Chapter 4

To attempt to identify the designers of even a selection of the best Printers’ Marks would be but to embark on a wild sea of conjecture. The initials of the engravers, which occur much more frequently than those of the artists, are of very little assistance to the identification of the latter. Many of them possess a vigour and an originality which would at once stamp their designers as men of more than ordinary ability. For picturesqueness, and for the care and attention paid to the minutest details, it may be doubted if either B. Picart in France, or J. Pine in this country, has ever been excelled. The examples of the former come perhaps more in the category of vignettes than of Printers’ Marks, although the charming little pictures on the title-pages of Stosch’s “Pierres Antiques Gravées,” 1724, the “Impostures Innocentes,” 1734, and the edition of Cicero’s “Epistolæ,” printed at the Hague by Isaac Vaillant, 1725,--to mention only three of many--may be conveniently regarded as Printers’ Marks. So far as we know, Pine only executed one example,--representing a Lamb within a cleverly designed cartouche--and this appears on the title-page of Dale’s Translation of Freind’s “Emmenologia,” printed for T. Cox, “at the Lamb under the Royal Exchange,” 1729: in its way it is unquestionably the most perfect Mark that has ever been employed in this country. Any rule differentiating the Printer’s Mark proper from a vignette is not likely to give general satisfaction; for a writer on the subject of vignettes will unfailingly appropriate many that are Marks, and _vice versa_. The present writer has found it a fairly safe rule, to accept as a Mark a pictorial embellishment (on a title-page) to which is appended a motto or quotation. The temptation to persuade oneself that several of these vignettes are Printers’ Marks needs a good deal of resisting, especially when such an exquisite example as that of Daniel Bartholomæus and Son, of Ulm, is in question. The same holds good with several of the dozen used by J. Reinhold Dulssecker, Strassburg, about the latter part of the seventeenth and earlier part of the eighteenth century; and very many others that might be named.

It is interesting to note that the Printer’s Mark preceded the introduction of the title-page by nearly twenty years, and that the first ornamental title known appeared in the “Calendar” of Regiomontanus, printed at Venice by Pictor, Loeslein and Ratdolt in 1476, in folio. Neither the simple nor the ornate title-page secured an immediate or general popularity, and not for many years was it regarded as an essential feature of a printed volume. Its history is intimately associated with that of the Printer’s Mark, and the progress of the one synchronizes up to a certain point with that of the other. In beauty of design and engraving, the Printer’s Mark, like the Title-page, attained its highest point of artistic excellence in the early part of the sixteenth century. This perhaps is not altogether surprising when it is remembered that during the first twenty years of that period we have title-pages from the hands of Dürer, Holbein, Wechtlin, Urse Graff, Schauffelein and Cranach. In his excellent work entitled “Last Words on the History of the Title-Page,” Mr. A. W. Pollard observes “From 1550 onwards we find beauty in nooks and corners. Here and there over some special book an artist will have laboured, and not in vain; but save for such stray miracles, as decade succeeds decade, good work becomes rarer and rarer, and at last we learn to look only for carelessness, ill-taste, and caricature, and of these are seldom disappointed.” These remarks apply with equal force to the Printer’s Mark, although some exceptionally beautiful examples appeared after that period.

The position allotted to the Printer’s Mark may not be of very great importance, but it offers some points of interest. It appeared first in the colophon, in which the printer usually seized the opportunity not only of thanking God that he had finished his task, but of indulging in a little puff either of his own part of the transaction or of the work itself. The appearance of the Mark in the colophon therefore was a natural corollary of the printer’s vanity. It soon outgrew its place of confinement; and when a pictorial effect was attempted it became promoted, as it were, to the title-page. In this position it was nearly always of a primary character, so to speak, but sometimes, as in the case of Reinhard Beck, it was almost lost in the maze of decorative borders. But it is found in various parts of the printed book: in some cases, among which are the Arabic works issued by Erpenius of Leyden, we find the Mark at what we regard as the beginning of the book, but which in reality is its end. Sometimes the Mark occupies the first and last leaves of a book, as was often the case with the more important works issued by Froben, by the brothers Huguetan and others. These two Marks at the extreme portions of a book either differed from one another or not, according to the fancy or convenience of the printer. The Mark also appeared sometimes at the end of the index, or at the end of the preliminary matter, such as list of contents or address of the author, and its position was generally determined by several circumstances.

