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.
The projecting bosses and corners which occur in mediæval bindings
were to protect them against the friction of other books which lay
upon them, a thin piece of wood dividing them. The books were piled
upon each other, so that if one of the lower ones was wanted it was
necessary to remove the upper ones. This caused much trouble, so that
in due time it was found better to stand the books up on end on shelves.
The prone position is, however, the better one for the book, and the
respective levels of the edges of the book and the edges of the boards
are designed for this position. When the books were set up on end, the
discrepancy between the levels of the book edges and the board edges
was never rectified, and the result is that a large amount of damage
has been done. When a large book is set up on end, the weight of it
rests entirely upon the lower edges of the boards, and the lower edges
of the book itself are up in the air above the shelf by so much as the
projection of the edges of the boards beyond them. The result is that
the whole of the weight of the vellum or paper of the book pulls upon
the bands of the back in their weakest direction, from within and more
particularly from the top, thereby pulling the back inwards. The mass
of the book falls forward slantingly, until the lower edge of the front
of it rests upon the shelf.
It is difficult to describe, but my sketch will show what I mean, and
the truth of it can be easily seen in almost any library of old books
that are kept “on end”; the edges will be found grubby from resting on
the shelf, and the top of the back will be found pulled forward.
[Illustration: FIG. 70.--Inside of heavy book fallen forward, by reason
of being kept upright.]
Valuable books that are kept upright should have the edges of the
boards level with the edges of the leaves, and then this disastrous
pull would not occur.
A remedy, however, may be found by means of a piece of wood cut the
same size as the lower edge of the book so as to fit closely into the
hollow between the outer edges of the boards and the lower edges of
the leaves. Such a slip will neutralise the drop of the leaves, and
preserve the proper form of the backs of heavy books.
But before the upright position was finally adopted for books, and
their titles were put on their backs, the front edge or “forage” of the
leaves was always kept outwards, in view, and on this space or long
panel all sorts of devices and letterings were put.
Leaves of a book, pressed tightly together, provided too tempting a
space to be ignored, to say nothing of the usefulness of giving the
name or title of the book, or the device of its owner, or even a
decorative design. So on fine mediæval books and also on later books,
following the earlier manner in their own way, we find all sorts of
designs on book edges. It is not a subject which has attracted much
attention as yet, but it probably will in time, and there is already
enough known about it to show that much valuable knowledge is lying
hidden up in it. For instance, if a book, otherwise likely, has the
words “Rex in Æternum Vive” painted in gold on the edges, it is a
positive sign that it issued from the workshop of Thomas Berthelet,
printer and binder to Henry VIII.
[Illustration: FIG. 71.--Forage decoration in colour. Tenth century.]
Edge decoration of some sort seems to have been done from the tenth
century onwards; at first elementary or symbolical designs were simply
painted upon the edges, and not counting the mere book titles or press
marks, it may be said that since the fourteenth century heraldry has
played a very important part in edge decoration. In England this form
of adornment for a bound book has been largely followed from that time,
and there are fine examples of it in books bound for Henry VII. and the
other of our Tudor sovereigns, as well as for private persons of the
same period. The edges are treated as panels and the painting done upon
them when pressed firmly and solidly together. The edges are generally
coloured some neutral colour as a groundwork and sometimes lettering in
gold is done upon them.
[Illustration: FIG. 72.--Italian forage decoration in gold and colour
(1560).]
Henry VIII. often had the legend “REX IN ÆTERNUM VIVE NEZ” written
in gold on the cream coloured edges of his books, and all that are
so lettered are attributed to Thomas Berthelet as binder. The “Nez”
is rather a puzzle, and it was suggested by Mr. J. L. Scott, of the
British Museum, that it stands for the three initial letters of the
phrase in the Book of Daniel, Ναβουχοδονὀσωρ Εσαει ζῆθι--a quite
possible solution.
[Illustration: FIG. 73.--German forage decoration in gold and colour.
The arms of Nuremberg (1566).]
Queen Anne Boleyn’s copy of the New Testament has her name, “ANNA
REGINA ANGLIÆ,” written in red upon its gilt edges.
