book played a vital part. When Luther, at Wittenberg, burned the papal
bull and started the Reformation, an overwhelming demand on the part of
the people was created for information and instruction. For the first
time the world realized that the printing press was a weapon placed in
the hands of the masses for defence against oppression by Church or
State. François I was King of France; Charles V, Emperor of the Holy
Roman Empire; and Henry VIII, King of England. Italy had something to
think about beyond magnificently decorated volumes, and printing as an
art was for the time forgotten in supplying the people with books at
low cost.
François I, undismayed by the downfall of the Italian patrons, believed
that he could gain for himself and for France the prestige which had
been Italy’s through the patronage of learning and culture. What a
pity that he had not been King of France when Jenson returned from
Mayence! He was confident that he could become the Mæcenas of the arts
and the father of letters, and still control the insistence of the
people, which increased steadily with their growing familiarity with
their new-found weapon. He determined to have his own printer, and was
eager to eclipse even the high Standard the Italian master-printers had
established.
[Illustration: ROBERT ÉTIENNE, 1503-1559
_Royal Printer to François I_
From Engraving by Étienne Johandier Desrochers (c. 1661-1741)]
Robert Étienne (or Stephens), who in 1540 succeeded Néobar as “Printer
in Greek to the King,” while not wholly accomplishing his monarch’s
ambitions, was the great master-printer of his age. He came from a
family of printers, and received his education and inspiration largely
from the learned men who served as correctors in his father’s
office. François proved himself genuinely interested in the productions
of his _Imprimerie Royale_, frequently visiting Étienne at the
Press, and encouraging him by expending vast sums for specially
designed types, particularly in Greek. The story goes that on one
occasion the King found Étienne engaged in correcting a proof sheet,
and refused to permit the printer to be disturbed, insisting on waiting
until the work was completed.
For my own collection of great typographical monuments I would select
for this period the _Royal Greeks_ of Robert Étienne. A comparison
between the text page, so exquisitely balanced (_page 222_), and
the title page (_page 220_), where the arrangement of type and
printer’s mark could scarcely be worse, gives evidence enough that
even the artist-printer of that time had not yet grasped the wonderful
opportunity a title page offers for self-expression. Probably Étienne
regarded it more as a chance to pay his sovereign the compliment of
calling him “A wise king and a valiant warrior.” But are not the Greek
characters marvelously beautiful! They were rightly called the _Royal
Greeks_! The drawings were made by the celebrated calligrapher
Angelos Vergetios, of Candia, who was employed by François to make
transcripts of Greek texts for the Royal Collection, and whose
manuscript volumes may still be seen in the Bibliothèque Nationale
in Paris. Earlier fonts had been based upon this same principle of
making the Greek letters reproductions as closely as possible of the
elaborate, involved, current writing hand of the day; but these new
designs carried out the principle to a degree until then unattained.
The real success of the undertaking was due to the skill of Claude
Garamond, the famous French punchcutter and typefounder. Pierre
Victoire quaintly comments:
_Besides gathering from all quarters the remains of Hellenic
literature, François I added another benefit, itself most
valuable, to the adornment of this same honorable craft of
printing; for he provided by the offer of large moneys for
the making of extremely graceful letters, both of Greek and
Latin. In this also he was fortunate, for they were so nimbly
and so delicately devised that it can scarce be conceived that
human wit may compass anything more dainty and exquisite;
so that books printed from these types do not merely invite
the reader,--they draw him, so to say, by an irresistible
attraction._
[Illustration: ÉTIENNE’S _ROYAL GREEKS_, Paris, 1550
_Title Page_ (10¼ × 6 inches)]
[Illustration: Page showing Étienne’s Roman Face (Exact size)]
[Illustration: ÉTIENNE’S _ROYAL GREEKS_
_Text Page_ (10¼ × 6 inches)
From _Novum Jesu Christi D. N. Testamentum_, Paris, 1550]
Of course, they were too beautiful to be practical. In the Roman
letters typecutters had already found that hand lettering could no more
be translated directly into the form of type than a painting can be
translated directly into a tapestry, without sacrificing some of the
characteristic features of each. With the Greek letters, the problem
was even more difficult, and the _Royal Greeks_ offered no end of
complications to the compositors, and added disastrously to the expense
of the production. When Plantin came along, he based his Greek type
upon Étienne’s, but his modifications make it more practical. Compare
the _Royal Greeks_ with Plantin’s Greek on page 231 and see how
much beauty and variety was lost in the revision.