Now and then we have what may be described as a double Mark; that is, of printer and bookseller, the one keeping a sharp look out to see that the other did not have more than his fair share of credit. This is the case with several books printed by Jehan Petit for Thielman Kerver, Paris, of which an example is given in the previous chapter; Wynkyn de Worde used Caxton’s initials for a time on his Mark, but the only motive which could have prompted this was an affectionate regard for his master. Some of the books which Jannot De Campis printed at Lyons for Symon Vincent contained not only the printer’s, but two examples of the bookseller’s Mark.

[Decoration]

THE PRINTER’S MARK IN ENGLAND.

The consideration of the Printer’s Mark as an institution in this country is characterized by extreme simplicity, both as to its origin and to its design. From an entry in one of the Bagford volumes (Harleian MSS. 5910) in the British Museum, we learn that “rebuses or name devices were brought into England after Edward III. had conquered France: they were used by those who had no arms, and if their names ended in Ton, as Hatton, Boulton, Luton, Grafton, Middleton, Seton, Norton, their signs or devices would be a Hat and a tun, a Boult and a tun, a Lute and a tun, etc., which had no reference to their names, for all names ending in Ton signifieth town, from whence they took their names.” Even in England, therefore, the merchant’s trade device was the direct source of the Printer’s Mark, which it antedated by over a century. It will be convenient, first of all, to explain that the first printing-press in England was that of William Caxton at Westminster, whose first book was issued from this place November 18, 1477; the second was that of Theodoricus de Rood, at Oxford, the first book dated December 17, 1478; the third was that of the unknown printer at St. Albans, 1480, and the fourth was that of John Lettou, in the city of London, 1480, the last-named being soon joined by William de Machlinia, who afterwards carried on the business alone. The earliest phases of wood-engraving employed at one or other of these four distinct houses were either initial letters or borders around the page. At Caxton’s press, as the late Henry Bradshaw has pointed out in a paper read before the Cambridge Antiquarian Society, February 25, 1867, simple initials are found in the Indulgences of 1480 and 1481; at the Oxford press an elaborate border of four pieces, representing birds and flowers, is found in some copies of the two books printed there in October, 1481, and July, 1482. Of illustrations in the text, we find a series of diagrams and a series of eleven cuts illustrating the text of the first edition of “The Mirror of the World,” 1481; a series of sixteen cuts to the second edition of “The Game of Chesse Moralised,” 1483; and two works of the following year, “The Fables of Esop” and the first edition of “The Golden Legend,” each contains not only a large cut for the frontispiece, but in the case of the former, a series of 185 cuts, and, in the latter, two series of eighteen large and fifty-two small cuts. At the Oxford press only two books are known with woodcut illustrations, in neither case cut for the work; at the St. Albans press the only known illustrations in the text are the coats-of-arms found in the “Book of Hawking, Hunting and Coat-Armours,” 1486; at the press of Lettou and W. de Machlinia there is no trace of illustrations.

These few introductory facts, condensed from Mr. Bradshaw’s paper above mentioned, have a distinct interest to us as leading up to the employment of the Printer’s Mark. It is certainly curious that at Caxton’s press the very familiar device was only first used about Christmas, 1489, in the second folio edition of the Sarum “Ordinale.” At first this bold and effective mark was used, as in the “Ordinale,” the “Dictes of the Philosophers,” and in the “History of Reynaud the Fox,” at or close to the beginning of the volume. In Caxton’s subsequent books it is always found at the end. At the St. Albans press the device with “Sanctus Albanus” is found in two of the eight books printed there, “The English Chronicle,” 1483, where it is printed in red, and in “The Book of Hawking,” etc., 1486; it is formed of a globe and double cross, there being in the centre a shield with a St. Andrew’s cross.