For Queen Elizabeth, book edges were usually gilded, and on this
gilding designs were impressed with ordinary binding tools. This is the
commonest form of edge decoration, and is called “gauffring.” Gauffred
edges are found in abundance in French, German and Italian work. There
are fine examples of it on books bound for Henri II. of France and all
his children, and on those made for Diane de Poictiers, Duchesse de
Valentinois. In all these cases colour is often added to the designs
on the gold. Le Gascon put some elaborately painted edges on some of
his hooks; on Italian books and English books colour is sparingly used;
on the other hand, in Germany and the Low Countries colour was often
overdone and the result is garish.
Until the time of Samuel Mearne, towards the end of the seventeenth
century, all edge paintings were done on the edges of the leaves
simply pressed solidly together, but Mearne invented a new fashion
of arranging the leaves. In the case of the older manner we usually
find the upper and lower edges painted as well as the fore-edge, or
“forage,” but it is only the forage that can be painted in Mearne’s
style, and so in all instances of this kind the upper and lower edges
are left plain.
[Illustration: FIG. 74.--Book fanned out to show forage painting in
Mearne’s style.]
Mearne had his book forwarded, finished, and the edges gilded before
beginning his painting. Then he opened the book by the upper board
only, and laid it down flat on its back and kept it in that position
by weights. In this position it will be found that the forage fans
out into a larger panel than exists when the book is shut up. On
this fanned-out panel the painting was done in water-colours with as
dry a brush as possible. When the painting was finished and the book
allowed to resume its normal shut position, the edge painting entirely
disappeared, and the gilding on the forage looked as if nothing was
behind it. So thoroughly does such a painting disappear that I have
found several that were quite unknown to their owners, and I have no
doubt that there are plenty of unrecognised examples in English private
libraries in perfect condition and safe obscurity.
[Illustration: FIG. 75.--Portrait of Charles II. in colour, on the
forage of a book bound for the king by Samuel Mearne.]
The only name I have found on any of Mearne’s forage paintings is that
of “Fletcher.”
After Mearne, for about one hundred years, I know of no particular
development of forage decoration, but towards the end of the eighteenth
century, the same principle was revived by James Edwards of Halifax.
Edwards had an artist brother, and it is likely enough that he painted
the edges on his brother’s curious vellum-bound books. The designs are
not so markedly heraldic as the earlier examples were, but are often
biblical.
Edwards’ delicate paintings, always on small books, were copied for
some considerable period, and many little books were made with such
work upon them for many years. Windsor and Eton are both favourite
subjects, and country houses of all sorts. Landscapes are particularly
suitable for this form of painting, and many specimens are very
pleasing.
All the foregoing paintings are done so as to be complete on each book,
but some time ago a remarkable set of Italian books, I believe of
the sixteenth century, were brought to England. The forages of these
volumes were painted in such a manner that the complete design only
showed when they were all arranged in proper order on a shelf with
their forages outwards. In the case of sets of books bound uniformly,
this manner of ornamenting them is worthy of the attention of some of
our enterprising modern binders.
Although the greater number of books, both in manuscript and printed,
have been bound in leather or vellum, there are still very many that
have been covered in other materials.
[Illustration: FIG. 76.--English velvet binding, with seals, made for
Henry VII.]
The commonest of these materials are velvet, canvas, satin, silk,
cloth, linen, and buckram. I believe that all of these, except perhaps
the last three in recent times, have been more used in England than
they have been in any other country.
Velvet is the most interesting, as its use is the most ancient, of
any of these textile materials. It is strong and beautiful, the fur or
pile being produced in a very curious manner. Two warps are used in
the manufacture of the fabric, and small hollow brass wires, slightly
flattened at the sides, and having a groove along the top, are inserted
transversely under the raised “pile” warp at intervals as the weaving
proceeds. These wires keep the thread in the form of upright loops,
resembling those which can be seen on a Brussels carpet on a larger
scale. The wires are then cut out by drawing a sharp specially-designed
knife called a truvat along the groove at the top. The consequent
separation of the warp threads which formed the rows of loops now forms
the pile, each thread standing upright. It is wonderful how well velvet
lasts, and what hard wear it will stand before all the pile is worn
away.
