiny figures so far superior in freedom of design to the major subjects as to make one wonder why the more pretentious efforts are not farther advanced than they are. Yet why should we be surprised that an artist, under the influence of centuries of precedent and the ever-present aversion to change, should move slowly in expressing originality? As it is, the pages of _Saint Médard_ give us for the first time motivation for the glorious development of the art to come in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

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The rise of Gothic influence forms the great dividing line between the old, or ecclesiastic, and the new, or naturalistic, spirit in monastic art. The _Psalter of Saint Louis_, a Gothic manuscript of the thirteenth century, in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, is an example of this transition that I like to study.

By the beginning of the thirteenth century the initial--which in the Celtic style had dominated the entire page--was losing its supremacy, becoming simply one factor in the general scheme. A delicate fringe work or filigree of pen flourishes, which had sprung up around the initial as it became reduced in size, was later to be converted into a tendril or cylindrical stem, bearing a succession of five leaves and leaflets of ivy, usually entirely filled with burnished gold. Small figures, and, later, groups of figures, take the place of the linear ornament in the interior of the letter, and calligraphy and miniature painting become successfully fused. An exact date cannot be assigned, as it was the result of a slow and gradual growth.

From certain references made in the Calendar pages of the _Psalter_, it is evident that the manuscript was copied and illuminated between the year 1252, when Queen Blanche of Castile died, and the death of Saint Louis in 1270. What a story this book could tell! Written in French in red ink on one of the front end leaves is this inscription:

_This Psalter of Saint Louis was given by Queen Jeanne d’Evreux to King Charles, son of King John, in the year of our Master, 1369; and the present King Charles, son of the said King Charles, gave it to Madame Marie of France, his daughter, a nun at Poissy, on Saint Michel’s Day, in the year 1400_

The _Psalter_ contains 260 leaves of parchment, 8½ by 6 inches. Of these, seventy-eight are small, beautiful miniatures, depicting the principal scenes in the early books of the Old Testament, and eight are illustrations to the Psalms (_page 132_), the remaining leaves being occupied by the text. In these miniatures is shown a refinement and delicacy of treatment combined with unusual freedom in execution. Here is one of the best examples of the reflection of the stained-glass windows of the Gothic cathedrals (_opp. page_), to which reference has already been made. There is no shading whatever. The body color is laid on the design in flat tints, finished by strokes of the pen.

All this is interesting because this period marks the end of the needless limitations illuminators placed upon themselves. Working on vellum as a medium instead of in glass with lead outlines, should be a much simpler operation! Still, one can’t help reveling in the bright scarlet and the rich blue of the stained glass, and would be loath to give it up.

The volume is bound in old boards, covered with blue and rose material embossed with silver and reinforced with velvet. The clasps are gone.

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The style of illumination in the thirteenth century shows no distinct national characteristics, for, even in England, some of the work was executed by French artists. The initial is usually set within a frame shaped to its outline, the ground being either of gold, slightly raised or burnished, or of color, especially dark blue and pale tints of salmon, gray, or violet, sometimes edged with gold.

_Queen Mary’s Psalter_, a superb example of the English School in the early fourteenth century, is a landmark in our pilgrimage because, in addition to its surpassing beauty, it is an example of illumination sought for its own artistic value instead of being associated wholly with devotional manuscripts. No one can examine the charming series of little tinted drawings in the margins of the Litany without being convinced that the artist, whoever he may have been, was quite familiar with the world outside the Church (see _frontispiece_).

The earliest note of ownership in this manuscript is of the sixteenth century:

_This boke was sume tyme the Erle of Rutelands, and it was his wil that it shulde by successioun all way go to the lande of Ruteland or to him that linyally suceedes by reson of inheritaunce in the saide lande._

How fascinating these records are, made by different hands as the precious manuscripts are passed on down the ages! Even though we have no absolute knowledge of which Rutland is meant, an added personality is given to the pages we are now permitted to turn and to admire. In this manuscript there is also a second note, written in Latin on the fly leaf at the end, paying a tribute to a certain Baldwin Smith, “an honest customs officer,” who frustrated an attempt to ship the volume out of England, and presented it to Queen Mary. It is now in the British Museum.

Whether or not this was Queen Mary’s first acquaintance with the manuscript is not known, but from the binding she put on it she surely considered it a highly prized personal possession. It would naturally be of special interest to her because of its connection with the old liturgy she was so anxious to restore. The silver-gilt clasp fittings are missing now. The crimson velvet with the pomegranate, the Queen’s badge, worked in colored silks and gold thread on each cover, are worn and shabby; but on the corner plates the engraved lion, dragon, portcullis, and fleur-de-lys of the Tudors are still triumphant.