So far as regards Caxton’s device, it is easier to name the books in which it appeared than to explain its exact meaning. The late William Blades accepts the common interpretation of “W. C. 74.” Some bibliographers argue that the date refers to the introduction of printing in England, and quote the colophon of the first edition of the “Chess” book in support of this theory. But the date of this work refers to the translation and not to the printing, which was executed at Bruges, probably in 1476. Caxton did not settle at Westminster until late in that year, and possibly not until 1477. In all probability the date, supposing it to be such, and assuming that it is an abbreviation of 1474, refers to some landmark in our printer’s career. Professor J. P. A. Madden, in his “Lettres d’un Bibliophile,” expresses it as his opinion that the two small letters outside the “W. 74 C” are an abbreviation of the words “Sancta Colonia,” an indication that a notable event in the life of Caxton occurred in 1474 at Cologne. Ames, Herbert, and others have copied a device which Caxton never used: it is much smaller than the genuine one (which, in other respects, it closely resembles) which we reproduce from Berjeau. The opinion that the interlacement is a trade mark is, Mr. Blades points out in his exhaustive “Life,” much strengthened by the discovery of its original use. In 1487, Caxton, wishing to print a Sarum Missal, and not having the types proper for the purpose, sent to Paris, where the book was printed for him by G. Maynyal, who in the colophon states distinctly that he printed it at the expense of William Caxton of London. When the printed sheets reached Westminster, Caxton, wishing to make it quite plain that he was the publisher, engraved his design and printed it on the last page, which happened to be blank. Mr. Blades gives 1487 as the year in which this Missal (of which only one copy is known) was printed, but Mr. Bradshaw puts it at 1489. The former enumerates twelve books printed by Caxton in which his device occurs--all ranging from the aforesaid Missal to the year 1491, the date of his death.

Wynkyn de Worde, a native of Lorraine, who was with Caxton at Bruges or Cologne, carried on the business of his master at Westminster until 1499, when he removed to the sign of the Golden Sun, Fleet Street, London. He had nine Marks, the earliest of which is often described as one of Caxton’s, from the genuine example of which, as we have already stated, it differs in being smaller, with a different border, and in having a flourish inserted above and below the letters. The second is an elongated variation of No. 1, with the name Wynkyn de Worde on a narrow white space beneath the device. The next four devices are more or less elaborations upon that of which we give a reproduction; the seventh is the Sagittarius device in black with white characters: between the sagittarii is seen the sun and flaming stars, and below the initials “W C” in Roman letters, with the name Wynkyn de Worde at the foot; the eighth is a picturesque Mark copied from one belonging to Froben, with the omission of part of the background; it consists of a semicircular arch, supported by short-wreathed pillars, with foliated capitals, plinths and bases: on the top of each is a boy habited like a soldier, with a spear and shield bending forwards; a large cartouche German shield is supported by three boys. The ninth Mark of this printer was a large and handsome one, being a royal and heraldic device which Wynkyn de Worde used as a frontispiece to the Acts of Parliament, in the form of an upright parallelogram which encloses a species of arched panel or doorway, formed of three lines, imitating clustered columns and Gothic mouldings, and two large square shields, that on the left charged with three fleurs-de-lys for France, and the other bearing France and England quarterly, each of which is surmounted by a crown. For a very minute description of these Marks, and their variations, the reader is referred to Johnson’s “Typographia,” and Bigmore and Wyman’s “Bibliography of Printing,” the former of whom enumerates 410 books which issued from this press.

Among the 200 odd books which Richard Pynson printed between 1493 and 1527, we find six Marks (besides variants), of which five are very similar, and of these we give two examples, the smaller being one of the earliest, in which it will be noticed that the drawing is much inferior to the larger example; the sixth Mark is a singular one, consisting of a large upright parallelogram surrounded by a single stout line, within which are the scroll, supporters, shield and cypher, crest, helmet and mantling, and the Virgin and St. Catherine, and in many other particulars differing from the other five examples. Robert Redman, who, after quarrelling with Richard Pynson, and apparently succeeding him in business, employed a device almost identical with that which Pynson most frequently used, and to which therefore we need not further refer. In chronological sequence the next English printer who employed a device is Julian Notary, who was printing books for about twenty years subsequent to 1498, first at Westminster, then near Temple Bar, and finally in St. Paul’s Churchyard. He had two devices (of which there are a very few variations), of which we give the more important. The other has only one stout black line, and not two, and it has also the Latinized form of the name--Julianus Notarius. About two dozen different works of this printer are known to bibliographers. In connection with Notary, we may here conveniently refer to an interesting, but admittedly inconclusive article which appears in _The Library_, i., pp. 102-5, by Mr. E. Gordon Duff, in which that able bibliographer publishes the discovery of two books which would point to the existence of an unrecorded English printer of the fifteenth century. One of these has the title of “Questiones Alberti de modis significandi,” and the other, of which only a fragment is known to exist, is a Sarum “Horæ,” which is dated 1497. In the colophons of neither does the name of the printer transpire, but his Mark is given in both--in the former book in black, and in the latter in red. This mark is identical with Notary’s, with this important exception, that, whereas in Notary’s device his name occurs in the lower half of the device, in these the lower half is occupied by the initials I. H., and the upper half by the initials I N B, the I N being in the form of a monogram, and not distinct. In 1498 this same block was used on the title-page of the Sarum “Missal,” printed by Notary, who altered it to suit his own requirements. We cannot follow Mr. Gordon Duff in his conjectures as to the probability of who this unknown printer may have been, but the matter is one of great bibliographical interest. William Faques, who was the King’s Printer, and who is known to have issued seven books between 1499 and 1508, had only one Mark, which is totally different from those of any of his predecessors, as may be seen from the example given on page 16, where will also be found references to the sources of the scriptural quotations on the white and black triangles.