Books bound in velvet are not uncommon in Dutch work; they are
sometimes inlaid in differently coloured velvets, and sometimes
embroidered. In France books have rarely been bound in velvet, in Italy
and in Germany still more rarely.
In England, however, there has been a considerable output of velvet
bindings. Examples still exist that were made in the fifteenth century
for Henry VII., whose library was in all probability entirely bound in
this material. Nothing earlier than Henry VII.’s books are now known
of English bindings in velvet, but these are so fine that it is likely
enough that earlier work of the kind was done in the case of very
choice manuscripts.
Not only are Henry VII.’s books, which are still in their original
covers, in marvellously good condition, but they are also among the
most decorative bindings that have ever been made, here or in any
other country. Fine examples may be seen in the library at Westminster
Abbey, at the Record Office, and in the British Museum, and in every
case their beauty and interest well repay the trouble of obtaining
access to them.
These volumes all are in the same style, but they vary in detail. All
I have seen are in red velvet, and have metal bosses in the centre and
smaller ones in the corner.
[Illustration: FIG. 77.--English embroidered book, velvet. Made for
Henry VIII.]
One of the handsomest, which may be taken as a type, is a copy of the
indentures made between Abbot Islip and Henry VII. for the foundation
of the chantry at Westminster. It is a large manuscript on vellum, and
is covered in rich red velvet projecting liberally over the edges, and
bound with gold fringe. In the centre is a circular silver cup-like
boss, containing the royal coat of arms, France and England quarterly,
with supporters of red dragon of Cadwallader and white greyhound of De
Beaufort, cut out of silver and enamelled in proper colours. At each
corner is a circular silver boss containing the De Beaufort device
of a portcullis gilt and cut in low relief, and set on an enamelled
background of the Tudor livery colours, green and white, per pale.
There are clasps of cloth of gold braid, fastening with a chased
silver-gilt button bearing an enamelled rose, and dependent from the
lower edge of the board are five silver boxes bearing Tudor emblems in
relief, each containing an impression of the great seal.
It is also recorded by Paul Hentzner that in 1598 he saw Queen
Elizabeth’s library, and that many of them were bound in velvet and
embroidered, a note that is fully corroborated by such of her books as
now remain.
But there were also books embroidered upon canvas in the fifteenth
century, one of which is now in the British Museum. It is a psalter
of the fourteenth century, and is covered in fine canvas on which are
delicate embroideries in the manner known as “Opus Anglicanum,” which
looks like a chain stitch, but is really a cleverly managed split
stitch.
This remarkable book, the earliest known example of an embroidered
binding, has upon one side a beautiful representation of the
Annunciation, and on the other a Crucifixion. It is supposed to have
been worked by Anne de Felbrigge, a nun in the convent of Minoresses,
at Brusyard, in Suffolk, and daughter of Sir Simon de Felbrigge, K.G.,
standard bearer to Richard II. It is considerably worn and faded, but
the designs can all be made out.
The velvet books which were made in the next reign were ornamented with
embroidered designs appliqués, and many of them are very handsome. The
designs on such books were nearly always heraldic, judging from those
that remain, but arabesques and floral ornamentation are often met
with on satin. Queen Katharine Parr is said to have embroidered some of
these books, and there is one in canvas in the British Museum, and one
in canvas and one in velvet at the Bodleian, which are supposed to have
been worked by the Princess Elizabeth, always with braid.
When Elizabeth came to the throne she continued her evident liking for
velvet bound books, and she had them of several colours--red, green,
or black. Several of these are richly embroidered, sometimes with
armorial designs, sometimes floral, and sometimes arabesque. Others are
decorated with brilliant enamels or gold, centrepieces, cornerpieces,
and clasps, and others again have appliqué pieces of coloured satin,
on which is gold tooling, some of which is actually put on the velvet
itself.