François I found himself in an impossible position between his desire
to encourage Étienne in his publications and the terrific pressure
brought to bear by the ecclesiastical censors. Just as the people
had awakened to the value of books, not to put on shelves, but to
read in order to know, so had the Church recognized the importance of
controlling and influencing what those books contained. Throughout
Robert Étienne’s entire tenure of office there raged a conflict which
not only seriously interfered with his work, but distinctly hampered
the development of literature. Had François lived longer, Étienne’s
volumes might have reached a level equal to that attained by his
Italian predecessors, but Henri II was no match for the censors. In
1552 Robert Étienne, worn out by the constant struggles, transferred
his office to Geneva, where he died seven years later. His son Henri
continued his work, but except for his _Thesaurus_ produced little
of typographical interest.
* * * * *
Had it not been for this bitter censorship, France might have held her
supremacy for at least another half-century; but with the experiences
of Robert Étienne still in mind, it is easily understood why the
Frenchman, Christophe Plantin, in whom surged the determination to
become a master-printer, sought to establish himself elsewhere.
By the middle of the sixteenth century Antwerp had assumed the proud
position of leading city of Europe. The success that came to the
Netherlanders in commerce as a result of their genius and enterprise
later stimulated their interest in matters of religion, politics, and
literature. Just as the tendencies of the times caused the pendulum to
swing away from Italy to France, so now it swung from France toward
the Netherlands. I had never before realized that, with the possible
exception of certain communities in Italy, where the old intellectual
atmosphere still obtained, there was no country in the world in which
culture and intelligence were so generally diffused during the
sixteenth century. How much more than typography these volumes have
taught me!
It was inevitable that the art of printing should find in Belgium its
natural opportunity for supreme expression. At the time Plantin turned
his eyes in the direction of Antwerp, one entire quarter of that city
was devoted to the manufacture of books. This apparently discouraged
him, for at first he established himself as a bookbinder a little way
out of the city. Later he added a shop for the sale of books; but in
1555 he moved boldly into Antwerp, becoming a full-fledged printer
and publisher, soon demonstrating his right to recognition as the
master-printer of his time.
By this time the words of Luther had attracted the attention of
the Christian world more particularly than ever to the Bible. The
people considered it the single basis of their faith, and upon their
familiarity with it depended their present and future welfare. It
was natural that they should attach the greatest importance to the
possession of the most authentic edition of the original text. What
more glorious task, then, could a printer take upon himself than to
provide correct texts, to translate them with scrupulous exactitude,
and to produce with the greatest perfection the single book upon which
was based the welfare of men and of empires!
[Illustration: CHRISTOPHE PLANTIN, 1514-1589
From Engraving by Edme de Boulonois (c. 1550)]
This was the inspiration that came to Christophe Plantin, and which
gradually took form in the _Biblia Polyglotta_, the great
typographic achievement of the sixteenth century. On the left-hand
page should appear the original Hebrew text, and in a parallel column
should be a rendering into the Vulgate (_page 230_). On the
right-hand page the Greek version would be printed, and beside it a
Latin translation (_page 231_). At the foot of each page should be
a Chaldean paraphrase.
