Supplico stet cedula.
Foreigners appear to have appreciated the boon of this kind of advertising equally rapidly, although, from the fugitive nature of such productions, copies of their posters are rarely to be found. Still an interesting list of books, printed by Coburger at Nuremberg in the fifteenth century, is preserved in the British Museum, to which is attached the following heading: “Cupientes emere libros infra notatos venient ad hospitium subnotatum,” &c.—i.e., “Those who wish to buy the books hereunder mentioned, must come to the house now named,” &c. The Parisian printers soon went a step further. Long before the invention of the typographic art, the University had compelled the booksellers to advertise in their shop windows any new manuscripts they might obtain. But after the invention of printing they soon commenced to proclaim the wonderful cheapness of the works they produced. It did not strike them, however, that this might have been done effectually on a large scale, and they were content to extol the low price of the work in the book itself. Such notices as the following are common in early books. Ulric Gering, in his “Corpus Juris Canonici,” 1500, allays the fear of the public with a distich:—“Don’t run away on account of the price,” he says. “Come rich and poor; this excellent work is sold for a very small sum:”—
Ne fugite ob pretium: dives pauperque venite
Hoc opus excellens venditur ære brevi.
Berthold Remboldt subjoins to his edition of “S. Bruno on the Psalms,” 1509, the information that he does not lock away his wares (books) like a miser, but that anybody can carry them away for very little money.
Istas Bertholdus merces non claudit avarus
Exiguis nummis has studiose geres.
And in his “Corpus Juris Canonici,” he boasts that this splendid volume is to be had for a trifling sum, after having, with considerable labour, been weeded of its misprints.
Hoc tibi præclarum modico patet ære volumen
Abstersum mendis non sine Marte suis.
Thielman Kerver, Jean Petit, and various other printers, give similar intelligence to the purchasers of their works. Sometimes they even resort to the process of having a book puffed on account of its cheapness by editors or scholars of known eminence, who address the public on behalf of the printer. Thus in a work termed by the French savant Chevillier, “Les Opuscules du Docteur Almain,” printed by Chevalon and Gourmont, 1518, a certain dignified member of the University condescends to inform the public that they have to be grateful to the publishers for the beautiful and cheap book they have produced:—“Gratias agant Claudio Chevallon et Ægydio Gourmont, qui pulchris typis et characteribus impressum opus hoc vili dant pretio.” This, be it observed, is the earliest instance of the puff direct which has so far been discovered.
Meanwhile, though the art of printing had become established, and was daily taking more and more work out of the hands of scribes, writing continued to be almost the only advertising media for wellnigh two centuries longer. Like the ancient [advertisement] already noticed, that of Venus about her runaway son, they commenced almost invariably with the words “If anybody,” or, if in Latin, Si quis; and from these last two words they obtained their name. They were posted in the most frequented parts of the towns, preferably near churches; and hence has survived the practice of attaching to church doors lists of voters and various other notifications, particularly in villages. In the metropolis one of the places used for this purpose may probably have been London Stone. In “Pasquil and Marforius,” 1589, we read, “Set up this bill at London Stone; let it be done solemnly with drum and trumpet;” and further on in the same pamphlet, “If it please them, these dark winter nights, to stick up these papers upon London Stone.” These two allusions are, however, not particularly conclusive.
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the principal place for affixing a siquis was in the middle aisle of St Paul’s. From the era of the Reformation to the Restoration, all sorts of disorderly conduct was practised in the old cathedral. A lengthy catalogue of improper customs and disgusting practices might be collected from the works of the period, and bills were stuck up in various parts to restrain the grossest abuses. “At every door of this church,” says Weever, “was anciently this vers depicted; and in my time [he died in 1632] it might be perfectly read at the great south door, Hic Locus sacer est, hic nulli mingere fas est.”