Canvas is rarely found during Elizabeth’s reign, but it does exist, and
is usually embroidered in a coarse manner with tent-stitch.
[Illustration: FIG. 78.--English embroidered book, canvas (1648).]
In the seventeenth century the taste for velvet bindings still
remained, but not so exclusively, as there were many more bound in
silk or satin, usually white. The majority of these books are small,
Prayers, Bibles, Psalms, and the designs upon them are of great
variety, but generally have a symbolic tendency--figures of Faith,
Hope, Charity, Peace, Plenty, and numbers of biblical subjects,
David and Bathsheba, Solomon and Queen of Sheba, Jacob’s Dream, Jacob
wrestling with the Angel, Abraham and Isaac, and many more; and besides
these there are numbers of quaint little bindings with floral designs.
[Illustration: FIG. 79.--English embroidered “double” book, satin,
seventeenth century.]
The period of Nicholas Ferrar’s curious establishment at Little Gidding
in Huntingdonshire was coincident with the reign of Charles I. Here
were contrived most interesting Harmonies of the Scriptures, done under
Ferrar’s superintendence by his nieces Mary Collet and her sisters.
These ladies, moreover, bound the Harmonies themselves, and were not
only the first English lady binders but also the first amateur binders,
and they bound exceedingly well. Mrs. Wordsworth was another pioneer
among lady binders. She covered her books in pieces of her own old
dresses.
Not only did the ladies of Little Gidding bind their Harmonies,
sometimes very large, in sheep skin, morocco and calf, but also in
velvet, curiously ornamented. I have already mentioned that in the
sixteenth century the art of gilding upon velvet was known, but it was
reserved for the ladies of Little Gidding to bring it to perfection.
[Illustration: FIG. 80.--English, embroidered binding canvas,
seventeenth century.]
There will always be some little doubt as to whether these magnificent
gold and silver tooled velvet books were done entirely by the binders
at Little Gidding, or with the assistance of their masters, Bucks of
Cambridge. There is a marked similarity of general style as well as
of detail, but the larger Little Gidding books appear particularly to
bear the impress of more irresponsible genius than that of the orthodox
university printers.
Gilding upon velvet is still practised a little in England; the service
books used at the wedding of the present Prince of Wales were in red
velvet with the royal monogram impressed in gold upon it.
With the eighteenth century an end came to any great output of bindings
in velvet, canvas or satin; now and then an isolated specimen is found,
and the era of cloth bindings began in the nineteenth century.
The main difference is that the earlier books in velvet, canvas or
satin were always specially broad, but the cloth bindings were trade
bindings from the beginning, with very few exceptions.
At first backs of paper bound books were strengthened by pieces of
ordinary linen or calico pasted over them, the title being added on
a label; but a special cloth for binding purposes was made early in
the century by James Leonard Wilson, and in 1822 Pickering’s Aldine
Classics bound in that material were issued. This use of a special
cloth was largely helped and fostered by Mr. Archibald Leighton, who
made a speciality of it. The cloth was sometimes watered and sometimes
plain. Cloth soon became a favourite binding for cheap books, and in
time Wilson found a way of gilding upon it, probably by the use of
dried and powdered albumen.
Some of the early cloth bindings were ornamented by impressions from
engraved cylinders, the pattern showing in low relief. The great
pressure which was used to make this impression had so hardened the
cloth as well as the boards upon which it is fixed, that many of the
existing examples of the work are still in perfect condition.
Then gradually came ornamentation stamped in gold on the sides and gold
lettering on the back, and of recent years designs and pictures stamped
in colours upon cloth, canvas and buckram have become common. Many
of these designs are excellent, and the work required for them gives
employment to a large number of designers as well as colour printers
and block makers. Books bound in these materials look well and last
well for a time, but they are essentially short-lived if handled much.
About the middle of the nineteenth century numbers of small illustrated
periodicals, landscape annuals, and the like were covered in watered
silk, generally red, blue or green. These also do not last well; but
if any copies that are still in a good state are found, they should be
carefully preserved as they are, and not be rebound; they represent a
type of binding that is by no means without charm. Perhaps the most
important books which were originally issued in this form of cover were
the two beautiful volumes of Rogers’ _Poems_ and _Italy_. They have
gilt edges and are bound with flat open backs and sawn in bands.