Antwerp was then under Spanish domination. Plantin at once opened
negotiations with Philip II of Spain, and was finally successful
in securing from that monarch an agreement to subsidize the
undertaking,--a promise which unfortunately was never kept. It is
probable that the King was influenced toward a favorable decision by
the struggle that occurred between Frankfort, Heidelberg, and even
Paris, for the honor of being associated with the great work. Philip
subscribed for thirteen copies upon parchment, and agreed to pay
Plantin 21,200 florins. He stipulated, however, that the work should
be executed under the personal supervision of one Arias Montanus, whom
he would send over from Spain. Plantin accepted this condition with
some misgivings, but upon his arrival Montanus captivated all by his
personal charm and profound learning.
In February, 1565, Plantin employed Robert Grandjon, an engraver of
Lyons, to cut the Greek characters for the work, basing his font
upon the _Royal Greeks_. They are still beautiful because they
are still unpractical, but they cannot compare with their models any
more than later fonts of Greek, cut with the rigid requirements of
typography in mind, can compare with these. Grandjon also supplied
Plantin with all his Roman, and part of his Hebrew types, the balance
being cut by Guillaume Le Bé, of Paris, Hautin of Rochelle, Van der
Keere of Tours, and Corneille Bomberghe of Cologne.
[Illustration: PLANTIN’S _BIBLIA POLYGLOTTA_, Antwerp, 1568
_Title Page_ (13¼ × 8¼ inches)]
[Illustration: Page of Preface from Plantin’s _Biblia Polyglotta_,
Antwerp, 1568 (13¼ × 8¼ inches)]
[Illustration: Text Page of Plantin’s _Biblia Polyglotta_,
Antwerp, 1568 (13¼ × 8¼ inches)]
[Illustration: Text Page of Plantin’s _Biblia Polyglotta_,
Antwerp, 1568 (13¼ × 8¼ inches)]
[Illustration: PLANTIN’S _BIBLIA POLYGLOTTA_, Antwerp, 1568
_Second Page_ (13¼ × 8¼ inches)]
The eight massive parts of the _Biblia Polyglotta_ appeared during
the years 1568 to 1573. The first volume opens with a splendid engraved
title, representing the union of the people in the Christian faith,
and the four languages of the Old Testament (_opp. page_). In the
lower, right-hand corner appears the famous Plantin mark. Immediately
following are two other engraved plates (_page 232_), illustrative
as well as decorative in their nature. One of these pages gives to
the faithless Philip an undeserved immortality. There are also single
full-page engravings at the beginning of the fourth and fifth volumes.
Twelve copies were printed on vellum for King Philip. A thirteenth
copy on vellum was never completed. In addition to these, ten other
copies were printed on large Italian imperial paper, and were sold
at 200 florins per copy. There were 300 copies on imperial paper at
100 florins, and 960 printed on fine royal Troyes paper, which were
offered to the public at 70 florins each, with ten florins discount to
libraries. One of the vellum copies was presented by the King to the
Pope, another to the Duke of Alba, and still a third to the Duke of
Savoy, the remaining copies being left in the library of the Escurial.
King Philip was so pleased with the volumes that he created Plantin
_Prototypographe_, ruler over all the printers in the city,--a
polite and inexpensive way of escaping his obligations. The world
acclaimed a new master-printer; but these honors meant little to
pressing creditors.
What a series of misfortunes Plantin endured! Stabbed by a miscreant
who mistook him for some one else; hampered by censorship in spite of
previous assurances of liberty in publications; his property wiped
out again and again by the clashes of arms which finally cost Antwerp
her pre-eminence; forever in debt, and having to sell his books
below cost, and to sacrifice his library to meet pressing financial
obligations;--yet always rising above his calamities, he carried on
his printing office until his death in 1589, when he left a comfortable
fortune of above $200,000.
Historically, Plantin’s contribution to the art of printing can
scarcely be overestimated, yet technically he should be included in
the second rather than the first group of early master-printers. The
century that had elapsed since Gutenberg had removed many of the
mechanical difficulties which had been obstacles to his predecessors.
The printer could now secure printed copy to be edited and improved.