The extreme rarity of this printer’s books will be best understood when it is stated that there are only two examples in the British Museum; one of these is a “Psalter,” 1504. With W. Faques we exhaust the fifteenth century printers who employed marks to distinguish the productions of their presses.

Notwithstanding the similarity in their surnames it is not at all certain that Richard Fawkes (1509-1530), who also appears as Faukes, Fakes, and Faques, was related to the last-mentioned printer. His books are now of excessive rarity. The unicorn (regardant on either side of the device) appears for the first time in an English mark. Henry Pepwell (1505-1539), of the Holy Trinity in St. Paul’s Churchyard, was a bookseller rather than a printer, and all his earlier books were printed in Paris; his Mark, in which occurs the heraldic device representing the Trinity, was suggested by the sign of his shop. The most important example of the thirty books which issued from the little-known press of Peter Treveris, who was apparently putting forth books from 1514 to 1535, is “The Grete herball whiche geveth parfyt knowlege and und[er]standing of all maner of herbes,” etc., 1526, a finely printed folio (“at the signe of the Wodows”), of which a second edition appeared in 1529. The earlier edition contains, on the recto of the sixth leaf, a full-page woodcut of the human skeleton, with anatomical explanations, whilst the last leaf contains a full-page woodcut of the printer’s Mark, with the imprint at the foot. Herbert supposes that the sign of the “Wodows,” mentioned by Treveris in the colophon, might possibly be put for wode hommes or wild men, and alludes to the supporters used in the device. Treveris printed for several booksellers, notably John Reyves, of St. Paul’s Churchyard, and for Lawrence Andrewe, of Fleet Street. In this printer’s Mark, and in fact nearly every other sixteenth century example, there is a very evident French influence, whilst many of the examples are the most transparent imitations of Marks used by foreign printers. Of the three used by John Scott or Skot, who was printing books from about 1521 to 1537, two were mere copies of the Marks used by Denis Roce of Paris. We give an illustration of one example; the second is of the same design, but with a very rich stellated background, and the motto, “A l’aventure, tout vient a point qui peut attendre.” His own device was an exceedingly simple long strip, with the letters Iohn Skot in antique Roman characters. An example of the last mark will be found in “The Golden Letanye in Englysshe,” printed by Skot in “Fauster Land, in Saynt Leonardes parysshe”; but examples of this press are excessively rare, only one, “Thystory of Jacob and his XII Sones,” fourteen leaves, in verse, and printed about 1525, being in the British Museum, and another tract, “The Rosary,” 1537, being in the Althorp Library now transferred to Manchester.

Robert Copland, who was a beneficiaire and pupil of Wynkyn de Worde, was a translator as well as a printer and stationer, and his shop was at the sign of the Rose Garland in Fleet Street. Although he carried on business from 1515 to about 1548, only a few of his books are now known, none of which appear to be in the British Museum. The majority were purely ephemeral. The most interesting phase of this printer’s career occurs in connection with one or two books printed by Wynkyn de Worde, notably “The Assembly of Foules,” 1530, at the end of which is “Lenvoy of Robert Copland boke prynter,” one of the three verses running thus:

“Layde upon shelfe, in leues all torne With Letters, dymme, almost defaced cleane Thy hyllynge rote, with wormes all to worne Thou lay, that pyte it was to sene Bounde with olde quayres, for ages all hoorse and grene Thy mater endormed, for lacke of thy presence But nowe arte losed, go shewe forth thy sentence.”