Buckram is generally used for large books, as it is stiff and
troublesome to fold over in a small way. If a large book is properly
sewn and has proper boards it may well be covered in buckram, provided
it is not to be much used. The joints soon look unsightly, as the hinge
movement causes the dressing, of which there is a large proportion, to
powder out. Buckram is rarely ornamented; indeed, it may almost be said
that a book bound in it is only intended to keep together until such
time as it can be properly bound in some better material.
Art canvas is sometimes used for bindings, and it is fairly
satisfactory, but has the same delicacy at the joints as buckram, and
soon looks shabby.
There is now such a quantity of cheap literature that is not likely to
last, or to be wanted to last, that there is a large and increasing
demand for cheap binding materials other than leather. So there is an
important future for specially prepared binding cloths and buckrams.
The only libraries that are likely to suffer by the more general
introduction of such materials are the few large ones that are obliged
to keep all their books, old or new, in working order inside and
outside.
Account book bindings are peculiar and very strong. They have been
used for a long time in banks and business houses, and are purely
utilitarian and comparatively quite modern.
Strong sound paper is an essential for account books. The sewing is
done in the flexible style, but on broad flat bands of vellum or
leather instead of raised bands of hemp. The ends of the bands are
fixed between two boards, pairs of which form the boards of the book.
The space between the edge of the back of the book where the bands
leave it and their inset to the boards is not drawn close, but a narrow
margin is left so that a perfectly flexible and strong leather joint
is left. In small books this peculiarity is known as a French joint,
and it obviates the common failing of sides falling away from otherwise
sound bindings along the joint-line at the back.
The back of account book bindings looks very strong, but it is really
nothing of the sort. It is only a show back, to take the lettering and
cover up the real joints, which are securely laid along the edges of
the boards.
When an account book is opened it “sets up” so that it can be easily
read right down to the sewing at the back. This is of great value in
many cases other than the keeping of accounts, and it is the only
advantage of the common, but weak, bindings with “hollow” backs. But
there is no doubt that a modified form of account book binding, with a
French joint, is a style which might with advantage be studied by our
modern art binders.
The study of end papers is to some extent necessary for the true
judgment of the work of certain binders. For instance, Thomas Berthelet
normally used white end papers, Samuel Mearne used red marbled end
papers, and Roger Payne used purple or pink end papers. The Italian
binder who worked for Grolier used vellum for end paper, and so on. The
knowledge of such details is useful in detecting frauds, as they are
apt to be under-estimated in importance by a forger.
Of all end papers the most common is marbled paper, and one of the most
curious usages of it is when a beautiful and delicate French binding
has a charmingly gold tooled doublure of splendid leather faced by a
wretched leaf of marbled paper.
The usual marbled paper is made by means of a bed of size on which
colour is sprinkled by a brush, the colour lies on the top of the size
and is moved about by means of a wide-toothed comb or a pin or anything
that is handy, until the resulting pattern is to the satisfaction of
the operator. Then the paper is laid down in the size, and when raised
up it brings all the colour with it. It is generally easy to see how
the pattern has been made by looking at the paper, and it will be found
that the most usual forms have been made by the use of a broad-toothed
comb. I should think that the process might well have produced
something better than it ever has; undoubtedly if J. M. Whistler had
ever known of it we should have had some remarkable results.
Marbling is probably of Oriental origin, and was most likely first
practised in Germany, so far as Europe is concerned. It was certainly
understood in Nuremberg in 1599, as specimens made there are to be
seen in the _Album Amicorum_, of J. Cellarius, of that date. It is, of
course, obviously capable of endless modifications, and of late years
some very delicately and prettily coloured end papers have been made.