Scholars were easily obtainable from the universities for editing
and proofreading. Printing machinery could be purchased instead of
being manufactured from original models. The sale of books had been
greatly systematized. A printer could now devote himself to his art
without dividing himself into various semi-related parts. Plantin
proved himself a business man. Who else ever established a printing
or publishing business on such an enduring basis that it continued
for three hundred years! In bequeathing it to his daughter and his
son-in-law, Moretus, Plantin made the interesting injunction that the
printing office was always to be maintained by the son or successor
who was most competent to manage it. If no son qualified, then the
successor must be selected outside the family. Fortunately, however,
there were sons who, each in his generation but with diminishing
ability, proved his right to assume the responsibility, and the
business was actually continued in the family down to 1867. A few years
later the property was purchased by the city of Antwerp for 1,200,000
francs, and turned into a public museum.
[Illustration: Device of Christophe Plantin]
I never visit the Plantin Museum at Antwerp without feeling that I have
come closer to the old master-printers and their ideals. Here is the
only great printing establishment of the past that time and the inroads
of man have left intact. The beauty of the building, the harmony of
the surroundings, the old portraits, the comfort yet the taste shown
in the living-rooms,--all show that the artist-printer sought the same
elements in his life that he expressed in his work. Entering from the
Marché du Vendredi, I find myself face to face with a small tablet
over the door on which is the device of Christophe Plantin, “first
printer to the King, and the king of printers.” Here the familiar hand,
grasping a pair of compasses, reaches down from the clouds, holding the
compasses so that one leg stands at rest while the other describes a
circle, enclosing the legend _Labore et Constantia_. Within the
house one finds the actual types, and presses, and designs by Rubens
and other famous artists, that were employed in making the Plantin
books. The rooms in which the master printer lived make his personality
very real. In those days a man’s business was his life, and the home
and the workshop were not far separated. Here the family life and
the making of books were so closely interwoven that the visitor can
scarcely tell where one leaves off and the other begins.
* * * * *
In the vocabulary of booklovers, the name _Elzevir_ suggests
something particularly choice and unique in the making of books. These
volumes cannot compare favorably with many products of the press
which preceded and followed them, yet the prestige which attended
their publication has endured down to the present day. The original
popularity of the Elzevirs was due to the fact that after a century of
degradation, some one at last undertook to reclaim printing from the
depths.
Printing, after reaching such heights so soon after its beginnings, had
steadily declined. The art may really be said to have had its origin
in Italy, as the work from Gutenberg’s office, while extraordinary and
epoch-making, could not rank with the best of the fifteenth-century
Italian productions. The French volumes of the early sixteenth century
were splendid examples of typography and presswork, but they did not
equal those of their Italian predecessors. Christophe Plantin’s work
in Antwerp was typographically unimportant except for his _Biblia
Polyglotta_; and after Plantin, which takes us to the end of the
sixteenth century, printing passed from an art into a trade. The
Elzevirs were craftsmen rather than artists, but the best craftsmen of
their period.
All this was a natural reaction. The book-buying public had come to
demand the contents of the book at a cheaper price rather than volumes
of greater technical excellence at a correspondingly higher cost. As
we have seen, Sweynheim and Pannartz had ruined themselves by their
experiments in Greek; the Aldine Press was saved from bankruptcy only
by the intervention of Grolier. Henri Étienne, son of the great Robert
Étienne, who endeavored to emulate his father’s splendid work, came to
financial grief in producing his _Thesaurus_; and Plantin could
not have withstood the drain of his _Biblia Polyglotta_ had it not
been that he was commercially far-sighted enough to turn his plant over
to the manufacture of inexpensive and less carefully made books.
By the end of the sixteenth century cheaper paper, made in Switzerland,
came into the market, and this inferior, unbleached product largely
replaced the soft, fine paper of Italian and French manufacture which
had contributed in no small part to the beauty of the printed pages.
Ink manufacturers had learned how to produce cheaper and poorer ink,
and the types themselves, through constant use, had become worn down to
such an extent that real excellence was impossible.