The manuscript, executed upon thin vellum, and consisting of 320 leaves about 11 by 7 inches, opens with a series of 228 pen and ink drawings. In most cases there are two designs on each page, illustrating Bible history from the Creation down to the death of Solomon (_page 134_). With the drawings is a running description in French, sometimes in prose, sometimes in rhyme, which in itself is interesting, as the story does not always confine itself strictly to the Biblical records but occasionally embodies apocryphal details.

The drawings themselves are exquisite, and in the skill of execution mark another tremendous advance in the art of illumination. They are delicately tinted with violet, green, red, and brown. The frame is a plain band of vermilion, from each corner of which is extended a stem with three leaves tinted with green or violet.

Following the series of drawings comes a full page showing the Tree of Jesse, and three other full pages depicting the Saints,--one page of four compartments and two of six. The text, from this point, represents the usual form of the liturgical Psalter, the Psalms being preceded by a Calendar, two pages to a month, and followed by the Canticles, including the Athanasian Creed, and then by the Litany. In the Psalter, the miniatures show incidents from the life of Christ; the Canticles depict scenes from the Passion; while in the Litany are miniatures of the Saints and Martyrs. The initials themselves are elaborate, many containing small miniatures, and all lighted up with brilliant colors and burnished gold. In the Litany, in addition to the religious subjects, there are splendid little scenes of every-day life painted in the lower margins which make the manuscript unique,--illustrations of the Bestiary, tilting and hunting scenes, sports and pastimes, grotesque figures and combats, dancers and musicians. The manuscript ends with the Miracles of the Virgin and the Lives and Passions of the Saints.

In _Queen Mary’s Psalter_, and in manuscripts from this period to those of the sixteenth century, we find ourselves reveling in sheer beauty. “Why not have started here?” asks my reader. Perhaps we should have done so; but this is a record not of what I ought to do, but of what I’ve done! To see one beautiful manuscript after another, without being able to recognize what makes each one different and significant, would take away my pleasure, for the riotous colors and gold would merge one into another. Is it not true that there comes greater enjoyment in better understanding? We admire what we may not understand, but without understanding there can be no complete appreciation. In this case, familiarity breeds content!

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After studying the best of fourteenth-century English illumination in _Queen Mary’s Psalter_, I like to turn to the _Bedford Book of Hours_, to make comparison with one of the most beautiful French manuscripts of a century later. This is also at the British Museum, so in the brief space of time required by the attendant to change the volumes on the rack in front of me, I am face to face with the romance and the beauty of another famous volume, which stands as a memorial of English domination in France.

Fashions change in illuminated manuscripts, as in all else, and books of hours were now beginning to be the vogue in place of psalters. This one was written and decorated for John, Duke of Bedford, son of Henry IV, and was probably a wedding gift to Anne, his wife. This marriage, it will be remembered, was intended to strengthen the English alliance with Anne’s brother, Philip of Burgundy. On the blank page on the back of the Duke’s portrait is a record in Latin, made by John Somerset, the King’s physician, to the effect that on Christmas Eve, 1430, the Duchess, with her husband’s consent, presented the manuscript to the young King Henry VI, who was then at Rouen, on his way to be crowned at Paris. Such notes, made in these later illuminated volumes, are interesting as far as they go, but there is so much left unsaid! In the present instance, how came the manuscript, a hundred years later, in the possession of Henri II and Catherine de’ Medici, of France? After being thus located, where was it for the next hundred years, before it was purchased by Edward Harley, 2d Earl of Oxford, from Sir Robert Worsley’s widow, to be presented to his daughter, the Duchess of Portland? These are questions that naturally arise in one’s mind as he turns the gorgeous pages, for it seems incredible that such beauty could remain hidden for such long periods. Now, happily, through purchase in 1852, the manuscript has reached its final resting place.

Like other books of hours, the _Bedford_ opens with the Calendar pages, combining the signs of the Zodiac with beautifully executed scenes typical of each month. Then follow four full-page designs showing the Creation and Fall, the Building of the Ark, the Exit from the Ark, and the Tower of Babel. The Sequences of the Gospels come next; then the Hours of the Virgin, with Penitential Psalms and Litany; the Shorter Hours; the Vigils of the Dead; the Fifteen Joys; the Hours of the Passion; the Memorials of the Saints; and various Prayers. Throughout the 289 leaves, a little larger than 10 by 7 inches, are thirty-eight full-page miniatures that are masterpieces,--particularly the Annunciation, with which the Hours of the Virgin begin. Every page of text is surrounded by a magnificent border, rich in colors and gold, with foliage and birds, and with the daintiest little miniatures imaginable. While these borders are based upon the ivy-leaf pattern, it resembles the style that carries the illumination through the leaf, bud, and flower up to the fruit itself, which one associates more with the Flemish than the French School. The work is really a combination of the French and Flemish Schools, but is essentially French in its conception and execution.