More or less in continuation of the mediæval fashion of covering
book-bindings with richly-worked metal overlays, we find, in the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries particularly, numbers of small
books bound in metal or with metal enrichments in the form of
centrepieces and cornerpieces. Clasps occur all along, and although
I hardly think that they have followed out any very marked line of
development, I expect that some day a careful study will be made
of them, when some such development may possibly be discovered. No
student, as far as I am aware, has made any attempt to classify book
clasps.
[Illustration: FIG. 81.--English golden book, made for Henry VIII.]
But the English, German, French, Italian, and Dutch bindings with metal
enrichments are pretty well known and generally admired. The English
are the finest by far, and, as far as I can ascertain, the earliest.
In the reign of Henry VIII. it was the fashion for ladies to carry
small books of devotion at their girdle. These little books were always
ornamental, and they had a ring fixed on the lower edge of the binding
so that when the book was lifted up it came right for reading. One of
these belonged to one of the queens of Henry VIII.; it is a copy of
the Psalms, and is bound in gold with a delicate leafy spray in high
relief. On it are remains of enamel, and in the beginning is a tiny
miniature of the king.
Another beautiful little golden book with a design, probably by
Holbein, in black enamel, is now the property of Lord Romney.
Several small golden bindings with scriptural subjects in high
relief and enamelled were made late in the sixteenth century. Most
of these are now divorced from their original texts, and are only
kept as specimens of enamel work, but in one instance the whole book
is perfect. This is a little book of prayers that belonged to Queen
Elizabeth. On one side of it is the Serpent in the Wilderness and on
the other the Judgment of Solomon.
For the same queen a little copy of _Christian Meditations_ was bound
in red velvet with golden centrepieces, corners, and clasps. The
enamels in this case are champlevé, and still perfect in colour. They
are said to have been the work of George Heriot, Elizabeth’s goldsmith,
who founded a hospital in Edinburgh.
James VI. of Scotland wrote the βασιλικον Δωρον for his son Henry, and
the precious MS. was bound in purple velvet with golden centrepiece and
clasps. The gold is cut out thin and then finished by engraving. When
king of England James had some of his books bound in velvet with silver
enrichments. On one of these, a little book of _Christian Meditations_,
which is bound in purple velvet, the royal coat-of-arms is engraved on
the centre oval, and on the corners are the national crests of England
and Scotland, the crowned harp of Ireland, and the fleur-de-lis of
France.
A beautiful little New Testament of 1643 with silver portraits of
Charles I. and Queen Henrietta Maria, and cornerpieces and clasps
engraved with allegorical figures, shows that metal on velvet was still
a popular style, but on later bindings in England metal centrepieces
fell quite out of use. Metal corners, however, were still used for some
time, and clasps occasionally.
Bindings entirely of silver are rare in English workmanship, but they
were not unknown, as a fine specimen with a repoussé figure of Charity
covers a Common Prayer of 1632.
[Illustration: FIG. 82.--German binding in silver filigree and niello.]
Of German and Dutch workmanship many metal bindings exist, and they
are of varied styles. All these bindings have solid metal backs with
hinges along the sides, and usually a sort of cap projecting over the
headband. Many of the later examples are not good, but are made of bad
metal and coarsely worked in repoussé. The worst of them are probably
Dutch work.
Some of the earlier German silver bindings are prettily ornamented
with niello work, and others have filigree work over gilt metal, and
the use of tortoiseshell with silver or gilt mounts is also found of
Spanish, German, or Dutch workmanship. I should say that the best
guide to determine to which of these countries the work belongs is to
take the place of imprint as authoritative. The imprint on a printed
book does not by any means always imply that a binding was made there,
but in many doubtful cases it is undoubtedly of much value as to mere
nationality; the style of the binding itself should always be the
first consideration. Some Dutch bindings are made in base metal, gilt,
often with open work and engraving. They are neither good to look upon
nor pleasant to handle.
Italian bindings in metal are rare, and it is only in the case of very
small books that it was ever used. The manner of this is usually fine
filigree work over a gilt groundwork. There is one example in the
Victoria and Albert Museum, which is, however, more likely to be quite
an exceptional production than one in any way representing a national
type. It is an exquisitely enamelled golden book cover, having on one
side the Garden of Eden and on the other the Fountain of Youth; it
contains a missal, and is said to have been made for Queen Henrietta
Maria.