Holland was the natural successor to Belgium in the supremacy of
printing. The devastations of war had brought trade to a standstill
in the Netherlands, while the city of Leyden had won the attention
and admiration of the world for its heroic resistance during the long
Spanish siege. To commemorate this event, William of Orange, in 1575,
founded the University of Leyden, which quickly took high rank among
scholars, and became the intellectual and literary center of Europe.
Thither the battle-scarred Plantin betook himself at the suggestion of
Lipsius, the historian, who was now a professor in the new University.
In Leyden, Plantin established a branch printing office. He was made
Printer to the University, and for a time expected to remain here,
but the old man could not bring himself to voluntary exile from his
beloved Antwerp. Plantin’s Leyden printing office had been placed in
charge of Louis Elzevir, and when the veteran printer determined to
return to Antwerp it would have seemed natural for him to leave it in
Louis Elzevir’s hands instead of turning it over to his son-in-law,
Raphelengius. This Elzevir, however, although the founder of the great
Elzevir house, was not a practical printer, being more interested in
bookselling and publishing; so distinction in printing did not come to
the family until Isaac, Louis Elzevir’s grandson, became Printer to
the University in 1620. Fifteen years later, Bonaventura and Abraham
Elzevir made the name famous through their editions of _Terence_,
_Cæsar_, and _Pliny_.
Up to this time the favorite _format_ had been the quarto volume,
running about 12 by 18 inches in size. The Elzevirs boldly departed
from the beaten path, and produced volumes running as small as 2 by 4
inches. They cut types of small size, showing no special originality
but based on good Italian models, and issued editions which at first
met with small favor. “The Elzevirs are certainly great typographers,”
the scholar Deput wrote to Heinsius in 1629. “I can but think, however,
that their reputation will suffer in connection with these trifling
little volumes with such slender type.”
Contrary to this prediction, the new _format_ gradually gained favor,
and finally became firmly established. The best publisher-printers in
France and Italy copied the Elzevir model, and the folios and the
quartos of the preceding ages went entirely out of style.
[Illustration: ELZEVIR’S _TERENCE_, 1635
Engraved Title Page (Exact size)]
[Illustration: ELZEVIR’S _TERENCE_, Leyden, 1635
Text Pages (4 × 2 inches)]
The _Terence_ of 1635 is the volume I selected for my collection
(_page 242_). While not really beautiful, it is a charming
little book. The copper-plate title (_page 241_) serves not
only its original purpose but is also an illustration. The Elzevirs
were wise enough to go back a hundred years and revive the practice
of the copper-plate title, which had been discarded by intermediate
printers because of its expense. The types themselves, far superior
to other fonts in use at that time by other printers, were especially
designed for the Elzevirs by Christoffel van Dyck. The interspacing of
the capitals and the small capitals, the arrangement of the margins,
and the general layout all show taste and knowledge of typographical
precedent. The presswork would appear to better advantage except for
the impossibility of securing ink of consistent quality.
The Elzevirs showed a great advance in business organization over any
of their predecessors. Freed from oppressive censorship, they were
able to issue a long list of volumes which were disposed of through
connections established in the principal book centers of Italy, France,
Germany, and Scandinavia, as well as throughout the Netherlands
themselves. There is no record of any Elzevir publication proving a
failure; but, by the same token, one cannot say that the Elzevirs
accomplished as much for the art to which they devoted themselves as
did the master-printers in whose steps they followed.
* * * * *
Curiously enough, it was not until the eighteenth century that England
produced volumes which were pre-eminent in any period. Caxton’s work,
extraordinary as it was, competed against books made at the same time
in Venice by Jenson, and were not equal to these Italian masterpieces.
I have a leaf from a Caxton volume which I often place beside my Jenson
volume, and the comparison always increases my wonder and admiration
for the great Italian printer. Caxton’s work was epoch-making, but
until John Baskerville issued his _Virgil_ in Birmingham, in 1757,
England had not produced a volume that stood out, at the moment of its
publication, as the best of its time.
[Illustration: John Baskerville (1706-1775)]