In France a few silver bindings of the sixteenth century with enamels
have been made, but they are very rare, and the enamels of the basse
taille style, usually badly chipped.
I believe some small metal bindings with rough enamels upon them have
been made in comparatively modern times in Russia. These all have a
strong Byzantine feeling and are clear survivals of the same style
that was in vogue in Russia in mediæval times, and was used not only
for bindings but also for ikons and triptychs. The work is coarse and
unsatisfactory.
[Illustration: FIG. 83.--Dutch binding in tortoiseshell and silver.]
Tortoiseshell mounted in metal has been largely used for bindings in
Holland, Germany, and Spain. The backs are hinged to the sides with
long snuff-box hinges, and the shell itself is sometimes beautifully
inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl. Some of these covers are very
small, particularly the Dutch ones, and designs are sometimes impressed
upon them.
Mother-of-pearl has now and then been utilised for binding very small
books. The backs and hinges are usually of silver.
[Illustration: FIG. 84.--German chained book, fifteenth century.]
The curious custom of fastening books to their shelves by means of
chains was common enough in Europe in mediæval times and became almost
universal in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in churches. It
was of course done as a safeguard against thieves, and as far as I
know only in the case of printed books. Although printed books soon
became plentiful, yet no doubt in the case of Bibles and Prayer Books
it is likely enough that a considerable leakage took place. Such small
books were commonly chained to the backs of the pews in private chapels
throughout England, and undoubtedly the custom, though inconvenient in
use, was effective enough for its purpose.
Larger books would naturally belong to important libraries, those of
cathedrals and churches particularly, and of these there are still left
plenty of examples still in chains.
The chains are of iron, average 3 feet long, and are clamped to the
front edge of the upper board by means of a rivet; the other end of
the chain is provided with a ring which runs freely to and fro along
a locked metal rod. Enough play is given by the chain to allow of the
book being taken off its shelf and rested on the desk close at hand
which is always provided for it.
There is a certain fashion in the way of attaching these chains. In
foreign books the fastening is usually found at the top of the upper
board, while in the case of English books it is usually fixed on the
front edge of the upper board. The books were normally kept with
their forages outwards, and on these edges the titles were written or
emblazoned.
The Laurentian Library at Florence has a large number of chained books
kept in beautifully carved shelves.
The Church of St. Wallberg in Zutphen has several chained books. There
is a legend that the devil carried off so many of the holy books that
something had to be done, so the chains were blessed in due form with
holy water, since when the books have been safely preserved.
Plenty of examples of chained libraries are still left in England,
particularly at Hereford Cathedral, the old treasure house at Wimborne
Minster and All Saints’ Church at Hereford; a complete list of them is
given in Blades’ “Books in Chains,” published in London in 1892.
The inconvenience of chains must have been considerable, and no doubt
careless readers often got into trouble about them. On a notice
concerning the library at King’s College, Cambridge, in 1683, readers
are requested to replace the volumes “decently without entangling the
chains.”
About the middle of the eighteenth century the inconvenience of
chains on books was fully realised, and from that time there has been
a general tendency to their removal, except in cases where their
retention is advisable for antiquarian reasons.
True horn books were used in England and America, but similar
constructions also existed in other countries--chiefly France, Germany,
Italy, and Holland--but without horn covering.
[Illustration: FIG. 85.--English seventeenth century horn book.]
They were for children’s use, and the alphabet and the Lord’s Prayer
are the commonest letterings upon them, always beginning with a cross,
giving the first line the name of the “Christ cross” or “criss cross”
row. The paper for true horn books is printed only on one side, and
then laid down upon a flat piece of wood. Some unused eighteenth
century horn book sheets are preserved in the Bagford fragments at the
British Museum. Over the printed slip a piece of horn is put, kept in
place by strips of brass fastened with nails having facetted tops, but
it must be noted that after about 1820 the facetted tops were often
replaced by flat heads.
Like all books or objects which were originally cheap and common, horn
books are now very rare, but they are so valuable that it is unluckily
worth while to imitate them, and many fraudulent modern specimens are
about. A horn book is, unfortunately, easy to copy, and it is sometimes
a very difficult thing to say positively whether a given specimen
is genuinely old or not. Modern frauds are often wrong in either the
printing, the paper, the horn, or the nails, but they are often right
as to the wood, which is easily made to have every proper appearance
of age by means of soaking in water, rubbing with sand, staining by
ammonia, and so on. Collectors should, if possible, get a properly
authenticated history with every specimen offered to them.
Small plaques for teaching the alphabet seem to have existed before the
invention of printing, but in printed form they were most used towards
the end of the sixteenth century until the nineteenth, when their
character altered, the wooden frame and its horn covering disappeared,
and a degenerate production in varnished cardboard, preserving the old
form in some respects, took their place. These cards are often called
battledores, but this name was an old one, and originally used for true
horn books. The name battledore is probably derived from the batlet,
which was used for beating clothes, the horn books somewhat resembling
this in shape.
Although the general run of horn books are simple, there are many
instances in which they have been decorated; a certain analogy thus
exists between the diptychs and the horn books. Lord Egerton of Tatton
has a beautiful sixteenth century example, the back of which is
ornamented with silver filigree work, and horn books backed with Dutch
silver, engraved, are sometimes found. These generally have a bird or a
tulip engraved upon them.
Other ornamental examples are to be found in the Birmingham Museum and
in private ownership. They are very decorative, and some of them have
talc instead of horn in front.
In 1851 some curious stone moulds were found at Hartley Castle by Sir
George Musgrave, and one of them was undoubtedly used for casting
lead “horn” books, and similar moulds have been found in Germany; the
English ones may have been made about the earlier half of the sixteenth
century.
But more curious devices were found on the other side of the same piece
of stone: these are undoubtedly the emblems of saints’ days as shown on
clog almanacks of the same period, so that the horn books may possibly
have originated from the makers of cast leaden almanacks.
Horn books were also cut in ivory or bone, often with designs engraved
on the back or on the handle. The lettering and devices were originally
run in with heelball or some such material. They were also made of
boxwood with letters burnt in, or engraved pewter, or gingerbread, and
sometimes covered in paper with panel stamp impressions in blind or
black ink.
Several of the later seventeenth and early eighteenth century horn
books were covered with leather and stamped in blind, gold, silver,
or, in Dutch examples, Dutch metal, which nearly always turns black,
from panel stamps; sometimes the designs were arabesques or flowers,
and at other times we find figures of saints or kings--St. George and
the Dragon, mermaids, and the like--and several of Charles II. on
horseback, the Duke of Cumberland, and other great people.
These same stamps are also often impressed on paper backs as well as on
leather.
The late cardboard horn books either leave out the cross at the
beginning or replace it by a meaningless X; they also often show
additional alphabets with little wood-cut illustrations. At last the
horn book form is quite lost, and at last we find folded pieces of
cardboard with stamped or marbled backs, retaining only the alphabet to
show that they are survivals.
WORKS TO CONSULT.
BLADES, W.--Books in Chains. _London_, 1892.
DAVENPORT, C.--English Embroidered Bookbindings. _London_, 1899.
DAVENPORT, C.--Book Edges. (Bibliographica.)
DAVENPORT, C.--Little Gidding. (Bibliographica.)
DAVENPORT, C.--Royal English Bookbindings. _London_, 1897.
LABARTE, J.--Hist. des Arts Industriels au Moyen Age. _Paris_, 1864-66.
LACROIX, P.--Le Moyen Age et la Renaissance. _Paris_, 1848-51.
LIBRI, COUNT G.--Monuments Inedits. _Londres_, 1862.
PRIDEAUX, S. T.--Historical Sketch of Bookbinding. _London_, 1893.
TUER, A.--History of the Horn Book. _London_, 1896.
WOOLNOUGH, C. W.--The Art of Marbling.